“Fuck.” Gideon dragged a hand down his face while the tension in his gut twisted higher and higher.
Frost sat at the edge of the boat, growling low in her throat.
“Coming up on the dock, boys. Get ready to disembark.” There was little humor in Marvin’s voice now.
“Can you get us closer to the southern side?” Gideon demanded.
“No can do.” The old man turned his head. “And you better be careful—and fast. There’s a mama gator down near that end. This time of day, her little spot gets some sun, too.”
Gideon felt his belly clench as he lifted his head and focused on the southern spot.
“Son of a bitch.” He narrowed his eyes on the old man. “Are you positive?”
“Yep. She got pissed at me just a few months ago. You can see the parting gift she gave me on the back of the boat if you wanna take a look-see.” Marvin’s face was grim.
“Aw, hell,” he whispered.
“No doubt.” Marvin nodded as another shot shattered the silence of the air. It came from high and to the south, maybe twenty yards down. Marvin gave an ear-piercing scream, but his face was neutral.
The man was one hell of an actor.
“If he’s where he can see me, I can’t give you any cover,” Marvin said, shaking his head. “But I don’t think you can wait.”
The radio chirped and White’s voice crackled out. “There’s a hill on the island. He’s running south along it. I think he’s seen your vic again, but we lost sight of her. Your best chance. Move.”
They moved. Frost leapt after them, a low growl rumbling in her throat as she burst ahead of them.
* * *
Her lungs burned as she burst between a couple of trees standing close together. She’d seen them some yards back, thought there might be some place to hide.
But the moment she shoved past their odd growth, she’d realized her mistake.
Coming to a halt, she stood, oddly frozen.
She was in the middle of what looked like a … well, a circle.
Only it had been crafted by nature. By God. No man’s hand had done this. The trees rose all around her, creating a living barrier to everything outside this strange little area, their branches stretching so far overhead that little light penetrated.
Little, yes. But not none.
Still, nothing grew in that circle. No grass. No leaves. No young saplings with thin branches straining overhead to seek the sun.
Nothing.
Something cracked behind her and she whirled.
Her heart leapt into her throat and she wanted to scream when she saw Charles emerge from the trees. “Ah … I should have known you would find it without me. After all, I had no trouble discovering it for myself. I think it calls to us, Moira.”
Idiot. Fool. She barely heard his words, too busy yelling at herself for not running.
Charles paced a little closer, but instead coming to her, he began to circle around her.
“Do you know where we are?” Charles came to a stop in front of her, less than five feet away.
In his right hand, he held the gun, but it was lowered to his side, the muzzle pointing straight to the earth.
Moira dared to let herself breathe a little easier at the sight.
“My version of hell on earth?” she suggested. “It wasn’t so bad being trapped on an island with you when the island was Fiji, but I think this is a little much.”
He clicked his tongue. “You want to be nice to me right now, Moira.” Waving his hand around, he said, “After all, you are trapped on an island with me and I have this.”
Now he lifted the gun, pointing it at her.
The sight of the massive handgun would have been laughable if he hadn’t had it pointed directly at her face. Just went to show that she knew more than she thought she did about weapons—she knew that gun. It was a Desert Eagle and thanks to Brannon’s love for weapons, she knew a thing or two about it. It was one of the most sought after weapons and plenty of people who got one bought it without knowing much about it. It was too big for Charles’ one-handed grip and she knew it would kick when he fired.
Yes, it might have been laughable, except for how close he was. Whether he could fire at a target twenty yards away didn’t matter when she was just a few feet away.
Still, she kept her voice relatively calmly as she said, “The next time you want a weapon, have Brannon take you out shopping. That thing won’t kill what you point it at—it will pulverize it. There won’t be enough to put into a body bag at this range. So if you’re trying to terrify me into silence”—she let fear bleed into her voice—“go ahead, keep swinging it. But if you actually have some bragging or questions that you want to address, you might want to get that done first.”
To her surprise, Charles cocked his head to the side and then nodded. He lowered the gun but he didn’t put it away.
“You didn’t answer me, love.” He waggled his left finger in her face. “Do you know where we are?”
“I did. It’s my version of hell. A small island … alone. With you.”
A tic pulsed in his cheek and his eyes flashed. Moira didn’t let herself jump when he took a step toward her. She knew Charles. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought, because clearly she hadn’t seen the crazy in him, but she knew him well enough to understand what was going on. He might try to kill her—and while that thought was enough to loosen her bowels—he wasn’t going to do it yet.
He wanted to brag about something. One of the things she’d come to hate about him was how he loved to lord his intelligence over others. And he had that glint in his eye again.
“No, my darling,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “This is Paddy’s Point, Moira.”
She stared at him.
“What … don’t you know about Paddy’s Point?”
When she didn’t respond, Charles took another step toward her, lifting his weapon hand and using the muzzle of the mammoth handgun to nudge her tangled hair back. “It was here where he waited, along with George Whitehall, Jonathan Steele, and some of his own men. The pirates had to go through a gauntlet and they didn’t even know. Half of the men were on this side, half on the riverbank, just a little farther south so they wouldn’t get hit by friendly fire. Your sainted ancestor was quite the strategist. They slaughtered the pirates, boarded the ships, and made off with gold and jewels and goods.”
“You don’t know this is the place,” Moira said, withdrawing from the cold, matte surface of the gun he stroked down her cheek.
“But I do. See, Paddy kept journals, didn’t he? So did George.”
His eyes were all but blind now, blind and fervent.
“George.”
“Yes.” He lowered his head, whispered softly. “He kept journals … he drew pictures. The geography of the river hasn’t changed that much, my love.”
“You…” The feel of his lips against her ear made her want to retch, but she didn’t want to jerk or tense away when he had the gun so close to her. No, she was almost positive he wouldn’t kill her yet, but she wasn’t going to be stupid and push her luck. “Do you have journals that belong to Whitehall? How did you get your hands on those?”
“Hmmm…” He turned his face into her hair.
She tried not to shudder.
He pulled back and smiled down at her. “Pet … don’t play dumb. I was watching the feed, you know. I’m certain by now that the bobbies, inept as they are, have found them and let your precious Gideon know about them. You all were closing in, I had to do something.”
He shoved a hand into her hair and fisted it, jerking her head back so hard, it brought tears to her eyes.
Moira bit her lip to keep from crying out, glaring up at him.
“Tell me, Moira … how much do you know?”
Trying to breathe past the pain in her scalp, she smiled up at him. “Well, a bit of this. A bit … of that. Starting with the fact that you’re a crazy-ass bastard. Should I go on?”
&nb
sp; He let go so suddenly, she swayed caught off-balance.
A moment later, she was on the ground breathless while Charles stood over her. He calmly holstered his gun before squatting down in front of her. “Moira, my dear. We really do need to talk. Acting like that is not going to help your situation at all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Bad angle,” Zeke breathed out, his words barely a whisper. “Can’t get past him at all. Got to move … or make him move.”
Gideon expelled his breath and rose.
Zeke grabbed his arm. “Boy…”
“You’re the one who said we gotta make him move.”
He emerged from the trees. It wasn’t until he’d done it that he realized his mistake. Frost was right at his knee. He hadn’t told her to stay. She was whining low in her throat now and when Charles whirled around, hefting Moira up with an arm around her waist, those whines turned into outright growls.
They were deep, low in her chest, and tension rolled off the dog in waves.
Gideon could only see one eye peering at him over Moira’s shoulder. Charles had both arms wrapped around her struggling torso now, making her a very effective body shield.
Frost slunk low to the ground, ears flattening to her skull.
Her tail wasn’t wagging now.
This was no longer a game.
She saw Moira and the fear on her face, the terror …
Gideon stared at her.
She stared back.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Charles was the one who shattered the silence.
“I should have known you’d hunt us down. It’s like she’s a bitch in heat and you can’t stay away. Even after I spent three years shagging her, you still can’t stay away.”
Rage was a hot, greedy monster in Gideon and all he wanted to do was grab, rip, rend, tear.
But Gideon smiled. “Hey, maybe if you’d been any good at it, she wouldn’t have wanted me.”
Charles just laughed. “I’m not going to trade insults with you, you stupid Yank. You’re not as thick as you might let on so don’t bother with me. I know you, probably better than you know me.”
“Is that a fact?” Gideon nodded slowly. “Okay. Tell me something, since we’re being honest here. When you changed your name a few years back, was it because you were just keeping your cards close to your chest or because you were ashamed of being a Whitehall?”
The single eye Gideon could see narrowed, and the skin around it went a dull, ugly red. He went to straighten, but abruptly, he froze. “Good one … like I said, you’re not so thick. But I’m not about to stand up and make myself a target for whatever fool cop you have hiding in the trees over there. How did you get onto my island, Marshall? Was … wait. The old man. You had him bring you. Didn’t you?”
“You’re not so thick yourself, Georgie.” Gideon smiled at Moira, keeping it smooth and calm. “He was named after his dad, you know. Charles George Whitehall Hurst. Changed it when he was twenty. I guess you could say he’s been planning this little get-together for a while.”
“All my life.” Charles’ voice was silky and smooth. He slid one hand up Moira’s throat and started to squeeze. “What did you think when you saw the bruises on her, Marshall? Were you angry? Did you want to kill? Do you want to kill now?”
Her breath released out of her in a burst while Gideon fought now to lunge for him.
Next to him Frost was quivering and snarling.
He gripped her harness but she was started to tug and jerk.
“Better shut that soddin’ dog up or I will.”
“Might be hard,” Moira said, her voice rough. “Your hands are full.”
“Be…”
A shot rang out.
Blood spurted and Charles howled.
Moira screamed.
Gideon swore.
Charles stumbled back a few feet, but didn’t let her go. He’d straightened only a brief second, too brief to really make a good shot. What was Zeke …
Make him move or I gotta move …
He lowered his eyes to Charles’ empty hands.
He had a weapon, yeah. But right now, he wasn’t carrying it. One reason why a cop should never work a case involving somebody he loved. They got stupid.
Gideon let go of the dog.
Frost darted forward and sank her teeth into Charles’ wrist.
His bellow echoed throughout the noontime sky and he let go of Moira, unable to hold on with the huge shepherd clamping down on him. He tried to shake her off, but it wasn’t happening.
Gideon saw him going for his weapon, the action slow and awkward because Frost had gone after his right hand. “Don’t go for that gun, Charles, I’ll shoot you right here, so help me God.”
He heard movement behind him, but he didn’t dare look.
“I’ll keep him covered if you want to get her off so you can cuff the son of a bitch.”
Gideon took a step forward, uncertain about how to do that. Oh, he’d seen handlers pull their dogs off people before, but he wasn’t a handler and this dog wasn’t K-9 trained. She was trained to protect and that was what she’d done.
He hesitated and that fraction of a second cost him.
Charles swung out with his left fist, brutal, hard and fast, punching Frost in the throat.
She made pained noise but didn’t let go.
Not the first time.
But the second time …
“Stop!” Zeke bellowed.
Charles was like a man possessed though and he smashed his fist into the dog’s skull. Frost went limp. Moira screamed like a demented banshee and lunged between Gideon, Zeke—and their weapons—to get her dog.
She came nose to muzzle with the gun Charles had pulled from an ankle holster.
“Not so thick indeed, Marshall, eh?” He gestured to Moira. “Up you go, pet. We’re going for a walk. After all, I’m not done with you. We’ve talking yet to do. I’m here for a reason, you see. You’re going to help me find what was taken from Whitehall.”
She stayed by the dog.
“I’d rather you just shoot me,” she said flatly. “I can’t help you find something that doesn’t exist.”
“Then I’ll shoot him.” Charles knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to bluff—after all, he couldn’t force her to do anything if he followed through with his threat, and she was too smart not to think about the fact that if he shot her, Gideon and the old man with the rifle would take him down in the next blink.
Charles’ mouth twisted in a smug smile and she knew he’d already thought all of that through as well.
He had the gun aimed at Gideon’s head.
Not at his chest, protected by his vest, but at his head.
Moira slid a look at Gideon. Slowly, she stood.
“Don’t even think about it,” Gideon growled.
Her mind spun at a million miles an hour. “I can’t let him shoot you, Gideon. You know that.” She reached up to touch his cheek. Behind her, Charles got to his feet. There was a grunt of pain and she saw the older man’s eyes narrow.
“Point it elsewhere, you old git, or I’ll shoot her in the back, here and now.”
“Knew you for a coward the second I saw you.” The old man spat on the ground.
“Truly, my feelings are shattered. Moira.”
“Don’t,” Gideon said again, grabbing for her.
She backed away. “Gideon, I’d much rather see him gator bait…” She slid her eyes to the side, wondering if he’d understand. “But you know I can’t let him hurt you.”
Gideon’s eyes flickered.
Did he know?
“Damn it, Mac!”
She backed away another step and turned, walking swiftly to the south.
“Ah, she’s in a hurry, my darling wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Gideon snarled.
“Lower that weapon, Chief. See? I’m turning around. You want to shoot a man in the back?”
* * *
&nb
sp; Gideon swore as Charles did just that and then sprinted across the small clearing just as Moira disappeared behind a tree.
He heard her startled cry, followed by a furious yell.
Snarling a low command into his radio, he met Zeke’s eyes.
“Think she knows about that gator Marvin mentioned?” Zeke said, his voice low.
“I don’t know.” Gideon nodded at the dog. “Take care of her.”
“Marshall … you know why we have dogs…”
“I know Moira will be heartbroken if something happens to her dog. She’s a pet, not property. That’s what Moira will think.”
“They are my family,” Zeke muttered. “But—”
“No buts. Take care of the dog. Hurst isn’t going to shoot Moira yet. He wants something from her first.”
And he wanted it enough to die for it.
He slid through the trees, falling back on the stealth tactics he’d learned so long ago, using the shadows of the trees and the natural camouflage of rocks and fallen limbs as he made his way down the hill, not moving in a straight path. He’d silenced his radio, not wanting to risk any noise distracting him—or alerting Hurst.
He could see them now, Charles’ tall frame and Moira’s disheveled red hair.
She stumbled once.
When she braced a hand on a tree, Hurst smacked on the back of her head with his hand—the weapon hand since his other one was all but useless, dripping blood and hanging limp at his side.
Gideon began to cut through the trees, moving at a diagonal line, placing each foot deliberately and rolling it down heel to toe, his department-issued weapon held in a loose two-handed grip as he kept his eyes on the people he could only see intermittently. Charles kept shooting looks up the hill. Smart boy … you know I’m coming after you, Gideon thought.
But Charles didn’t realize how precarious a position he’d placed himself in, and it had nothing to do with a gator that Gideon wasn’t entirely sure was down there.
Moira was a Mississippi girl, born and bred, and she knew all about living in gator country. Charles … well, he might have lived in Treasure for a few years, but it wasn’t like they often had them coming up out of the bayous. It happened, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence and they sure as hell weren’t seen around winter.
The Right Kind of Trouble Page 30
