The Right Kind of Trouble

by Shiloh Walker

  Most of the others fell behind pretty fast.

  But his officer Beau Shaw, Deputy Maris Cordell, and … unsurprisingly, Trooper Bradley White all kept pace with him.

  It was Maris who spotted the dog after they first lost sight of her.

  Frost came running back to them the second, wagging her tail in delight at the fun of her game.

  Beau saw her the next time.

  The next—and final—time, all of them saw her, because she was rolling around in delight at the feet of her former master and he was scratching her belly. She still wasn’t making any noise and when Zeke looked up at them, he pressed a finger to his lips and then lowered his hand to the ground.

  Instinctively, Gideon dropped.

  After a moment, so did the others although they weren’t quite as good at the belly crawl. Gideon figured you could take the soldier out of the army, but he’s still going to be a soldier.

  They were quiet, though. Gideon would give them that. But they weren’t going to fool anybody who was combat trained. Good thing Charles wasn’t combat trained.

  He might possibly be crazy or he could just be an evil son of a bitch. Gideon didn’t know or care. All he cared about was getting Moira before she was hurt.

  Please. Please, God. Don’t let him hurt her.

  Crawling through the dirt wasn’t as easy now as it had been back when he’d been in the army, but he didn’t think it took that long. It just felt like it. From a logical standpoint, he understood that it did not—could not—take hours to crawl those few yards to where Zeke lay hidden in the tall grass at the river’s edge.

  When he reached Zeke, the other man gave him a nod, never once taking his eyes from the island. Gideon studied it. It was a decent-sized one, situated about halfway between the Mississippi and Louisiana sides of the river.

  It was an ugly spot, too.

  Most of the islands on the river were beautiful, overrun with virgin trees, looking like they hadn’t ever seen the touch of man. This one, though, looked like a pocket straight out of hell.

  Some of the tree roots that spilled out over the edge made him think of the claws of giant monsters, lying in wait to grab some unsuspecting passerby heading downstream.

  Something shifted in the grass. Gideon’s lip curled.

  Charles’ black hair was plastered to his skull. “Looks like he took a dip in the river,” Gideon muttered.

  “Yep.” He flicked a look back at the others. “Ya’ll are going to want to be quiet and stay low. He’s got himself a weapon. Can’t shoot worth shit, but if he’s aiming at you, it’s possible he’ll shoot the person next to you on accident.”

  Gideon huffed out a disgusted sigh. “Any idea what he’s got?”

  “A semiautomatic, a forty-four, I think.” He paused, then added, “He’s inching his way back into the cover. I’m trying to keep him from doing that, but it’s just me.”

  “It’s not just you now.” He nodded at the others, jerking his head to indicate he needed them closer. “You got any suggestions on how to get over there without him noticing?”

  “I got a friend upriver. He’s about a half mile down with his boat.” A smirk came and went. “I don’t think your boy will expect anybody to hop on that thing willingly, but we’ll need to get our asses out of here to meet up with him before he heads this way. Think we can do that without him seeing us?”

  Gideon almost laughed at the idea, but then he had to stop and think it through. Charles Hurst had deceived them all. A couple months ago, the idea of that uptight prick dragging Moira out in a jon boat onto a little island in the middle of the Mississippi would have been laughable.

  Not so much now.

  But he went with his gut.

  “It’s not likely,” he said, shaking his head. The man had spent a long time building up this fake life he’d sold to Moira—to the whole town and they’d all bought it.

  “Hold up,” Zeke said when Gideon would have said something else. The old soldier lifted his rifle, steadied. “Idiot thinks he’s going to slip by me. Who does he think he is? Oughta just put one in his balls and end this shit.”

  “Sorry, Judge. My finger slipped,” Gideon said soberly.

  Mouth parted, Zeke breathed slow and steady and then squeezed.

  A blast shuddered through the air, followed by a torrent of curses.

  “Think we should let him know we’re here?” Beau said softly.

  “Not us.” Gideon shook his head. If Charles realized he was here, he would know his time was up. Slanting a look at White, he arched a brow. The big black man nodded and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Mr. Hurst. This is Trooper Bradley White with the Louisiana State Police. I have reason to believe you have a woman with you who might not be there willingly. I need to speak to her.”

  The response wasn’t probably the best one—at least not for Charles.

  He fired and Gideon had a quick glimpse of the firearm—black as death and it looked too big in his hand. Desert Eagle. Dumb-ass.

  White pressed his back to the tree, calmly pulling his radio from his collar and speaking into it. “We’ve got a situation,” he said to his sergeant.

  Gideon met Zeke’s eyes and nodded. “Frost,” Gideon said in a quiet voice. But Zeke shook his head. Not yet, he mouthed.

  Gideon blew out a breath and then pointed to the ground. “Stay.”

  Frost’s ears drooped a bit, but she planted her butt in the dirt and stayed. Her eyes wandered to the island, though. He wondered if she could smell Moira.

  As they were crawling off into the grass, White whispered his name.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Marshall,’ the trooper said.

  Gideon gave a short nod.

  Of course, his interpretation of stupid and White’s interpretation might be two very, very different things.

  “Are you there … what was it, Trooper White?” Charles called out, his voice mocking. “Did you catch my answer there?”

  “Oh, I caught it all right. Loud and clear. Sir, I’m going to ask you to put your weapon down and lift your hands.”

  Gideon didn’t look back.

  As he crawled away, he heard another round of fire.

  It was followed by an answering roar—this time from their side of the river.

  Stay safe, Mac. I’m coming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Staring into the dull eyes of the alligator, Moira felt her heart stutter to a stop. It wasn’t a big one, as far as gators went. If she had to guess, it was maybe ten feet. To Moira, though, that was massive.

  It was certainly large enough to kill her in a blink.

  Her breath squeezed out of her in a rush and she gingerly side-stepped away, scanning the area as best as she could with her peripheral vision while trying to keep an eye on the alligator.

  Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, these things did come in groups.

  Water lapped against the banks, but other than that Moira couldn’t hear anything save for the sound of her own ragged breathing.

  The alligator continued to stare at her with flat, alien eyes.

  It was the stare of a predator, the kind that could and would kill if it decided you were a threat.

  Right now, Moira suspected she was being sized up.

  It might be winter, but that didn’t mean that alligators weren’t active. Most people who lived in alligator country knew how things worked. The big creatures did not hibernate. They went torpid and as long as their environment stayed cool, they pretty much slept.

  But have a day where the sun was shining down and the microclimate around a gator’s chosen den warmed enough to bring the alligator out of its torpid state, and the big creatures started stirring.

  Instinctively, Mora moved into the shadows thrown by the trees towering over much of the island.

  The alligator hissed again at her movements, and she jumped.

  The gator didn’t like that.

  Too bad. Moira didn’t like the gator.
In fact, she didn’t like anything about this place.

  There was another gunshot and she swallowed a gasp, easing farther back into the cooler, dark shadows of the trees. Something scuttled around near the big reptile, and Moira’s belly roiled, fear becoming an acrid taste in the back her throat as she saw what she’d missed earlier.

  There were babies.

  None of them were longer than a couple of feet, but now this wasn’t just a gator. She was a mama gator, and Moira had inadvertently stumbled too close to the place this mother had claimed as her own for her and her young.

  Mama alligators were fierce creatures. Okay … okay … She backed away another step, wishing she could tell the protective mama that she wasn’t there to hurt her babies.

  But the alligator wouldn’t care.

  It was that whole lizard brain thing, she supposed.

  She eased deeper into the trees, shivering as she lost the warmth of the sun, but thankful, because the colder she was, the colder mama gator would be and the harder it would be for her to try to eat her.

  Stay in the trees, she told herself. Keep moving.

  She wasn’t entirely sure which one would be the worst to deal with.

  As she started to slip in what she hoped was a northwestern direction, she heard something.

  A boat.

  Relief began to flood her but there was no time to enjoy it.

  There was another crack from a weapon, but this one didn’t come from the Louisiana side or the Mississippi side.

  It came from Charles and he laughingly called out, “See, boys? You’re not the only one who knows his toys.”

  Charles.

  He was also a lot closer than he had been not even five minutes ago.

  * * *

  Once they reached the spot Zeke had wanted, he gave a harsh whistle, one that Gideon wasn’t prepared for.

  Nor was he prepared for the furry white bullet that all but bolted out of the grass a few short moments later. Frost butted him in the leg and he rubbed her head.

  “Good girl,” he said when he saw her tail wagging, keeping his voice low.

  “That’s how we race,” Zeke said, his eyes on the water. They’d moved maybe a quarter of a mile down the river. He could still see the island but the natural curves and twists of the river kept him from seeing the bank where Charles had been.

  A low grumbling noise came to his ears and Gideon turned his head, blinking hard and fast as a wide, flat-bottomed boat came into view.

  Zeke waved an arm once before moving back into the cover provided by Mother Nature.

  “Is that…” Gideon stopped, blowing out a breath. Small mountains placed in precise areas around the pontoon had him rubbing at the back of his neck. It wasn’t summer so he couldn’t catch any scent on the air, but if it had been in the eighties or nineties, he suspected he might have gotten a lungful of something nasty.

  “A garbage boat.” He looked over at Zeke. The long, flat boat came to a gentle stop a few feet from the outcropping of rocks, and Zeke was the first one to ease out, his Remington 700 held up as he studied the island.

  Although he couldn’t see him, Gideon heard the smile in Zeke’s voice. “We needed something quick and unobtrusive, Marshall. Marvin here travels up and down this stretch of river two or three times a week, rain or shine. It’s his own personal contribution to mankind, cleaning up our beautiful river here. Nobody thinks twice of seeing him around these parts.”

  Gideon blew out a careful, controlled breath and then nodded.

  “All right.” But he couldn’t keep from shaking his head a little as he eased himself out onto the outcropping of rocks. He was going to save Moira by hitching a ride on what look like a do-it-yourself garbage boat.

  When the boat’s owner caught sight of his face, a grin split his wizened face. His skin was a dark, leathery brown, his hair like thinning snow on his scalp. He cackled a little when he held out a hand to steady Gideon as he came aboard.

  “Look at yourself, cop. Think you never did see a boat as pretty as mine afore,” the man said.

  “I’m sure I haven’t,” Gideon said wryly. He nodded. “Pretty or not, I appreciate the help, sir.”

  He paused, uncertain how to proceed. He wasn’t about to put a civilian in danger. “We need to be on that island, but the man is armed. It would be best if you stayed behind.”

  “No, sir. It wouldn’t.” Marvin nodded easily and gestured to the piles of trash. “You might find it easier to hide back over there. Nobody will think twice if they see me. But cop, you stand out.”

  Zeke knelt at the side of the boat, speaking softly to Frost. Her ears flicked, but her tail wagging was a little less pronounced now and she looked more reserved. She jumped onto the boat, her tail clattering on the slick surface, and she slipped a little. Zeke steadied her with a hand on her harness.

  “That’s a good girl, Frost,” he said. “Good girl.”

  She poked him with her nose and then moved to Gideon.

  Zeke studied her and then shook his head. “I’ll be damned. I think I’ve been replaced.”

  Frost sat at alert, staring down the river.

  Gideon didn’t like the intent expression that had settled over her face. “Let’s get moving.” He shot one last look at Marvin. “Sir, are you sure you won’t stay behind? I can strip out of my uniform shirt, put on Zeke’s ball cap. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “And you’ll be going over there without your vest on. I don’t think so.” Marvin shook his head. “I’m just doing my job, cop. Cleaning up the river. I ain’t even getting off my boat.”

  He grinned as he said it.

  Gideon blew out a harsh breath between his teeth before nodding.

  A few moments later, the pontoon moved away with a slow, easy purr as Gideon shot Zeke a narrow look. “You really think we’ll get anywhere near that island without being noticed? On this?”

  “Hell, yeah. Seems to me that Hurst fellow knew exactly where he was going. That means he’s been out here before. So he’s seen Marvin. Chances are, Marvin’s just invisible to him.”

  Gideon set his jaw and fisted a hand in Frost’s thick fur.

  Please … please …

  * * *

  Infuriated and freezing, Charles followed one of the footpaths, looking for some sign of Moira.

  It was hard to tell if anybody had been on it recently and he could have kicked his own bloody arse for not having a pair of shoes for her. Shoes left more-obvious tracks. He could look back and see where he’d walked just now easily enough.

  Bare feet, though … not quite so easy.

  A noise caught his ears and he swore, rushing east and following the trail up the hill until it crested. It was that crazy old garbage collector. The sight of him made Charles curl his lip, but he couldn’t just ignore the old goat this time. He had to make sure Moira wasn’t anywhere along the Louisiana side of the island. Easing his way down, he kept his gaze on the old black man, watching as he puttered around on the boat.

  When he shouted out, Charles jerked as if he’d been jabbed with a hot poker.

  “Hey up there!”

  Charles looked around.

  It took a moment to realize the miserable old duffer was talking to him. After a moment, he lifted a hand in greeting then retreated deeper in to the shadows. There was a quicker way across the middle of the island. He trotted back up the incline and cut through the woods until he found the path. The overgrowth was heavier for much of the way, but once he reached the top, it was rather clear and he could see down. He glanced over, trying to see the boat, but the trees along the northern edge blocked his line of sight.

  Swearing, he continued along the path.

  Another shot rang out.

  The man on the boat yelped, his high-pitched scream almost exactly like a woman’s. “What the sweet hell is that … did you hear that?”

  Charles ignored him as he crouched on the ground. Would have been nice if a stray bullet had
caught the man, saved him the trouble of worrying about him. Although … frowning, he shot a look toward the Louisiana banks. Hadn’t they seen the garbage boat? Why were they still firing?

  The old man was still swearing and raising hell—enough noise to draw Moira to him, too.

  He didn’t have time to worry about the old goat. “Barmy old codger.” He reached inside his wet coat and pulled out the Desert Eagle he’d bought. He’d already ejected the cartridge and put in another. Water had gushed out and he’d taken a practice shot across the river to make sure it would still fire.

  While it wasn’t as accurate a shot as he’d like, mostly all he needed to do was keep the buffoons across the river off his arse—and then maybe use the weapon on one or two others, after he’d taken care of things with Moira.

  She was stubborn, his lovely ex-wife.

  But she was also intelligent.

  She wouldn’t chose death over some misguided loyalty to a dead man and it wasn’t like she didn’t have enough money without Paddy McKay’s fucking treasure. She wouldn’t choose death over protecting that.

  Movement off to the side caught his attention and he looked to the south, following the sound.

  A flash of something tan and dull caught his eye.

  It was over almost as quick as it had appeared, but in that space there everything else was shades of green or the dead of winter brown … and still.

  Moira had been wearing a tan hoodie from her brother’s idiotic pub and he’d seen that bit of tan inching away before it disappeared behind a tree.

  With a smile curling his lips, he rose and started toward the stand of trees.

  There was another shot, this one tearing into the dirt not even ten feet from him.

  * * *

  “You need to get on that island.”

  Gideon bit back the sarcastic response that practically leapt to his lips.

  Really?

  Instead, he said calmly to White, “We’re doing that.”

  “Cordell is laying down fire, Marshall, but your vic is less than twenty feet from the perp. Again, you need to get on that island. Both were last seen on the southern side.”