by Cox, Suzanne
WHEN EMALEA MADE IT to the school after her day’s schedule at the prison, kids had already started pouring out of the building. Megan stepped onto the front sidewalk and Emalea spotted her. Waving to one of her friends, Megan hurried to the white truck.
“He still didn’t come back today, and I didn’t see his cousins. Do you think something could be wrong?”
“I’m sure he’s fine, Megan. He’s probably home sick with a virus, like you said.”
The girl twisted blond hair around her finger. “I hope so. I’d hate for anything to happen to him.”
Emalea rubbed the back of her neck to see if the hair was actually standing on end, but it wasn’t. Dread settled familiarly in her stomach. “I’ll go to his house and check, just to be sure.”
“What if his dad’s there? What will you tell him so he won’t find out Kent’s a patient of yours?”
“I’ve been thinking on that today. I’ll tell him I’m helping the attendance officer. Since Kent’s missed several days maybe his dad won’t think much of it.”
“Would you let me know what you find? I’ll be working at Picture Perfect until five this evening.” She was now chewing on the piece of hair she had wrapped around her finger earlier.
“I will, Megan, and don’t worry.”
Back in her truck, Emalea steered toward the road that ran parallel to the river, wishing she could follow her own advice and not worry. She’d found Kent’s address early on during their meetings and had even ridden past his driveway. The house hadn’t been visible from the road. She drove by a rusted mobile home with thick grass growing in the yard; the trees closed in on her and a chill settled on her skin even though the sun still beamed through the truck’s side window. Only a few more miles to Kent’s house.
She turned on her blinker and pulled the truck into the Raynors’ driveway. Occasional spurts of grass grew in the center of the rocks along the rutted gravel road. Braking, she brought her truck to a stop. Please don’t let me cause trouble for Kent, she prayed. Her body stiffened with memories she’d hoped had been left behind long ago. She needed to help Kent and his mom. She just had to find a way to make it happen.
Slamming her foot on the accelerator, the truck lurched forward. Waiting around wouldn’t make this visit easier. Light blue paint peeled on every board of the sagging house, revealing gray weathered wood beneath. Machine parts of no discernable origin littered the half dirt, half grass yard. That was why the shiny black Hummer 2 sitting next to the house had to belong to a rich relative in for a visit, or else the bait shop business was much better than she imagined.
She forced herself to leave the truck and trudge cautiously to the front steps. The first tread sagged underfoot. She stopped as her throat constricted. She closed her eyes. Before her loomed a huge man, his fist hammering her cheek, knocking her off the step. She grabbed the rickety porch railing and shook her head, fighting back the images of her father that threatened to send her racing to her truck. She wouldn’t let the memories of him keep her from helping Kent and his mother avoid what had been so unavoidable for her. Deep down, she had a strength that had seen her through all those years and she called on it now as she crossed the porch and rapped on the door.
She heard movement inside the house and knocked a second time. The door cracked, then a short wiry man appeared. In his worn camouflage pants and faded brown T-shirt, Earl Raynor didn’t fit her image of abusive men and she reminded herself, again, that there was no physical mold that they had all sprung from.
“Hi, you must be Mr. Raynor. I’m working with the school’s attendance officer. We noticed Kent’s been absent a good bit this week. I… They sent me to check on him.”
“He’s fine.” The man began to shut the door.
“Could I see him? It’s concerning the schoolwork he’s missed.”
“He ain’t here.”
Emalea tried not to clench her fists. “Has he been sick?”
Earl Raynor pushed the door back and stepped onto the porch. “He’s been helping me this week. Not that it’s any business of yours or the school’s. I’ll keep my boy home when I feel like it.”
“Actually there is an attendance law here.” Emalea fought to keep her voice calm and controlled.
He took a step toward her and the anger she felt at this man’s unconcern for his wife and child kept her from backing away. He pointed his finger at her, and she thought he meant to poke her with it. “Don’t talk to me about the law.”
“When will Kent be back? I want to see him.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t back down.
“You get out of here and don’t worry about Kent. He’ll be back at school in a week or so, when I say he can go back.”
Emalea bit at her bottom lip. She’d had enough. This little man wasn’t going to scare her. He might be used to tromping all over his family, but he couldn’t do that with her. “Mr. Raynor, I’m going to see Kent. If I have to get the sheriff to do it then I will.”
His hand caught her ponytail, yanking her head back. The cold metal of a pistol she couldn’t see pressed underneath her chin.
“That ain’t gonna happen.” With his foot, he shoved open the door, using the hand at the back of her neck to drive her forward.
On the living-room floor was an array of weapons in every size. The sofa and chairs had seen their better days, but cheap slipcovers were thrown over them in an attempt to disguise their shabbiness. The men sitting on that furniture appeared to be the type more accustomed to fine leather than this ragged decor. Their casual polo shirts, neatly creased chinos and smooth leather shoes were as foreign in this house as the expensive vehicle sitting in the yard.
“What’s going on, Raynor?” A younger man with a bit of a paunch and jet-black hair leaned forward in his threadbare recliner.
“It’s just a woman from the school, wanting to see my boy.”
The man grimaced. “And you thought bringing her in here was a good idea?”
“She was threatening to call the sheriff.” Raynor gave her hair a jerk and Emalea’s head bobbed backward. She sucked in air to help her bite back a yelp of pain.
“What are we supposed to do with her now?” the man in the recliner asked.
Raynor shoved her farther into the room. “I figured you would know how to take care of her, DePaulo.”
The man called DePaulo sighed, picking at a nonexistent thread on his pants.
“I’ve seen her before.” Emalea’s eyes jerked toward another man across the room. He was sitting on the sofa as he gestured toward her and addressed the man called DePaulo. She didn’t know him, did she? He was slightly familiar, as though they might have bumped into each other.
“That’s the woman who was on the boat with Cooper in Mexico.”
The man called DePaulo smoothed his slicked-back hair. “So, what you’re telling me is, if you’d done your job before, we wouldn’t be having this problem right now.”
The other man appeared to squirm into the lumpy cushions. “But you said to make it look like an accident. If I’d shot them and the bodies were found, it wouldn’t have been much of an accident.”
“You should have made sure the bodies wouldn’t be found.”
The shorter man was quiet now. Jackson had been right when he’d said what had happened in Mexico had been meant for him. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that organized crime had made a pit stop in Cypress Landing. Glancing at Kent’s father, she realized she had underestimated him. He was more than just an abusive man misled by petty hatreds. He was dangerous.
DePaulo came to stand in front of her. “So you’re Jackson Cooper’s girlfriend.”
Emalea tried to shake her head while Raynor held on to her hair. “No, I just happened to go diving with him that morning.”
Flicking a strand of hair away from her cheek, he grinned, then in a quick forceful motion, he slammed his open hand across the side of her face. Grabbing a chair to keep from falling to the floor, Emalea wondered how far she would get if she tried to break a
nd run. As if reading her mind, the man grabbed her upper arm, dragging her upright.
“That’s just so you’ll know who’s in charge here. Maybe you’re Cooper’s girlfriend and maybe you aren’t. It might just pay me to find out. I’ve had enough of that cop showing up everywhere I go.” He shoved her toward Kent’s father. “Lock her in the room with your wife and kid. We’ll take her with us when we leave. You never know, she might come in handy—” his finger raked across her lips “—for something.”
Raynor pulled her toward the hallway. She stumbled along behind him trying to fix every detail in her mind. Surely she could find a way out of here. Her breathing grew difficult as her chest tightened and for the first time since she’d left New Orleans, years ago, she was afraid for her life.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE DOOR SLAMMED SHUT behind her while she considered telling them the sheriff knew she was here and would be searching for her soon. But that lie might bring trouble down on her faster than keeping quiet and buying time. A movement in the room caught her attention and behind her a dim light appeared. Spinning around she saw Kent and his mother standing against the opposite wall of the windowless room; Kent’s hand covered the end of a flashlight. In the murky glow, the cuts and bruises on their faces gave them an eerie, almost ghostlike appearance. Mrs. Raynor radiated fear.
“Ms. LeBlanc, what happened? What are you doing here?”
She shook her head as the boy came to stand in front of her. “I wanted to check on you. I was worried when you missed your appointment and Megan told me you’d missed school most of the week.”
The boy was quiet, and Emalea surveyed the room, hoping for a point of escape, but with no windows and not even a stick of furniture the place was worse than a jail cell.
“What is this room?” she asked.
“My dad uses it for a storeroom. He keeps it locked and has the only key. I guess maybe he keeps guns here. I found this flashlight in that stuff in the corner.” He swung the beam toward a few dusty boxes before staring at the floor. “I didn’t know, Ms. LeBlanc. I suspected he was doing something wrong but I didn’t know what, not until the last few weeks.”
She touched the boy’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Kent. Why are you two in here?”
Mrs. Raynor came forward. “My husband said we should go visit my sister in Lafayette. We went, but came home early.” She touched her bruised face. “My husband was furious. He threw us in here and locked the door.”
“Did you see the other men who are here?”
“No, he was alone.”
Emalea twisted her hair behind her head. “We’ve got to find a way out. You two might be safe, but that guy is going to make sure I stay quiet and I don’t think he’s going to ask me nicely. I’m just praying the sheriff has an idea what’s going on.”
“They know.”
She watched Kent as he leaned against the wall.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I told them, or at least I told someone to tell them.”
Mrs. Raynor stepped toward him. “When? How did you do it? How did you know?”
“After they arrested the boy selling guns at the bait shop, Dad acted strange. I hung around when I could listen to his cell-phone calls and his calls at the bait shop. I found out they were selling the guns right before he sent us to Lafayette.”
Mrs. Raynor grabbed his arm. “Why did you let me come back, Kent?”
“I didn’t know exactly when it would happen or how to tell you or what you would do if you knew. You might have come back anyway, maybe even told him the sheriff knew.”
“Kent, you can’t believe I would put us in danger like that.”
He glanced past his mother at the wall behind her. “We’ve been in danger for a long time.”
Mrs. Raynor could only stare at the boy. Emalea imagined that possibly for the first time, Kent’s mother could see the damage her son had suffered in this house. At least if she could recognize it, she might try to change their situation.
After a few moments, Kent continued. “When we got here I heard my dad on the phone. He said they weren’t making the sale until six—that’s the message I sent the sheriff. I guess after he put us in here they changed the time.”
“How did you contact the sheriff?”
“I had a cell phone.”
Kent’s mother stared at the boy. “Where did you get a cell phone?”
“Never mind that.” Emalea grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Where is the phone?”
“I was afraid they’d find it on me and the person I was calling would get in trouble, so I dropped it in the back of the commode when I went to the bathroom earlier.”
Emalea spun around banging on the door. “Hey, I need to go to the bathroom.” She had no idea if the phone would work but it was worth a try. “Come on, I need to go!”
There was a bumping at the door followed by a loud voice. “DePaulo says you can go on the floor for all he cares, but you’re not leaving that room.”
She slammed her back against the door.
“I went before those men got here,” Kent said softly.
Emalea grasped his shoulders again, spinning him around to face her. “If you told the sheriff six they might be too late.”
Kent nodded.
She began a slow circuit of the room. “We’ve got to try and find a way out.”
An hour later, Emalea leaned back, rubbing her raw fingers. She’d spent part of the time peeling back the already curling linoleum. Escape through the floor had been their only option, but they’d been unable to get a board loose. The door was padlocked on the outside. So, short of breaking the thing down, they wouldn’t be able to go that way. She wouldn’t admit the situation was hopeless, but she could see the despair on Kent’s face as well as his mother’s.
Outside the door, the lock rattled. She shoved her keys back in her pocket as she bolted to her feet. DePaulo stood in the doorway smiling.
“Time to go, little lady.”
As the other two men with him came toward her, she shoved one and kicked her foot in the shin of the other. Kent jumped on the back of the man holding his lower leg, knocking him to the floor. Emalea punched the second man who rushed toward her as she tried to race for the open door. Her cheek met cold steel that pushed her head to one side.
“Don’t make me shoot you right here. I’d rather not leave a mess to deal with afterward.” The nose of the pistol forced her head back even farther.
“Raynor, you deal with your family. I’ll take the lady with me.”
With the gun still against her head, DePaulo took hold of Emalea’s shoulder, shoving her through the house. Stumbling on the porch steps, she tried to watch for an opportunity to break away, but the gun never wavered. DePaulo slammed her against the door of the Hummer then jerked her hands behind her back. She heard an ominous sound she couldn’t distinguish, then a sticky strip of tape bit into the skin of her wrists. Hopeless still wasn’t a word she was willing to use, not yet, but without her hands free her situation had become dismal.
DePaulo dragged her into the back seat next to him while one of the other men slammed the door. He smiled and bumped her chin with the muzzle of the gun as the vehicle began to move.
“Now for a little deception. We’ll—”
“Boss, we got trouble.”
The warning from the front seat had both DePaulo and Emalea turning for a better view through the tinted windows. One, no make that three, cruisers pulled into sight on the long gravel drive. They were still several hundred yards away, but relief flooded through her, maybe her chances had improved. DePaulo seemed completely unperturbed by the approach of the officers.
“We should follow the plan we established.”
The man in front nodded, and the big truck bounced across the yard toward the woods. Just when Emalea had decided their plan was to ram the truck into the trees, a narrow clearing appeared. The driver steered along the path while tree limbs raked the sides
of the SUV. Twenty yards in, a small tree lay across the opening. The Hummer never slowed. Emalea’s head hit the roof and her shoulder crashed into the door. Behind them sirens wailed, not quite covering the brief thump-thump of gunfire she knew came from the house. She prayed Kent and his mother wouldn’t be hurt. She prayed for a way to escape. Even though she knew the sheriff’s men were behind them, she couldn’t see them. They couldn’t keep up with a vehicle made for the very thing they were doing.
The truck slowed to a crawl as the path made a ninety-degree turn, the river just visible through the underbrush. DePaulo took a handful of her hair, threw open the door and jumped, dragging Emalea headfirst behind him.
She tucked her legs under to keep the truck from rolling on top of them, then half ran, half crawled into the trees, with DePaulo still holding her by the hair. Five feet into the woods, he hit her with his full weight in a tackle that sent them both to the ground, his body crushing her into the spongy dirt. The gun banged against her temple.
“Don’t even think about moving or I’ll kill you right here, on the spot. They think you’re in the truck so your stinking body won’t be found until I’m long gone.”
Fog shrouded her brain and her head ached where he’d hit her. She didn’t have time to weigh her chances of drawing attention, as the two sheriff cars and a game warden’s truck roared past, tires flinging chunks of dirt while the drivers negotiated the sharp curve.
Dead leaves and dirt clung to her. DePaulo grabbed her shirt and dragged her to her feet. He pushed her toward the river, but she stumbled, falling to her knees. He pulled her upright by her hair. A formidable-looking man waited beside a small boat. If she could only get away long enough to lose herself in the woods, she would be safe. They’d never follow her. They wouldn’t be able to. She knew these woods better than most, certainly better than these city criminals.
She jerked hard, hair ripping from her head, but she was free. Desperate to keep her balance with her hands behind her back, she floundered through the grass and leaves. The neck of her shirt tightened around her throat, and she was jerked backward. This time, when the gun cracked against her skull, the earth tilted and the scent of musty leaves filled her nose, then nothing.
