by Cox, Suzanne
“You’re going in the wrong direction, Emalea.”
She twisted round to see Jackson better. “I’m trying to swim across this current. There’s no possible way we can swim against it and get back.”
For nearly a hundred yards they battled the force of the ocean before the pull of the strong current eased. Heading toward the island now, Emalea tried not to clench her teeth. That took energy and they were going to need every bit they had if they were going to make it to shore.
Twice more, currents threatened to push them farther from their goal. Her stomach knotted with apprehension each time they had to swim parallel to the island rather than toward it. The thought that they might not make it tried to nibble its way into her consciousness, but she pushed it away. Occasionally, they lay on their backs paddling with their feet, hoping to rest tired muscles. Emalea longed to stop swimming and let her air-filled jacket keep her afloat. But they couldn’t afford to rest completely; the minute they stopped moving, even the slower currents worked against them. The agonizing burning in her legs had long ago faded to numbness. Beside her, Jackson stroked through the water stoically pretending not to feel fatigue, but Emalea knew his strength was waning, along with hers.
In the beginning, they discussed what could have happened. Maybe the boat had had to make an emergency return or maybe the dive guide had been injured and they’d rushed him to the hospital. For Emalea, no answer was sufficient enough to explain being abandoned. When they couldn’t decide on a decent solution they talked about whatever came to mind. Eventually they didn’t talk at all.
Salt and sun parched the skin on their faces and burned their eyes, but even with her blurred vision, the beach began to loom larger in front of them. Emalea squinted at her watch, shocked to see they’d been in the water for nearly five hours.
“We’re almost there.”
“Don’t get too excited.” Jackson pointed toward the shore ahead of them where waves pounded against the sand. “I don’t think the air in these jackets will keep us afloat in waves that rough. Can you make it?”
She glanced at Jackson, even as she began to feel the rise and fall of the surf. “Do we have a choice?”
He took hold of a strap on her jacket. “I’m going to hold on to you.”
“We could get banged together.”
A wave slapped him in the mouth and he coughed. “I don’t know what else to do.” The next wave closed over their heads and Emalea’s knees slammed against the sandy bottom.
Jackson bobbed above the water first, hauling her with him. She gasped in a breath, coughed, gasped once more and they were hammered again. As they crashed to the bottom, Jackson’s knee hit Emalea’s head, dulling her already foggy brain.
She struggled to get her head above water only to hear Jackson shout, “Oh, no!” Before she went face-first into the sand. One more breath followed by another back-breaking wave and Emalea found shallow water. She crawled and was partially dragged by Jackson onto the beach. At the edge of the surf, she didn’t move, but lay on her stomach letting the waves splash to her waist. Just so long as she could breathe, she wasn’t moving, not yet.
A hand grabbed her shoulder, flipping her on her back. Salt water splashed near her neck and Jackson’s hand pressed on her forehead like a fifty-pound weight.
She grabbed his wrist. “What are you doing? That hurts!”
“Stop it, Emalea. You’re bleeding. You must have hit something with your head.”
“Yeah, your knee.”
He groaned. “I’m sorry. I guess holding on to you wasn’t such a good idea.”
“No.” She kept her lids clamped tight, but pulled his hand away, replacing it with her own. “If you wouldn’t have pulled me to the top a few times, I’d have drowned, even with this jacket on.”
His arms came around her as best they could with her dive gear still in place. “I love you, Emalea. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
Astonished, she sat on the sand without moving or speaking. Jackson, as if wanting to rush by the words, began to jerk loose her BC jacket, then took off his own, peeling away his wet suit and helping her remove hers.
“Come on.” He pulled her to her feet when she tried to sit down. “I’ve seen a couple of cars going by, just past those hills. There’s got to be a road there.”
“Jackson, I’m tired. Can’t we rest here? Besides, you can’t just blurt out what you did then take off.”
“I can and I will. I’ll carry you if you’re too tired.”
“Oh, that’ll be the day. Like you’re not completely whipped yourself.”
He continued to tug her along. “We’ve been gone a long time. The others will be worried. Besides, I want to get to that dive shop and find out what the hell happened. Now let’s go see if that road will get us back to town.”
“It will.”
He paused mid-stride. “How do you know?”
“Because there’s only one paved road that goes around this island. And that would be it.”
Grabbing her free hand, he set off through the sand, both of them wearing only their swimsuits and dive boots, leaving the rest of their gear behind. Was she concussed or had Jackson just said he loved her? The thought of the words tumbling from his lips caused a strange and unfamiliar quivering deep inside her, but her emotions were too frazzled at the moment to define exactly what it was. She only knew they had both traveled to a place they’d never intended to go. Part of her hoped they’d be able to remain there, the other part of her couldn’t imagine the possibility because of the obstacles. Unable to maintain much coherent thinking, Emalea stumbled along behind Jackson, pressing her hand to her head to keep the trickle of blood from running into her eye. Instead, it dripped down her arm.
“MAN, YOU’VE GOT to be kidding.”
The young blond guy hailed from California, at least that’s what he’d told Jackson when they’d booked the dive trip. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. He appeared to be a good kid, but Jackson wasn’t in the mood for leniency.
Slamming his hand on the glass counter, he dug deep for control. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
The boy sobered. “No, I guess not. But man, that boat was stolen this morning before we got ready to come get you. Our guide was running a little late. We tried to call, but you weren’t in your room, then we went to the hotel but you were gone and no one knew where you were. We just figured you got tired of waiting and went to do something else.”
“We were doing something else, bobbing around in the middle of the ocean for hours. And we had a dive guide. Are you telling me he wasn’t one of yours?”
“I don’t know what to tell you, but no one that works for this shop was out with you this morning. We reported the missing boat to the police. Maybe you should go tell them what happened to you.”
Jackson didn’t bother to inform the boy he’d made that his first stop. The police were definitely concerned. The dive trade was a huge business and the last thing they needed were stories circulating of people left in the ocean by a dive boat. They’d said they’d check into the situation, and he knew they would. He’d given them his phone number, not expecting to hear a word. He didn’t doubt their efforts or abilities. Instinct told him whoever was behind this hadn’t left a trail.
Leaving the store, he stood on the sidewalk, the late evening sun battering the top of his head. Horns blared while he climbed into a cab, giving the driver the name of his hotel. Maybe Emalea would be back from the clinic when he got there. With her head still bleeding steadily, he’d sent her to the small clinic that often served tourists, while he’d gone to the police and the dive shop. Her eye had already begun to develop a black ring before he’d left, even though the cut was well above her eyebrow.
His fault—the black eye, the cut, even being left there had been his fault. He hadn’t said a word to Emalea but he knew, in his gut, that the people who’d left them had been paid to do so. This had DePaulo’s name all over it. Jackson couldn’t ha
ve been more sure if the gangster had seen them off that morning at the dock.
Sweat trickled down his back and his shirt stuck both to him and the dirty vinyl seat. Crammed in the back seat of the older model Honda, his knees nearly bumped his chin. They’d been so busy since leaving the beach, he’d barely exchanged more than a few cursory words with Emalea. But those had been intense words he’d spit at her on the beach earlier. The conditions hadn’t been romantic, not with blood pouring from her head and both of them dead tired. He did love her, in a way he’d thought impossible, lost to him forever. But it was a subject they should have approached slowly, with caution. Of course, caution had gone the way of the trade winds since they’d been here.
All that meant nothing compared to his renewed determination to keep her safe. Without knowing how, he’d come to love her. He realized now that still meant danger for Emalea. The thought that he could escape from those who wanted to hurt him and his loved ones had been a short-lived dream. The other day he’d told her that being together was worth the risk. But now, with the real threat of danger closing in, the reasons he’d vowed not to get involved with a woman had returned. He’d keep her safe, even if he had to leave her and Cypress Landing to do it.
THE AIR-CONDITIONING HUMMED, making the dim room cool. On the bed, Emalea was curled under the covers, her hair damp. She stirred as he climbed across the bed to lie behind her. When she faced him, he tried not to cringe, the bandage on her head stark white against her tanned skin, her eye swollen with splotches of purple.
“Hmm, look that good, do I?”
“You’re beautiful, especially for someone who’s just had a battle with the bottom of the ocean.”
“I’m wondering how you made it through this without a scratch and I appear to have gone ten rounds with George Foreman.”
“I’m tough.”
She sobered then reached to stroke the spiky hair on his chin. “I know. That’s what makes you so special. I really—”
“Shhh.” He put his fingers to her lips. “Not now. I’m exhausted and I know you are, too. I’m hoping they’ve given you some pain medicine for your head.” She nodded and he continued. “There’ll be time later, for everything.”
Under the sheet, she snuggled her back to his chest while he circled his arm over to pull her closer. It was a lie. He wished they could go back in time or that none of this had happened. But if no one ever knew he and Emalea had begun to care about each other, then DePaulo would have no reason to hurt her. He would trade their love for her life. And she did love him. He knew it, could feel it when she touched him. Cypress Landing was supposed to have been a place where no dangers lurked, where he had no one who could be threatened. He’d imagined life would be different there, but it wasn’t.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MATT’S PEN SCRATCHED ominously on the papers in front of him and Jackson fought the urge to grab the sheriff’s hand and tell him to stop already. Waiting to be put on trial, that’s what he felt like.
“It’s good to have you back, Jackson.” Matt put the pen aside. “So far nothing’s been said about that incident. Which is a little surprising to me, but let’s hope it stays that way.”
Jackson tried not to look too relieved. “I assume I’m back on the case.”
“I never considered you off it.” Matt smiled while gathering papers and placing them in a folder.
“Good. What’s been happening while I was gone?”
Matt shook his head. “Not much. Your guy made bail, as did the boy from the bait shop.”
“I’ve got my files on this case with me.” Jackson held up several folders. “Why don’t we compare what evidence you’ve come up with so far and see what we get.”
Jackson spread the files across the desktop while Matt placed his alongside. “I believe this is all tied in with the crime family I dealt with in Chicago.” He hoped Matt wouldn’t think he was trying to make the case something it wasn’t or at least that his boss wouldn’t think he was chasing ghosts. “DePaulo, the boss’s nephew, helped sell illegal guns on the street. I know they bought a lot of guns down here and took them north to sell.” Jackson couldn’t believe he was uttering these words. He thought he’d left organized crime behind but, like clearing weeds from the garden, it appeared chasing the Mafia was a never-ending task.
Matt raked his fingers through his hair. “If you want to have your friends in the bureau bring what they can share on this it would be good.”
Jackson nodded. “Consider it done.”
Matt leaned back in his chair. “I hear you had a bit of trouble in Mexico. What was that all about?”
“Somebody stole the boat that we were going out on. They took us to the dive site, then left us.” Jackson thumbed through a file knowing Matt was watching him. He didn’t want to sound paranoid but he needed to bounce his theory off someone.
“A few weeks ago, when I was in New Orleans, I saw DePaulo. We sort of have a history.”
Matt shifted toward his desk, shoving papers aside. “He’s the one you did all that work to get arrested and then they got him off?”
Jackson nodded. “I called some of my friends in Chicago who still work in organized crime. They believe the uncle sent him down here as a punishment for skimming money.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t kill DePaulo or at least let him go to jail.”
Jackson frowned. “He’s his sister’s child. I guess he wanted to give DePaulo a chance to redeem himself.”
Matt tapped his fingers on the desk while Jackson waited. “And you think he’s behind this thing in Mexico.”
“I can’t prove it, but I’ll always believe he killed my family because he knew it would make me suffer. Maybe he figures I’ve suffered so now it’s time to kill me. Especially since I’ve shown up here. He may even think I’m following him.”
Matt rubbed a hand across his forehead and sighed. “First of all you need to be careful, and we better get to work digging up something on this guy before we turn up more dead bodies, namely yours.”
“MAN, YOU LOOK WHACKED.”
Emalea patted the bandage on her forehead. “I’ll assume that’s not a compliment.”
Kent appeared nonplussed. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but you look like you mixed it up with that big guy at the sheriff’s office. You know, the one we saw hammering that man the other day.”
Emalea smiled. “To tell the truth, it was his knee that did this.”
“No sh— I mean no kidding?”
“Yep. He was part of the group I went on a trip with. He and I were knocked down by a big wave in the ocean. We were standing too close and when we fell, my head hit his knee.”
“Standing too close? Were you kissing or what?” The corner of Kent’s lip curled upward, and Emalea wondered if this had been a story best left untold. She should have just said she hit her head on a rock.
“No, it wasn’t like that at all. He was trying to help me stay standing.”
Kent snorted. “He didn’t do a very good job.”
For a moment Emalea wasn’t sure how to respond. Jackson had saved her life, no matter how often he said it wasn’t true.
She realized Kent was watching her, and she had been daydreaming. Recalling what they should be discussing, she smiled. “The odds were against him.”
“That does happen sometimes, Ms. LeBlanc.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied the boy, then nodded. “It certainly does, Kent.”
When she least expected it, Kent exposed tidbits of himself that made her wonder if he might be a much older man wrapped in a kid’s skin. “So how’s your dad after his help was arrested?”
“Really mad. The sheriff keeps coming by asking questions like they think he’s involved.”
“Do you think he is?”
Kent shrugged. “He’s worried that it’s bad for business, might scare people away. Either way it makes life at home not so nice.”
She leaned toward him. “What can I do
?”
“I guess you’re doing it right now.”
She’d never wanted to hug one of her clients like she wanted to hug Kent. Professionally, she couldn’t allow it. Perhaps it was the fact his life mirrored hers that made the connection between them more than just doctor to patient. She wanted to be sister, mother, guardian, protector, but she was none of those.
“That’s good. But you’ll let me know if it starts to get out of hand, huh?” She had to clear her throat to hide the slight crack in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” What else could he say? For just a second, Kent thought Ms. LeBlanc might cry, then it was gone and she was in control. Behind his eyes, tears pooled, but he’d learned long ago to keep them there, no matter how much they wanted to escape. He should have told her that by the time he saw it getting out of hand it would be too late to call anyone, but he didn’t. Maybe it was already out of hand and he just couldn’t admit it.
JACKSON SCOOTED the almost-too-small-for-him chair away from the table. Three days ago he’d shared his theory with Matt that DePaulo might be responsible for illegal guns showing up in Cypress Landing. Last night, when deputies answered a call for shots fired on the outskirts of town, they’d picked up one suspect while two others had escaped. What they had thought would be a simple dispute between a couple of hotheads had turned into the break he’d been hoping for.
“So, what else you wanna know?”
The man sitting across from him took a long pull from a cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. Next to him, his lawyer seemed totally engrossed in what he was writing on a legal pad. The man, who called himself Michael, had refused to say a word until his lawyer had shown up from Chicago. The lawyer had arrived after what Jackson could only deem a miraculously quick trip. Once the lawyer had made a deal to save his client’s butt in exchange for information on illegal guns being brought into the area, Michael had become a fount of information. Which was what bothered Jackson.
