Chapter 11 #5
Wasn’t that the definition of Stein, and his job as a soldier? And she didn’t see him as evil. No, Stein was...
Had been... a good man.
She stood in front of the sink, stared at herself. Slightly sunburned, her hair a disaster, but her reflection surprised her.
She saw determination. Strength. Courage. And Declan’s words strummed into her. “You have this aura about you that doesn’t seem to be shaken by the events around you.”
Maybe it had been an act before.
But not now.
Still was different from paralyzed, or frozen.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Sister Clare had disappeared. She looked around, wanting to thank her, and found the nun in a small chapel off the main sanctuary. She was lighting a candle in a stand before a statuette.
A black statuette of the Virgin Mary. About three feet tall, it wore a crown encrusted with pearls, and a red ruby necklace, its head bowed in prayer.
Austen gaped, staring at it.
Sister Clare turned. “You found clothing.”
She’d found more than that. “Is this...” She stepped up to the statue. “Is this the Santa María de la Paz—the Black Madonna of Hispaniola?”
Sister Clare glanced back at the Madonna. “She is a replica of the sacred relic from Father Hagarty, a Benedictine monk who helped found this church. It was originally given to him by the Monastery of San Francisco, in Santo Domingo. Old, yes, but—” She sighed. “Not the original.”
Austen stepped up to the statue. It didn’t look worn by the sea, the marble polished and shiny. And light glinted off the red ruby inlaid in the necklace.
Sister Clare drew closer. “She is beautiful. And nearly as perfect as the original. So close, it’s hard to tell the difference, isn’t it?”
Austen nodded. Glanced at her.
Sister Clare smiled. “I’ll leave you alone with her.” She patted Austen’s arm.
Austen stared at the statue. Glanced behind her. Then she scooted up to the platform and angled the statue up.
It was heavier than she expected, and suddenly she imagined the entire thing catapulting to the ground, cracking into a thousand terrible pieces.
She examined the base. No initials.
Well, it was worth a try.
Setting it right, she moved it to match the marks, her hand on the base. Her fingers rubbed against an etching in the footer of the granite, in the back.
She bent down, then picked up the candle. Her heart stopped.
D.P. , clearly carved in the black granite, about as big as a widow’s mite.
She heard footsteps and stood up, set the candle back, her heart thundering.
Fonzie appeared at the door. “Are you ready to go? I saw a floatplane come in over the island. I think your ride is here.”
She looked at the Madonna, the flickering candle, the rise of flame and smoke to the ceiling. The smoke of the prayers of the saints.
“It is amazing to me that God can use anyone who simply trusts Him.”
It’s not in a watery grave after all, Margo. She looked heavenward, nodded. Then turned to Fonzie. “Yes. I’m ready.”
Fonzie drove her back through town, past the palm trees brushing the blue afternoon sky.
She’d have to tell Mo.
Maybe.
Because the secret had been well-kept, hadn’t it? Until now.
“Be still and know.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling the salty breeze as they drew closer to port. She spotted the massive cruise ship at dock and a couple seaplanes in the harbor, one motoring up to the dock.
Fonzie passed under the entrance to the World Resorts area, then motored toward the sandy white kayak beach, past the central fountain roundabout, and finally stopped in the lot. An SUV and a couple sedans sat parked under the sun, alongside golf carts and scooters.
Fonzie pointed to the plane.
Yep, Mo’s ten-passenger Cessna Caravan Amphibian with the navy blue belly was tied to the dock. And she spotted him standing on the deck, talking with a few men.
“Thanks, Fonzie.”
“Ma’am. Stay safe.”
He probably didn’t mean for the words to bite.
“Stay safe.”
She might never escape it, the terrible hole inside. But maybe you didn’t escape the price of love.
Love. She stopped, letting an SUV pass as it pulled up to the curb in front of her.
Yes, maybe she loved Declan, or could have. Loved the man she knew he was despite the layers and the complications and the lies.
Loved who she’d become just knowing him.
She crossed onto the boardwalk, past the SUV, headed toward the dock, and lifted her hand. “Mo!”
He looked up at her from the far end of the dock and raised his hand too. “Tennie!”
And then the men standing with him turned.
Sunburned, their clothing soiled, and one of them wore a bandage on his arm, the sleeves of his shirt torn off. His blue eyes covered in a pair of wraparound shades.
But her gaze went to the man beside him. Dark hair, aviator sunglasses, wearing a white dress shirt, grimy and rumpled, a pair of shorts, and... flip-flops?
She stilled. Caught her breath. Then, “Declan!”
Just like that, he took off for her, running down the dock toward the lot.
Movement out of her peripheral vision. A woman with long dark hair moving straight at her.
She glanced over just in time to see Captain Teresa, holding a handgun. Apparently, the woman didn’t have a problem shooting someone in broad daylight. Or double-crossing her boss.
Or betraying them to the Russian Mafia.
Who knew—maybe she was the Russian Mafia.
She lifted the gun and pointed it at Declan. Or maybe Steinbeck. Or even Mo?—
And that was just it .
Because Declan just kept coming, and no, nope, nyet, she wasn’t going to watch a man she was falling for—maybe wanted a future with—get murdered in front of her.
Austen launched herself at the woman.
Teresa turned and started to backhand her, but sorry ? —
Austen knew how to deal with sharks.
She deflected, slapping Teresa’s arm away, then stepped up to her and—what was it Hunter had said? A shot in the nose?
Yeah. She slammed her fist into Teresa’s face.
The explosion nearly crumpled her hand, but Teresa fell back, stumbling. Tripped. She fell with a smack onto the pavement, the gun jerking out of her hand.
Austen picked it up, breathing hard. “I know how to use this.”
And that’s when she spotted the Russian... Sergei?—appearing from behind the SUV.
“Stop!” She pointed the gun at him, then back at Teresa. Then back at Sergei, who just kept moving, so?—
Her shot took out the back window of the SUV.
Sergei jerked, ducking, growled, and maybe would have launched himself at her?—
But backup arrived in the form of Declan, who tackled the man.
She looked away from the fight, her gun on Teresa, whose nose had exploded, her face, chin, and chest covered in blood. She held her face, backing up.
“Stop!”
Austen looked up to see Fonzie running hard toward them.
One of the men with Mo had also run up, now stood over Teresa.
Then arms went around her, hands took hold of her wrists, and a body stepped up behind her, a low, perfect voice in her ear. “Good job, Wonder Woman.”
She started to tremble, and he eased the gun out of her hand.
Steinbeck had taken over for Declan, put Sergei facedown in a submission hold, his other hand gripped on the back of the man’s neck.
Fonzie ran up to Declan. “RBDF,” he said. “Give me the gun.”
Declan seemed to consider that, and for a second, she saw the former Marine in him, the man who’d been undercover, the man who’d been willing to die to protect her.
“He’s a cop. Sort of,” she said to Declan.
He let out a breath and handed Fonzie the gun.
“You okay, cuz?”
She looked at the man who’d walked up. Dark hair, he wore a black T-shirt over a pair of cargo shorts. Worry in his eyes. “Colt?”
A couple more men in white RBDF uniforms showed up, helped cuff Sergei, another man lifting Teresa off the ground and handing her into custody. The RBDF pulled her away for medical attention.
“Austen.”
She turned, looked up, her heart thundering, still shaking. Declan’s gray eyes searched hers, so much relief in them, it poured right into her, touched her bones.
Then she was in his arms, his embrace tight, his body steady, his heartbeat against her ear.
“I thought... I thought you were dead.”
“Yeah. I get that,” he said, and maybe he was trembling too, just a little. “When Mo said that you’d called—I lost it.” He lifted his head. “I’m so sorry I left you out there, in the ocean. I thought—well, I guess I’m tired of thinking. I just...”
And then his eyes glazed and her heart simply exploded.
Forget it. Yes, she loved this man. This brave, complicated, generous, surprising man.
“Thank you for staying alive,” he said, his hands cupping her face.
“Thank you for not dying.”
He smiled then, blinked, and a tear fell down his dark whiskered cheek. “Anything for you, Austen. Anything.”
And then he kissed her. His touch was soft and lingering, and he smelled of the sea, as if he might be a pirate who’d stolen her heart.
It belonged to him anyway.
So she wrapped her arms around his waist and stepped into the safety of Declan Stone and kissed him back.
“Seriously?” said a voice.
She broke away from Declan, met his eyes. “Can you not fire him?”
“I tried,” Declan said. “Wouldn’t take.”
“You did not fire me,” said Stein. “I quit.”
Declan let her go. “Technically, you ghosted me. That’s not quitting.”
Steinbeck grinned.
She launched herself into her brother’s arms, and he caught her up, pulled her into his embrace.
“Wow, you scared me, sis,” he said, low and gruff into her ear.
“Ditto.”
He put her down, held her arms, looked her over. “What are you wearing?”
“I like it,” she said. “Peace, man.” She held up two fingers. “Love, not war.”
“I’m for that.” Declan reached out and took her hand. “Mo, can you take us home?”
Mo had come up, now raised an eyebrow. “Um. Where’s home?”
She sighed. Because, well... “Still no sign of the Fancy Free ?”
Mo looked at her. “Oh, Hawkeye found her. She was spotted by a US Coast Guard cutter down by Jamaica, man.”
“Can I suggest a trip to Miami?” Declan looked over at Colt. “I need to finish some business.” Declan glanced at Austen. “And I think the lady needs to do some shopping.”
“What?” But she grinned. “Only if you’re buying.” She slid her fingers through his, holding on as they walked out to Mo’s plane.
“Do I get a say in what you choose?”
“Not even a little.”
He nodded. “Thought so.”
“Oh, Dec, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Stein said, slapping him on the shoulder as he walked by.
Declan grinned, looked down at her. “Great. I love surprises.”
She laughed. “Me too. But,” she said as they waited to board the plane, “could we not get hijacked or bombed, shot at, or attacked by ground-to-air missiles on the way home?”
“Picky,” Mo said as he undid the ropes from the cleats.
Declan helped her inside. Settled next to her on the leather seats. Wrapped her hand again in his.
Then Mo pushed them away from the dock, and they skittered along the water and into the pale blue sky.
And maybe, hopefully, on their way to happily ever after.