Abducted. Dana Mentink

pumped into Young. His own mouth was so dry he could hardly manage a swallow.

      As she snapped off her gloves, she talked soothingly to Young, stroking his hand and wiping his brow with a clean cloth. Her patter was meant to be comforting, he supposed, but for Jett, it brought back too many memories, too many consoling platitudes that were intended to encourage him after the vehicle accident that left him with a serious head injury.

      “Can I pray for you?” Sarah asked her patient.

      Pray? The word made Jett bristle inside. She was living in a fantasy world, praying to a God who didn’t listen or just didn’t care, a fact he’d thought she would have learned after her accident. Either way, it sickened him. Let’s pray for your recovery, the hospital chaplain had said to Jett a year ago. Ask God to take away your pain. He’d done neither, and what was more, He’d taken away Jett’s career, the only light in Jett’s life.

      God wasn’t some fairy-tale father who granted wishes. He created humans and left them to drown in their own misery, which wasn’t any better than Jett’s worthless earthly parent, currently serving time in prison. How could a smart girl like Sarah not see that for herself? He felt her gaze on him, and he looked away.

      As Young’s eyelids fluttered open again, he moaned, whispering something.

      She bent closer to hear, her dark blond hair brushing the table. Young grasped her wrist, his mouth moving sporadically before he got the words out. “You’re a detective?” he croaked.

      “I’ve got a detective license,” she said. “But don’t worry. Right now, I’m your nurse. You’re going to get some fluids, which will help you feel more comfortable, and we’ll get you to a proper hospital.”

      “You’ve got to go find her,” he murmured.

      She shot Jett a look, and he moved closer. “What did you say, Mr. Young?”

      He squeezed her wrist as a spasm of pain crossed his face and he struggled to sit up against Sarah’s restraining hands.

      “Find who?” Jett said.

      Young’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, and he collapsed back on the table.

      Sarah checked his pulse and breathing. “He’s hanging on by a thread. If we don’t get him to a doctor soon, he’s not going to make it.” She pushed the sweat-soaked hair from his face and fanned him with a notepad from her bag. “What do you think he means by ‘go find her’?”

      Jett shrugged. “You’re the detective. Your family’s making quite a name for themselves in the investigation business.”

      “Marco’s been filling you in?”

      “He told me your sister recently cracked a case in Cobalt Cove.”

      She smiled. “How sweet that you stay up-to-date on Gallagher family business.”

      “I don’t,” he said, more severely than he’d meant to. “But seeing as how you and your sisters run an investigation firm, do your thing. Solve this guy’s mystery.”

      “How am I supposed to do that under the present circumstances?”

      “Don’t look at me—I’m just a diver. But it sounds like you just got yourself a case, Detective.”

      * * *

      Jett was clearly mocking her, so she ignored the remark. “Mr. Young? Can you hear me?” But he was unconscious. Go find whom? Was whoever he was looking for the reason he’d been beaten? The cause of Beretta’s relentless attention?

      There was no sense in talking it over with Jett. He’d gone to the back window to wrench loose one of the boards, allowing a breeze to waft in. Delicious, she thought, lifting the hair off her neck and tying it into a ponytail with a piece of gauze. If she’d had a moment more to pack, she’d have been much better prepared, but as it was, she’d only tossed in basic medical supplies, her passport and one granola bar. At the bottom of the bag were two precious bottles of water. Thirst clawed at her. As much as she wanted to rip off the cap and guzzle some of the water, she was uncertain about their upcoming journey and she thought it best to save it. Maybe she should offer a bottle to Jett.

      He’d stepped out into the back, which was nothing more than a scruff of weed-covered ground, dry and parched. He knelt to play with the one-eared dog who was so skinny she could see his ribs. Jett stroked his big hands tenderly over the dog’s delicate frame. Those same hands had caressed her face with a featherlight touch.

      She was transported back in time to their first date, a trip to the ice cream parlor and a walk on the beach. He’d found a shell for her in the sand, a delicate white scallop tinged with the fiery glow of a sunrise on the inside. Shyly, he’d offered it to her.

      It’s perfect, he’d said. Like you.

      She remembered his arms embracing her, a bittersweet reminder. So much anger and so much heart wrapped up in one maddening man, she thought.

      “Here,” she said, handing him a bottle of water.

      “Thanks.” He twisted the cap and poured a small amount into his hand. The dog lapped it up eagerly. Jett lifted the bottle to his lips, eyeing her before he put it to his mouth. “Hang on. Did you get some?”

      “I’m okay.”

      He shook his head and handed it back to her. “You drink half.”

      “I don’t need any.”

      “Fine. Then I don’t, either.”

      She folded her arms. “You’re a patient. Patients before nurses.”

      “You’re a woman,” he snapped. “Women before men.”

      He folded his arms to match hers, and she knew he wasn’t going to give in. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” she said, snatching the bottle.

      “Funny how many people tell me that.”

      She gulped, restraining herself from downing it all. Even though it was warm, the water tasted delectable. Then she handed it to him, and he drained the rest. They stood in the yard, trying to find some relief from the stifling heat, until Juanita called from inside. She’d returned with a bag of savory-smelling food and a clay jug. Sarah’s mouth watered.

      “My cousin makes excellent chilaquiles. There is no meat today, but it is still good, I think.”

      “It smells divine,” Sarah said.

      She handed them plastic forks, metal plates covered with foil and two paper cups, which she filled with water. Jett raised his to his mouth, drinking it in two swallows.

      Sarah set the plate aside and folded her hands to pray. Juanita did the same. Jett, she noticed, stepped away, arms crossed over his broad chest, until they were done.

      Under the foil were quarters of fried corn tortilla covered with a green salsa and topped with slices of raw onion. A humble dish, generously shared by people who had little to give. There could be no greater blessing than that, Sarah thought.

      There was a period of quiet while they devoured the luscious meal and drained the jug to the dregs. Jett offered one of his tortillas to the dog, who happily gobbled it up.

      “Did you get word to your father?” Sarah said.

      Juanita frowned. “Yes. He will meet us here.”

      “How will he avoid Beretta’s men?” Jett said. “They’re probably swarming the town right about now.”

      “He will be all right,” she said, turning away to gather up the remnants of the meal. Sarah helped her wipe out the dishes as best they could and pack them up to be returned to Juanita’s cousin.

      “You have been very kind, Juanita,” Sarah said. “I know this is going above and beyond. You’ve been so brave.”

      Juanita turned to face her. “No,” she said,