Pearls (34 page)

Detective Ramirez leaned close. “The supervising officer said as soon as he shouted the command to surrender, one of his captors turned and shot Manuel at close range.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the haunting image. “They told me they’d punish him for my failure to cooperate.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not your fault.”

A helicopter roared into the sky above the clearing and began its descent.

Detective Ramirez put an arm around her and guided her to a safe distance from the makeshift landing pad. “They’re flying Manuel to the nearest trauma center. He’ll get the best treatment there.”

“Can I see him for a moment before they take him?”

The detective stared down at her, reluctance and compassion warring on his face. “Let’s see what we can do.”

When the paramedics lifted Manuel onto a gurney, preparing to board the helicopter, Detective Ramirez pushed her forward. She ran to the stretcher and laid her hand on Manuel’s arm.

The paramedic tugged at her sleeve. “Miss, you can’t do that.”

“She’s his fiancée,” she heard Ramirez argue. “Let them have a minute.”

While the men continued to argue behind her, Isabel stroked her fingers lovingly over Manuel’s arms and face. “I love you,” she whispered.

His eyelids fluttered and opened to a narrow slit. The barest hint of a smile softened his lips.

“Miss, we have to go.” The paramedics pushed her away and loaded the gurney into the helicopter. In seconds, the craft lifted into the air and disappeared beyond the treetops.

Finally able to release the fears and anxieties from days of trauma, Isabel collapsed to the ground and cried.

Soft, moist earth cushioned Isabel’s knees as she knelt beside the gaping hole in the corner of the cemetery.

Manuel stood at the bottom of the six-foot trench, removing the last few handfuls of dirt from the lid of a box. He looked up and gave her a smile. “I think this is it. Are you ready?”

She smiled back. After two months of rest and recuperation, he was nearly whole again. Scars on his shoulder and side were the only lingering evidence of his ordeal. He seemed self-conscious about the puckered pink flesh that remained once his injuries had healed. How could Isabel make him understand that the marks of his suffering were beautiful to her? They represented the depth of his love, the lengths he would go to to protect her.

“Isabel? I asked if you’re ready.”

She drew a deep breath. “Sorry. My mind wandered off for a minute. Do you want to open it, or should I?”

“Let’s do it together.”

He helped her climb down into the hole, and they grasped the lid of the small metal chest. The old hinges stuck for a moment then popped loose. The lid opened to reveal hundreds of lustrous white orbs.

“Whoa!” Manuel plucked one of the larger pearls from the top and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

Isabel dipped a slender hand into the chest and lifted out a dozen or so pearls. “Amazing.” She tipped her hand and watched the pearls fall back to their case then began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Manuel asked.

“After all that’s happened, everything we suffered and endured to find these pearls ….” She shook her head, giving him a wry smile. “I thought this moment would be so incredible, but it’s actually anti-climactic.”

“How so?”

She leaned toward him and left a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve already discovered Venezuela’s greatest treasure. I’d trade a hundred chests of pearls for you, Manuel.”

Wearing a mischievous smile, he took her hand and pressed the large pearl into her palm. “I treasure you, Isabel.”

She laughed at the double meaning behind his words. Grabbing a handful of pearls, she deposited them in the front pocket of his shirt. “I treasure you too,” she said in a sappy, overdramatic voice.

He trailed his fingers up her arm and rested his hand on her shoulder, his fingertips brushing against her neck. “Enough to accompany me to Istanbul?”

His question caught her by surprise. “Istanbul?”

“Seems our little adventure received international attention, and one of the sponsors I’d approached about your expedition called and would like to fund a dig in Istanbul.”

She swallowed hard, worried about the implications to their relationship. “You’ll be leaving?”

“I told them the job sounds terrific, but I couldn’t accept unless my wife said yes.” He moved closer and wrapped her in his strong, solid arms, bringing a flurry of butterflies to her stomach. His lips claimed hers, and she found herself helpless to resist his persuasive abilities.

“So what do you say, Isabel? Will you go to Istanbul with me … as my wife?”

She hugged him a little tighter and smiled up into his warm chocolate eyes. “You bet your pearls I will.”

A book is never written by one person alone. Many people contribute to the effort through various means. I couldn’t imagine putting out a book without the help of wonderful critique partners, Karen, Pam, Diana, Faye, and other generous writers who have given of their time to help me develop my craft over the years.

My GCC Girls and my Crochet Club, more than just friends … you are sisters, cheerleaders, and sometimes therapists. What would my life be without your love and support?

And finally, to my wonderful husband, best friend, soul mate, love of my life. Because of you, I know that happy endings still exist. Thank you for your support in making my dreams come true.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

About the Author

Lisa Mills
spent ten years working as a freelance writer, penning devotions, book reviews, a biography, and much more. Her articles have appeared in magazines such as “Today’s Christian Woman” and “Brio.” She’s also contributed short stories to several anthologies aimed at encouraging families of special-needs children. Her novels are earning her a reputation for writing stories that touch the heart.

She lives in the Michiana area with her husband and their blended family of five kids, two cats, and a large dog with an abundance of personality.

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Jewels of the Quill (Dame Citrine):
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HOLDING ON ~ July 2011

PEARLS ~ March 2012

Coming July 2012

NO PLACE LIKE MOTORHOME