by Angi Morgan
“How far do you think we’ve come?”
“A couple of miles.”
“I’m glad you can make out where we’re going. I can’t see a thing.”
Little did she know he couldn’t see anything, either. He steered as best he could, keeping the cascade over his right shoulder. If the wind direction and slant of the rain were consistent, he just might manage to get them to the other end of the lake.
There wasn’t much room on the seat. Reaching behind him with one hand, he scooted Jane’s hips closer to his own. Half of him was glad for the close contact. The same half that loved the crazy thump-thump-thump his heart made whenever they were together. The other half kicked himself for letting her come along.
“Ready?” he asked, leaning forward to grab the throttle again.
“Yeah.”
Jane’s arms tightened once more, and she placed her face against his shirt. Back in his life a few hours, she made him feel more alive with one casual touch than any rush his current life provided.
Steve braced himself. He couldn’t turn and avoid an impact with the object in front of him. The Jet Ski rammed into a log and the side of his head slammed into the handle. He lost his grip and flew off the seat.
Water rushed up to meet him. He lost all sense of direction and inhaled a gallon of water as he sank deeper each second.
Some long-forgotten training finally clicked on in his subconscious. He fought the impulse to save all his air and let some go, watching the bubbles rise. He kicked his legs hard and struggled back to precious air on the surface. A weight pulled at his midsection, making it more difficult to stay above the water.
He had to hurry and began to pull himself through the rough waves. He couldn’t lose the Jet Ski several yards away.
His eyes stung from the water and the rain made it more difficult to see. He could breathe again, but just barely with whatever was jerking him down.
God, the weight was Jane.
Chapter Four
Jane crashed through the surface and sucked air into her lungs, thankful she hadn’t been thrown too deep. It was difficult to tread water with the baggy pants and heavy backpack pulling her down. Then a yank around her waist brought her head underwater again. Her breath turned to a choking terror until she broke the surface a second time.
“Jane!”
“I’m…fine…” She coughed. “Stop pulling. I’m… You’re going to drown me.” She tugged at the drawstring and kicked free of the sweatpants, making it much easier to stay above water.
“Thank God. You scared the crap out of me.” He let the rope go slack. “We’ve gotta catch the ski.”
“Go on, I’m right behind you.”
Steve’s pack made her movement through the water awkward, slowing her progress through the choppy waves. She barely had the strength to keep the rope slack between her and Steve.
He caught the Jet Ski and pulled himself precariously onto the seat. Getting behind him required balancing worthy of any high-wire act she’d seen. She rested her head on his shoulder and he reached behind her, pulling her tight against him. He kept one of her hands anchored around his waist while he steadied the Jet Ski in the waves and wind.
The surprise of hitting the water still had her breathing hard. It had absolutely nothing to do with the lingering effect of Steve’s hands on her backside or the reassuring squeeze his fingers had given her hand.
“Lucky we weren’t going faster. We might have been in serious trouble,” she said.
“You don’t think of this as serious trouble?” he asked, wheezing on a deep breath, looking as exhausted as her body told her she was.
“I’m attempting to look on the bright side of things.”
“And that is?”
“We’re not unconscious or drowning.” She coughed to clear more water from her lungs. “And we didn’t lose our only way of getting across this lake faster than the backstroke.”
His easy laughter was music to her heart. It made her want to forget everything that had happened and laugh, too. She loved having a reason to be squished next to him. To experience the thrill of their bodies close together like she imagined so often.
“What happened?” she asked to distract herself from thoughts about Steve.
“A very large tree limb. I’ve been dodging them. But this one got by me.” He wrung out the corner of his shirt and lifted it to his face, coughing for several seconds.
“Are you okay?” she asked and pounded on his back.
“As soon as you stop beating me to death.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m all right. I was just kidding.”
He hadn’t sounded as if he was kidding. Her judgment of people didn’t have a great track record though. The book definition of sarcasm was locked in her brain, but she admitted her application needed improvement.
Steve put the key in the ignition and pushed the start button, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. Even with the storm pounding and thunder reverberating through the air, the excruciating silence of the engine dropped a black curtain. All her hopes died.
“Come on, baby,” Steve coaxed.
Then, with a couple of sputters the engine sprang to life, letting Jane breathe again. Her arms encircled Steve’s body, probably clinging too tightly in her relief, but she didn’t care. Her chest flattened against the ripcord muscles in his back, his labored breathing a comfort to her frayed nerves.
Even with the Jet Ski going as slowly as the throttle allowed, it was still horribly noisy for conversation. And what would she say? Steve couldn’t afford to be distracted. As evidenced by their incident with the tree limb.
For the second time in an hour, the thought of losing Steve crossed her mind. First his crazy dive off the dock, now this. She forced herself to remember that he wasn’t hers to lose. That had happened almost four years ago.
Their relationship had been intense from the start. A casual glance one moment and a flirtatious conversation the next. She rarely dated. She never had time.
Then or now.
But while awaiting word from research facilities and with the last of her classes finished, she couldn’t tell Steve no. She’d turned off every control button programmed to keep her in check and threw caution to the wind.
They’d seen each other every day and every night for six weeks. Then Johns Hopkins called and he’d gone into full retreat. Of course, she hadn’t realized the extent of his withdrawal at the time.
She’d analyzed his every move over the past four years. Comparing him to many case studies in the volumes of psychology books stored in her head. Steve Woods couldn’t depend on anyone but himself. On the surface he appeared to be a guy not ready for a commitment.
More than once she had hoped there was something else. Something he hadn’t shared with her. A deep dark secret that would explain why he’d pushed her aside. It didn’t seem that way.
She’d grown to accept the rejection of herself, but she couldn’t snuff a spark of hope for Rory. Her son needed stability and roots. She’d moved back to Dallas to be closer to Steve and his family. In case anything happened to her, family was an anchor Rory needed. And Steve had plenty of family. She wanted to be settled, then introduce his son.
Right now she needed his help to find Rory without distractions—without the truth. After they found their son, she’d tell him everything and then they could determine what to do. She and Rory had managed without him once. If that was what he chose, they’d do it again.
The going was slow, even slower than before. She hadn’t thought it possible to be this cold in July, but the northern rain kept beating down on them, chilling her inside and out with each painstaking minute of progression.
It stung her cheeks and exposed skin. So she buried her face between her arm and Steve’s back. She didn’t know how he managed to see where they were headed.
To take her mind off everything, she drew The Missing Years of Merlin from a shelf in her memory and
skipped through the pages to her favorite scene. She’d recited parts of this story to Rory. He seemed to enjoy the words—or the excitement in her voice.
God, please keep him safe.
She couldn’t think about him kidnapped, afraid, perhaps hurt. She wanted to remember holding him, fluffing his soft downy hair and kissing the side of his neck to hear his laughter. But it hurt too much. So she continued to read, hold on tight to Steve’s waist and take comfort in his warmth.
“WAHOO!” STEVE THREW HIS head around, his laughter full of relief. “There it is, Janie. There’s the LCRA.”
“Wonderful.” She ventured to peek around Steve’s right to see where they were going.
Still thirty or so yards from the buoys, she couldn’t distinguish figures. But one image leaped out. A policeman in a bright yellow slicker stood near his car while the red and blue lights turned in a silent warning.
“We can’t go there, Steve. Turn around. Please.” She tugged on his shirt and he released the throttle so the ski would idle in the water.
He turned to her with a questioning look. He must’ve thought she was crazy. Well, she thought that about herself regarding this entire ordeal. With every development she wanted to wake up and find it was all a horrible nightmare.
Each wave carried them closer, but no one seemed to have noticed yet.
“If you don’t want to go to the shore, Jane, where do you suggest we go?”
“I can’t walk up to a police officer and ask for help. Can’t we go somewhere else and walk to the road?”
“Walk? Make our way through the swamp that’s become the lakeshore? Barefoot through the cactus and God only knows what else? Just so we can get back to the very place we can see a few yards away?”
His voice rose with every ridiculous question, turning his deep baritone into an angry tenor. The tension sang through his body, transferring to Jane’s hands at his waist. She let go, but his stress continued to zing through the air, as apparent as the lightning still above their heads.
“I can’t take a chance on being incarcerated.” She began untying the safety rope.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Steve said as he stilled her fingers with his own. “You aren’t swimming to shore alone. Why don’t you trust me, Jane?”
“I can’t.” Emotion like she’d never experienced with another person crossed his face. Anger, hurt, confusion. They were all there and she was causing his pain. “I mean, I want to, but…”
“Yeah?”
“When it comes to the law, that’s the only thing I can trust about you.” He would always uphold the law. Always. The single most important thing to him was the law. Caring for her fell far beneath that craving he had to do the right thing. The doubts charged through her mind like the storm surrounding them.
Steve managed to turn enough to cup her soggy shoulder. She wanted to relax into him as his warmth shot all the way to her numb toes.
“I’m not going to let anyone take you. Your son is depending on us. Trust me.” Lightning splintered the sky, giving an ominous feel to his words.
“I want to.”
“Then do it.” His voice rose above the thunder. “Don’t analyze it to death, just do it. Isn’t there a book somewhere in there—” his eyes darted to her forehead “—that supports taking a chance on me?”
He faced front again and gunned the gas, not giving her an opportunity to make up her mind.
They shot forward, and she grabbed the sides of Steve’s shirt. A man in a bright orange slicker waited at the edge of the dock and tossed a rope to Steve. Then he offered her a hand. His sturdiness kept her from sliding into the lake as she gained the use of her jellylike legs and untied the rope around her waist. She tugged at the sweatshirt, finally glad it was too big, and covered her bottom better than her bikini underwear.
“Looks like you folks had a rough time of it,” he said. He was a weathered man of at least sixty-five, but had strength in his thick hands. “Just about everybody left yesterday.”
After securing the Jet Ski—something she had no desire to ever ride again—Steve stuck out his hand to the old guy.
“Brandon Woods. This is my wife, Mary Beth. We were checking on my parents’ house on the northwest shore. Things seemed to have escalated faster than we anticipated.”
Brandon and Mary Beth…his brother and sister-in-law.
“Can’t ever turn your back on the water, can you? I’m Cap Harvey. Pleased to meet you both.” He captured her hand between his again, never lowering his eyes to her exposed legs. “I’d offer you some coffee, but I’m a figurin’ you’ll want out of here as soon as possible. You’re just in time to catch the last transportation leaving for the Llano High School gymnasium.”
The police officer got into his car, but didn’t pull away.
“The evacuation center is set up there, and they’ll take care of you. Ain’t a pretty ride, but it’ll get you out of here.” Cap pointed to a dented, rusty panel van on the other side of the cop car. “Plenty of hot coffee to warm your chilled bones in the gym. Yes, sir. Now, let’s pull this ski ’round to the side and secure it. I’ll need to lock up and we’ll be on our way.”
Jane attempted to blend into the background. Shocked, she could barely manage a thought. Steve had lied for her, claiming to be his brother. Had he changed his mind about contacting the FBI?
“Will it be okay to leave the ski here till things settle down?” Steve asked. “My dad will be around as soon as folks are allowed back in.”
“Can’t make no guarantees, but no one ever can. That young wife of yours looks like she’s gonna turn blue with her next breath. You’d best get her out of this downpour. There’s a dry blanket in the van.”
“Mary Beth?” Steve shook her shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart. You need to get dry.”
“Thank you,” she said as she passed Cap.
Her husband—how many times had she wished that were true?—draped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her next to his soggy T-shirt. The rain still fell hard and Jane blinked away drops that clung to her eyelashes while they walked to the empty van.
No seats except up front. Most of the space was jam-packed with animals secured in cages of all shapes and sizes, including the passenger side. They made their way to the back door. The overpowering smell of wet fur and other wet substances she didn’t want to name aloud besieged her nose.
Steve spoke through a crack in the door. “I’ll be right back.”
The door slammed.
The rain pounded on the roof.
A cockatiel squawked. “Dasypus novemcinctus.”
A nine-banded Armadillo made a soft snorting noise. “Nymphicus hollandicus.”
A cat hissed. “Felis silvestris catus. More commonly referred to as felis catus. One of four subspecies of felis silvestris.”
Listing the scientific name of each caged animal passed the time and kept her mind from straying to thoughts of Rory, kidnappers, police or Steve. But that was exactly what she was thinking about: Rory, kidnappers, police and Steve.
Life in Baltimore had been lonely, but not frightening. At least not after Rory arrived. She could handle being alone. It was the thought of being totally responsible for a miniature Steve that had her lying awake at night. Wondering if she would screw up her child as much as her parents had emotionally handicapped her.
Having her late in their lives, they’d retired and moved closer to each school they felt would give a child genius the best education. Or the most collegiate exposure. They had provided her a safe life without friends. Complicated, exploited, full of their version of love.
And secretive. She learned early in life not to let others know she had nearly one hundred percent recall. It scared some people to be around her. Others didn’t want her to out-shine them with her knowledge. It intimated every boy she’d ever had a crush on.
Resulting in a life of holding back. Answering only the questions asked.
Oh, she’d done all the analysis. She knew
all the correct terms and what she should do to “feel better.” She had been satisfied with her life until Steve had shown her something more. Rory was a blessing, a wake-up call that there was more to life than research and new discoveries.
The pregnancy had been frightening until her son had actually arrived. When she’d heard his cry, counted his fingers and toes, then she’d rested easy. Maybe Steve was ready to change? Maybe he could get things straightened out and find their son. She had to tell him the truth.
The wind pushed at the van, slapping the drops of rain against the windshield. Through the downpour she could see Steve’s outline leaning against the window of the police car.
Unfamiliar panic bubbled in her throat. She wanted to scream like a crazy woman. He was turning her in. It had all been a trick to get her to let her guard down. What could she do?
What would happen to Rory?
She searched the van for some type of defense. Nothing. Just cages, blankets and more cages. She couldn’t let Rory down. She glanced at Steve, still with the cop. If she could make the tree line she’d find another way to the rendezvous.
Jane grabbed Steve’s pack, searching for cash. She rummaged until she fingered his gun. She would get to San Antonio.
Any way she had to.
Wait. Breathe. Get control. The calming exercises she practiced daily kicked in. She could think anything through to its logical conclusion. Methodically. Steve wouldn’t have put her in this metal menagerie if he wanted the police to take her away. He could have easily overpowered her and delivered her to the cops.
Cap got in the van and shook the water from his hair. “You folks just barely caught me. We’ll be the last car through on 29 before they shut her down.”
He honked and got Steve’s attention. Her pretend husband waved to the cop and ran back to the van. The door slammed behind him, and he sat next to her at the rear of the cargo, which was the only free space available among the strange assortment of animals. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, rubbed the water from his face and stared at her.
