To Kiss A Frog

by Elle James

  Craig frowned. He could guess what was in the barrels but what did Randall and Gator have in the blanket? By the shape of it, it could have been a body. Thank goodness Elaine was on her way back to New Orleans. Craig would rather she was mad at him and safe than the target for these two thugs on yet another attempt to harm her.

  “I didn't sign up for no killing.” Gator's voice carried loud enough for the video camera to pick up.

  So the lump was a body. Craig's imagination hadn't been working overtime, creating threats where none existed. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. Maybe he was in for more than he'd bargained for. If he was smart, he'd get his butt back into his car and go find the police.

  “You're getting paid, aren't you?” Randall tossed a strap to Gator. “Tie those barrels down.”

  “I didn't sign up for no killing.” Gator leaned over and wrapped the strap around a barrel and the deck railing. “You said we were just going to scare people away”

  “Look, dumb shit, if the cops get wind of our little disposal operation, not only will the money stop flowing, we'll go to straight to jail. We won't pass go, we won't collect two hundred dollars.” Pratt stepped closer, face to face with Gator. “You ever been to jail?”

  “No.” Gator stepped backward, his legs up against one of the seats.

  “Neither have I.” Randall poked a finger into Gator's chest. “And I don't plan to. Littington still thinks we're a legitimate disposal company, and as long as he thinks we are, the money he pays our company goes right in our pockets. I'm gonna keep that cash coming in. Don't forget this has been the best money you or me ever made. Do you like that big truck you bought?”

  “Yeah.”

  Randall poked Gator's chest again. “And that fancy house you got down in Gulf Shores?”

  “Yeah, but -”

  Another poke to Gator's chest. “No buts. We keep our mouths shut and take care of the problem.” Randal tipped his head in the direction of the body on the deck.

  Gator grabbed the finger still pushing against his chest. “I'll do it, but don't poke me again.”

  Randall's eyes narrowed. But when Gator dropped his finger, he nodded and stepped off the boat. “Time's wastin'.”

  Craig hoped his camcorder was picking up the scene. As dark as it was, he doubted it. At the least, the voices should be discernable.

  Once the boat had been loaded with as many of the heavy barrels as it could hold and remain afloat, Gator stashed the truck in the trees and hurried back to climb aboard. Randall started the engine and pulled slowly away from the ramp.

  Damn! How the heck could Craig follow without a boat? Familiar with the swamp in this area, Craig knew this tributary emptied out where several converged into a large lake area close to his uncle's marina.

  If he hurried, he might catch them before they disappeared in the maze of channels. Craig sprinted for his car, and sped along the country road back to Thibodeaux Marina, breaking every speed limit on the country roads. At the parking lot, he leapt from the car, and raced across the dock to a skiff tied to the second pier.

  One, two, three yanks on the motor's pull start and he was on his way across the swamp. Thank goodness the channels merged close to the marina or he didn't stand a snowball's chance in the bayou of finding the thugs.

  As he approached the central lake, he spied the boat headed toward Bayou Black. Craig followed, praying they wouldn't hear or see him and start shooting.

  Several miles out, the larger boat slowed and turned sharply into what Craig could only guess was a dense outcropping of overhanging trees and brush.

  Instinctively, Craig killed the engine on his skiff and grabbed a paddle. As he drifted toward the spot where the boat had disappeared, he heard the other engine shut down.

  Craig dipped the oar into the water, silently propelling the small craft forward. A murmur of voices grew louder as he approached. When he drifted within a couple yards of the outcropping, he could see the entrance to a lagoon. He pushed the boat against the muddy banks of an island and stepped out onto land. The foliage was too dense to forge a path through without alerting Randall and Gator.

  With an uneasy search for alligators, Craig slipped into the inky water, hefted the camcorder onto his shoulder and swam around the trees into the lagoon, hugging the shoreline to hide in deep shadows.

  “Hey, watch where you're going. You almost rolled that thing on my toe,” Randall complained.

  “If you'd get your toes out of the way, I wouldn't roll across them,” Gator responded, his voice terse. He grunted and shifted a barrel across the flat deck to the edge and shoved it over. The barrel landed with a huge splash and sank straight to the bottom.

  Craig stood on the silt bottom hidden by a tree branch not five yards from the boat, completely undetected. He hefted the camcorder to his shoulder and aimed the lens at the two men maneuvering another fifty-five gallon barrel to the boat's edge. With a quick flick of his finger, Craig pressed the record button.

  “Gator, you idiot! You're tipping it too far my direction. If you're not careful it'll -”

  Wonk! The barrel slammed sideways on the deck and rolled toward Randall, knocking him to his butt mere inches from the boat's edge.

  “Sorry, Randy, my hands slipped. This one's a little oily.”

  “I swear, if I didn't need your help, I'd dump you over the side along with Littington's barrels.”

  Craig smiled grimly. He had video proof of the two dumping barrels into the bayou and the audio was sure to give the police positive identification of the culprits. Along with the samples he was sure Elaine planned to give the EPA, Craig knew the authorities would have good reason to start a full-scale investigation. After the fifth barrel plopped into the water, they turned to the blanketed lump.

  Gator nudged the blanket with his toe. “What do you want to do with her?”

  Craig's ears perked. Her? Gator had said “her”? Craig's heart pounded in his chest as the pair unwrapped the lump. When he saw the wild bush of frizzy hair lying against the deck, his heart stopped, lodging in his throat.

  Elaine.

  All this time he'd thought she was safely on her way to New Orleans. He should have known. The microscope was as clear a message as he could have gotten. She'd never leave without it.

  Craig tossed the camcorder onto the shore and swam for the boat, circling around the back to the ladder.

  Please don't be dead. Please.

  With blood pounding in his ears, he pulled himself up the ladder, risking a peek over the edge. A loud ripping sound pierced the night. The still form jerked and gasped as duct tape was torn from her mouth.

  “Get up girly!” Randall reached down and hauled Elaine to her feet. “Cut it, Gator.”

  Craig braced to leap forward when Gator pulled a long hunting knife from his boot and slipped it between Elaine's wrists. With a quick upward thrust, he cut through the thick gray tape.

  Elaine staggered but remained on her feet, peeling the tape from her skin.

  “So, what'er we gonna do with her?” Gator asked.

  “Shoot 'er and leave 'er as alligator bait.” Randall said.

  Elaine gasped.

  Gator and Randall stood sideways to Craig. He feared if he made a lunge for Gator, the big guy would fire the weapon and hit Elaine. With every ounce of concentration, he willed Elaine to look his way. Craig hadn't believed in magic up until Madame LeBieu had put the hex on him. Now he raffled every possible force in the mysterious swamp, praying for a hale voodoo whoodoo. Look at me, Elaine.

  Elaine glanced up and stared right at Craig. Her eyes widened, her mouth dropping open.

  Craig pressed a finger to his lips.

  With an almost imperceptible nod, Elaine turned her attention back to Randall and Gator.

  “Whatcha waitin' for? Shoot 'er,” Randall orderedGator.

  Gator swung toward Randall, gun and all. “Why me? You're always makin' me do the dirty work.”

  “That's what you're getting paid fo
r. Now, shut up and shoot.”

  “Don't do it, Gator.” Elaine backed away from Gator, Randall and Craig.

  The two bad guys turned toward her, their backs now fully to Craig.

  Craig smiled grimly. Smart girl. Exactly the reason he loved her.

  “You can't give me orders,” Gator said. “I'm the one with the gun, not you.”

  “Yes, you're the one with the gun.” Elaine nodded and spoke in a slow, calming voice. “But so far, you've only dumped chemicals in the bayou. Do you really want to go to jail for murder?”

  “Don't listen to her, Gator. She don't know what she's talkin' about. Besides, who'll ever find her body after the alligators eat it?”

  Elaine upped her head in Randall's direction. “Don't you see? He wants you to shoot me so you'll be the one committing the murder, not him. You'll be the one charged with it - you'll be the one facing the death penalty.”

  Craig eased out of the water, thankful Elaine had Gator and Randall's full attention.

  “Here, give me the gun. I'll shoot her.”

  When Randall grabbed for the pistol, Craig lunged.

  “What the -” Randall yelled.

  Hunkered down like a football player about to sack the quarterback, Craig hit Gator at full throttle, knocking him off his feet.

  Craig, look out!" Elaine yelled. A loud crack split the air. Sharp, fiery pain ripped into Craig's shoulder, knocking him backward. Over the edge of the deck boat he flew, hitting the bayou's surface with a huge splash. Water covered his face and he sank into the black abyss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ************************************************************************************************

  Elaine screamed. Blind rage and fear for Craig flushed blood over her eyes. Acting on pure instinct, she crouched low, balled up her body and steamrolled into Randall's midsection, knocking him sideways. A seat caught the back of his legs and he flipped upside down on the deck floor. The gun flew from his hand, landing a couple feet from Elaine.

  Should she go for the gun or. She spied a paddle next to her feet. If she went for the gun, she'd probably shoot herself, or Randall would get there first and use it to kill her.

  As Randall struggled to his feet, Elaine reached down, lifted the paddle and whacked the man in the stomach.

  “Oomph!” He bent double and Elaine whacked him on the back of the head as hard as she could.

  Randall fell to the floor and lay still.

  Elaine glanced from one unconscious man to the other to ensure they weren't going anywhere, then she scooped the gun off the deck and slung it as far as she could out into the swamp.

  She peered over the boat's edge, squelching the panic before it could rise up and incapacitate her. “Craig?”

  No sign of the man could be seen in the light from the moon. Only a couple of bubbles popped to the surface. The panic she'd held in check burst like a leaky dam. Without giving herself time to think, she threw her body overboard at the spot where she'd seen the bubbles.

  Craig couldn't die. So what if he'd lied, so what if he represented Jason Littington, so what if she couldn't swim.. Elaine wasn't going to let the man die!

  False bravado lasted as long as it took for Elaine's head to sink below the surface, then real terror set in.

  Just as her fear threatened to overwhelm her, she bumped into something solid with her foot. Craig!

  Reaching down, she grabbed a handful of hair and yanked him up to the surface. The push to get him up sent her down. Her feet touched the silt on the bottom, but her head stayed well underwater.

  Her lungs burned for air. What good was she to Craig if she drowned trying to save him? She pushed hard against the floor of the swamp and sprang to the surface, gulped air and glanced around for the boat. Then she sank again, propelling Craig up at the same time she went down.

  Her knee bumped hard metal. By the shape of it, she'd found one of the barrels Randall and Gator had worked so hard to dump into the swamp. Desperate, she grasped the edge and pulled herself to stand on the barrel, rising above the surface to gasp for breath. Then she grabbed for Craig, tugging him toward her. With one arm around his neck to keep his head above water, she used her other arm to feel for a pulse. She found it, but he wasn't breathing. How could she push the water out of his lungs when he was still in the water? Her only solution was to wrap her aims around his middle from behind and hug with a sharp upward thrust to his diaphragm.

  Craig coughed up water and spluttered. When he didn't start breathing, Elaine hugged again.

  This time, Craig coughed and then inhaled as if he would suck the trees into his lungs, followed by a round of gut-wrenching coughs.

  Thank God, he was breathing on his own again. Elaine held him fight to keep him from going under again.

  “Elaine?”

  “I'm here,” she said softly into his ear, squeezing fighter with her cheek against his back.

  “I love it when you hug me,” he wheezed, “but could you loosen up a bit?”

  Immediately, she let go and Craig sank into the water.

  She grabbed him before he gulped another gallon of the swamp into his lungs.

  “I'm sleepy” Craig's head dropped forward.

  She had to get him on the boat and back to civilization and a doctor. “Craig.” She forced her voice to be strong.

  Craig's head lolled and then came up. “Huh?”

  Elaine scooted around the barrel to face him. “Craig, I need to get to the boat”

  “Can't swim,” he mumbled.

  “You don't need to; you just need to stand here.”

  “Too deep,” he said.

  “Put your feet down.” Elaine quelled the urge to laugh hysterically at her words, an echo of Craig's advice to her not too long ago. She braced herself and helped him find his feet on the barrel. When he stood, weak but steady, she kissed him. “I'm going for the boat.”

  “No, I'll go.” He shook his head as if to clear the haze.

  “Don't be silly. You can barely stand in the water.”

  “You can't swim.”

  “I'll manage.” She gripped his arms and kissed him full on the lips. “Keep your head above the water.” Then she gulped a deep breath and stepped off the barrel in the direction of the boat.

  Praying for calm, she sank to the bottom, pushed off the silt and bounced in what she hoped was the right direction. Up, she surfaced to find the boat only two more bounces from her. Down and up again put her within reasonable dog-paddle distance.

  Minus the dignity of a dog, she paddled and kicked until she reached the ladder and clung until she had sufficient breath to climb aboard.

  A quick glance behind her proved Craig still stood with his head high above the water, but how long could he last before he passed out?

  Once on board, she stepped over Randall, who stirred and made as if to rise.

  Elaine grabbed the paddle from the floor. “Get up and I'll hit you again. Don't piss me off!” Her voice rose, the pitch shrill and past any reasoning.

  Randall slumped back to the floor and moaned. “I should have killed you while I had a chance.”

  Several attempts at starting the boat finally met with success. She eased the lever forward, setting the boat in motion, and executed a wide turn in the tiny lagoon. She aimed for Craig and at the last minute swerved to miss him, cuffing the motor as he had done when they'd gone specimen hunting.

  Unfortunately, she cut it too late and the boat propelled forward faster than she would have liked. They were sure to drift by too fast for Craig to grab on.

  Elaine leaned over the edge, extending the paddle. “Grab hold!” she yelled.

  Craig caught the paddle's edge and hung on until the boat slowed to a stop.

  With the paddle firmly in hand and her arms screaming from the strain, she walked it and Craig around the side of the boat to the ladder.

  Craig tried to haul himself on board one-armed, favoring his injured shoulder, but he fell backwa
rd into the water.

  Elaine leaned over, grabbed his shirt and pulled while he pushed his way up onto the boat, and then collapsed on a seat.

  When Elaine switched on a lamp, she got her first look at his wound. Blood soaked through and around the bullet hole in his shirt. So much blood. “Oh geez, Craig.” She swayed, the boat's light blurring around the edges.

  “Don't faint on me now,” Craig said through clenched teeth.

  “I'm not.” So it was a half-truth. She shook her head to clear her vision.

  “Good,' cause I think I am...” voice faded and he slid sideways, almost falling off the seat before Elaine could catch him. Blood seeped from the wound onto her hand at an alarming rate. His face glowed a pale sickly green in the light from the moon.

  Without a thought for modesty Elaine stripped her shirt from her back, ripped off a piece, wadded it and pressed it against Craig's shoulder. “Don't you die on me, Craig,” she said, her voice low and tears streaming from her eyes.

  He blinked and muttered, “Didn't know you cared.”

  “I do, damn it! I love you, you big stupid idiot, so dying is not an option!”

  Craig's head fell back against the seat, a brief smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  “Don't pass out, now. I don't know my way out of this bayou.” She tied the wad of fabric around his shoulder with the rest of her shirt. Gator stirred and moaned. Without backup, she couldn't risk leaving the criminals untied. A quick search of the boat produced a roll of fishing line and Gator's knife. Working quickly, she tied the two men's hands and feet. Convinced they wouldn't cause any more trouble, she started the engine and steered through the lagoon's entrance.

  Elaine slowed the boat, leaned over and shook Craig. “Craig, honey, wake up.”

  “Am I dead?” His head lolled to the side and he opened one eye.

  “No, not a chance.”

  “But I see an angel.”

  “You're worse than I thought.” She smoothed the hair off his brow and pressed a kiss there. “You're hallucinating.”