A Marriage of True Minds: A Sasha McCandless Novella (8 page)

“I know,” he
said.

“I don’t want to
lose you.”

He took her face
in his hands and drilled his eyes into hers. “Listen to me. Nobody’s losing
anybody. We’re getting married, and then I’m going to ravage you. And
after
our honeymoon, I’m going to hunt down Jeffrey Bricker like the rabid dog he is.
Understand?” His voice was fierce.

“Wrong.
We’re
going to hunt down Bricker. Together, Connelly. We’re in this together—we’re in
everything
together.”

His lips parted,
but before he could speak, she covered them in another long kiss.

Manny cleared
his throat beside them.

They ignored
him.

He coughed into
his fist. Again.

Finally, Connelly
pulled away and met his eyes over Sasha’s head. “Can we help you?”

“Come on, man.
You’ll have time for that after we clean up this mess.”

Sasha’s skin
grew warm, and a flush worked its way up her neck and cheeks.

Connelly
smoothed her hair.

“He’s right,”
she said. “Let’s just get through the next few hours.”

He nodded.

She walked over
to Bodhi on shaky legs.

Bodhi was
stitching the gash on the teenager’s face.

“What happened
to him?” she asked.

Bodhi
concentrated on his needlework. Marisole, who appeared to be functioning as his
assistant, answered.

“He came to just
as Naya came back into the room. He was enraged and thrashing around. He saw
the blood on her dress and must have thought—well, I don’t know
what
he
thought—but he tried to lunge at her, shouting and cursing.
Mon dieu,
he
made so much noise that one of his compadres came rushing in from the dining
room with his machete drawn. We heard him coming, and Maisy and I stretched a
length of ribbon across the doorway, right about ankle-height.”

“You
tripped
him?”

“Yes, he went
flying right into his friend and sliced his cheek wide open.”

“Ouch,” Sasha
said. She was surprised to feel genuine sympathy for the kid.

Perhaps because
he really was just a kid. Or perhaps because the entire operation had been
doomed from the start. How could such a poorly organized group have thought
they would take over an entire resort? Let alone
this
resort. Surely
Bricker would have realized that Sasha and Connelly’s guest list would include
more than the usual number of law enforcement professionals and hand-to-hand
combat experts.

“Yes, I’m sure
it hurt a great deal. We all worked together to subdue the man. Your mother got
his sword from him and we held them both in the dressing room until Charlotte
came to tell us that the ballroom had been secured and it was safe to come join
everyone here.”

“About that—how
exactly did the guests overpower the men?”

Bodhi tilted the
kid’s head back and examined his handiwork, then he turned and answered Sasha’s
question in a calm, dispassionate voice.

“Shortly after
the lights went out, three men stormed through the French doors. Your Krav Maga
instructor and his father were on their feet immediately.  Larry moves
pretty fast for an old guy. He caned the closest bandit and disarmed him.”

She should have
known that Daniel and Larry Steinfeld would spring into action. Larry might be
a card-carrying member of AARP, but he’d learned Krav Maga while serving in the
Israeli army and claimed to have taught Daniel everything he knew.

“That sounds
about right.”

“Yeah. Then I
guess all the noise drew Hank and Manny’s attention because they came running
in through the logia, guns drawn.  It was hard to see in the dark, but it
didn’t seem to take long for these guys to take control of the room.”

She blinked.
Hank and Manny had been armed? They’d ignored her one request.
And good
thing they had
, she admonished herself.

Bodhi continued,
“Charlotte got to work lighting candles and sconces, and one of the waiters
remembered there was a generator in the closet. So, once we had light, I
started assessing physical conditions. Then Marisole and the ladies brought
this guy and his friend in.” He nodded toward the young man and then searched
Sasha’s face. “Speaking of which, are you okay?”

“Superficial
wounds only,” she assured him. “But I almost forgot, there are two guys in the
supply closet in the hallway. They could probably use some medical care. And
Hank and Aroostine are off somewhere interrogating the leader. He might have a
broken kneecap—or two.”

Bodhi raised an
eyebrow and gathered his supplies. “You certainly know how to throw a party,”
he said over his shoulder, as he and Marisole headed out to the hallway.

She shrugged off
the remark and made her way across the room to Father Alexander, who was
crouched on the floor and had his head bent in conversation with three bandaged
and bitter wedding crashers. His warm eyes were serious. His Spanish carried an
urgent note.

Two of the men
seemed unable to meet his gaze and had fixed their eyes on a point on the
floor. The third was wringing his rough, tanned hands together and openly
crying. His tears left tracks down his dirty cheeks.

Father Alexander
must have sensed Sasha approach. He raised his eyes to hers and spoke in a
quiet voice. “I’m glad to see you’re unharmed. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

She stood,
slightly apart from the group as he returned his attention to the cluster of
men before him. He spoke for another minute or two in a kind voice that
nonetheless conveyed deep disappointment and sadness.

As he stood, the
crying man reached for his sleeve and said in heavily-accented English,
“Forgive me, Padre, for I have sinned.”

Father Alexander
patted his hand and whispered something that Sasha couldn’t hear. A wave of
relief crossed the man’s shadowed face. And then he began to cry harder.

The former
priest joined Sasha near the corner of the room and examined her face closely.
“Are you okay?”

The concern in
his voice almost unlocked a well of tears that she’d managed to clamp down on
so far.

She swallowed
and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Oh, thank God.”

She inhaled
deeply and then let out her breath, slowly, steadying herself to ask the
questions she needed to know the answers to.

“Who are these
men? If they’re professional mercenaries, frankly, they aren’t very good.”

His eyes flashed
curiosity at her assessment but he simply nodded. “That’s correct. They’re not
banditos
.
They’re farmers, from a small community just to the west. As you might expect,
there’s a brisk business in the kidnapping and ransoming of American tourists
throughout Central America. But, this region, this small area between Costa
Rica and Nicaragua is quite safe, comparatively. In part that’s because the
people are less desperately poor and the farming is more lucrative—thanks in
part to the sustainable farming methods taught by the farmers your friend Dr.
King works with.  Also, this resort has made an effort to partner with the
surrounding communities to train and hire local workers as staff. It’s been a
model of community building for the region.” A note of anger crept into his
voice. “A lot of people have worked very hard to create this model. And now
these .... fools ... may ruin it all.”

“I don’t
understand. Who are they? Why did they do this?”

He shook his
head in irritation and his long wavy hair flew around his face. “There’s been
an influx of survivalists in recent months. A group of American expatriates
settled just to the north. They’ve formed a compound of sorts. At first, they
kept their distance, but they eventually sought the help of locals in
establishing and growing crops. They barter or pay in silver and preach
self-reliance. I’m told by missionary friends that similar enclaves have taken
hold throughout all of Costa Rica and Nicaragua, as well as Mexico.”

Preppers.

Of course. She
knew from her last run in with the Pennsylvania Preppers Network that similar
groups existed across the globe. They connected on Internet message boards and
forums, just like every other special interest group from standard poodle
owners to Jane Austen fans.

Once Bricker
learned where she and Connelly were holding the wedding, it would have been
easy for one of his militia members to make contact with a Nicaraguan prepper.
She filed away for later the question of
how
he’d learned the wedding
location.

“I see.”

“Apparently,
these survivalists recruited a group of stupid young men to disrupt your
wedding.”

“Why didn’t the
expatriates do it themselves? They probably have some paramilitary training.
These guys don’t seem to have any. It was a fool’s errand.”

“Clearly. But,
these survivalists are toeing a fine line with the authorities as it is. They
likely wanted to have some deniability if things went wrong. And they surely
knew that avarice exists even in good men. Carlos has told me they were each
paid two silver ingots with an equal amount promised if they delivered you and
Leo to the compound.” His voice shook with disgust.

Sasha nodded
distractedly. If Bricker wanted them to be taken to the compound alive that
meant he had further plans for them. Adrenaline coursed through her body. Maybe
he was headed to the compound himself.

“Can one of the
men give you directions to this compound?” she asked, unable to keep the
excitement out of her voice.

The former
Jesuit placed a cautioning hand on her arm. “Sasha, I don’t think you
understand, this compound isn’t a commune. It’s a gated stronghold, patrolled
by men with rifles. The locals believe there are dynamite-loaded traps
surrounding it. No one goes there without an invitation. You need to leave this
to the Nicaraguan authorities, such as they are.”

“Can you get me
directions?” she repeated.

His grip on her
arm tightened. “I can. I will not.”

They stared at
one another for a long moment before he relaxed the pressure on her arm. “You
seem keen to respond to this invasion. I can understand that instinct. But you
shouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted from your soul’s purpose. You’re here
to join yourself to Leo for all eternity.”

The adrenaline
drained from her veins as quickly as it had flooded them. He was right.

“No, of course.”

“The wedding
is
going forward tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” she
said.

That would turn
out to be untrue.

CHAPTER NINE

Sasha leaned against the bamboo lattice
and inhaled the heady scent of the tropical flowers that snaked their way up
the woodwork. The reflection of the low-slung moon shimmered in the
silver-tipped waves, as she watched Jordan and Riley make their way up the
aisle to the strains of Chris’s piano playing. Each of her sisters-in-law had
traded her bouquet for her sleeping infant. And Sasha’s two youngest nephews
nuzzled their mothers’ bare necks as they reached the front of the space.

Maisy, her hair
freed from its updo in the chaos, followed behind, her blonde curls bouncing
against her shoulders. Finally, Naya strode up the aisle, clutching her bouquet
to chest as if it were a teddy bear.

“Are you sure
you’re up for this?” Sasha’s father asked, offering her his arm with a look of
concern.

She linked her
elbow through his.

“Are you kidding
me? I can’t
wait
to do this. With any luck, Father Alexander will keep
the ceremony short enough that we’re married before midnight.”

He smiled. “Only
you and Leo would react to a failed hostage-taking by moving up the wedding. I
guess that’s why you belong together.”

She smiled back.
They
did
belong together.

Charlotte and
the resort manager had approached her before
la policía
had even
finished processing the scene to offer to reschedule the wedding from the next
day to some future later date. She and Connelly had been adamant that they were
not interested in pushing off the date.

“
If anything,”
Connelly had half-joked, “after all this, we’d want to move it
up
.”

Charlotte had
taken the offhand remark to heart, and forty minutes later, here they were.
Their wedding moved from sunset on New Year’s Eve to eleven p.m. on the night
before New Year’s Eve. She would be Mrs. Leo Connelly before
sunrise—technically, Sasha McCandless-Connelly, but no reason to quibble, she
thought, as a thrill of anticipation shot through her.