Page 70 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Okay, let’s go.” Ruth led him to her SUV while he tried to wrap his head around what happened.
Daggers stabbed at his heart that Sierra had gone back to Marco, but he couldn’t be wrong, could he? A woman didn’t open up to a man the way she had if she didn’t love him. She did exactly what he would have done and sacrificed herself.
“We have to save Sierra,” he told Ruth. “Marco kidnapped her.”
Ruth said nothing as they raced back through the narrow strip of land toward Moonlit Harbor, and Hank couldn’t shake the gnawing in his heart.
His gut churned with every bend of the coastal road. Had he completely misread Sierra? Projected his own yearnings onto the pop star’s fleeting presence?
Yet… The tender vulnerability in her eyes, her lyrics etched with longing… that kind of soul-baring intimacy couldn’t befeigned. Marco was coercing her, and it was up to him to rescue her.
The sheriff’s SUV skidded onto the parking lot. Hank leaped out, sprinted across the gravel, and took the porch steps two at a time. The screen door slapped open, and Emma flung herself into his arms. He hugged his precious daughter tight, never wanting to let her go as his gaze met his mother’s. Her sorrowful eyes told him what he needed to know.
Sheriff Davis ambled up to the porch with her notepad out. “Folks, I’m so happy Emma is safe, but I’ll need to interview everyone to see if a crime has been committed.”
“Of course, there’s a crime,” Hank argued. “Marco’s men kidnapped Emma. She’s a minor.”
Ruth tapped on her tablet and frowned. “We’ve already had contact with him. He claims he returned Emma as soon as he found out she’d gone willingly with the two college boys. Of course, they will be questioned. The Coast Guard is on their way.”
“But what about Sierra?” Hank clenched his jaw. “She didn’t go willingly.”
“She was forced to make a trade for Emma,” Mabel cut in. “She made a deal.”
“She should have called me,” Ruth barked. “Instead, Hank and I were on the other side of the island examining people getting on the ferry. Now, there’s no crime on record.”
“Whatever, we need to save Sierra.” Hank’s desperation was tearing him apart. The sheriff, whom he considered a friend, was adamant about following the process. She asked Howie whether Sierra was forced to get on the helicopter.
“She knew the kind of people she was dealing with,” Howie intoned darkly. “But by appearance, she went willingly.”
“Where did he take her?” Ruth asked.
“I believe the helicopter is heading for the yacht, which is out in the sound somewhere,” Howie said. “Emma knows.”
“It’s going toward Swan Quarter,” Emma piped in. “We can catch them.”
“I’ll get an update from the Coast Guard,” Ruth said. “It’s outside my jurisdiction until they are brought back to Hattokwa. As of now, Mr. Garrison hasn’t committed a crime.”
“But he’s in the mob,” Hank said.
“He’s also very smart,” Ruth countered. “He keeps his hands clean. He’s friends with Mayor Winston.”
Hank didn’t want to hear more. He ran out the door and stormed to his truck. Sierra needed him now more than ever, and whether she still loved him or not, one thing he knew—she did not love the monster, and she didn’t deserve to be crushed by him.
And by God, he would find Marco, rip away every protective layer surrounding that snake… and sink his fists knuckle-deep into that slick developer until Sierra was free and safe. The mobster had messed with the wrong guy and had no idea what was coming for him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tears blurred Sierra’s eyes as the helicopter lifted off, giving her a perfect view of Hank’s inn, the lighthouse beyond, the forested point the golf course would destroy, and the miles of beaches. Her stomach turned with the banking of the helicopter, but she pressed her nose to the window, determined to sear the image of Moonlit Inn and Hank Whitman in her mind. She glimpsed the Rescuer Memorial and the road to town, the cluster of shops, including Buc’s Booty, the variety store, the high school, and the town hall. As they skirted the almost circular harbor, she saw the yacht she now knew belonged to Marco.
The noise from the motor thundered in her eardrums, wrapping her in a dark world as she said her silent goodbyes to a place she would never get to call home. All too soon, the helicopter touched down on the yacht, and Marco was strong-arming her down onto the deck. As the whirring of the blades receded, he marched her into a stateroom.
Fear sliced through her, wondering if he was going to rape her brutally and break her spirit. It was a mob tactic to bring unwilling brides to heel, and her mother used to scare her when she was little about being an uncooperative bride.
“If you don’t comply, and he is dissatisfied with you, he will give you three choices,” her mother had intoned. “A pair of scissors, a rope, or a vial of poison. Which one would you take?”
Being a child and not understanding the cruelty, Sierra had always chosen the poison. After all, it would be the most painless, or so she thought.
Marco flung her violently onto the bed and took off his jacket, exposing the holster he carried with his Glock. Sierra had hers in her purse, but obviously, she was disarmed as soon as Marco shoved her into the helicopter.
