Paul

Going as fast as he could on the dark country roads, Paul tried to keep his voice light as he talked with Peyton in the backseat. “So you had fun? Tell me about the baby rabbits you saw.”

The little girl launched into an involved tale about the walk she’d taken at the wildlife refuge today, but he was barely listening. Instead, his mind kept spinning back to the brief phone call he’d had with Kelly and the danger he’d put Amaya in. Oh, he knew it wasn’t entirely his fault people had posted videos of Amaya all over the Internet, but he should have known it would happen, should have kept his cool. Hell, he shouldn’t have even attended that fucking reunion. It was so fucking stupid of him to not realize that people would want pictures of him, that Amaya would inadvertently get caught up in all the fuss.

The only thing he’d been thinking about was how proud he was to have her at his side, how happy she made him. Because of his selfishness, her stalker now knew where she was, and once again she’d have to flee. But this time she wouldn’t be going alone. He didn’t care how long they were gone, or where they went, but if Agent Marquez thought Amaya was going anywhere without him, he was dead wrong. She was his finance, and he considered Peyton his daughter already, and there was no way in hell he was letting them leave without him.

As Paul pulled up to his house with Peyton safely buckled in the backseat, he noticed Dean standing out front and waving his arms frantically in the air.

Throwing the truck into park, he got out and shut the door as Dean ran towards him.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Amaya’s missing! I went to take some luggage down to the car and, when I got back, she was gone. I can’t find her anywhere.”

“What the fuck! Where did she go?”

“I don’t know?” Dean yelled, his eyes wide with panic. “There weren’t any signs of a struggle, and the suitcase she’d been carrying was set by the front door.”

“Okay, okay, let’s calm down and think.” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to do just that when all he wanted to do was freak out. “No cars pulled up to the house?”

“No, the sensors don’t show any vehicles approaching.”

“Nobody knocked or rang the doorbell?”

“No, not that I heard.”

“So, she just wandered off? How long ago?”

“Maybe ten minutes? I looked around the yard, yelled for her, and checked the house again, but I didn’t see or hear her anywhere.”

“Shit, shit—okay, maybe she went to the beach. She does that when she’s stressed out, goes down to the water to relax.”

“I didn’t see her on the boardwalk, but I didn’t go down to the beach itself.”

“Get Peyton and take her in the house, keep her calm, keep her safe. I’m going to go check the beach. Amaya’s probably just down there taking a breather.”

Dean didn’t look like he believed that any more than Paul. “I should go with you.”

“No, stay with Peyton. If anything happened to her...”

“Right,” Dean pulled out his phone. “My deputy just texted me, they’re almost here.”

“Okay, I’m going to go check the beach.”

Dean nodded as he headed towards Paul’s truck, busy typing on his phone.

With his heart in his throat, Paul sprinted through the backyard, his body amped up on adrenaline and fear.

While he tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong, that Amaya had just wandered off, he knew deep down that she was in danger. It was a feeling, like ice at the base of his spine, a pressure on his spirit, that told him she needed him. Running down the walkway, he called out her name as he scanned the dunes for her, hoping to see her leaning up against the railing, but it was empty. As he reached the beach, he saw a pair of shoes tossed onto the weathered wood boards. Picking one up, he recognized it as Amaya’s and jerked his body around, scanning the beach for her. She was nowhere to be found.

Small whitecaps were rolling in off the lake as the wind whistled through the dunes. His hands shook as he stared at the dark water, wondering if somehow she’d disappeared beneath it.

With nothing but miles of empty stand stretching out as far as he could see, he turned in a helpless circle.

A flash of light, followed by a loud bang, caught his attention. He jerked as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot followed by a woman’s scream echoed across the water.

There! A boat with no lights anchored offshore. He almost missed it at first, because the boat was painted a dark color, but now he could easily see it. Though it was still too shadowy to see who or what was on the boat, he knew in his gut Amaya was out there. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

Flinging off his shoes and shirt, he sprinted into the freezing waves, his body neatly slicing through the water as he dove in. The mineral tang of the water filled his nose as he tore through the waves, swimming as fast as he could. The muscles in his legs burned but he kept going, cursing the fact that things that look like they’re close from the beach are often much further away than they appeared.

Hoping that whoever was on the boat didn’t hear him splashing, he slowed down as he got closer, treading water as he barely kept his head out enough to breathe. While he was swimming, someone had turned on the below deck lights, giving him enough illumination to see a man bending down out of his line of sight. He appeared to be dragging something with one hand across the deck of the boat, towards the stairs leading down to the living space.

Paul swam closer still, hoping the guy was too distracted to notice him.

As he got closer to the back of the boat, he almost yelled out when he heard Amaya say, “Please, don’t hurt Peyton. Please, she’s just a little girl. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Hurt her? Why would I hurt the Master’s child? After you’ve paid the price for your betrayal, I’m going to take sweet Peyton and raise her as my own. She’ll know who her father was, know his glory, and I’ll make sure she carries on his legacy.”

“Leave her alone you bastard!” Amaya cried out. “She’s just an innocent little girl!”

Paul had reached the boat by this point, and as he read the name on the back he startled. He knew this boat, had been on it many times. It was his friend Danny’s, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that at least he knew where stuff was situated. Things like the small utility chest hidden on the deck. But he somehow needed to get up and out of the water without drawing their attention. The waves were high enough that it had sapped his strength to swim out, but not strong enough to hide his movements. The stalker was facing were he hid in the water, and Paul’s muscles started to clench and shake from the cold.

The stalker let out a loud, evil laugh that had Paul moving. “There is no such thing as innocent in this world. There is no such thing as evil. There is only the moment. Donald taught us that, and he was right. About everything. There is no such thing as morality. It’s a made-up construct created by those in power, something to keep the masses toiling in shit so the elite can live lives of insane luxury. Donald lived his life to the fullest and died completely happy with who and what he was.”

Shit, this crazy asshole was quoting the dead serial killer like he was some kind of prophet. Paul could feel time slipping away, and he shimmed across the platform to the hidden utility box. Inside, among lengths of rope, cleaning products, and tools, lay a big-sharp knife. Moving the items inside around carefully, he retrieved the sheathed knife and pulled it out. As the metal of the long, curved blade caught the light, he took a deep breath. This was all that stood between Amaya and a madman with a gun.

“He was a monster,” Amaya spat out. “A pathetic, screwed up loser who had no idea how to connect with the world.”

“You cunt,” the stalker snapped and Amaya cried out in pain.

All rational thought left Paul as he leapt over the back of the boat, charging up the few steps to the bridge. Amaya was on the ground, her hands bound together in zip ties. She was soaking wet and shaking as she stared at Paul in complete shock. A large, nasty cut sliced over her left cheekbone, the blood still oozing thick and slow down her cheek. The sight infuriated Paul to the point that he went blind with rage and charged the man standing over Amaya. The guy stared at him in shock for a moment, but when Paul kept coming, he swung his gun up. Time seemed to slow down in a weird way that he’d only ever experienced on the football field during a big game. He was aware of every movement of his body, could judge where his opponent was going to go in milliseconds.

Adrenaline surged through him, and he knew even before the bullet pierced his arm that he was going to get hit.

Taking a bullet was a sacrifice he was willing to make, because he hit Amaya’s stalker full on, with all his might. Except he’d misjudged one thing—how far they would fly. One moment he was grappling the other man around his waist, the next he was ass over heels, falling off the edge of the boat. What little sight he had disappeared and his lungs tried to inhale as he unexpectedly hit the icy water.

Amaya’s stalker clutched at him and didn’t even try to swim, instead clinging to Paul as he struggled to surface. Panic had Paul swinging blindly downwards, his sore arm screaming as he slashed with the knife, trying to get the man off him, trying to get free. His lungs ached and burned, and it seemed like they were falling forever as he tried to kick his way free. The need to breathe was getting stronger and stronger, and he didn’t know how much longer he could resist sucking in a deep, watery breath. The current was stronger down here, and he knew they were past the drop off point where the water became deep and the rip currents dangerous.

Finally, he pulled free. He was pretty sure he kicked the stalker in the face hard, but he didn’t care. His rational mind was gone, replaced by the overwhelming desire to live. Putting everything he had into hit, he began to swim up, following his bubbles in the darkness so he didn’t get turned around and lost. A beam danced over his face and he stared at the light, drawn to it, following it. Kicking harder, he reached out, his fingers grasping at the beam as he finally broke the surface.

The moment the air reached his mouth he took in a huge breath, his body screaming for more, the oxygen hitting his brain like a drug as he hyperventilated.

Water splashed into his face as something soft landed next to him, followed by the sound of Amaya screaming, “Paul!”

His body felt weird, disconnected, as he struggled to keep treading water. Little dots raced about the edge of his vision and he blinked hard. Color caught his eye and he turned to see a life vest floating next to him. It took the last of his strength, but he managed to slip it on while Amaya continued to scream. Resting his head against the padded back, he coughed as some water got into his mouth.

“Paul, you have to swim to the boat! My hands are tied, I can’t get you and I don’t know how to call for help. Please, please honey you have to swim.”

He tried, he really did, but his body was done. The sound of her crying tore his heart, but he was just so damn tired. And he felt pleasantly numb. He should probably be worried about that, but being concerned over anything took too much effort. He was happy to just...float here. There were so many stars above, and the water felt warm, like a bath.

A bright, harsh light made him wince, interrupting his disconnected thoughts and hitting him like a slap in the face.

“Got him!”

There were a couple splashes, and the next thing he knew someone was tugging on his life vest.

Things were kind of sketchy after that as he had flashes of lucidity between bouts of nothing.

He remembered Amaya weeping over him and how much he wanted to reassure her he was okay, but couldn’t.

He remembered Dean trying to warm him up, saying he was hypothermic and suffering from blood loss.

And he remembered some doctors talking to him about putting him under for surgery, but other than that, it was darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, he had no idea what time it was, or where he was. The first thing that alerted him he wasn’t in his own bed was the pain. It wasn’t bad—in a weird way, he was numb—but he certainly felt like he’d taken a really big hit during a football game. His entire body ached, but his arm and the left side of his torso just below his ribs hurt the worst. The low, background beeping and hum of machines reached his ears, as did quiet voices murmuring somewhere nearby. His nose itched, but when he went scratch it he winced, a sharp sting moving down his arm and breaking through the numbness.

“Paul,” his mom’s worried came from nearby. “Paul? Are you awake, honey?”

He tried to answer, but his throat was so dry, it felt like the sides closed in on themselves. This made him cough, and the dull pain in his torso turned to roaring agony.

Hands gently grabbed him and he finally opened his eyes, squinting to see through the bright lights beaming down on him.

“Shit, too bright,” he managed to growl out.

Right away the lights dimmed, but he blinked as he tried to clear the spots from his eyes.

“Paul,” a distinguished looking gray-haired guy in a doctor’s white lab coat appeared in his field of vision. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a fucking truck. What happened? Did I get hit on the field during a game?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Frowning, he closed his eyes again and tried to get his uncooperative mind to work. He remembered having breakfast. He remembered making love to Amaya. Then his body stiffened, and he tried to sit up as he remembered Dean’s frantic face telling him Amaya was missing.

“Amaya!” he yelled, or tried to yell. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here, honey.” His woman appeared next to his mother beside the bed, looking like shit.

A huge bruise covered her right cheek, the area swollen and discolored. Another bruise darkened her jaw, tinting her tanned skin with sickly green and purple shadows. Her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and she had dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore sweatpants that were huge on her and an oversized long-sleeved shirt he recognized as one of his. Her eyes were red and her lower lip trembled as she gently set her hand on his leg while his mom put her arm around Amaya’s shoulders.

“You’re okay. Where were you?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I...” Flashes of being on Danny’s boat in the dead of night, of some chubby middle-aged guy yelling at him, raced through his head. “We were in a boating accident?”

The sound of something scraping across the floor drew his attention away from Amaya, and he found Dean pulling a chair up next to his bed. His brother also looked worse for the wear, but not injured like Amaya. Just exhausted. His uniform was wrinkled, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple days.

“Dr. Francis,” Dean said to the physician checking the monitors attached to Paul. “Can we have some privacy, please?”

“Of course.”

Once the hospital staff was gone and the door shut behind them, Paul turned his attention to his brother. “What’s going on?”

“You saved Amaya’s life.”

Dean then went into a long story about Amaya’s stalker finding her thanks to all those videos of their engagement online. He’d lured her away from the house using a recording of Peyton’s voice. They theorized that he’d taped the little girl yelling for her mom at some point and crying, making the perfect bait to get Amaya to leave. As he listened to his brother describe how Jason, the name of Amaya’s stalker, had stolen a boat, he had a brief memory of swimming through dark, cold water.

“I remember the boat.”

“What do you remember?” Dean asked with a serious expression.

“I...shit just flashes and bits. Why can’t I remember?”

“You hit your head,” Amaya said in a choked-up voice. “When you fell overboard.”

“I fell overboard?”

Taking his hand in her own, she held on tight. “Yes. Jason...Jason sh-shot you. And...and I thought you were dead.”

Amaya broke down into tears and both Paul and his mom soothed her as she sobbed.

“I’m okay,” he repeated over and over again. “I’m right here, baby. It’s okay.”

She stared up at him with pure heartbreak in her gaze. “My hands were zip tied together, and I couldn’t get out. You were fighting for your life and I couldn’t help you. Paul, you were underwater for so long. It was so dark and I couldn’t see anything. You were just gone. I tried to get my hands free, but I couldn’t because the ties were too tight.”

For the first time, he noticed white bandages around both her wrists. “You hurt yourself.”

Glancing down at her arms, she shook her head. “I’m okay, just lost some skin.”

“While you were under,” Dean continued, “Jason shot you again, grazing your side good enough that you required seventeen stitches. I swear to God, man, you have to be the luckiest son-of-a-bitch I’ve ever met. Shot twice, knocked in the head, half-drowned, and you still survived.”

“He wouldn’t let go of me,” Paul said as he took a deep breath, another memory coming back. “It was fucking pitch dark, couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but that guy—Jason—he was wrapped around me like a vine, trying to pull me down. He tried to drown me.”

Amaya and his mother started to cry, and he did his best to comfort both women with only one hand.

“Yeah, well only person that evil bastard managed to kill was himself.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yes. We found his body yesterday.”

“Yesterday? How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” his mother said in a wavering voice.

“Shit.”

“You hit your head pretty hard, big brother. Good thing you’ve got such a thick skull,” Dean said as he rested his elbows on his knees, his face grim despite his teasing tone.

Turning to Amaya, Paul stroked her cheek and wished he felt strong enough to hold her. “But everything’s okay now? He’s dead, so that means Amaya and Peyton are safe?”

After wiping her face with her sleeve, Amaya nodded. “Agent Marquez said he’s sure Jason was acting alone. Even though he never met Donald, he was obsessed with him.”

“But how did he find you?”

“Jason was an IT civilian contractor, one of the best in the country. Over the past few years he maneuvered his way into working for the FBI. He kept his obsession with Donald hidden and was smart enough to know how to pass the background checks. Like many psychos, he was really good at appearing normal. We think he hacked into Amaya’s file while working on the FBI’s database. Agent Marquez has assured us it won’t happen again.”

He tried to sit up, but the pain in his side and shoulder had him slumping back. “Motherfucker.”

“Take it easy,” his mother said in a soothing murmur. “You need to heal, my love.”

Ignoring his mom, he reached out to Amaya. “Come here, baby.”

She started to reach for him, then hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, but I need to hold you.” Glancing over at his mother, he said, “Hey, Mom, can you go grab some coffee for Amaya?”

“Of course.” His mother leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead before whispering, “I love you so much.”

His voice came out rough with emotion as he grunted, “Love you too, Mom.”

Dean cleared his throat. “We’ll give you some privacy.”

After they’d left, he turned his head to look at Amaya. She’d taken a seat in the chair Dean had abandoned, getting as close to the good side of his body as she could. For a long, long moment they just looked at each other, saying a thousand words of love and devotion with their gaze.

“I’m sorry I fell for Jason’s tricks,” she whispered as tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry I got you hurt.”

“Hey, hey, hey. None of that bullshit. You did what you thought you had to do to protect Peyton. I’d have done the same.”

“You would?”

“Absolutely.”

Some of the tension left her face, her mouth softening as she blew out a long breath. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was just so scared that he—that he was going to hurt her.”

With that she broke down, and he comforted her as best he could with one arm, curving her into his side.

After her tears had slowed down to sniffles, he stroked her back. “What’s the media saying about all of this? Have they made any connections to your past?”

“No, thank God no. Dean and Agent Marquez have managed to keep it quiet so far. As far as most people working the case know, Jason was a stalker who was obsessed with me and followed me to Michigan. The few people that do know of his connection to Donald have kept it on a very ‘need to know’ basis.”

“So your cover wasn’t blown.”

That got a ghost of a smile out of her. “No, my cover wasn’t blown.”

“Good. I wasn’t looking forward to having to leave Green Haven to go live on a deserted island with you and Peyton, but I would have done it. Sure would have missed cold beer and vegging out with six pounds of chicken wings while watching football, though.”

Her smile turned to a giggle. “You’ll still be able to veg out.”

A yawn caught him by surprise, and he winced as the movement pulled at his stitches. “How can I have been asleep for three days and still be tired?”

“You were unconscious for three days, not sleeping.”

“Good point.”

With a gentle look that melted his heart, she began to slowly stroke his face. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I love you.”

“With all my heart.”