by Amy Vansant
The ball arced into the sky, missing the paraglider by a good ten feet.
Not too shabby.
Declan pulled out another and another, smacking them in the direction of the paraglider as the sniper turned for another pass.
He heard the ding when one hit the engine block strapped to the man’s chair.
Gotcha.
Something tumbled from the sky. A dark stick, tumbling end over end.
The gun.
The golf ball had startled the man and he’d dropped his weapon.
Declan had been hoping to knock his foe out of the sky, clog his engine or something, but that might have been optimistic for a guy with a nine handicap. He’d take disarming the man.
Let’s hope he doesn’t have a spare weapon.
Declan dropped the driver and bolted for the fallen gun.
Above him, the paraglider leaned forward and strained to see where he’d dropped his weapon. Declan recognized the very moment the sniper spotted him running across the field. The moment it occurred to the man that soon Declan would have a gun.
The sound of the engine grew stronger and the paraglider headed back the way he came.
Declan reached the gun and pointed it at the engine as it headed away from him. He fired and heard the ping! as it ricocheted off the metal.
The motor revved again and Declan pulled the trigger. Another ping! and a puff of smoke escaped the engine.
“Ha! Got you!”
Engine gasping and sputtering, the paraglider barely made it over the tree line before Declan heard the engine no more.
There has to be a clear spot on the other side of the trees the man used to take off.
Declan bolted toward the scraggly forest separating him from his would-be assassin. He wove through the pines, heart pumping and sweat collecting in his work shirt.
I’m going to have to get changed before work now.
He rolled his eyes as he wove past a tree. What a thought to have. How he had changed from his youth. He remembered a time when an attack would have shrouded any logical thought in his head. He would have been filled with rage and a thirst for revenge.
Now he was worried he’d sweat through his work shirt.
Branches scratched his arms and face as he pushed through. He had to face his attacker and discover the meaning of the assassination attempt. Certainly, not knowing who wanted him dead was more dangerous than confronting an unarmed paraglider who’d just hit the ground the hard way.
Declan burst through the trees in time to see a black SUV take off down a dirt road. He cursed, a luxury he’d trained himself to not indulge in a long time ago. Retirees at his shop didn’t want to talk to a swearing ex-soldier. They wanted to talk to shiny Declan, the one who smelled good and never had a hair out of place.
The one who worried about sweating through his polo.
He looked down at his shirt. One of the grabbing branches had torn a hole in his sleeve.
Shit. I mean, shoot.
Dirt and pine needles clung to every inch of fabric. He looked like Blade after his forest bathing experiment.
This is not shiny Declan.
Declan inspected the abandoned paragliding contraption. The parachute sat in a tangled ball beside it.
Declan pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Sheriff Frank.
“Frank here.”
“Do you have a fingerprint kit?”
“Who is this?” Frank’s voice grew gruffer and deeper, laced with suspicion.
“It’s Declan.”
A deep silence radiated from the other end of the line.
“Charlotte’s boyfriend?” prompted Declan.
Frank grunted. “Right, right, I knew that.”
“We’ve met about a hundred times.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. I’m doin’ something here. I was distracted. What did you ask me? Do I have a fingerprint kit?”
“Mm hm.”
“Why do you sound like a steam engine?”
Because someone in a motorized paraglider just tried to shoot me while I was standing in the middle of an abandoned airstrip field. There was running away involved.”
Silence again.
“Is that something you kids do in your spare time now?”
“Nooo. Someone was trying to kill me.”
“What were you doing out there?”
“Are you implying I deserved to be shot at for being in the field?”
“Now that you mention it.”
Declan took a deep breath and released it. “I chased him down and I have his equipment here. I need it dusted for prints.”
“How did you chase down a plane?”
“It wasn’t a plane. It was a motorized parasail, but it’s a long story. I’m going to send you the address. Can you get someone out here?”
“Yeah, can do. Sit tight. Stay out of the fields.”
“Right.”
No sooner did he hang up than his phone rang. He recognized the number as Blade’s.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asked.
“Did you notice anyone following you on the way to the store?”
“Uh...” Declan looked around the field. “No.”
“We, uh, I mean I, thought I saw someone pull off after you when you left my house.”
“Really?” Declan had to wonder if it had been the paraglider.
“Black SUV?”
“Yeah, you saw him?”
“Maybe.” He shot at me from a flying chair. “Could you open the store for me? I got waylaid a bit.”
“With Charlotte?”
Declan straightened. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I saw her on the video cameras. She sneaked out the back of her house. It looked like she was avoiding Butch and Andy.”
“Hm. She said she was with Mariska. Maybe she just wanted to go visit without eyes on her. I’ll check in.”
“Okay. I’ll head to the store.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Declan hung up and dialed Charlotte. She was going to be excited the fingerprint book might finally come in handy. He just had to figure out how to explain why he hadn’t mentioned going to the field in the first place.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte walked down the Riverwalk, her gaze sweeping in every direction, searching for the man who had called her.
Miles, more than likely.
And not only him, snakes, too.
The Riverwalk felt both secluded and urban, and with her heightened state of awareness, she wasn’t sure if she should feel isolated or safe. The walk had been built to flank a local river on one side and civilization on the other. On her right, a head-high wall blended into a grassy hillside ending with rows of small retirement homes. On her left, a barred fence that looked like the lower section of a misplaced jail cell door kept her from wandering down the muddy slope into the river. Above her, Alexander laurels and Madagascar olive trees provided a shady arched canopy.
Wouldn’t it be great if Miles Davis had decided to turn on Jamie’s nemesis?
Charlotte accepted she might not have her quarry captured today, but if Miles delivered on his promise to provide her with the mystery man’s identity, she’d be a giant step closer to satisfying Jamie’s demands. She wasn’t sure Jamie even knew her pursuer’s name. The woman went squirrelly every time she asked for more information, and her reticence to share didn’t make a lot of sense.
Why would you hire someone to find someone, and then do everything you could to make the job more difficult?
Lost in her thoughts, Charlotte almost didn’t notice the man hiding in the greenery flanking the path. He crouched there, just past the row of small square retirement homes watching over this portion of the Riverwalk.
Just past the part that had made her feel safe.
Charlotte stopped and stared at him.
He didn’t move.
Does he think he’s invisible?
“I can see you,” she said, loudly, though short of a sho
ut. She glanced at the last home just behind her. Was anyone home there? Would they hear her if she screamed? Her chest tightened with nerves.
Somehow, her clandestine meeting with the man who’d tried to kill her with a python felt like an even worse idea upon spotting him squatting in the shrubbery.
Charlotte wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Should she have had high hopes for the mental stability and manners of a man who pushed man-eating snakes through women’s windows? For some reason, she’d pictured strolling the Riverwalk until she found herself talking to a clean-cut man in a nice white suit. Why, she had no idea. She’d watched Casablanca earlier in the week. That could have been it.
Now, faced with the reality of a man in torn jean shorts and a dirty t-shirt skulking in the bushes, she realized the chances of Miles looking like a modern day Rick Blaine had always been pretty slim.
And I didn’t bring my gun.
She hadn’t gotten used to the idea of carrying her gun, and her everyday uniform of shorts and a shirt didn’t make it easy to properly conceal a weapon.
This might have been one of those times where dressing for the gun would have been a good idea.
“You Charlotte?” asked the man.
Charlotte looked behind her again to see if any walkers or joggers were coming. Now would be a great time to see another human being. Any human being.
Nothing stirred behind her except a curly-tailed lizard scurrying across the side of a tree trunk.
You’re no help.
She straightened, trying to look more in command of her nerves, even if she couldn’t feel in charge of them. “Yes.”
“I have information fer ya.” His voice was gravelly, with the hint of a true Floridian southern drawl. Charlotte had grown up around too many northern transplants and had little accent of her own. This man sounded as if he’d come from a less tourist-laden part of the state.
“I know. You said on the phone. Could you stop hiding in the bushes? Couldn’t we maybe meet at the coffee shop down the path there?”
Miles sniffed hard and she heard the resulting rattle dislodge something gooey in his throat. He spat. “Com’ere. I have to give it to ya.”
Charlotte almost laughed out loud.
Nooo, that doesn’t sound threatening at all.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, considering her options. If she clawed her way up the hill to Miles and he killed her, she was going to feel like an idiot. “Come here, I have to give it to you in person...” was the kind of things cartoon characters said before snatching their prey. It would be like getting caught by the witch in Hansel and Gretel. She’d always wondered how those two little morons hadn’t seen her coming. A house made of candy? Come on.
Charlotte took a step forward. It was time to shake things up a bit and throw him on the defensive.
“Look, just tell me what you want me to know, Miles.”
She heard the man grunt at the sound of his name and Charlotte braced herself for another round of loogie production.
Instead, Miles stood. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was built thick and sported an impressive beer belly beneath his filthy shirt. An emblem was printed above his left breast, but Charlotte couldn’t make out the words.
“How’d you know my name?” he asked.
Charlotte felt grateful for the confirmation. At least Miles hadn’t tried to hide his identity. If this meeting went south, and it felt like it was heading there as sure as a flock of migrating birds in winter, it would help to have confirmation on his name.
“I know lots of things. But I could know more. Tell me who framed Stephanie.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Forget it.”
Miles turned and scrambled up the hill behind him like a monkey.
Shoot. Calling out his name had spooked the man.
“Wait!”
Charlotte jumped on the retaining wall and grabbed the branch of a bush to haul herself to the hill. Standing as best as she could, her new vantage point enabled her to see what looked like a parking lot at the top of the slope. Miles reached for a chain that dangled between two posts there to pull himself up to the flat pavement.
Palms down and toes digging in the dirt behind her, Charlotte began to climb.
“Wait!”
Miles disappeared over the edge of the hill.
Charlotte had nearly reached the crest when she heard a creaking metallic sound. Heavy. It didn’t sound like a car door. She didn’t hear the roar of an engine. The sound felt familiar. Where had she heard it before? Her mind raced to associate the sound with an action as she reached for the same chain Miles had used to assist his ascent. She pulled herself upright and stood at the top of the hill.
Miles stood six feet from her at the back of an old pickup. The tailgate was down.
That was the noise. The creaking of a tailgate being dropped. You couldn’t live in Florida your whole life and never hear the sound of a pickup truck tailgate dropping. It was practically the state song.
Miles had his right hand on something large and dark, just peeking out from under a tarp in the back of his truck. His left arm crossed in front of his chest.
Something flashed in his hand.
Scissors. He held a huge pair of shears in his left hand.
Snip!
Something snapped as he clipped it with the shears. He leaned into the truck and hauled what was in there out from under the tarp, roaring with the effort. He half-slid, half-threw what looked like a giant log toward her.
The log kept coming, so long Charlotte couldn’t process how it had fit in the back of the truck. The thing was huge. A giant hissing, angry log.
Charlotte froze, her hands out to either side, unsure what direction to move.
Are those teeth?
The thing landed on the ground, took a moment to get its bearings and then bolted toward her. Four, claw-tipped feet paddling forward with purpose.
Charlotte didn’t need any more time to piece together what was happening. She could see what was barreling toward her just fine.
A word lit up in her mind like someone had flipped on Broadway lights.
Alligator.
Left and right didn’t seem like good directions to run. The way the gator’s head whipped back and forth as it high-speed-waddled toward her she felt like it could adjust to either of those directions without trouble. Instead, Charlotte turned, forgetting the chain looped low behind her calves. One leg managed to clear it. The other caught and she fell forward down the hill.
Charlotte yelped and twisted her body, trying to keep from tumbling head first into the bushes below. She heard the weight of the enormous creature behind her as it slid, crashing through the low vegetation.
Charlotte directed her fall well enough to avoid the worst of the bushes. Her feet hit the top of the retaining wall and she jumped, attempting to gracefully dismount to the Riverwalk below. She landed on one foot and one knee, which had not been her preferred plan.
Hot pain exploded across her kneecap, but she didn’t slow. She knew the reptile coming at her like an Olympic luge wouldn’t be slowing. She felt the breath of the creature and heard the snapping of its jaws as she stood to propel herself forward.
Charlotte took a few steps and then looked down the Riverwalk in both directions. To her left, the path led back to her car, but it was a narrow path. She knew there was some trick to running away from an alligator—something about zig-zagging back and forth—but thanks to the retaining wall, there wasn’t much room to maneuver on the path. She knew alligators ran faster than most people thought they could, and the one behind her seemed like a natural-born sprinter. Just her luck to be chased by the Usain Bolt of reptiles.
She crossed off the path to her left as an option.
She could jump back on the retaining wall, but she didn’t know how agile an alligator was when it came to climbing short walls. She’d missed that episode of Wild Kingdom. And if she started up the hill and slipped back into that maw...
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The wall was not an option.
To the right was what appeared to be a baby dragon, sliding off the side of the retaining wall in its single-minded pursuit of her. Its dark green, bumpy skin glistened as if Miles had polished it for its big debut. In a moment, it would be on all fours again. It would come charging at her.
He looked both hungry and angry.
Hangry. That would be a good name for an alligator.
No.
Stop it. Charlotte shook her head, amazed her mind could wander in a crisis. Don’t get distracted naming the beast about to bite off your leg.
The alligator let out a low, long groan and blinked its eyes sideways at her. For the first time she noticed one eye was milky blue, the other dark.
How about that.
Instinctively, Charlotte looked in the direction the creature’s blue eye faced, guessing the milky blue coloring meant it was blind in that eye. She wasn’t sure how much of an advantage it would be to stay on the gator’s blindside, but as she looked in that direction she spotted the iron fence that separated the walk from the river.
She hadn’t considered heading toward the river. Her first thought had been to avoid water when confronted by an alligator. It was one thing to be eaten, and a whole other to be death-rolled in the shallow water, her drowned body carried away and stuffed under a rock somewhere in the depths.
She’d always assumed the Riverwalk fence was there to keep the alligators from coming out of the water and snatching poodles for breakfast. Hangry’s whole family might be on the other side of that fence.
But if the fence can keep gators from coming up, couldn’t it keep them from going down?
There might be alligators on the other side of the fence, but Hangry was definitely on her side of the fence.
And he was finding his feet. The gator’s claws curled, nails digging into paver stones as he prepared to launch himself toward her.
This is crazy.
Charlotte jumped for the iron fence, mounting it and swinging her legs to the opposite side. The drop behind the fence led to shallow water, where she feared other gators or snakes might be waiting, so she clung to the top spikes of the fence, dangling, separated from her scaly pursuer by spaced iron bars.
