Final Resort (17 page)

Ava lifted her face to his, knowing that she, too, had finally found her treasure.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
Betrayal on the Border
by Jill Elizabeth
Nelson!

Dear Reader,

April is my favorite month because every year I give myself a glorious birthday present—I plant my garden. Oh, how I love tucking in those vegetable plants (always too many tomato bushes) and herbs (I’ve learned to protect the basil with broken eggshells to discourage the snails) and a row of giant sunflowers. The sunflowers are to beckon the bees and I don’t even
mind the little finches that come down to eat the leaves. It’s funny how over the years I’m coming to realize that instead of those nifty presents of jewelry, clothes, etc., the greatest treasures are the things of God, temporary though they may be, that wash my life with joy.

I have enjoyed writing this Treasure Seekers series about folks who pursue those worldly treasures—pearls, violins,
paintings—and in the process discover that relationships are by far the greatest blessing. My father has always said blessings aren’t free. He’s right about that. Blessings sometimes come with heartache and certainly require a lot of hard work (my garden is a case in point!), but those blessings give us a tiny taste of the abundant treasures God has in store for us someday.

Thank you very
much for blessing me by reading this book. Your kind notes and emails are surely treasures to me. You can reach me via my webpage at
www.danamentink.com
and there is a physical address there also for those who prefer corresponding by mail.

Dana Mentink

Questions for Discussion

1. Melody Lake is a place steeped in memories for Ava. Is there a place in your life that evokes such strong feelings? Share about it.
   

2. Uncle Paul is a man of dubious character, yet he is a source of comfort and support to Ava. How is it possible for a person to be both?
   

3. Ava’s family has owned Whisper Mountain Resort for decades. Would you
   have made the same decision to sell that Ava did?
   

4. Why do you think Luca always experiences a letdown after he reaches his goal of finding treasure? Have you ever experienced something similar after you attained a goal you set for yourself?
   

5. Uncle Paul is devoted to Mack Dog. Tell about an animal that you are/were close to.
   

6. Ava is crushed by her mother’s apparent suicide. What
   Bible verse or verses could provide comfort to a person who had experienced such a loss?
   

7. In view of Uncle Paul’s treatment of others, why does Bully help him?
   

8. Luca says, “Strong women are a pain.” What attracts him to Ava in spite of his statement?
   

9. Ava is awed by a landscape so beautiful it could only have been made by God Himself. Have you ever had similar feelings? Describe
   what you saw and felt.
   

10. Paul was after a fabulous pearl. What are some other worldly treasures people pursue? In our culture, what treasures are valued the most?
    

11. Goren has been taken advantage of by Paul. Have you ever been in a similar situation with a friend? How did you overcome your feelings?
    

12. Ava realizes that her good memories will be forever entwined with her loss. How can
    we find solace in our God-given treasures even when they are no longer physically with us?
    

13. Uncle Paul counted himself rich, although he died without profiting from his treasure. How would he have lived his life differently if he came to this realization earlier?
    

14. What treasure do you think Luca, Stephanie, Tate and Ava will hunt for next?
    

15. What are the greatest treasures in your
    own life?
    

ONE

I
f that off-white chunk of clay was craftsman’s putty, Maddie Jameson would eat her tool belt. What was C-4 explosive compound doing on the kitchen table in this unit at Morningside Apartments? A chill rippled her insides.

Not everyone would recognize the remnants from the construction of a pipe bomb. To the untrained eye, the dab of C-4 could be mistaken for putty and
the bits of wire and lengths of sawed-off pipe merely scraps from a handy-man project. But then, not many apartment-maintenance workers were ex–army rangers with Maddie’s skill set—or a history that meant she must keep her head down and her eyes peeled.

Those who hunted her were relentless and ruthless, and she was damaged prey. She needed to see them coming before they got to her.

Not that she ever knew exactly what hired assassin would be after her. She could bump into one on the street and not know it until he tried to take her out. Everyone was a suspect. If only she could figure out why she was marked for death. Had she seen something the night of the attack a year ago on the Rio Grande? If so, her head injury had erased it from her memory.

Was she the target of
the bomb these Morningside tenants had been making? If the three attempts on her life within the past year were any clue, she’d be an idiot to think otherwise. Where was the bomb planted? Her caretaker’s apartment on the premises? Maddie’s mouth went dry. There could be collateral damage. Dozens of people—including children—lived in this building, and a bomb didn’t care who it destroyed.

Dear God, please don’t let innocent families be hurt because of me.

Fighting for a full breath, she looked down at the work order in her hand. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. The order listed this apartment and stated that the tenants had given permission for the maintenance person to enter in their absence in order to replace a torn window screen. But she’d checked the screens—they were whole.
Why would the tenants give permission for her to enter the premises on a trumped-up excuse and then leave their bomb-making scraps lying around in plain view?

Unless this was a trap.

The air in Maddie’s lungs went arctic. Maybe the bomb was planted in this very unit. The timer could click down to zero at any second.

Her feet cried
Run—seek safety somewhere...anywhere!
But flight
wouldn’t help the other people who could be blown to smithereens.

Sweat trickled down her scalp, despite the coolness blowing from the wall-mounted air conditioner. The scar above her right ear itched, but she ignored the sensation as she yanked her two-way radio from her belt and began to search the premises with her eyes. There wasn’t much space to cover in this studio apartment. A kitchenette.
A living-room area with an easy chair and matching ottoman, a television the tenants had left blaring, and a couch that had been slept on, if the rumpled bedding was any indication. A hide-a-bed pulled out from the wall filled the rest of the space. That, too, hosted a nest of wadded bedding.

“Bill, do you have a copy?” Maddie spoke into the radio.

She took her thumb off the button and
listened for a response. Silence answered.
Great!
The apartment manager had chosen this critical moment to be absent from his office.

Maddie gingerly cracked the oven door open and peered inside. No bomb. She checked the refrigerator. A half-gallon carton of milk, a partially eaten brick of cheese and an overripe peach, but no bomb. She opened the cupboards with one hand while using the other
to keep calling for Bill every few seconds. Still no answer. Her throat tensed as if invisible fingers had tightened around her windpipe. A little voice in her head screamed she was running out of time.

The tenants in this unit had opted not to hook up a landline phone, and company regulations dictated that employees not carry cell phones. Bad policy in this instance. Maybe she should run
to the office herself and phone for the bomb squad. But the bomb could go off in her absence and kill any of the neighbors above, below or on either side. If she found the apparatus, she could defuse it as well as—or better than—the police experts.

She went to the clothes closet and pulled back the sliding door.
Phew!
The scent of onions rolled out. One of the owners of the stack of luggage
that filled most of the space must have a love affair with the vegetable she most despised. Maddie let out a heavy sigh. She’d have to search each bag, and she’d be surprised if she didn’t find a different name on every airline tag. Crooks who wanted to fly under the system’s radar sometimes generated pocket money by walking off with pieces from baggage carousels and pawning or selling the contents.

From the hallway came the sound of male voices. They drew nearer...nearer...and then stopped on the other side of the apartment entrance. Maddie froze. The tenants were returning? Then the bomb wasn’t here. Her shoulders slumped, but then her gut tensed. It was too late to slip away unseen. She could hide in the closet with the onion odor, but to what purpose? If the tenants were in for the
evening, she’d be found eventually. There was no way to exit this third-floor unit except through the front door.

Well, then, that’s how she’d leave. If she could bluff her way out, fine. If not... Tingles traveled down her extremities. Her muscles gathered. Combat instincts reared their ugly heads. Instincts she wished to forget. Instincts she might need. Again.

Maddie clipped the radio
onto her belt and shoved the closet door shut as a click sounded in the entrance lock. A pair of men stepped inside, closed the door and then halted at the sight of her. Above a tall, whipcord body, a dark face with reddened eyes glared at her, lips peeled back from white teeth. Behind him, a short, pale man with doughy cheeks gaped in an astonished O.

She forced a smile and held out her
work order. “I was sent to repair your screen, but I can’t find any damage.”

Lanky Man’s face grew darker as a spark of recognition lit his ink-black eyes. She didn’t know him, but he knew her. How? His hand slid beneath the front of his suit jacket as Dough Man leaped toward the table.

With a feral growl, Maddie dropped the work-order slip and swept her leg toward Lanky Man—her immediate
threat. Her heel hooked the back of his knee.
Crack!
A handgun discharged while her assailant toppled backward. The bullet pinged against metal—likely a piece of the sprinkler system.

Cursing, threat number two rushed toward her, length of pipe raised. She chopped the rigid edge of her left hand into the soft bend of his elbow. The pipe fell from the arm she had numbed, and her right-handed
chop connected with his Adam’s apple. The man went down, gagging and clutching his throat.

She whirled toward threat number one, who was climbing to his feet and bringing his Beretta to bear. Her radio squawked as her leg swept up, higher this time, and the heel of her work boot struck the smaller bone near the gunman’s wrist. The bone broke with an audible snap, and the gun rocketed into
the far wall. Roaring and cradling his disabled hand, Lanky Man charged her, shoulder in ramming position.

Maddie danced aside, but the calf of her leg met the ottoman. She lost the fight for balance and tumbled backward onto the soft body of the Dough Man. Air gushed from his chest, and the struggle to breathe through his damaged windpipe faded into limpness beneath her. Her radio squawked
again with Bill’s voice calling for her.

Now
he wanted to talk? Sorry, pal, I’m a little busy!

The toe of a hard shoe hammered Maddie’s side. Pain splintered through her, and a scream rent her throat even as she rolled away from the next kick. From a catlike crouch, she caught the foot intended for her face and sprang upward while twisting her assailant’s ankle into an unnatural position.
Lanky Man howled as his other foot left the floor. Airborne, he flipped and dropped, face-first, onto the unforgiving floor. Stunned and groaning, he lay still.

Maddie scooped up the gun and held it on her attackers, then pulled her radio from her belt.

“Bill, do you have a copy?”

“Maddie, where are you?”
Static.
“I’ve been trying to raise you to let you know the wrong apartment
number was entered on the work order. The damaged screen is in Apartment 312, not 315.”

“Copy that, Bill, but there’s been an incident in Apartment 315. Call the police and the paramedics. And tell them to send the bomb squad. We need to evac this building.”

Heartbeats of radio silence were punctuated by another moan from the floor. The lean one stirred.

“Are you serious?” Bill’s
voice came over the air in a tight squeak.

“Do it
now
.” A grim smile lifted her lips. About time she had the opportunity to order the paper-pusher around.

Lanky Man eased to a sitting position, glaring at her above a bloodied nose. The pale one lay inert. His throat was swollen, but his chest moved up and down. She had refrained from striking with deadly force. There was a time when
that wouldn’t have been the case.

A time when she didn’t live like a hunted creature, scurrying from burrow to burrow. Thanks to these two scum of the earth, it was time to run again. But first—

“Where’s the bomb?” She extended the gun toward her conscious assailant.

He curled a swollen lip.

“You can tell me, or you can tell the cops. Or maybe the FBI. Someone like you is probably
on their list.”

The alarm began to blare in the hallway, summoning the residents to evacuate, but Lanky Man’s gaze darted toward the television set. Maddie followed his stare, and her jaw dropped. The camera zoomed in on the flaming wreckage of a midsize sedan sitting at the end of a row of vehicles in a large lot. Maddie strained her ears to hear the commentator above the scream of the alarm.

“Thirty minutes ago, a bomb exploded in a car outside San Antonio’s Embassy Suites Airport Hotel.” The female news anchor spoke with a practiced air of concern.

Maddie’s heart rate stalled and then raced. Unless these zeros had made
two
bombs, she wasn’t the target. That meant a pair of vital things—the innocent residents at Morningside were likely safe, but someone else had already died.
Who?

“The Chevrolet Impala was rented yesterday by this man,” the newscaster went on.

The report cut to a grainy security-camera shot of a tall, broad-shouldered figure dressed in a sport shirt and slacks, standing at the Enterprise rental counter of the San Antonio International Airport. The face was blurred, but Maddie’s grip loosened around the butt of the Beretta.

No!
She couldn’t
be seeing right.

Then a professional head shot of the same dynamic, thirtysomething man filled the 42-inch screen. Larger than life, he grinned at her with perfect teeth. An aquiline nose, tanned complexion and artfully tousled brown hair shouted class and hinted at arrogance. The glint in his eyes and the square of his chin spoke equal parts daring and determination.

A squeak left Maddie’s
throat. Lanky Man made a sudden movement, but she leaped back and cocked the gun. He raised his hands in surrender and went still as the newscaster continued speaking words that hammered in Maddie’s brain.

“Christopher David Mason, an Emmy Award-winning reporter for
World News,
is presumed dead in the blast. The authorities have not yet been able to approach the vehicle to recover the remains.
Mason is best known for his award-winning coverage of the massacre along the Rio Grande that occurred one year ago last month. The tragedy claimed the lives of all but himself and one member of an international team of military and law enforcement personnel. The team was scheduled the next day to mount an assault on the main stronghold of the Ortiz drug cartel near Nuevo Laredo, Mexico.”

As the woman eulogized, the vivid blue of Chris’s eyes gripped Maddie, ensnared her. She tumbled into them, helpless. He’d always had that affect on her. To her shame. Guilt twisted her gut. How could she be attracted to a traitor! Someone on the ground with them that night on the Rio had to have betrayed their location to the cartel forces they were supposed to take out the next morning. She knew
she didn’t betray her team, so it had to have been Chris. He belonged behind bars. Suffering. Anywhere but in the grave like the others.

“The Ortiz Cartel claimed responsibility for the Rio Grande Massacre,” the newscaster continued. “Today’s fresh tragedy begs the question—have they struck again? And, if so, why? We hope to have more information for our viewers on the late news.”

The
program switched to the weather. Hot. Sunny. No rain in sight. Nothing unusual in that forecast for mid-June in Texas, but her world had just turned inside out one more time.

* * *

An hour later, the bomb squad had searched the building and declared all clear. The tenants were released to return to their dwellings, while the tight-lipped suspects were hustled off to jail. Maddie strode
toward her first-floor corner apartment.

The cops had been tickled to gain custody of the bombers so quickly after the explosion in the hotel parking lot. It was easy to secure their promise to keep Maddie’s involvement in the arrest confidential. Her reprieve from further scrutiny would be temporary, however. The police had taken her fingerprints for elimination on the gun. When they ran
the prints, hopefully not too soon, they’d sit up and take notice that Madison Jameson was really Madeleine Jerrard, former communications specialist with the army ranger unit slaughtered in the Rio Grande Massacre. The link to the freshly murdered Chris Mason would be obvious, and they’d look to bring her in for further questioning, but they wouldn’t find her. Neither would those who wanted her
dead.

Maddie reached her apartment, glanced up and down the empty hallway, then slipped inside and shut the door. Normally, this would be the moment in her day when she would strip the band from her ponytail, shake her thick, dusty-blond hair loose around her shoulders and head to the bathroom for a good, long soak in a tub of scented water. Not this evening.