A Different Kind of Man (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Cox, Suzanne

  THE SIGHT OF EMALEA’S TRUCK in front of Earl Raynor’s house left Jackson numb and slow to react. It was happening again. Even ending their relationship hadn’t protected her. He couldn’t imagine one good reason for Emalea to be here, but she was. At the edge of the woods, a black Hummer chewed loose grass and sent it flying.

  He barked at the young man behind the wheel of the game warden’s truck to follow the Hummer. His head thumped against the passenger window as the vehicle jerked forward with more power than he’d anticipated.

  When the Hummer entered the trees, they lost sight of it. They followed the torn ground easily, but the big machine left them far behind. They’d trailed the truck through the woods for nearly fifteen minutes when the path opened to a clear field covered in the fresh green grass of late spring. A white-and-red Cessna rolled away from them at full speed, the Hummer abandoned.

  Jackson rolled down his window as the young game warden sent his truck roaring after the plane. The wheels of the aircraft lifted off the ground for a few seconds only to return with a bump. Leaning out the window, Jackson unloaded the entire clip of his pistol, even though he knew the plane was too far away. He sat back in the seat for a quick reload while ahead of them the Cessna’s wheels left the ground and this time the plane kept rising. His eyes blurred in the waning light reflected off the side of the plane. Then it was gone.

  The truck drew to a stop and he jumped out, stomping around the front of the vehicle, kicking at the offending grass. What now? Sure, they could try and have the plane tracked. But they’d just taken off from a cow pasture. They could just as easily land in a field miles from here. And Emalea was with them. Even though he hadn’t seen her, he knew. He could hear one of the deputies with them radioing to tell Matt and Rick what had happened.

  From his belt, his own radio squawked his name. He nearly threw it into the woods. He sat on the bumper of the truck, wiping his hand across his eyes, before punching the button to talk.

  “This is Jackson.”

  Rick’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Cooper, we’ve got a damn mess at this house. You need to get back here right now.”

  “Is Emalea there?” He didn’t know why he even bothered to ask when he knew in his heart DePaulo would never have left her behind.

  “No, she’s not here. They took her.”

  He snapped the radio onto his belt as he climbed into the truck. “You heard ’em, back to the house.”

  The boy steered the truck toward a nearby road rather than the way they had come. “It’ll be quicker,” he promised.

  Jackson leaned against the headrest. This wasn’t the end. He’d find Emalea and if DePaulo had hurt her, the man would pay.

  A SOFT SWAYING MOTION almost lulled Emalea to sleep. The smell of leaves had been replaced by clean cool air. Air-conditioning, that’s why she was cold. Eyelids that seemed almost glued together kept her from seeing anything, and the gentle rocking threatened to lull her back to sleep. She forced her lids to part, but she could see nothing in the haze that still cloaked her vision. Far away, a night-light glowed. She almost sighed. Her head ached unbelievably, and her fuzzy brain began to clear, as did her vision. She was lying on the floor of a room on a boat, of course. That was why she kept feeling a rocking sensation. Thick gray tape now bound her feet as well as her hands. She jerked her arms and legs. The tape wouldn’t budge. Nausea swelled into her throat but she bit it back. She couldn’t afford the luxury of being sick or even afraid. She had to get out of here.

  What she’d thought was a night-light was now easily recognizable as simply the shaft of light under the door. Outside of this room, lights were on and people moved, going about the business of…of what? Were they readying the necessary equipment to dispose of her body?

  She hauled herself to a sitting position, squinting into the shadowed darkness. Feet, hands and shoulders worked together as she scooted around the floor. A set of bunk beds was attached to one wall and across from them was a small built-in dresser. Fingers scraped over every surface in the room. Then she found it. On the corner of the bed, a piece of metal hadn’t been set properly. She tugged at it, feeling the sharpness in her palm. Thank goodness for poor workmanship. Even a wealthy mafioso’s yacht couldn’t escape a factory flaw. Guardedly, she moved her arm against the sharp edge, which bit into her skin as she scrubbed the tape across it.

  What would she do if she got free? The boat had to be on the Mississippi River. It didn’t feel as if it were moving but just sloshing along with the current, possibly anchored. If she jumped into this water she was as likely to drown as not. The current and the river itself were too unpredictable, taking its victims where it wanted; but if her choices were waiting around to see what these men would do or battling against the river, she’d take the river any day. Metal scraped her arm and she twisted her wrists before shoving the tape against the sharp edge with renewed vigor. Outside her room, a door banged and voices grew louder. Someone was coming for her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FOOTSTEPS STOPPED NEAR the door before it swung silently open. Even the dim light from the interior of the boat blinded Emalea. She held her hands with the frayed gray tape behind her.

  DePaulo stood in the door framed by the lights of the other room. “So, I didn’t kill you after all. That’s good. I wanted you alive, at least until I can get you back to New Orleans.”

  “The sheriff and FBI will find you before you ever get to New Orleans. The Raynors will tell them where we are.”

  “The Raynors don’t know about this boat and even if they did, they’re all dead anyway.”

  Emalea slumped against the wall. “You’re lying.”

  “When we left, Raynor went back to kill his wife and kid. When he came back, he tried to shoot his way out, but one of those country deputies got him. I saw him go down just as we hit the woods. So you can forget about that little family.”

  “They’ll know I’m here. My truck was at that house.” Her voice cracked as she tried to swallow.

  “Right now the sheriff is searching for the plane he thinks you’re on. So sit back and enjoy what little time you have left. When we get to New Orleans we’ll find out just how much you mean to my friend Mr. Cooper. I’m betting he’ll run right down there to save you. Then I can finish him off for good.”

  The door thudded closed, returning Emalea to darkness. Everything had gone so incredibly wrong. Kent and his mother… She bit back a sob and fell onto her side while tears ran into her ear and onto the floor. In an instant the whole world had gone spiraling out of control and the cost of the ticket to end it could be her life and Jackson’s. She tried to rub her cheeks against her shoulders as she struggled to a sitting position. Finding the sharp edge on the bed, she began to bump the tape across it. No one could help her now, except herself.

  WITH EACH MOVEMENT THE tiny canoe shivered beneath him. Jackson paddled with all his might, wishing he could risk using the small motor. Rick and the others from the FBI were certain the noise of a motor wouldn’t be noticed, especially since they’d be stopping on the opposite side of the spit of land between DePaulo’s boat and Cypress Landing’s side of the river. His boat camouflaged by the tiny island, DePaulo doubtlessly thought his ploy with the plane had worked, but the least sign of trouble could send him and his men running, which was why Jackson chose the quietest approach possible. Right now he could only hope that Emalea was still on the boat, and that she wasn’t hurt. He had to be thankful for the information that had sent them here instead of chasing after the plane.

  Behind him, Pete shifted, causing the boat to wobble even more. His arm still in a sling, Pete had to be hurting. He couldn’t help Jackson paddle but had insisted on coming. The sheriff had agreed.

  “He knows the area better than anyone. Besides, there’s not a whole lot of solid ground on that little piece of dirt in the middle of the river. But Pete can get you to the other side.”

  Thankfully, darkness had set in with a vengeance. Clouds ch
ased each other across the sky, sending only patches of milky light onto the water. The canoe, or pirogue, as Pete had called it, thudded against the muddy bottom as they slid through thick grass beneath the drooping arms of a weeping willow. He stepped out with Pete right behind him, both of them sinking to their ankles in mud.

  “You sure you know the way across? I don’t want to sink neck deep in mud.”

  Pete snorted. “I know exactly where we need to go. I never said we wouldn’t get muddy, though. We’re just lucky we found out they were using this boat.”

  “It was a surprise, but a good one, for sure.”

  The squish of mud echoed in Jackson’s ears, sounding bigger than an alarm bell. What if he was too late? What if… He shook his head. He wouldn’t give in to that kind of thinking. Emalea was alive. She had to be because he wouldn’t accept the possibility that he might lose her. Not when he’d only just begun to believe he could care again. In truth, he’d long since passed the point of just beginning to care. Totally consumed would be a much better description of the feelings that swamped him at the thought of Emalea, and especially at the thought he might not be able to share his life with her.

  The heavy bag bumped against his hip, making him aware of the silence punctuated only by his and Pete’s labored breathing. He stopped at the edge of the underbrush, the water swirling, in front of him, the boat’s lights giving off a yellowish gleam. DePaulo wasn’t hiding. Confident in his plan to confuse his pursuers, he wasn’t concerned that the local sheriff might find him.

  Dropping the bag into the mud, Jackson began slipping into his dive gear. He carried no extra gear for Emalea except the octopus or extra breathing piece attached to the air tank along with the regulator he would breathe through. He knew the water was dangerous but they would make it. They had to.

  Reading his thoughts, Pete bumped his shoulder. “You should be able to swim straight to the boat from here. The current’s not so bad on this side and they’re anchored close in. You’ll do fine. Em’s a strong swimmer, too. When you two get off that boat use your scuba gear to stay deep until the sheriff picks you up. You don’t want to be in range of their bullets if they shoot at you from the boat. The SWAT team is ready to go at my signal.” Pete paused, looking at the boat calmly floating in the water. “So this is how the rich and unlawful live?”

  Jackson snorted. “Yeah, kinda sickening, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe when you catch the guy, we can impound the boat and take it for a little fishing trip.”

  He laughed then held out his hand. “Thanks, Pete, for everything.”

  “Just hurry and get our girl off that boat.”

  Jackson waded into the river, the mud sucking at his calves. Leaning forward, he dropped into the water, dragging his feet free. He swam just under the surface until he was within twenty feet of the boat. There was no movement on deck, but through a small window he could see three men inside the cabin. No sign of Emalea, not that he expected her to be in the open. Sighting in the boat’s anchor line on his compass, he dove deeper and began fighting the current. He’d seen no indication of the sheriff or the SWAT team, but he knew they were there, waiting for him to perform what some thought would be a miracle. The SWAT team and the FBI had wanted to swarm the boat, but Jackson knew DePaulo too well. Emalea wouldn’t survive such an attack. DePaulo would make sure of that. At the first sign of trouble he’d kill her and torch the boat. No, this was the only way—quietly, when they were least expecting it.

  He had to swim for several minutes to reach the anchor line. With his hand on the line, he swam almost to the bottom then removed a rope from his BC jacket. Next, he removed his gear and tied it to the anchor line with the rope he had brought. He put his mask in one of the loops on the jacket then took several deep breaths before twisting the knob on the air tank to the off position. He said a quick prayer that they’d make it back here and be able to get to the equipment. With both hands on the anchor line, he pulled himself to the surface and began making his way to the small water-level deck on the back of the boat.

  BLOOD TRICKLED DOWN her fingers as the tape pulled apart. Her hands were free at last, and within minutes she had her legs free. Muscles aching, Emalea struggled to her feet, edging toward the door, hands stretched in front of her, the darkness only broken by the thin glow on the floor. She’d heard the voices of two other men on the boat. Her chances of survival might not be good, but she wouldn’t sit around and wait on DePaulo’s time schedule. If he wanted to shoot her and toss her in the river, it would be while she was doing everything in her power to get away. She might not be trained in escape tactics or martial arts but, if motivation counted for anything, she was in good shape because every cell of her body was focused on getting out of here alive.

  Listening at the door, she could hear muffled voices in another room. Now was not the time. She’d wait. Maybe they’d at least go on deck, giving her a chance to get out of this room and off the boat. As she settled against the wall, she replaced the tape at her feet in case one of them decided to check in on her.

  HER EYELIDS WERE HEAVY, and Emalea began to worry she might fall asleep. Time had begun to have no relevance. Had she only just gotten free of the tape or had it been hours ago? She shook her head, realizing that she had actually dozed for a few minutes. Then she heard something. A scraping noise on deck, then a muffled yelp of pain followed by a splash. Outside her room, feet slapped against the floor as the men ran to the top deck. Ripping the tape off her feet, she floundered to the door and twisted the handle easily. Thank goodness for DePaulo’s overconfidence. He hadn’t been worried that she would escape. Above her, shouts split the night air, but she tried not to think too long on what might be taking place. She had one way to stay alive and that way was up the steps in front of her.

  The first rush of air touched her skin, but she had no time to revel in it as she slammed into a body blocking her way. She recognized one of DePaulo’s men as he stumbled then half fell toward her. With a quick jerk, she drove her knee into his groin, grabbing his wrist to capture the pistol in his now loose grip. She backed away, holding the gun on the two men remaining on the deck.

  “Emalea.”

  In the dark, she could barely distinguish Jackson’s face, but his body appeared coiled, prepared to spring in an instant. Three feet away, the muzzle of DePaulo’s gun was pointed at Jackson.

  “Well, well, I’d say we have a situation here, wouldn’t you, Mr. Cooper? I hope your girlfriend’s a good shot. Either way, you’ll get this bullet.”

  Emalea took a step toward the man. “I’m a very good shot and I promise, if you even start to pull that trigger, you’re done.” Her hand was firm on the handle of the pistol. She’d never shot anything except a target, but right now Jackson’s life as well as her own depended on how she handled herself.

  To her right, the man she’d hit rushed toward her. She spun, squeezing the trigger. The gun spit bullets at him and his eyes widened for a few seconds, before he fell to the deck. DePaulo, distracted by her shots, missed Jackson’s leap toward him. The force of his attack sent both men to the ground, fighting for control of the weapon as they rolled on the deck.

  Emalea trained her gun on the man on top of Jackson. She pulled the trigger, but the gun didn’t fire. The clip was empty.

  Jackson punched DePaulo, sending the man’s pistol clattering across the deck toward the stairs. She made a step toward it as DePaulo scrambled in the same direction.

  Something whizzed past her ear, and she realized it was a bullet. The man she’d shot struggled to his feet and fired another smaller pistol he’d concealed. Fingers closed around her wrist and she felt herself hit with a flying tackle. She had no idea what Jackson was doing as they tumbled over the side of the boat into the dark river while a whirring sound vibrated the water near her head. They were still shooting. She tried for a moment to open her eyes but knew she couldn’t see, so she kept them closed. Because they’d gone under with no preparation she hadn’t
had a chance to get a deep breath and already her lungs were beginning to burn. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to drown in this muddy river or risk getting a bullet in the head. She tried to kick her feet, trusting that Jackson had a plan and would let her get a breath in a second. Her back bumped against the bottom of the boat and she realized Jackson was feeling for something. She only wished he’d hurry.

  They swam farther, and she began to struggle toward the top, her lungs aching for relief, but he pulled her back. Around them, she could hear bullets ripping through the water and she realized their only safety was in deeper water, but she doubted she could hold her breath long enough to outdistance the bullets.

  Jackson shoved a rope into her hand, then a piece of plastic bumped against her mouth. With her free hand she grabbed at the round object, recognizing a regulator. Shoving the mouthpiece between her lips she used the last bit of air in her lungs to blow out the water that had gone in her mouth with the plastic, then she took a shallow breath. When she was certain no water remained, she took a deep breath, concentrating on not breathing through her nose. She was used to having a mask to keep her nose pinched closed and to keep water from entering. She heard a clicking noise that almost sounded like a radio crackling, then they were swimming again as the roaring of boat motors passing overhead made her ears ring.

  At last they began to go upward. The night air continued to be riddled with gunfire and when the balmy breeze hit her face, she sucked humid air into her lungs. A light flashed on her while, behind her, men swarmed onto DePaulo’s boat. An aluminum motorboat pulled alongside them and hands wrapped around her, dragging her into the bottom of the vessel, which rocked precariously as Jackson climbed over the side. She recognized Matt at the back steering.