by CJ Lyons
“She had the right idea. Stay here and I’ll go watch your mom’s back. Tell me where she is.”
Megan wanted to go with him, make sure her mom was okay. But she realized she was a liability—not because she was a kid or because she couldn’t handle herself in a crisis. Because if things went wrong, she could be used as a hostage against her mother.
And the fact that Gant wanted her to stay behind proved that he was one of the good guys. Didn’t it?
She glanced at Taylor. He looked uncertain as well.
“If the chief’s there already, Lucy will need back up,” Gant said, obviously impatient. “If I was in on it, I’d already know where they are, wouldn’t I?”
“Unless they doubled crossed you and left, taking the money,” Megan argued.
“Your choice. You want your mom outnumbered three-to-one or you want to trust me?”
Megan scrutinized him and decided to do what Lucy would do: trust her gut. “Tell him,” she instructed Taylor.
Taylor nodded his agreement and the screen switched to a map with the GPS location flagged.
“Skeleton Marsh,” Gant said.
“Skeleton Marsh?” Megan echoed, not liking the sound of that.
“Yep. Got its name because it’s where pirates used to dump bodies—between the crabs and the alligators, if you ever found anything left, it was only bits and pieces of—”
“Their skeleton. How far is it?”
“Ten minutes.” He hesitated. “Are you okay here?”
“I’ll stay with her,” Taylor said. “And inform the sheriff and state police that you’ll also be on the scene.” It was a thinly veiled warning but Gant simply jerked his chin in a nod, turned, and jogged back to his car.
The night grew silent once more, even the hypnotic pounding of the surf seemed muted. Megan took a deep breath and sat down with the computer.
“Thanks, Taylor.”
“You’re welcome. I’m texting your mom to let her know Gant is on the way and I’ll update your dad and Walden. Be back in a jiff.”
Nothing to do now but wait. And Megan was quickly learning waiting was the hardest job of all.
Chapter 22
LUCY WATCHED AS the woman with the duffle threw it onto the raft tied to the rear of Fleming’s boat. The second woman stood back, keeping guard on the men in the cabin, a pistol in her hand. “We should leave now. That FBI agent—” she said. Chief Hayden.
Which made the other woman Shelly Fleming. “That FBI agent has nothing on us. Especially not after she finds Mateo Romero killed himself rather than go to jail for the rest of his life.” She shook her head. “Poor baby. So upset after accidentally killing the sweet, kindly Pastor Fleming when he took him hostage and didn’t get him his insulin. Leaving me a grieving but soon-to-be rich widow and you, big sis, still Chief of Police. Although I can’t for the life of me understand why that matters so much to you.”
They were still talking as they moved inside, out of hearing range. Lucy checked Megan’s phone. Still no cell signal and no Wi-Fi in range. She returned the phone to the vest’s watertight inside pocket where it would stay safe.
She needed both hands to make it over to the boat, so she left the Remington behind as she climbed onto the railing. The tree seemed farther away than she thought, but she’d learned as a kid that climbing trees was more about attitude than technique. She flung herself out over the mud and grabbed hold of the tree trunk. The bark wasn’t as brittle as the oaks back home, lots of small gnarled bits to dig in with her hands and feet. It scratched at her bare legs and arms, but soon, she was edging along a twisted limb, admiring the live oak’s structure. Definitely a good climbing tree.
Despite her messed-up ankle, which made her second guess every other step as she planted that foot, she made it across the branch, over the mudflat and to the Zodiac in only a few minutes. The night noises of the wildlife in the marsh covered her movements nicely. The boat rocked gently as small waves lapped against it. Tide coming in.
She swung down over the Zodiac, weight suspended by her hands, and dropped the few feet down into it. Her landing made a thudding noise like a rock thrown into a pond. She flattened herself against the bottom of the boat, waiting for a response but none came.
Okay, stage one complete. Now for the hard part. She had to assume both women were armed and she knew Hayden was also trained. Even if she surprised them inside the cabin, she’d still be outnumbered and all they had to do to negate Lucy’s efforts would be to threaten the hostages.
How to get them away from their captives?
She sat up and pulled the duffle bag toward her. Heavy. At least twenty pounds. She opened it. Wads of cash banded together. Close to a million, she guessed given the weight and dimensions.
A gator slid past the raft, its tail swishing the mud and water into a murky, silt-laden wake. Lucy thought for a moment. She didn’t have to get the hostages safe to shore; all she needed was to buy some time until the sheriff’s department arrived.
She untied the line anchoring the raft to the boat. With the tide coming in, the current pushed her inland, deeper into the lagoon and mud.
Once she was halfway between the boardwalk and the boat, she grabbed her Maglite and secured it to the side of the raft where it would shine out over the mud between her and the boat. Then she grabbed a few handfuls of cash.
“Mrs. Fleming?” she called out in a neighborly yoo-hoo shout. “Think I found something that belongs to you!”
Light flooded the boat deck as the cabin door banged open. Shelly ran to the railing, followed by Hayden.
“I’ll trade you,” Lucy said. She tossed a bunch of bills into the air. They fluttered on the night breeze then landed on the mud where the crabs skittered toward them, seeking food.
“Are you crazy?” Shelly screamed. “What the hell are you doing?” She raised a pistol and aimed it at Lucy.
“If I go down, so does your money,” Lucy called back. “Explain it to her, Chief. Simple hostage exchange. The money for Mateo and Fleming.” She hoped Fleming was still alive—given what Shelly said a few minutes ago, it might already be too late for the pastor.
“Shoot her, Norah,” Shelly urged her sister. “We’ll get the money back and leave her to the gators.”
“She’s wearing a bulletproof vest,” Hayden said, although she did raise her weapon and point it at Lucy. “No way can I make a head shot, not with that light in my eyes.”
“So shoot the light,” Shelly said.
“Or I could shoot you,” Lucy replied, aiming her Glock. “Now that you’ve threatened a federal agent, I’d be justified.”
“We haven’t done anything,” Shelly yelled back. “We’re the heroes here. We found all this, were moving that cash to keep it safe from my husband. He’s the bad guy here, not us.”
“Then toss your weapons overboard. I’m sure you ladies won’t mind waiting out there where I can keep an eye on you. The sheriff’s department is on its way.”
As if on cue, a speedboat appeared at the lagoon’s outlet. At first, Lucy was relieved; this would be over and done with in a few minutes. But then she realized that the boat was a civilian one, similar to the flat-bottomed outboard Mateo’s uncle had used to rescue her earlier. And there was only one man in it, not the SWAT team she’d been expecting.
Gant.
Chapter 23
SHELLY SPOTTED GANT’S boat about the same time as Lucy but her reaction surprised Lucy. Shelly whirled, raised her pistol, and aimed it at her older sister. “You bitch, you sold me out!”
Hayden raised her own weapon but it was clear she didn’t have the heart to shoot her little sister. “Shelly, no. It’s over. Drop your gun.”
Gant revved his engine faster at the sight of a gun trained on his chief while Lucy grabbed the paddle and pushed-pulled the raft through the thick silt, aiming for the dive platform at the rear of the boat where she could climb on board.
As Gant roared into the protected water of the lagoon,
the wake churned the mud and rocked the larger boat and Lucy’s raft, pushing Lucy back, maddeningly just out of reach.
Above her, silhouetted in the light of the open cabin door and Lucy’s Maglite, Hayden lunged for her sister. A gunshot sounded above the growl of Gant’s outboard. Lucy stopped paddling and risked standing, bracing herself against the side of the raft as the wake from Gant’s boat rocked it. She raised her pistol and aimed at the two women struggling on the deck. She was still a good six feet away from being able to board the boat, but close enough to shoot, if need be.
Shelly pushed Hayden back, hard, and Hayden flew over the railing on the opposite side of the boat from Lucy’s position.
Shelly straightened, holding a pistol. Gant shouted something but his words were buried in the noise of the outboard. He slowed, throttled down the engine to idle, drew a weapon, and stood.
“Drop the gun, Shelly!” Gant shouted. Shelly fired twice at him. He returned fire as did Lucy, but the rocking raft and aiming up at a moving target, all she hit was the side of the boat. Shelly vanished. Lucy wasn’t sure if Gant hit her or if she’d dropped to the deck for cover.
She glanced past the stern of the boat to Gant’s boat. He was slumped against the tiller, the boat pivoting in response, speeding up and aiming past Fleming’s boat, directly at her raft. The outboard whined as it revved up, fighting the mud and silt, bouncing once as it hit something—Lucy prayed it was a log or alligator or anything except Hayden who she had lost sight of once she went overboard.
The impact sent Gant reeling over the side, leaving the outboard racing out of control. It skimmed past the stern of Fleming’s boat and rammed the Zodiac, flinging the lighter raft into the air and upending it. Lucy half dove, half flew into the water, aiming away from the outboard’s propeller.
Except it wasn’t really water—it was a thick goo, more like quicksand than anything. Gant’s boat crashed into the boardwalk behind her, the Zodiac spun to a stop, turned upside down—the bag of money vanished into the mud and her Maglite gone with it, leaving her flailing, gasping, with only the light from Fleming’s boat cabin to orient herself.
The mud sucked her under before she had a chance to hold her breath. A nasty taste filled her mouth and she panicked for a moment as waves churned the water above her.
Calm, focus, Nick’s voice came in the dark. The memory of watching the crabs skitter over the mud and the alligator glide through it flashed through her. She stopped kicking, realizing that was only making things worse. The mud caught her feet, dragging her down.
She straightened, pulling her head above the water and hauled in a breath. It was like quicksand, she thought. The impact of the outboard crashing into the raft had left her only a few feet from Fleming’s boat. Spitting the foul grit from her mouth she performed a slow-motion combination of wading and swimming. The mud fought her, sucking greedily at her feet, taking her shoes, but bare feet were the least of her worries. Thankfully, she’d kept hold of her gun, but she needed to eliminate the threat that was Shelly and then find Gant and Hayden.
Her ears were clogged with mud but she heard splashing from the opposite side of the boat. Either Gant or Hayden—hopefully both—still alive. Above her Shelly was slamming around in the cabin, swearing, obviously unharmed.
Just as Lucy reached the small dive platform to the side of the large outboard engine, the engine gave a cough and sputter. Fearful of the propeller, Lucy quickly hauled herself up onto the platform, landing not with the tactical posture she’d hoped for but more like a muddy whale beaching itself. From inside the cabin, Shelly shouted a curse and the engine roared to life in response.
The boat lurched forward then jerked to a stop again, the engine whining then quieting to a fretful gasping noise. Shelly had forgotten about the anchors. Lucy grabbed hold of the railing and climbed to her feet, one hand holding her gun. She edged forward onto the main deck toward the open cabin door.
Shelly was at the wheel, fighting the throttle, her hair in a tangled frenzy as she cried in frustration.
“It’s over,” Lucy said. No sign of Shelly’s gun, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She planted her feet and aimed. “Hands in the air where I can see them.”
Shelly spun around. Her hands were empty, which was the only thing that saved Lucy from shooting her.
“It’s not my fault,” she whimpered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“Turn the engine off,” Lucy ordered.
Shelly nodded, tears and mascara streaming down her face, and shut the engine off. Lucy moved forward, but she knew she’d won. Shelly didn’t resist as Lucy put her face down on the deck and restrained her with a set of zipcuffs.
A banging coming from a cabinet inside the cabin door grabbed her attention. Holding her pistol at the ready, she opened it. Mateo rolled out, his hands cuffed behind him.
“Pastor Fleming,” he gasped. “You have to help him. He’s dying.”
Lucy opened the door to the bathroom. Fleming was on the floor, curled around the toilet, his color ashen and his breathing coming hard and fast, smelling sweet.
The boat rocked abruptly. Lucy whirled to face the new threat, but it was Gant at the diver’s platform. “A little help here?”
He hauled Hayden’s still form with him through the mud. As Lucy rushed to help them both on board, the sound of new, louder, powerful engines thundered through the night. Blinding spotlights pierced the darkness.
“Sheriff’s department!” a man’s voice sounded, amplified by a bullhorn.
Lucy couldn’t stop her laughter, mud streaming down her clothing, inside and out, sliding from her hair into her face. Better late than never.
Chapter 24
THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT had a tactical medic with them who quickly got Fleming stabilized, staunched the bleeding from the gash in Hayden’s head where she’d hit it going overboard, and dispatched them along with Mateo to the hospital on the mainland while his colleagues ferried Shelly, Lucy, and Gant ashore. Gant had been hit in his vest, which was why he’d lost control of his boat, but refused to leave for the hospital until the others were taken care of.
Lucy and Gant were relegated to the back of a deputy’s cruiser, which would need a serious hosing down to get the dead-fish pluff mud stink out of it. The mud had slipped and slid into every crevice of Lucy’s clothing, making a squishing noise each time she shifted her weight.
“I can’t believe—the chief,” Gant said. “We’ve worked together for almost a decade.”
“When did her sister move here?”
“Three years ago. Should’ve seen through his Ponzi scheme, but they were always so good about paying folks back. We all thought we were doing something good—helping others. So we kept on reinvesting.”
“He paid the first ones in with the new money and that whet your appetite, until—”
“Until it all fell apart.” He made a small noise. “Do you think the chief was she in on it the whole time?”
As if being a FBI agent gave Lucy special psychic powers. She thought of the way Shelly ordered Hayden around on the boat and how Hayden hesitated, balked each step of the way. “No. If she’d have known earlier, she would have paid off her debts after her husband died. I think she was just as surprised as anyone when she saw the blood at her sister’s house. But after, when things went wrong, I think that’s when Shelly realized she couldn’t finish it alone. She convinced Hayden to help.”
“Family.” The word emerged with a sigh. “Hard to resist.”
They sat in silence for a while. It was strange being in the back of a patrol car—the seat was hard plastic, not comfortable at all. And she didn’t like the claustrophobic feeling of being confined. Of course, that was the entire point of the design.
“So your daughter, she’s how old again?” Gant finally said.
“Fourteen. Why?”
“Pretty smart for a teenager, putting this all together.” He glanced over at her, weighing his words. “She ins
isted I listen, was a bit of a—”
“Stubborn?” Lucy supplied when he stopped short of using a term men had used to label her through her entire professional career.
He jerked his chin in a nod. “Yeah. Definitely stubborn. Ferocious even.”
Lucy smiled. Another adjective often applied to her by other law enforcement officers—not always as a compliment. “She gets that from her mother.”
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AT THE ER, the nurses quickly realized that if they were going to adequately assess Lucy for any injuries—she had none, but they wouldn’t take the word of a civilian—they’d need to allow her to shower first. Which was just fine with her. It felt so good getting all the goo out of her hair and sluiced from her body. When she emerged, the nurses had taken all her dirty clothes but left her a clean pair of scrubs and a bag with all her belongings.
Feeling like a refugee, barefoot and soaking wet, Lucy limped down the hall to the waiting area, her ankle screaming for mercy.
Screams that were immediately stifled when she saw Megan waiting for her. She rushed to hug her tight. “Are you all right?”
The question was a mother’s reflex. Megan laughed, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Me? You’re the one who went swimming with gators.”
Neither of them mentioned the humans armed with guns—mundane danger compared to alligators.
“Is Mateo okay?” Lucy asked. The nurses wouldn’t tell her anything, FBI agent or not. And none of Mateo’s family were in the waiting room, which could be a good sign or a bad one.
“He’s fine. They said he was drugged with ketamine. He’s a bit dehydrated, they want to watch him overnight. The pastor’s really sick, but they said he’ll make it. And Chief Hayden is in surgery, something about a brain injury and swelling. I’m not sure about her.”
Lucy didn’t have much sympathy for the chief. She understood about putting your family first, but Hayden had also sworn to protect and serve innocents like Mateo.
