Seduced by Sunday
Page 80
The air was filled with the sound of more air support, the ocean dotted with ships filled with backup. None of it mattered without Margaret.
Val gripped the side of the ship, wanted to swim to the yacht to find her.
The men on Alonzo’s deck slowly dropped their weapons . . . one at a time until six men held their hands in the air.
They moved close enough to board the yacht. Val let the guard with guns go first, but wouldn’t let them hold him back once the guns of Alonzo’s men were taken away.
Alonzo’s captain, the man in the pictures with his sister, and Stephan were among those on deck.
Val clenched his fist and pushed his way through the armed guards. “Where is Margaret?”
Stephan offered a smug smile and Val’s fist flew.
Something crunched, he wasn’t sure if it was his knuckles or Stephan’s face.
“Which one is Picano?” Brenson asked.
Val looked again. “None.”
“What about out there?”
The two men bobbing dead in the water Val recognized as Julio, Alonzo’s cocaptain, and one of the waiters Val employed. “Not him.”
They executed a search of the yacht within a few minutes. They brought up the cook from below in handcuffs. No sign of Margaret.
Val’s eyes moved to the burning charter.
He wasn’t ready to believe she was on board. “Margaret!” His voice carried over the ship, drawing the attention of everyone who could hear him. “Margaret!”
A flash of red limped out onto the sandy beach.
Val’s heart wept.
Margaret waved her hands in the air. “I’m here.”
Brenson pointed toward her while men moved to dislodge a Jet Ski.
Val blinked, twice, and heard a gunshot.
Everyone froze, ducked. When Val looked again, Margaret was holding a gun and pointing it toward the rocky point of the cove.
Alonzo stood there, taking aim, then a series of shots fell from above.
Val couldn’t tell if Alonzo jumped, or was wounded and fell. He bobbed in the water and the Coast Guard launched a boat to go after him.
Dead . . . alive . . . it didn’t matter. What mattered was Margaret was alive, safe, and whole.
He rode on the back of a Jet Ski, hit the sand, and ran to her.
Her arms wrapped around him, the gun in her hand fell away. “Oh, bella. I thought I lost you. Thank God.” Val stroked her hair, heard her sniffling against his chest. “Don’t cry, cara, I have you.”
“Lousy shot.”
He inched away to see her face . . . her bruised and swollen face. “What?”
“Lousy shot. Alonzo was a lousy shot.” She smiled and winced.
The tension in Val’s body dropped, making his knees buckle.
Margaret kept hold.
“Ti amo, cara. I thought I lost you.” He placed his lips on her forehead, the only part of her face that didn’t appear hurt.
New tears formed in Margaret’s eyes. “What about Gabi?”
Val placed his palm on her cheek. “In the hospital. Alive.”
It was Margaret’s turn to slump against him.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Val said.
When Margaret took a few steps, he noticed the cut on her leg. Without words, he lifted her in his arms and carried her.
Margaret let him.
Chapter Thirty
Meg sat at Gabi’s bedside the week she was in the ICU, and pestered every nurse and doctor taking care of her for the entire time she was in the hospital.
Mrs. Masini brought food daily and stayed when she could. But seeing her daughter broken took its toll on the woman. Seemed everyone blamed themselves for Alonzo’s deception.
It was hardest on Val. He couldn’t stop apologizing to Gabi, no matter how often she told him it wasn’t his fault. At night, when Meg returned to the hotel room she’d called home for two weeks, she would often find Val in her bed, waiting for her.
The day before Gabi’s discharge, she sat in a chair overlooking Miami. Her silence was a direct contrast to her previous personality. The therapists said it would take some time for her to trust again, some time for her heart to heal.
Meg forced a smile on her face when she walked into the private room and shut the door. The tray of uneaten food sat to the side. Gabi had lost ten pounds and wasn’t putting them back on.
She survived Alonzo only to become an empty shell.
Meg placed a designer duffle bag on the bed and focused on the positive. “It looks like you’re going home tomorrow.”
Gabi moved her gaze from the window to the hands resting in her lap. “That’s what the doctor said.”
“I brought a bag to help you pack your things.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Meg pulled a chair closer and lowered her voice. “How are you feeling today?”
It took a full minute before Gabi answered. “Old.” She met Meg’s eyes, the hurt so deep in her gaze it felt like a knife in Meg’s heart. “I feel old, Meg.”
In the two weeks it took for Gabi to kick her brief addiction, none of them had actually discussed what had happened. Papers had arrived on the island confirming that Alonzo did in fact marry Gabi while at sea. When Val and Meg asked the doctors about her physical condition, they said she was stable, or improving . . . no details were given. When asked, the doctors told them Gabi didn’t want her condition announced to her family. In an effort to give her the privacy she obviously needed, Meg didn’t ask, and Gabi didn’t tell.
“I can’t go back to the island,” she said without preamble.
Meg’s head scrambled. If not the island . . . to her family . . .
Val gripped the side of the ship, wanted to swim to the yacht to find her.
The men on Alonzo’s deck slowly dropped their weapons . . . one at a time until six men held their hands in the air.
They moved close enough to board the yacht. Val let the guard with guns go first, but wouldn’t let them hold him back once the guns of Alonzo’s men were taken away.
Alonzo’s captain, the man in the pictures with his sister, and Stephan were among those on deck.
Val clenched his fist and pushed his way through the armed guards. “Where is Margaret?”
Stephan offered a smug smile and Val’s fist flew.
Something crunched, he wasn’t sure if it was his knuckles or Stephan’s face.
“Which one is Picano?” Brenson asked.
Val looked again. “None.”
“What about out there?”
The two men bobbing dead in the water Val recognized as Julio, Alonzo’s cocaptain, and one of the waiters Val employed. “Not him.”
They executed a search of the yacht within a few minutes. They brought up the cook from below in handcuffs. No sign of Margaret.
Val’s eyes moved to the burning charter.
He wasn’t ready to believe she was on board. “Margaret!” His voice carried over the ship, drawing the attention of everyone who could hear him. “Margaret!”
A flash of red limped out onto the sandy beach.
Val’s heart wept.
Margaret waved her hands in the air. “I’m here.”
Brenson pointed toward her while men moved to dislodge a Jet Ski.
Val blinked, twice, and heard a gunshot.
Everyone froze, ducked. When Val looked again, Margaret was holding a gun and pointing it toward the rocky point of the cove.
Alonzo stood there, taking aim, then a series of shots fell from above.
Val couldn’t tell if Alonzo jumped, or was wounded and fell. He bobbed in the water and the Coast Guard launched a boat to go after him.
Dead . . . alive . . . it didn’t matter. What mattered was Margaret was alive, safe, and whole.
He rode on the back of a Jet Ski, hit the sand, and ran to her.
Her arms wrapped around him, the gun in her hand fell away. “Oh, bella. I thought I lost you. Thank God.” Val stroked her hair, heard her sniffling against his chest. “Don’t cry, cara, I have you.”
“Lousy shot.”
He inched away to see her face . . . her bruised and swollen face. “What?”
“Lousy shot. Alonzo was a lousy shot.” She smiled and winced.
The tension in Val’s body dropped, making his knees buckle.
Margaret kept hold.
“Ti amo, cara. I thought I lost you.” He placed his lips on her forehead, the only part of her face that didn’t appear hurt.
New tears formed in Margaret’s eyes. “What about Gabi?”
Val placed his palm on her cheek. “In the hospital. Alive.”
It was Margaret’s turn to slump against him.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Val said.
When Margaret took a few steps, he noticed the cut on her leg. Without words, he lifted her in his arms and carried her.
Margaret let him.
Chapter Thirty
Meg sat at Gabi’s bedside the week she was in the ICU, and pestered every nurse and doctor taking care of her for the entire time she was in the hospital.
Mrs. Masini brought food daily and stayed when she could. But seeing her daughter broken took its toll on the woman. Seemed everyone blamed themselves for Alonzo’s deception.
It was hardest on Val. He couldn’t stop apologizing to Gabi, no matter how often she told him it wasn’t his fault. At night, when Meg returned to the hotel room she’d called home for two weeks, she would often find Val in her bed, waiting for her.
The day before Gabi’s discharge, she sat in a chair overlooking Miami. Her silence was a direct contrast to her previous personality. The therapists said it would take some time for her to trust again, some time for her heart to heal.
Meg forced a smile on her face when she walked into the private room and shut the door. The tray of uneaten food sat to the side. Gabi had lost ten pounds and wasn’t putting them back on.
She survived Alonzo only to become an empty shell.
Meg placed a designer duffle bag on the bed and focused on the positive. “It looks like you’re going home tomorrow.”
Gabi moved her gaze from the window to the hands resting in her lap. “That’s what the doctor said.”
“I brought a bag to help you pack your things.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Meg pulled a chair closer and lowered her voice. “How are you feeling today?”
It took a full minute before Gabi answered. “Old.” She met Meg’s eyes, the hurt so deep in her gaze it felt like a knife in Meg’s heart. “I feel old, Meg.”
In the two weeks it took for Gabi to kick her brief addiction, none of them had actually discussed what had happened. Papers had arrived on the island confirming that Alonzo did in fact marry Gabi while at sea. When Val and Meg asked the doctors about her physical condition, they said she was stable, or improving . . . no details were given. When asked, the doctors told them Gabi didn’t want her condition announced to her family. In an effort to give her the privacy she obviously needed, Meg didn’t ask, and Gabi didn’t tell.
“I can’t go back to the island,” she said without preamble.
Meg’s head scrambled. If not the island . . . to her family . . .
