Point of No Return (10 page)

At a sprint.

The conductor stood at her door and watched them fly by, confused.

She'd be angry and alerting her fellow conductors in a moment. Perfect.

Chet opened the end door and barreled after Mae into the open place between cars. But as she lunged for the next door, he reached out and stopped her.

Pulled her to his chest.

He was breathing hard. Too hard. She could probably hear his heart pummeling his ribs. “Are you—”

“I'm okay, Chet. I'm okay.”

But she held on to him, too—something he attributed to the rush of adrenaline.

She'd nearly been mauled by four men.

But she didn't need protection or anything, right? He held her away from him, arms gripping her shoulders. “How can you be okay? I'm not okay.”

She hooked her hands on his wrists, her eyes turning hot. “I'm
fine.
”

“Well, just stand there for one more second while I stop myself from going back in there and inciting an international incident.”

The train rattled on as he tried to wrestle his heart
back to a normal rhythm. Mae's look of frustration soon bled out to concern.

“Chet, I'm really sorry. I didn't think that would happen.”

“Well, it did. And…” He shook his head, turning away from her, gripping the rail. “Nothing, never mind.” Because what he wanted to say—something along the lines of,
Don't ever do anything like that again,
or,
See, this is why being with you frightens the breath out of me
—would only make things worse.

“Josh isn't here,” she said, looking up at him. “He's not on the train.”

He lifted his head, meeting her eyes. They glistened, despite the set of her jaw.

“No, he's not.”

“Which means what? That he never got on the train?”

He sensed another alternative forming in the back of her mind: Akif had already found them.

Mae pursed her lips. Over her shoulder, through the window, barreling down the aisle toward them, Chet glimpsed the four drunks. The first one held a bloody towel to his face.

“We need to get off the train.” Chet caught her hand.

“Now!”

“Now? You mean…
now?
”

“Now!”

And then, because all his nightmares had decided to gang up on him at once, he leaped from the train, pulling Mae with him.

He had to give her credit for not screaming as they launched out into space. He'd managed to yank them off the train just as they approached a bridge, one that stretched over a span he didn't dare look at.

They landed hard in a smattering of brush, rock and grasses, tumbling away from the rails, first Chet, then Mae, half on top of him.

They skidded together into a ravine, legs and arms scraping rock and brush and dirt. At some point Mae jerked out of his arms, tumbling away from him. “Mae!”

His head spun as he lay there assessing, even as he searched the ground with his hands for Mae.

“Mae?” He sat up, his head woozy. On the bank above them, the end of the train snaked by, and beyond that, the sky darkened, night closing in.

They needed to get on their feet and back to the village, pronto. “Mae?”

“Over here.” Pain laced her voice, and he feared the worst. But she'd pushed herself to a sitting position and was running her hands over her arms and legs. “I think I'm in one piece.”

Shouting punched through the rumble of the train. Chet spotted the men leaning over the back of the open car, fists pumping the air, pointing.

Chet couldn't resist lifting a hand to wave.

“What are you doing, trying to egg them on?” Mae stood, glanced over her shoulder and delivered a sour look. “You're about ten years old, aren't you?”

He grinned at her. “Sometimes.”

But she didn't grin back. She just limped past him, up the bank, her palm pressing her hip.

“Are you really okay?”

She didn't answer.

“Mae?” She wasn't hurt, was she? Or bleeding? Or maybe she had a head injury? “Mae!”

She stopped and he scrambled up to her, his bruised
muscles betraying his age. No more jumping from trains.

She still didn't acknowledge him, even when he put his hand on her shoulder, and turned her to face him.

She looked down at his feet.

“What's the matter?” He thumbed her chin up.

Oh, no, she was crying. Or trying not to, but grimy trails betrayed the truth. Then her shoulders began to shake and she cupped her hands over her face, racking her entire body.

He stood there like an idiot, watching her crumple, afraid to touch her, not sure where to start.

“Are you hurt?”

She didn't respond—just sank down onto the ground, pulled her knees up, and hid her face.

He figured out enough to sit beside her. He debated a moment, then curled his arm around her shoulder. To his relief, she let him ease her toward himself and wrap the other arm around her. “What's the matter?” he said into her hair.

She shook her head.

So he held her, every sob chipping off the frustration he'd built watching her put herself in danger. Maybe she did do impulsive things. But she paid for them, too. “Shh…”

“We're never going to find him.” She said it so softly that he nearly didn't hear her. She cleared her throat and sighed the grief from her body. “He's lost. I thought I could just come here, find him, talk some sense into him. What was I thinking?”

She lifted her eyes heavenward, as if including more than just him in the conversation. “We're out here in the middle of nowhere—no car, no money—and Josh is probably already… Oh, God, please don't let Bashim
kill him…” She drove her fingers through her tangled hair. “I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I keep trying to untangle myself, trying to get clear of my stupid mistakes, but they follow me, and now Josh is going to get hurt—”

“Mae, the fact that we can't find Josh is not some sort of divine punishment for your mistakes.”

“Then why is this so hard?” She turned to Chet, eyes burning, even in the dusk. “It's not like I don't have faith—I have truckloads of faith. I try to live each day by doing what's right. I do everything I'm supposed to. I help my sister, and I support my mom, and I'm a good friend—”

“You're a
great
friend.” He brushed the hair from her face.

“Yeah, so great that I lost my career and my boyfriend. What is living in God's grace if it doesn't mean life is easier, that God is on my side?”

“I don't know, Mae. I think living in grace is more than just hoping for it. I think it's about grabbing hold, not letting go.”

He ran a thumb over her cheekbone. “And we hold on for our blessing. Maybe that's what grace is.”

“I don't know, Chet. I thought grace was supposed to make you stronger. I can't even do this one thing for my sister.”

“For crying in the sink, Mae, you are in a foreign country, trying to track down your nephew who's just run away with a warlord's daughter. In fact, you're so incredibly capable of doing this, it scares me. I admit to being a little bit freaked out, and not just a little ashamed that you're always one step ahead of me.”

“I wasn't ahead of you on the train,” she said, still not looking at him, in a voice that could tear him in half.

“So you needed me,” he said softly, lifting her chin, searching her eyes. “It's about time.”

The hope in her eyes was so tender it nearly broke his heart. “I do need you, Chet. I do need you.”

And of course, those words coming out of her mouth as she sat swaddled in his arms, the sun backlighting the sky, her beautiful green eyes fixed on his…he traced his gaze around her face and stopped there, at her incredible mouth.

What was a guy to do? He kissed her. Sweetly, touching his mouth to hers, testing, then tasting her tears. She didn't move toward him, but she lifted her face, and he slid his hand around the back of her neck, deepening his kiss ever so slowly. Something about her surrender made him want to weep. Tough, beautiful Mae, needing him…oh,
Mae.
He took his time exploring her mouth, then broke away to kiss her cheekbones, her forehead, her eyelids, then, finally,
finally,
back to her lips.

She sighed in his arms, a slow shudder that seemed to release something she'd been holding tight, and when he broke the kiss, touching his forehead to hers, she looked at him and smiled.

Smiled.

He traced her lips with his finger. “I need you, too, babe.”

The train's hum had long since died, taking with it the last of the sun's hold on the day. They sat, swathed in the twilight without words. The wind—warmer than last night's—sifted through the trees, brush and grass around them, and if he wasn't mistaken, he smelled water.

Maybe they'd make it. And not just out of Georgia, with Josh, but really make it.

All the way to happily-ever-after.

M
ae had truly entered a foreign country. And she didn't mean Georgia, with its craggy boulders and cliffs scored only by the silvery track of rail illuminated by the the moon. She ran her hands over her arms, her skin chilled by the wind slithering across the grasses. Her stomach growled, but that moan held no comparison to her heart.

With his kiss, his gentle touch, Chet had awakened the hunger inside, the one that made her want to lean into his embrace.

She needed some sort of anti-heartbreak capsule to survive being around him, or maybe a parachute to use when her high-flying euphoria nose-dived into reality. Especially when the guy turned on the same charm he'd used back in Seattle that had swept her off her feet for a weeklong, whirlwind romance.

Something about the way her heart settled, her breath releasing in relief when he wrapped her in his embrace, made her feel as if finally she could stop running.

“Are you hungry?” Chet had swung his backpack off his shoulder and now crouched in the middle of the tracks, gripping his flashlight in his teeth as he searched
through his supplies. He pulled out a bag of walnuts and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She took the bag and he offered a smile.

“I don't want to be accused of starving you in addition to trying to kill you.”

“You were trying to save our lives.”

The wind tickled her neck, whistling down her jacket. She shivered. Chet stood and edged closer and put his arm around her. “Do we need to stop and rest?”

She shook her head, but if she hadn't been propelled by the deepening dread that Bashim had gotten to Josh first, Mae would have probably sunk into the dirt, curled into a ball and surrendered to the sleep clawing at her body. “I'm fine.”

“You're not fine, but we're going to find him—”

“Tell me about your company. How's it going?” She kept her tone light—no need to pick a fight. Besides, she truly wanted to know. “I know you said earlier that everything was fine, but…”

She gave him a small smile, pouring into it true concern.

“Not great, to be honest. I thought I was starting a company that might really help people—you know, hostage rescue, thwarting terrorism, even finding lost children—”

“Looks to me like you're doing exactly that.”

“No,
you're
doing that. I'm hunting down a runaway bride.”

“Oh.”

“Except now, yes, I'm all in for finding Josh.” He slipped his hand into hers and held it. “I promise.”

His grip warmed her ice-cold hand. She wove her
fingers through his, pocketing the walnuts. “What's wrong with the business?”

“I don't know. I keep getting these assignments where I have to dress like SpongeBob or Captain Hook. I recently made a fetching Snow White.”

“You're kidding.”

“Oh, no, I'm the fairest in the land.”

She laughed. “I'm sure you are. But why the costumes?”

“I keep doing security for these multimillionaires with children. Birthday parties, a bar mitzvah and a graduation party that ended up with me in the pool rescuing an inebriated college student.”

“Wow. Good thing you were there.”

“Just call me Baywatch.”

“You do whatever it takes to get the job done. People notice that because at the end of the day, that's what matters, Chet.”

He squeezed her hand. “Not when it costs me you, Mae.”

Oh.
Oh.
“Are you saying—”

“Yes, I've missed you. A lot. I've missed your smile. Your courage. When I'm with you, you…inspire me to be better. I remember the first day I met you. We were at Gracie's party, and you stood up to those kids who were dissing you for losing your job. I wanted to throw every one of them off the balcony. And you simply put them in their place—you can deliver a drop-to-your-knees look when you want to.”

She smiled, the words
you inspire me
still ringing in her ears.

“I just had to know you. I had to discover the woman behind that dangerous smile.” He stopped, turning her toward him. He twined his finger into her red hair,
then lifted his other hand, running his fingertips down her face. “Do you think…I mean, can we…can we try again?”

He had the most amazing eyes—even in the pale light of the moon they shone with a longing that made her lean toward him.

Now this was the Chet Stryker she'd fallen in love with. The man who, after just a week, had embedded himself so deep in her heart she'd never been able to shake free of his hold on her.

Probably never would.

He'd made her believe that he respected her and told her that she wasn't a failure. In his eyes, she'd seen her future.

And that was why it had speared her clear through when he'd told her she couldn't fly for him. The memory made her flinch.

He saw it. “Is it too late for us? Have we gone too far?”

She closed her eyes. She didn't want it to be too late, didn't want it to be about Stryker International, or flying, or even her own crazy fears that he'd walk out of her life.

“It's not too late,” she said, more hope than conviction in her voice. She lifted her face, rose to her toes and touched her lips to his. He stayed still for a moment, then he drew in a long breath, wound his hand through her hair and pulled her close, kissing her like he meant it.

Just like he had when he'd kissed her goodbye in Seattle, on Gracie's balcony.

She closed her eyes, twined her arms around his waist and kissed him back, letting herself lean into him. Relaxing. Belonging. Believing.

I need you, Chet.
She'd said it, and now the truth wove through her. She needed him. Needed him the way a dancer needed a partner. The way a pilot needed a copilot. They were stronger together than apart.

He pulled away and ran his thumb down her face. “Sorry. We should keep going if we want to get back to the town of Gori—and our transportation—by morning.”

She nodded. But when they turned to continue the journey, he put his hand on her elbow, and left it there.

 

It wasn't too late.

Crazy how her words had elicited something akin to his breath being knocked from his lungs, his heartbeat careening in a wild jig through his chest. It wasn't too late.

And then she'd kissed him.
She'd
kissed
him.
And this time, not out of desperation or grief, not out of fear or dread, but to reach out to him.

To bring him into her life. To trust him again.

It wasn't too late.

 

Dear Chet,

Your last letter made me weep. I know it must have been written from a place of darkness, because I, too, have stood at the edge of my life, wondering if my best days were behind me. That happens when you give something everything you have, and it backfires on you. But what's ahead of you doesn't have to be blackness.

I remember the first time I visited the Grand Canyon. It's so immense that it feels surreal, like it might be a postcard, or a diorama. However, there
is breath that circles out of the canyon, full of life. If you close your eyes, you can feel it beckoning, almost as if it waits for you to spread your arms and dive in.

I don't know how to help you through your rehabilitation. I know it's not the physical exhaustion that defeats you, but something deeper, something that feels like evil will inevitably triumph and all your sacrifices feel fruitless. I promise, they matter. They matter to every woman you've yanked out of the horror of human trafficking. To them, and to me, you're a hero.

But the truth is you don't have to bust down doors or parachute in behind enemy lines to be a hero. Maybe being there, showing up in a person's life, believing in them—that's heroic enough.

You're going to be okay, Chet. And when you are, come back to me. I'll be waiting.

Yours,

Mae

 

He looked at her in the darkness, her hair teased by the wind, her elbow in his grip. He let go and again found her hand. She wove her fingers through his.

I'll be waiting.

She
had
been waiting. She'd written to him every week, and shown up when he'd finally disentangled himself from his final mission, meeting him in Moscow for her best friend's wedding.

But he still wasn't okay, was he? And being back in Georgia only proved it. He'd hardly taken a full breath since returning and even now, the chain around his neck burned his skin, noosing him to the past.

His hand went to it and he ran the thin metal between his fingers.

Something to remember me by.
Carissa's eyes flashed in his mind. Deep brown, a hint of tease, too much rebellion in them for his own good. He'd never forget those eyes, nor the way she'd looked at him when he took her in his arms. Trust. Too much trust.

His grip on Mae's loosened.

I need you, Chet.

And he needed Mae. But he couldn't come back to her, not yet. Not until he broke free of Carissa and the hold she had on his heart.

Or rather, the hold her death had on his future. How he wanted to close his eyes, dive forward into what he saw in Mae's face. Hope. Trust.

Love.

“Are you okay?”

He looked down at Mae, at the concern in her eyes.

“I think I will be.”

“When we find Josh?”

He nodded, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Yup. After we find Josh.”