by Jana DeLeon
Spider tugged on her sleeve and pointed toward the house, but she shook her head. She knew there was a road there—the crazy men had to have a way to get to their property but no way could they risk going that close to the house. Not with the dogs. And the road would be the easiest place for the men to find them. The swamp was a risk, but it offered far more places to hide.
Storm clouds rolled through the night sky, and the moonlight faded in and out, making it harder to see. She could hear thunder booming in the distance and prayed it held out long enough for them to get away. Silently, they headed around the side of the barn and out of view of the house. They’d gone over the plan so many times in order to avoid speaking until they were far enough away from the house to be unheard. When they reached the point where the barn completely blocked them from the house, they headed for the swamp. Jinx waited until they entered the trees before pulling the flashlight out of her pocket.
She felt her back tighten as she pushed the button and let out a breath of relief when the light came on. It was weak, but it worked. Hopefully, it would work long enough to get them out of the swamp and somewhere they could find help. She shone the light in different directions, trying to find the easiest way to pass, and saw a trail to the right.
She tapped Spider on the shoulder and pointed to the trail, then set off down it. The cypress trees formed a canopy around them, thick moss hanging down, sometimes brushing across her face and shoulders. She used her hands to push brush out of the way and found that the swamp was thick with spiderwebs as well. The thin, sticky strands seemed to wrap themselves around her hands, and she struggled to maintain her cool every time she had to pull the sticky webs from her skin. Jinx had never liked spiders.
At a fork in the trail, she stopped and listened, certain she heard water running off to the right. It was a sound she’d been hoping to hear. If there was a bayou, it might lead into a town. There might even be a boat.
“This way,” she whispered.
She stepped onto the trail to the right and onto a hard dry stick. The snap echoed through the swamp like a gunshot. She froze, not even drawing in a breath, but it was too late.
The dogs started barking, and she heard the door to the farmhouse bang open. “What the hell are they barking at?” a man yelled.
“Probably coyotes again. Grab my gun. I’ll get those shotgun shells we was loading from the barn.”
“Run,” Jinx said and took off down the trail.
Branches and thorns tore at her clothes and her bare arms and face, but she barely felt them. All that mattered was getting away, and the water was their only hope in putting the dogs off their scent. As soon as the man entered the barn, the hunt would be on, and she and Spider were at a huge disadvantage. They didn’t have guns and they didn’t know the terrain.
The brush thinned a little and she ticked up her speed a notch. She heard more yelling and dogs barking behind her, but couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter. She knew the score.
“I think they’re coming,” Spider said, his voice breaking in panic.
She was on top of the water before she knew it. She dug her heels in, trying to keep from sliding over the bank, but Spider crashed into her, knocking her over the ledge. It wasn’t a big drop—probably only two feet—but the noise it made was deafening in the still of the swamp. She bolted upright, then squatted again, realizing she’d dropped the flashlight when she fell. Her hand clasped around it and she yanked it out of the water, but it was too late. It no longer worked.
The clouds parted a bit, and she saw a small flat-bottom boat just a few feet away. “There’s a boat,” she said.
Spider hurried down the bank and they hopped in the boat. Spider pushed it off the bank as he jumped inside and headed for the motor in the back. Jinx didn’t have any experience with boats other than being an occasional passenger, but Spider had told her he’d fished with his uncle before he’d died. He fiddled with something, then grabbed the pull cord and yanked it. The motor turned over a bit but didn’t start.
The barking was getting closer and sometimes Jinx caught a flash of lights bouncing through the swamp. The men were headed straight for them. “Hurry,” she said.
He pulled again and this time the engine fired up. “Hold on,” he said.
Jinx grabbed the edges of the metal bench and planted her feet on the bottom. The engine roared and the boat practically leaped out of the water. She leaned forward to keep from falling backward off the bench. When the boat leveled out, she raised back up just as the moon slipped behind the dark clouds again. The running lights on the front of the small craft barely illuminated a foot in front of the boat, and didn’t reach nearly far enough for the speed at which they were traveling. Spider cut the speed and she looked up at the night sky, praying for the clouds to clear.
The first gunshot hit the front of the boat, shattering one of the lights, then a second one came right after, pinging on metal. She dropped onto the bottom of the boat, barely managing to control the scream that threatened to break through. Spider ducked as low as possible and twisted the throttle again, even though Jinx was certain he couldn’t see well enough to navigate the bayou.
A third shot rang out and Spider screamed. “I’m hit!”
The front of the boat crashed to a stop on top of the water and Jinx crawled over the bench and to the back, where Spider lay in a heap in front of the motor. “Spider.” She shook him. “Can you hear me?”
“It went through my shoulder,” he said, weeping. “It hurts so bad.”
Jinx heard the men yelling behind her and she reached up for the throttle that she’d seen Spider use. She moved onto the back bench, staying below the top of the motor, and twisted the throttle. The boat jumped and she let off, then tried it again, but twisting more evenly. The boat took off and she tried desperately to focus on the tiny patch of illumination that the remaining light provided.
“Jinx,” Spider said and tugged on her jeans. “We’re sinking.”
Only then did she realize water had covered her feet and was creeping up her ankles. One of the shots must have pierced the hull of the boat, and they were taking on water.
“Is there a bucket?” she asked. “Can you bail it?”
“It’s too much. Coming in too fast.”
“What if I slow down?”
“Then we’d just sink slower and wouldn’t be as far away. Keep going until we can’t anymore.”
Jinx clenched her jaw, holding in the curse words she wanted to yell at the swamp, her mother, the universe, and God for putting them in this situation. She twisted the throttle a bit more in an effort to put as much distance between them and the men as possible, but she worried that it wouldn’t be enough. Sooner or later, they’d have to make a go of it on foot, and with Spider losing blood, she didn’t know how quickly or how far he’d make it before he passed out.
Or before the men caught up.
She’s seen a glint of metal when Spider had launched the boat from the shore. It could be another boat. If that was the case, then the men would be close behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Corrine tossed a loaf of French bread into the oven and slammed the door shut. “She’s lost her mind. I don’t have to be an expert to know it. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Eleonore took a sip of coffee. “You’re wrong.”
“Damn it, Eleonore. Stop taking me so literally.”
“I wasn’t. I actually think you’re wrong.”
“How do you figure? That poor boy has been attacked twice, and if it wasn’t for that hotel owner, he’d probably be dead or worse, and Shaye is right back out on the street, looking for clues like it’s an Agatha Christie novel. Her life is not fiction.”
“No. But parts of it are even worse than a horror novel. Look, I get it. I don’t want her out there tonight or tomorrow or even the next day, but I respect what she’s doing. Who else is going to look out for these kids? Detective Lamotte is doing everything he can, but his hands are as
tied by the bureaucracy as yours are.”
“Detective Lamotte.” Corrine wiped her hands on a dish towel and threw it on the counter. “Don’t even get me started. He could have told her to stay put and let him do his job. Instead he agrees to let her tag along while he chases down murderers.”
“So if he hadn’t agreed to take her with him,” Eleonore said, “do you think she would have stayed here?”
Corrine pursed her lips, not wanting to answer the question. “No,” she said finally. “What’s your point?”
“That maybe Detective Lamotte knows her well enough to have figured that out and thinks she’s better off with him than being out there alone.”
“I guess,” Corrine said, not yet ready to concede.
Eleonore cleared her throat and rolled her eyes toward the entrance to the kitchen.
Corrine glanced over as the hesitant teen hovered in the doorway. She forced a smile, hoping it looked even remotely genuine. Whatever her problems with Shaye, this boy was not part of them. As far as Corrine was concerned, bringing him here was the first thing Shaye had gotten right since she’d taken on this case.
“Come have a seat,” she said and waved a hand at the counter. “I’m warming up pot roast and crisping some bread. You must be hungry. Do you drink soda? I’m happy to pour you one.”
He nodded and shuffled over to the counter, then took a seat two stools over from Eleonore, casting a suspicious glance in her direction.
“This is my friend Eleonore,” Corrine said. “She took care of me when my mother died when I was just a young girl. Now that I’m an injured old woman, she’s taking care of me again.”
He gave Corrine a small smile. “You’re not old. It’s nice to have someone who’ll take care of you, though.” He looked over at Eleonore. “Shaye said you was a shrink.”
“That’s right,” Eleonore said, “but I promise not to talk to you in a professional capacity. We just want you to be comfortable and safe.”
“You got police on the road outside,” Hustle said, “two armed guards walking around the lawn, and a badass security system. I’m definitely safe, but I don’t know that I’d ever be comfortable. This place is like a palace. It’s fancier than the Ritz.”
“You’ve been in the Ritz?” Eleonore asked.
Hustle nodded. “I made it as far as the front desk before they kicked me out, but it was beautiful. Still, this place is even prettier.”
“Thank you,” Corrine said as she slid a glass of soda across the counter to him. “I think so too.”
“How are you feeling?” Eleonore asked.
Hustle narrowed his eyes at her.
“Your ankle,” Eleonore hastily threw in. “Not your mental state.”
“It’s all right, I guess. Stiff from all the skating and running, but it ain’t nothing bad.” He took a drink of the soda, then looked over at Eleonore. “I don’t mind sharing my mental state if you want to know.”
Eleonore glanced over at Corrine, then nodded. “Please.”
“I’m pissed is what I am,” he said, his face flushing as he spoke. “I’m pissed that someone killed Joker, and pissed that Scratch is laying there in the hospital and I don’t know if he’ll live. I’m pissed off that someone is taking street kids and even though Saul shot that man, we don’t know that it’s over. More than anything, I’m pissed that we got a raw deal and have to live the way we do. Jinx and Scratch are good people. Sure, there’s bad people on the streets, but not them.”
He looked down at the counter, seemingly embarrassed from his outburst.
“I’m pissed too,” Corrine said. “Shaye told me she’s shared some of her story with you, and you know what I do for a living, so I’m sure you have a good idea how Eleonore and I feel about people who hurt kids.”
Hustle looked up at her and nodded. “Shaye’s a good person. She didn’t deserve what happened to her either.”
“I think being pissed is a good thing,” Eleonore said. “If you’re just a little angry, then you let things go, but if you’re really pissed, you make sure that things change. I’ve made a lot of positive changes in my life because of being pissed.”
Hustle stared at her, then shook his head. “You’re a strange person, you know it?”
Eleonore snorted. “You’re not telling me something I don’t already know.”
“But I think you’re right,” he said. “I’m gonna stay pissed until we know everyone who was behind all this. And if there’s more than just that dude that Saul shot, I’m gonna help Shaye and Detective Lamotte take them down.”
Corrine placed a plate of pot roast with potatoes and carrots in front of him and a big hunk of French bread. “You’re gonna need your strength.”
* * *
The man threw his glass against the fireplace and it shattered on the bricks. Things had gone from bad to irretrievable. Now they were on the verge of spiraling out of control. Instead of taking care of the skater kid as he was supposed to, the idiot had managed to get himself killed. He should have known not to trust him. All these years he’d been carrying the idiot’s weight, cleaning up the messes he made. Sure, the idiot was loyal to a fault, but had it been worth it?
Granted, he’d had no intention of leaving his associate behind with the ability to talk, but getting shot in the middle of the street while attacking the skater kid was a bit more fanfare than he’d planned for the man’s death. His preference would have been a quick bullet to the head and a drop into the bayou with a block of cement. Now he had to worry about what his associate might have kept at his apartment that connected them.
His first inclination when he got the news was to hurry over to the apartment and scrub it clean of anything that might track back to him, but the idiot had a criminal record. As soon as the police ran his prints, they’d have his address and would go straight there. Bad enough he may already be at risk, but he wasn’t stupid enough to be caught red-handed.
He’d known the skater kid and the woman would be a problem, but they’d proven to be a bigger issue than he ever imagined. They’d single-handedly destroyed his business and forced him to move his escape timeline from one month to a matter of days. He’d be leaving money on the table by bowing out so quickly, but he’d have to make do with what he had.
All he had left to do was destroy the records and take care of the boy. He’d make the delivery himself and collect the rest of his money. Then he would leave on the next private plane he could charter out of New Orleans. His new identity had been in place for months now. He even had credit established and a bank account. A nice fat bank account waiting for him in Indonesia—extradition-free paradise.
* * *
Shaye stared across the street at the police station as the waitress poured her another cup of coffee. Jackson had been in there for thirty minutes already, and she was going stir-crazy waiting on answers.
“You sure you don’t want something to eat, hon?” the waitress asked.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or what she’d eaten, so despite not feeling the least bit hungry, late dinner probably wasn’t the worst idea. “You know what, I think I will,” she said. “Let me have an egg and cheese sandwich and some hash browns.”
“You got it.” The waitress headed back to the kitchen, and Shaye stared out the window and across the street once more and sighed.
She should have stayed at Corrine’s. If Detective Grayson let Jackson in on his investigation, he couldn’t exactly request that Shaye tag along. And who knew how long it would take to identify the assailant, much less run down information on him. More than likely, she was wasting her time sitting here and would end up taking a cab home.
Her mother had been on the verge of having kittens when Shaye announced her intention to leave with Jackson and continue the investigation into the night, and Hustle hadn’t been any happier about the situation. The looming threat of CPS kept Hustle interred in his mother’s house, but Corrine didn’t have anything to hold over Shaye�
�s head. Not that she would have anyway. Her mother was a pleader, not a blackmailer. Pierce would be far more likely to play the blackmail card.
Still, if Shaye had remained behind, she might have been tempted to tell her mother and Eleonore that she’d gone to Lydia’s apartment. If she let that cat out of the bag, there would be no end to the questions and glances and worry. It was something she knew she’d have to share with both of them, and sooner rather than later, but she wanted more time to process it before she had to talk about it.
Her outburst at the apartment in front of Jackson had been uncustomary and a bit embarrassing. She liked Jackson and trusted him as much as she did anyone, but she didn’t really know him well enough to dump her emotional baggage on him. He had seemed momentarily taken aback, but not really surprised. She had to give him points for the calm demeanor. He hadn’t even brought up the subject after they left the apartment. He’d simply driven away in absolute silence. The first words he’d spoken had been when she’d gotten the phone call from Hustle.
The bells on the door jangled and she looked up, surprised to see Jackson walking in. She jumped up from the table. “Did you find out something?”
He motioned for her to sit, and he slid into the chair across from her. “Yeah, we got something.”
The waitress stepped up to the table and placed Shaye’s food in front of her. “You want something, hon?” she asked Jackson.
“That looks good,” he said, pointing to Shaye’s plate. “I’ll have the same with coffee, please.”
“I guess we don’t need to rush out of here, then?” Shaye asked, more than a little disappointed. “You couldn’t identify the attacker?”
“We got an ID. He was in the system. Elliot and his team are tossing the apartment right now.”
“What about Detective Grayson?”
“He was out of town today for a funeral and is on his way back right now. He should be here within an hour, but he gave Elliot and me the go-ahead to pursue whatever leads we came up with.”
