by Sharon Sala
“Yes.”
“Then how did you get away?”
“There was an, uh…an incident yesterday afternoon. One of the men tried to kill Nick, then came after me. That man’s name is Lou Drake. Nick chased him down in the swamp. Later Nick found me, and we took shelter in an abandoned barn. When it got to be daylight, he headed back to my home. Said he couldn’t break his cover, but he was going to tell them that he couldn’t find me. I walked to a neighbor’s house for help. I don’t know if they’re still at my house, or if they finally fixed my car enough that they could drive it. It’s a blue, late model Chevrolet Impala. All the windows are broken out except the windshield, and there are a whole lot of dents in the body. I’m thinking it would be difficult to miss.”
“Your home…give me your address,” he snapped. “I have men in the area. They can check it out.”
“There aren’t signs or markers to find the place. It’s sort of complicated,” Amalie said. “I’m going to let Chief Porter give you directions. Oh…and one other thing…”
“Yes?”
“If they’re no longer at my house, Nick said to tell you that they’d be heading to New Orleans to take Tug to a hospital, but I don’t know which one.”
“Thank you, Miss Pope. This is the best news I’ve had in days.”
“You’re welcome. But it’s Nick you need to thank, because he not only saved my life, he helped me get away.” Then she handed the phone to the chief.
“He needs to know how to get to my house. I’m not very good at giving directions.”
Hershel took the phone.
Amalie sat down, then leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. The chief’s voice rose and fell as he spoke, but she tuned out the words. Louis patted her shoulder, reminding her that he was still here.
She wanted to cry, which was silly. There wasn’t anything to cry about. She was safe. She’d been fed, and she’d delivered Nick’s messages. But her heart was still out there somewhere with him.
Was he safe? Were they still at her house, or were they gone?
Suddenly she realized someone was talking to her.
“Hmm? What?”
“The chief wants to get you checked out at the E.R.,” Louis said.
“I don’t need a doctor. I need a bath, clean clothes, some groceries and a car.”
Hershel stifled a grin. “I can call Rent-a-Car for you. Where do you want it delivered?”
“She will be spending the night at my house,” Louis said. “I won’t have her at home alone until I know those terrible men are back in custody.”
“Fine,” Amalie said. “I can come back into Bordelaise and shop for groceries after the car is delivered.”
“And I will make sure you do not go hungry again,” Louis said.
Hershel frowned. “What’s this about being hungry?”
“They…ate all my food,” Amalie said. “Basically, we ran out about a day and a half ago.”
“Good Lord,” Hershel muttered. “I’m so sorry that this happened. We didn’t know until yesterday, when the DEA search team found their car, that there was even a possibility that the men were still alive.”
Then he stood. “Louis, good to know you’ll be looking after Amalie’s needs.”
“Amalie will be looking after her own needs, with Louis’s help,” she said.
Both men grinned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hershel said. “Now I’m going to round up some help and head on out to your place. You don’t go back there until you hear from us, okay?”
“The phones are still out of order,” Louis said.
“So I’ll come to Louis’s house and tell you myself, then,” Hershel replied.
“Thank you,” Amalie said, then turned to Louis. “I’m ready when you are.”
Louis nodded, then offered his arm. “Then it is time to take you to my home. You can have your bath, clean clothes, good food and a safe place to sleep.”
Amalie sighed. It all sounded like heaven. But as they drove out of Bordelaise, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would ever see Nick Aroyo again.
Thirteen
The team Babcock sent to Amalie’s house consisted of Agents Edwards, Lord and Smith. They came down the driveway leading to the Vatican just ahead of a Bordelaise police cruiser, both circling the house to check for the car as they’d been instructed. When they saw it was missing, they all knew they were too late. Still, they had orders to check out the house.
Edwards was the first man out of the car.
Chief Porter and his deputy, Lee Tullius, were in the cruiser that pulled up beside them.
Edwards nodded at the pair.
“Looks like we’re too late.”
“Still gonna check it out, though, right?” Hershel asked.
“Absolutely,” Edwards said. “Chief, if you and your deputy will take the front of the house, we’ll cover the back.”
Hershel nodded and headed around the house on foot, with Lee right behind him. Both of them had already unholstered their weapons, ready for any surprises.
Edwards motioned to Lord and Smith, who armed themselves and headed for the back door.
Their footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden floor of the veranda as they came up the steps. Edwards frowned and motioned for Lord to walk easy.
Lord frowned. “It’s not like we were invisible as we came down the driveway,” he muttered, but eased his steps.
They proceeded to the back door, taking care not to silhouette themselves in front of any windows. The old screen door squeaked as they opened it, but when Edwards tried the back doorknob it turned easily, unlocked.
Although the screen had squeaked, the wooden door opened on well-oiled hinges as they slipped inside. Ignoring the jumble of dirty dishes and an overflowing trash can, they quickly moved through the kitchen toward the front of the house.
Edwards pointed to the front door. “Let them in,” he said, nodding toward the Bordelaise officers coming up the front steps.
Together the five men made a sweep through the house, checking all the rooms on all three floors before they were confident the house was empty.
They found Amalie’s bedroom, taking note of the mattress on the floor outside her door. The hair stood up on the back of Hershel’s neck as he thought about what Amalie Pope had endured. Thank God Aroyo had been one of the good guys, or she might not have come out of this episode alive.
Downstairs, they found the bed Tug French had been using. Given the bloody stains on the sheets and pillow-case, it wasn’t difficult to ascertain.
“I’ll call it in,” Edwards said, while Hershel and his deputy secured the house, locking doors behind them as they finally exited the premises.
Hershel found a key to the back door hanging on a hook inside the kitchen and took it with him as he left. They needed to lock up the house, but he didn’t want to lock Amalie out.
“I’ll notify the State Highway Patrol,” he said. “According to Amalie, Aroyo said they’d be heading to New Orleans. You have the make and model of the car, right?”
Edwards nodded.
“We’ll be in touch,” Hershel said, then headed for the cruiser. He had made a promise to Amalie Pope, and he wasn’t going back to Bordelaise until she knew her home was safe again.
Edwards punched in the direct number to Babcock’s office, then waited for an answer. It wasn’t long in coming.
“Babcock.”
“Sir. It’s Edwards. We’re at the house. The car’s gone, and the house is empty.”
“I figured as much,” Babcock said. “I’ve already alerted New Orleans PD. They have men stationed at every hospital in the city. Wherever they show up, we’ll be waiting.”
“Chief Porter was going to contact the Louisiana Highway Patrol.”
“Already done,” Babcock said. “They’ve been advised to be on the lookout for Amalie Pope’s car.”
“I have to say, sir…if it’s as badly damaged as she claimed, it would be difficult to miss.”
&nb
sp; “Agreed. They won’t take the main roads until they have to, but we’ll get them.”
“What about us? Do you want us in New Orleans?”
“No. I already have men moving into place. Report back to headquarters.”
“Yes, sir,” Edwards said, and disconnected.
“What next?” Lord asked, as Edwards climbed into their car.
“This gig is over for us. We report back to headquarters.”
“None too soon for me,” Smith said, swatting at a mosquito. “I’ve already seen too damn many snakes and alligators.” He slapped his neck, then made a face at the dead mosquito splattered on the palm of his hand. “As for the bugs…just roll up the windows and drive.”
They drove away laughing, glad their buddy was still alive and that their part in this mess was officially over.
Nick had been driving for more than two hours, taking the back roads and lesser-traveled highways to get as close to New Orleans as possible before finally getting onto Interstate 10. His evasive driving had been a screen, maintaining the appearance of trying to elude the police. If the others knew how badly he wanted to be found, they would have killed him on the spot.
Lou was hunkered down on his side of the front seat and had wisely stayed mute.
Wayman was as close to losing it as he’d been since the first day of their escape. Tug was incoherent and moaning constantly, which upped his panic even more. Wayman grabbed the back of the driver’s seat and then yelled in Nick’s ear, shouting to be heard above the whistle of the wind whipping through the car’s missing windows.
“Do we have enough gas? Don’t want to run out of gas!”
Nick glanced at the gauge. It was still over half full from their last stop, and they were less than thirty minutes from the outskirts of New Orleans.
“We’re good,” Nick said. “How’s Tug?”
Wayman scooted to the edge of the seat. “Not good. Not good at all.”
A semi sped past them, stirring up even more wind and leaving behind a thick cloud of diesel smoke, which was sucked straight into the car.
“Son of a bitch!” Wayman said. “That stinks.”
Lou silently agreed, but after the warning Aroyo had given him, he hadn’t opened his mouth.
He’d bounced uncomfortably over parish back roads with dust blowing in the windows and the hot wind whipping through the car. He was still in pain from the beating Nick had given him and didn’t like this feeling of helplessness—of not being able to see or defend himself. But when he realized Wayman was close at hand, he got up the courage to voice an opinion.
“I need a drink. I’m thirsty. Can’t we stop to get something to eat and drink?”
“No money,” Wayman reminded him. “Used what we had for gas.”
Lou dropped his head and began fidgeting with his seat belt, trying to unlock it.
Nick glanced over at the man, and when he saw the seat belt come off and then Lou reach in his pocket, he swerved out of the lane of traffic onto the side of the road and slammed on the brakes.
“What the hell?” Lou screamed, as Nick grabbed him by the throat.
The silence within the car after the roar and whistle of the wind was as shocking as Nick’s behavior.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Nick said softly.
“Money…I was just getting out some money,” Lou cried, and slapped a wad of money into Nick’s lap. “See! See! Money!”
Nick picked it up, frowning as he counted over a hundred dollars in cash.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“Out of the bitch’s purse days ago, damn it.”
“You were holding out on us,” Wayman growled, and slapped Lou on the back of the head. “What else did you take that you’re not talking about?”
“Nothing!” Lou screamed. “I swear…and don’t fuckin’ hit me again.”
Nick picked up the money and handed it to Wayman. The simple act seemed to calm the situation. Wayman pocketed the money, then leaned back in the seat and nodded at Nick.
“First convenience store you come to, I guess we can stop.”
“Too risky,” Nick said. “We need to keep moving. We can stop after we get Tug to a hospital.”
Wayman glanced at his brother, then let out a gasp.
“He’s bleeding again! Look, there’s fresh blood on his bandage!”
Nick glanced up in the rearview mirror, then frowned. Way was right. A new patch of bright red blood was seeping through. “This isn’t good. Whatever caused this probably happened when we moved him.”
Now it was crucial that they get to New Orleans as soon as possible. He put the car in gear and pulled back onto I-10.
The wind picked up as they picked up speed, whistling through the interior, irritating Lou’s swollen eyes, and once more whipping at their clothes and hair.
Lou ducked his head, afraid to open his mouth again.
Wayman was near tears, afraid his brother was going to die before they could get to New Orleans.
But Nick’s worries went deeper. He kept thinking about Amalie. What if something had happened to her? He shouldn’t have left her like that. He couldn’t bear to think that he’d put his job ahead of her well-being again, but it was beginning to appear that was what he’d done. If she’d gotten to her friend’s house and alerted the authorities, they should have caught up with them by now. Granted, he’d taken a lot of back roads to get to the main highway, but they’d been on I-10 long enough and had yet to see a highway patrol car.
He wanted to be found. He wanted to turn in his evidence and get this fiasco over with, and he wanted to get back to Amalie Pope. They’d started something that he wanted to pursue.
She’d become more to him than just a pretty woman days ago. Making love to her had solidified those feelings. She was strong and amazing, and he’d already faced the fact that he was falling in love. He didn’t want to lose that—or her.
More minutes passed while his thoughts bordered on panic. No cops—no choppers—no police of any kind in sight. It had to mean something had happened to her.
Just as he was about to give up hope, he caught a glimpse of a helicopter flying parallel to the highway and moving in their same direction. Within seconds it went up and out of his line of sight. His heart skipped a beat. Was that them? He wanted to look again but didn’t dare. The last thing he needed was to start a situation inside the car. There was no way Lou could see it, and luckily Wayman was too concerned with what was happening to his brother to be bothered by anything else.
A couple of minutes passed before Nick ventured another look. It was still there—tracking right along with them. Then he saw the insignia of the Louisiana Highway Patrol and stifled a grin.
She’d done it! By God, Amalie had done it!
Now all he had to do was keep on driving and wait for them to make the first move.
Stewart Babcock was pacing the floor of his office, following the chase with his phone set on speaker. The chopper pilot had just radioed in that they’d spotted the blue Chevrolet Impala in question and been patched through to Stewart’s office.
“Can you tell how many men are inside the car?” Stewart asked.
“Counted four heads,” the pilot responded. “Driver is a dark-haired male. Appears to be a big guy.”
Aroyo. Babcock’s mood was getting better by the minute.
“Remember, we do not want to try and stop them on the interstate. The last thing we need is a high-speed chase that could endanger innocent citizens. We do not believe they’re armed, so we’ll take them down once they reach the hospital. Just maintain a visual and keep us informed.”
“Ten-four,” the pilot said, and signed off.
Babcock sat down behind his desk with a plop. He was anxious to bring in Aroyo. This was the closest thing to a disaster they’d had in a long time, and he didn’t want it getting any worse.
He’d already sent a team to the New Orleans Box and Post with a warrant to retrieve the
info inside mailbox 125, and as soon as Aroyo was arrested and booked, he would be taken into federal custody on an old, trumped-up warrant.
All they had to do now was wait.
“We did it!” Wayman shouted, and slapped Nick on the back as they passed the New Orleans city-limit sign. “How far to the nearest hospital?”
Nick was heading for the exit to Ponchartrain Expressway.
“I don’t know about nearest, but I know where the old University Hospital is. It reopened after Hurricane Katrina under the name Interim Public, or something like that. It has an E.R., but it’s small. We won’t draw as much attention.”
Wayman nodded. That sounded like a good idea. Staying under the radar was what they needed.
“What do we say happened to Tug?” he asked.
“The truth. That he got injured during one of the storms that’s been hitting the coast since the hurricane passed.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s good,” Wayman said.
“Are you planning to stay with Tug?” Lou asked.
Tug groaned, then reached out and tried to shove Wayman away.
Wayman frowned. Tug was out of his head again.
“We’re all gonna stay until we know for sure he’ll be okay.”
Lou freaked. “I’m not gonna sit there and wait for the cops to show.”
“You need some doctoring, too,” Way muttered. “You can’t see shit.”
“The swelling is going down,” Lou argued. “All I need is some ice.”
“What do you say, Nick?” Wayman asked. “We stay with Tug, right?”
Nick wasn’t going to commit himself one way or the other. “Let’s just get there and see what the doctors have to say about him, okay?”
Way’s defenses shifted to the logic of the answer. “Yeah. Yeah. We’ll wait and see.”
Lou muttered something about being a sitting duck but didn’t argue further.
Tug moaned again, then slumped across the seat.
“We’re almost there, Tug,” Wayman said. “Just hang in a little longer.”
Nick turned onto the expressway, heading south. It wouldn’t be far now. He ventured one last look up, saw the chopper and breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few minutes more and this would be over.
