Point of No Return (14 page)

O
f course Chet had walked out of her life. Because that was what men did around Mae. Maybe they didn't always hop on the back of a motorcycle out of
The Great Escape
but still, in the end, they always left her standing in the dust, blinking back gritty tears.

Not that she blamed him, really. Because frankly, Mae might have done the same thing, instead of wasting her breath fighting with an immovable force. Darya so closely resembled her father in spirit that Mae thought she might be watching Chet fume as Darya stalked the front room of Joyce and Phil's tiny three-room house. It was built like every other house in the village, with a main room, galley kitchen and one back bedroom. They'd obviously opted to live like the locals instead of building an Americanized home in the Georgian backcountry.

“I can't believe he just…left!” She rounded on Mae, fire in those breathtaking eyes. “Just ignored everything I said, hopped on the bike…and left!”

Mae couldn't even respond to Darya's words. She just stood there, a crushing burn in her chest, remembering Chet's arms around her, remembering…trusting him.

He'd driven away without a backward glance.

Her jaw tightened as she looked at Darya. “I think he didn't know what else to do. He acted on instinct to protect the…” she let herself hear her words “…people he loves.”

The people he loves.
Darya, and her. Because he knew that Mae was just as likely to hop on the bike and full-throttle it to camp after Josh. Reckless, he'd called it. He might rename it now. Desperate.

Still, she knew—just
knew
—this would happen. Maybe not here, or now, but someday. She'd hand her heart over to some man again, and he'd walk away.

While she did nothing to stop him.

Not that she had any time to think with his, well, she'd say it—impulsiveness. But she hadn't screamed or run after him. She'd just silently let him go. Just like the day her father left. She'd stood there, words lodged in the back of her throat, watching her life dissolve before her eyes. She hadn't even made a peep.

Maybe that was why she jumped at the first sign of trouble, and longed for people to need her. Because if they walked out of her life, she wasn't going to drag them back. She
had
panicked when Chet rejected her in Moscow and had nearly bolted out of his life. She'd turned and fled, and she wouldn't even have heard him calling her back. If he had.

Why does it scare you so much to rely on me?

She had to do more than just trust him. Maybe she had to really hold on to him. Fight for him.

Maybe it was time to stop standing on the doorstep in the rain.

“We have to get him out of there,” Darya said.

“I know.” Mae watched Darya as she stalked the perimeter of the room. This woman radiated frustration.
And Mae could practically hear the gears turning in her mind.

She wasn't the only one trying out scenarios.

“Can we get into that camp?”

Darya's head snapped up. “I could.”

Mae folded her arms against a spurt of hope so vivid she knew it was wrong. She owed it to Chet to protect his daughter.

Because she knew that he'd be protecting Josh. Josh would see Chet, and would know that Mae hadn't given up hope.

“Is there any chance your grandfather will release Josh?”

Darya shook her head. “My grandfather needs weapons. I'm his ticket to a huge dowry. He's not going to let that get away.” She said it without flinching, without any tone that might reflect repulsion, although Mae could hardly hear the words without wincing. Darya must have read her expression. She lifted a shoulder. “It's the way here. And I knew that. I should have never…” She turned away. “I'm such an idiot. Josh is going to get killed, and it'll be all my fault.”

Oh, Mae recognized that, too. Yes, this girl certainly was her father's daughter, blaming herself for the choices of others.

“Listen, Darya, it's not your fault. Sure, you asked him for help, but he could have said no. I know Josh. He wanted to help you, or he wouldn't have done it, I promise you that. Josh helped you because he loves you, and you need to let him take responsibility for it.”

Darya stared at her as if testing her words. “I just can't get past the fact that I caused this. And that now, everyone is paying for it. Josh and Phil—and now my father.”

“You know, that's a lot of burden to bear for one young woman.” Joyce stood at the threshold to the bedroom, arms crossed in front of her. “And I'm not sure that all of it belongs to you, anyway.”

Darya rounded on her, her voice tight. “Are you insinuating that Josh is to blame for my grandfather torching your property and—”

“I'm saying that regardless of your choices, God says that He will bear your burdens.”

Darya narrowed her eyes at her. But Joyce's words found Mae, and rattled through her. Yes, God
had
said that. She'd written nearly those very words to Chet over a year ago. God daily bears our burdens.

“Why would God bear
my
burdens?” Darya said, almost icily.

Joyce stepped toward her, her voice gentle. “Because He wants to. He's on our side, despite our foolishness. We're the ones who expect ourselves not to make mistakes. Why do you automatically assume that God is your accuser? Can't He be your champion?”

Darya held Joyce's gaze a long time before she turned away, stalking out the door.

But Mae stood, unable to move. She did live life as if God was always frowning at her. She'd developed a posture of ducking.

At least since she'd walked away from the career He'd given her.

But maybe…maybe He hadn't left her. Maybe He kept tapping her on the shoulder, reminding her that He was on her side. Despite her impulsiveness and especially her fears.

Oh, she hoped so.

Joyce's attention turned to her as she gave Mae a tight-lipped sigh. “I don't know what it'll take to get
through to her. But even in this, God hasn't abandoned us. We just need to hold on to His grace, and trust Him to save us.”

Hold on to His grace. Hold on to her champion.

Mae nodded as Joyce returned to the bedroom to check on Phil, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Darya stood on the front porch, arms folded, as if trying to keep herself from shattering.

Oh, how well Mae knew that pose. Closed. Alone. Clinging to yourself for strength. She went over and took Darya's hand. “Darya.”

Darya sighed but didn't pull away. “Listen. I hear you. Josh makes his own choices. But so do I. And I'm not going to let my grandfather kill him or my father. Not if I can stop it.”

“You can't go back there.”

Darya met Mae's eyes, a familiar determination in them. “I'm not afraid to marry Akeem. I know him. We met in London. He might even love me. And I am fond of him. It's not what you and my father think.”

Sure it wasn't. Mae stopped just short of rolling her eyes. “Your father would kill me if I let you go back. We have to find another—”

“There is no other way!” Darya's voice flared. She cut it back to low. “I promise you, no one can get into his camp. My grandfather is in charge of half the army of South Ossetia, and the other half are afraid of him. The last person who tried to cross him was beaten until he bled from his ears, tied up in the center of camp and left there to die. No water, no food and…” The memory flashed through Darya's eyes. “That's why I ran. Not because I have to marry a man I hardly know, but because the man he killed was only nineteen. He was
a friend. And I knew without a doubt that my grandfather would do the same to Josh, or my father, or anyone that got in his way. He's an evil man. And I was scared. I knew that if he discovered…” She put a hand to her mouth.

“That you were going to betray him, he'd do the same to you?”

“The same thing he did to my mother.” She looked at the floor. “She nearly died after he let his men beat her.”

“But she stayed with him,” Mae said.

Darya said nothing. When she looked up, she wore a rueful smile. “Yes, she did. How do you think the CIA knew of his whereabouts all these years?”

Clearly, patriotism ran thick in her blood. She'd inherited it from both parents.

Mae shook her head. “Then letting you return is a huge mistake. If Bashim won't even spare his own daughter, and Chet is there… Well, if your grandfather even breathes wrong near you, Chet will lose it. And then…” Nope, Mae couldn't go there.

Reckless. Impulsive. Yeah, she had some hard-truth words for him, too.

Once she got him out of there. Because she wasn't going to let another man walk out of her life.

“I have to go back. Because I have to finish what I started.”

Mae met her hard-eyed gaze with one of her own and nodded. “Me, too, Darya. Me, too.”

 

“Dude, you don't look so hot.”

Oh, please, he didn't want to wake yet. Like tentacles, consciousness wrapped around him, yanked him forward, into the cold wash of pain. And this wasn't
over—not nearly, if he read Akif Bashim's broken-toothed yellow smile correctly. Bashim had welcomed him by spitting in his face. He'd aged in his eyes more than anything—they'd blackened, like those of a snake, and white laced his graying beard. But he'd also grown a paunch, like a good dictator, and his pudgy hands lacked the power Chet remembered when he delivered the first head-jarring blow into Chet's cheekbone.

No, Chet wasn't prepared to drift back to the living, not when the only thing that awaited him was more of Akif's men—and their fists—reminding him of his mistakes.

Like not telling Mae before he left that he loved her. Sure, he'd said he was sorry and told her that he needed her, but had he mentioned that being with her these past few days had made him realize exactly how lucky he'd been to have her in his life? Yeah, it opened all the old wounds, but he'd glimpsed, like a blind man seeing for the first time, just how good—no, great—they were together. How wrong he'd been to think that being around her would make him less keen-minded, less able to do his job.

Being with her reminded him of everything he had to live for—and sacrifice for.

So he lay there, the floor cool against the burning pain throughout body, and refused to open his eyes.

Not that he could anyway. His eyelids felt sticky, and fat. And his jaw had reloosened. At least one tooth—yep, that was a molar—moved beneath his swollen tongue. He groaned, and the voice that had called him back to consciousness sounded too eager when it said, “I can't believe you're alive.”

“Me either,” he said, more of a moan than words. But
just to make sure, Chet opened his eyes as best he could. And yep, he was right back in the too-vivid past, lying in a cell in Akif's prison, the only fresh air filtering in from a small, gridded window high in the wall through which a meager slant of bloody light told him the sun had abandoned the day. It shone just enough for Chet to make out the chipped cement floor, a solid metal door on unbreakable hinges, and a broad-shouldered, tight-jawed young man with enough auburn in his hair and concern in his eyes for Chet to peg him as Josh Lund.

“Let me help you,” Josh said, as he anchored his arm around Chet's shoulder and pulled him up to a sitting position.

Chet's head spun and he wanted to slip back into oblivion. But he blinked past the thunder rolling around in his head and attempted to assess his injuries. And their chances of survival.

“How long have I been out?” His voice slurred through his fattened lip.

Josh reached back, grabbed a rag in a bucket of water, wrung it out, and handed it to Chet. “Your nose is bleeding.”

He pressed the cloth to his nose. The pain that speared into his head confirmed that his nose had been broken—again. Well, he'd never been a beauty queen.

“So who are you and what did you do to make them angry?” Josh moved away, nearly out of the light.

“You first. What's your name? What are you doing here?” Chet asked, just in case he wasn't the redheaded nephew of the woman he loved.

He had a fuzzy spattering of dark whiskers and wore a pair of dirty jeans and an equally grimy Arizona Wildcats sweatshirt. “My name's Josh and I, uh…” Josh ran
a trembling hand down his face, despite the tone of bravado in his voice. He was clearly scared to death, but not willing to show it. So much like Mae, it was freaky.

“I had a friend who needed help. I got in a little over my head.”

“What kind of friend?” Chet asked, feeling suddenly like a curious, well, father who was talking to the young man who loved his daughter.

Daughter.
He still couldn't think the word without feeling a rush of sweet, fresh air in his soul. Carissa and he had a daughter.

“A beautiful, smart, brave friend whom I didn't deserve. And only really figured that out about an hour after I got here. She tried to protect me. She's probably still trying to figure out a way to protect me, to get me out of here. Only—” he blew out a long breath “—I'm really hoping that my aunt finds her first and talks her out of it.”

Yeah, him, too.

“What's your full name, son?”

“Josh Lund.” He peered at Chet through the last fragments of light. “I have to admit, you look worse than my aunt's picture of you.” Then he grinned. Oh.

“Although after what you did to her, I shouldn't be feeling so sorry for you right now.” Josh's smile vanished. “She was pretty broken up about you.”

“For the record, I made some big mistakes. But I love her, Josh, and I wish I hadn't let her go.”

Chet wasn't sure why, but saying that aloud gave it power and stripped the last of the clinging fear right out of him.

He loved Mae. And if he got Josh out of here, the kid would live to tell her. She'd know that Chet hadn't walked out of her life. Not willingly.