“Don’t listen to him,” Jessica said. “And if he doesn’t stop talking trash, I’m going to shoot him and put a stop to his big mouth.”
“You fucking know she’ll do it,” Corey said. “So shut up. I don’t want your brains splattered all over the interior of my car.”
* * *
Cherise still couldn’t see the silver Range Rover. She steered the Charger into oncoming traffic to pass a slow-moving, rusted-out Ford pickup and had to swerve back into her lane to avoid a head-on collision.
Dammit.
She asked, “Where are they?”
“Entering the glades,” Robert said. “They’ve sped up.”
“How far ahead of us are they?”
“Maybe a couple of miles. It’s hard to be exact. But you need to speed up if you’re going to catch them.”
“Piece-of-shit truck won’t get out of my way.”
She honked her horn and tried to pass a second time. And was again forced back into the lane behind the slow-moving pickup.
“Do something, dammit.”
“Hold on,” she said. “I’m going for it.”
He gripped the shoulder strap and pulled his seatbelt tight. “Just don’t kill us in the process.”
A car passed in the opposite direction and she floored it.
CHAPTER 74
Jack knew what Jessica was capable of. The woman could pull the trigger in a heartbeat, regardless of what her brother had said. No qualms or remorse. He’d take his chances when they stopped.
Within minutes, he began seeing billboards advertising airboat rides, Gator Park, Everglades Safari Park, and the Miccosukee Indian Village. The end of the line. And the boat ride into the swamp.
He was running out of time.
And options.
“Get ready to kiss your ass goodbye,” Corey said.
Jack watched the man’s lips narrow in a self-satisfied smile. He was sick of looking at that smug expression.
“Go fuck yourself, asshole.”
That brought a mild chuckle from Corey.
Jack bit his tongue.
Grabbing for the revolver and making a mad dash for safety seemed a pitiful choice. The desperate act of a doomed man whose luck had run out.
And a horrifying way to spend the last seconds of his life.
One chance remained.
Cherise.
* * *
Cherise saw the Everglades loom ahead of them.
A single thought occupied her mind.
The same one that had been there from the moment Corey drove away with Jack in the seat next to him.
Save Jack.
She mashed the accelerator.
I can’t let you die.
She focused on the ribbon of asphalt. “Where are they now?”
“Still a couple of miles ahead.”
“Not for long.”
A minute later, miles of grassy marshland appeared beside them. Ahead, trees lined both sides of the roadway. She maneuvered around a minivan and had to slow for another pickup while a couple of cars in the eastbound lane passed by. Once again, she accelerated around the vehicle and onto a stretch of open road.
“No cops around,” she said. “Guess it’s up to us.”
“Lindsey must have had a difficult time relaying the information.”
“All they could do is put out a broadcast on the Range Rover and keep their eyes open. Doesn’t really matter now. Open the gun case.”
He retrieved the bag from the floorboard and slid the zippers aside. Balancing the case on his lap, he said, “Where’d you get this, anyway? Didn’t you fly here?”
“Checked it though on the flight, along with my luggage. I have a carry permit and a letter of authorization from The White House.”
“We can be thankful for that. You want me to load this thing, right?”
She glanced at the pistol, spare magazines, and the six-inch stiletto. “The gun’s not going to do us any good if you don’t.”
He picked up the semi-automatic and slid a magazine into the butt.
“It’s a Glock 21,” she said, “.45 caliber. Thirteen rounds in a double-stack magazine.”
“That ought to do it.”
He set the case flat on the floorboard at his feet and laid the Glock and two extra magazines on top of it. Raising the receiver in front of him, he said, “Looks like they’re slowing down.”
She scanned the swamp to the side of her. “Slowing or stopping?”
He turned a worried look at her. “They’ve stopped.”
* * *
Jack tensed when Corey rolled to a stop behind a small house. Ancient, by the look of the place. The white paint on the wood siding had chipped and faded from years of neglect in the fierce Florida sun. Sparse, untrimmed grass and broken shell littered the slope leading to the water where a flat-bottomed boat sat tied to a wooden dock that looked as though it had been there since before Noah and the flood. Nobody appeared to be home.
The nearest house sat on the other side of a stand of trees a hundred yards away. An airboat bobbed next to a small dock. Somewhere beyond that lay the Miccosukee Indian Village. And all around him, a broad expanse of swamp wilderness where a man could die a hundred different ways.
His body never found.
Corey switched off the engine and Jack heard the automatic door locks disengage with a loud click.
His opportunity.
“Put your arm under you lap belt,” Corey ordered. “Jessica, if he tries anything, shoot him dead. I don’t give a shit about the interior of the car.”
Jack heard the edginess in the man’s voice and complied.
“Didn’t your father ever teach you any manners?”
“The only thing that asshole taught us before he ran out on Mom, was to hate his fucking guts.”
“Okay. So now what?” he asked.
Corey opened his door. “Sit there and don’t move.”
Jack scowled. “Can’t very well do much else.”
“I’m making sure of that.” Corey grasped the shoulder strap where it crossed Jack’s chest, and pulled the lap belt even tighter. “Hand me the gun, Jessica.”
Jack cringed, but tried not to let his grimace show as the polyester webbing bit into his flesh until it felt as though his bones would snap. Unable to move, he watched Jessica hand her brother the revolver. A Smith and Wesson, .38 or .357 caliber. Four-inch barrel. He could see the hollow-point bullets in the cylinder holes when Corey pointed the gun at him.
Six shots.
That’s all he had.
“Jessica,” Corey said. “Reach up and grab his shoulder harness. When I let go of it, pull on it hard. And Jack, if you move, I’ll kill you.”
Jack knew he’d never get his arms out from under the webbing fast enough to make a grab for the gun. Even if he thought he could get his hands on the revolver and somehow overpower the bigger and stronger man.
In a matter of seconds, his plan had been dashed.
A feeling of helplessness threatened to drag him down.
But he didn’t let it get the best of him.
Cherise was out there. So were the cops.
He still had a chance.
“Where’s your friend Billie?” He glanced at the house. “Won’t he have something to say about what you’re doing?”
“Not home. And he couldn’t care less what I do.” Corey backed out of the Range Rover, gun hand extended, and aimed the revolver. Jack tensed at the thought of getting a bullet in the skull.
“You sure?” he asked.
“Shut up.” Corey kept the barrel trained. “Jessica, you can get out. Take the idols with you. Jack, stay where you are.”
She opened her door. “I’ll get some rope or wire or something to tie him up with.”
The moment she released her grip on the shoulder strap, the seatbelt loosened across his chest and lap. He breathed with relief when circulation returned to his arms. The least of his worries.
He peered into the ta
ngle of mangrove swamp.
The end of the line for him.
“Be smart,” he said, looking at Corey. “There’s still time for you and Jessica to walk away from this.”
“Talk all you want, but you’re wasting your breath.” Corey steadied the gun in his hand. “Won’t change a thing. You’re a dead man.”
Jack had to stall.
And think.
He said, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Corey cocked the hammer on the Smith. “Don’t make me laugh. Now, nice and slow, crawl across the console head-first. I don’t care how you do it. Slither like a snake if you have to, but keep your hands out in front of you. Then slide to the ground on your belly, face in the dirt.”
Jack knew he was on borrowed time and shouldn’t push his luck, but couldn’t help himself.
“I assure you, I’ll have the last laugh.”
“Stop stalling and move.”
Jack knew he couldn’t argue with a cocked gun.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and worked his way out the driver’s side and onto the ground. The oppressiveness of the swamp seemed to press him deeper into the soil with a bad smell to it. The air, too. Slimy muck and rotting organic matter.
“This is all I could find,” he heard Jessica say.
“Good enough.” Her brother sounded anxious. “Get your hands behind you, Jack. And keep them there.”
He complied, but took his time.
His only ally at the moment.
“Now get up,” Corey said, when she had him tied. “And walk to the boat.”
Jack worked his legs under him and rose to his feet. “Don’t do this. Drive away from here while you still can.”
Corey extended his arms, both hands gripping the butt of the Smith, the muzzle aimed for a headshot. Jack didn’t flinch. The expression on Corey’s face hardened. The Ken-doll look gone.
“Move it,” he said. “Now.”
Jack weighed the odds. He didn’t have a choice.
“You’re a big man with a gun,” he said, and started walking.
“Without it, too.” Corey fell in step.
Jack could hear the soles of the man’s shoes crunch the broken shell. Close, but not carelessly close. The man obviously knew his business.
Where’s the cavalry?
CHAPTER 75
Cherise slowed behind a car with Alabama plates, and accelerated around it.
“Where is he?”
“Up ahead on the right.” Robert motioned with his head. “On the other side of the canal.”
She saw the access road. A narrow one-lane strip of asphalt.
The only way in.
“Hold on,” she said.
She slowed and put the Charger into a four-wheel drift through the turn. Gaining control, she studied the white house to the left of them. “Is that it?”
A second passed.
Two.
“There.” He jabbed a finger at the windshield. “I can just make out the Range Rover.”
“Movement?” She couldn’t see any from her seat.
“None.”
“Grab the gun.”
He had the Glock in his hand, the command unnecessary. Picking up the stiletto, he asked, “What about this pig-sticker?”
“Give it to me.”
He did, and she slid the sheath beneath her thigh. An easy grab on the way out of the car.
“Here we go,” she said.
She pulled into the dirt drive and skidded to a stop on the crushed shell.
Dammit.
Twenty yards from shore, Corey throttled the boat deeper into the swamp while Jessica held the revolver on Jack.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
She spied an airboat sitting at a dock a hundred yards away and pointed at it. “We borrow that.”
“As in, ask permission?”
“As in, take.”
She backed out of the drive and raced down the road. Taking no notice of anyone. Or caring.
He asked, “Can you drive that thing?”
“Maybe. Can you?”
“I can fly a plane. Yeah, I think so. You do the shooting and I’ll operate the boat.”
“Let’s go.” She slammed on the brakes
* * *
Lying belly down on the flat deck at the bow of the boat, Jack had a view of the murky water and the moss-dappled trees and vines. It seemed there was no solid ground in a mangrove swamp, only an impenetrable barrier of snarled roots and muck.
He had placed most of his hope in Cherise arriving in time to put an end to this madness. That hadn’t happened. Getting his hands and feet free and taking his chances with the alligators and snakes seemed to be the only hope he had left.
But what then?
Even if he survived, which way would he go?
And how would he get there?
No one walks through a mangrove forest.
Corey didn’t spare the throttle.
Jack heard the roar of the outboard. Felt the spray on his skin. Having his face close to the water made it feel like they were skimming along at a hundred miles per hour. Probably closer to twenty or thirty. Even so, had the surface been wind-whipped to a chop, he would have been bounced to death.
Corey shouted something that got lost in the wind and the sustained drone of the motor.
Jack couldn’t imagine anything the man had to say would be good.
He continued to work on his bindings. The rope Jessica had used wouldn’t break. But the cord stretched a little more with each flex of his wrist, each tug of his ankle. A minute, perhaps two or three, and he would be able to free himself.
Providing he didn’t get a bullet in the back for his efforts.
A gamble, but he had to try.
* * *
Cherise ran straight for the airboat. No stopping to ask permission. The one thought in mind.
Save Jack.
She held the Glock in her right hand and used her left to untie the mooring lines while Robert climbed into the cockpit. Jack’s chance for survival hinged on being able to start the engine.
To her surprise, the airboat roared to life.
Forget trying to talk.
She climbed onto a seat, strapped herself in, and motioned her hand toward the neighboring house where they had seen Corey and his sister speed away in the boat with Jack on board.
Robert eased the airboat around the end of the dock and raced into the mangrove forest.
She pointed at the channel Jack disappeared into. In the labyrinth of waterways, the GPS did them little good. The best choice they had was to stick to the passages where the water had been noticeably disturbed when the big outboard churned a trail.
And catch up to the other boat as quickly as possible.
Or risk losing them.
Robert nosed the airboat into the gap in the mangroves and increased speed. The wind whipped her hair and watered her eyes causing her to squint. Overhead, a canopy of limbs turned the passage into a forest tunnel. Cursing herself for leaving her sunglasses wedged above the sun visor of the Charger, she turned and waved him forward as though he needed encouragement.
He didn’t.
The airboat skimmed the surface, sending a ripple of waves into the rubbery roots.
She thought she caught a glimpse of the boat.
Then saw nothing.
* * *
Jack turned his head and twisted onto his shoulder to peer into the sky behind them. But saw only a leafy tree-limb canopy. He could have sworn he heard a high-pitched roar different from that of the four-stroke Mercury. Unmistakable. A sound that compared to a single-engine airplane bearing down on him.
One he had heard many times when flying with Robert in his floatplane.
A prop biting the air.
Corey must have heard it also, because he shoved the throttle lever forward to gain speed.
Too fast at first.
In the next turn, the big outboard provided more power than the antiquated flat-bottomed hu
ll could handle in the narrow alley between the mangroves. The port side skidded into a mass of exposed roots sending down a snowstorm of leaves and organic debris from above.
A snake hit the water next to them and swam away.
A python. A small one.
Corey eased off on the power.
But only as long as it took to gain control of the craft.
Jack, having regained his balance after the collision, twisted his body and saw a tight-faced Corey stooped over the steering wheel with his hand on the throttle, working the lever forward and backward in an obvious attempt to weave through the labyrinth at the fastest speed possible. Jessica appeared equally worried. She kept looking behind her while at the same time trying to keep the revolver aimed at him.
The first sign that brother and sister were on the edge of losing control.
Cherise.
It had to be.
CHAPTER 76
Cherise saw the boat in the waterway ahead. Sure of it, this time.
She didn’t bother pointing.
The increase in the high-pitched roar of the engine indicated Robert had added power, intent on catching up to the fleeing boat.
Nothing would happen to Jack.
Corey and his sister were not getting away.
The gap narrowed.
With Robert’s deft touch on the controls, the airboat skimmed the surface of the water, perfectly suited for the narrow passage. Cherise figured, at this rate, they would catch the other boat in the next turn or two.
When they did, what then?
She had no plan, other than saving Jack.
A matter of playing the deadly game by ear as they went.
Her eyes continued to tear from the wind in her face. More so now that Robert pushed the machine to its limits.
They raced through a series of turns and gained some water.
Hostile Waters Page 25
