Six
Green Lake, like most in Louisiana, was a man-made lake. It had been constructed through, the simple process of building a dam and spillway across a natural stream. The catch basin thus formed filled quickly, inundating thousands of acres, most of it woodland. Since the cost of clear-cutting the proposed lake site of trees was much too steep, the bulldozers were brought in beforehand to push out a main channel, usually along the deeper section of the old water course, and perhaps one or two minor channels. The timber left standing was gradually covered as the water rose. The pines and hardwoods died quickly; their bases rotted, and they fell, sinking beneath the waves where the process of disintegration continued. This along with constant dripping of sap from the living trees both in the lake and along the shore gave the water its customary dark and murky color. But the cypresses were trees of the swamplands; they thrived in watery conditions. And if one of them died, its wood was practically indestructible. After the passage of years, the cypress trees stood like sentinels guarding the lake channels, providing perches for egrets, cranes, herons, and water turkeys, while the mass of rotting timber beneath the surface made an excellent spawning ground for fish where the hatchlings could stay hidden for survival.
The judge had enjoyed pointing out such processes and their ecological balances and benefits. Humans, he said, when they dammed streams and rivers, were doing no more than another of Mother Nature’s creatures, the beaver, would have done if he had gotten there first. In the meantime, a man with a little luck and a good fishing rig could catch himself a mess of mighty good eating.
There was no pretense to the judge, none at all. He had been a farm boy before he became a lawyer, then a judge. He was open and honest, with a healthy appreciation for his country heritage. That was another reason why it was so difficult to connect him in any way with Charles and his kidnapping of the senator. Frowning a little, Kelly shook her head.
They gathered still more speed as they reached the open channel. Charles seemed to know exactly where he was going. He did not hesitate, but here, away from the danger of underwater obstructions, opened the throttle and sent the boat flying. After a few minutes, he swerved into the side channel and cut the motor to a low rumble, decreasing their speed so as not to disturb the water, or the fish, in the clearing ahead of them. A sunlit area not much larger than a fair-sized house and ringed about with trees, Kelly recognized it at once as one of the judge’s favorite bass holes.
Charles turned off the motor, and they drifted silently into the opening. When the boat was where he wanted it, he let down the lead anchor in the stern. He took out the rod and reel brought for her and attached a small silver-colored artificial fish while she waited impatiently.
“Do you know how to use one of these things?” he asked as he handed the fishing rig to her.
“I think so.” Kelly had to bite the side of her jaw to keep from smiling. There had been several times when she had outfished Peter, Mark, and the judge together.
He gave her a few brief instructions, then pointed out a likely-looking spot at the edge of the trees across the width of the clear space of water. Kelly measured the distance with her eye, drew back her rod, and with a snap of her wrist sent the bait singing toward the exact spot he had shown her.
“How was that?” she asked, her tone demurely innocent.
“Fine,” he answered, though the glance he directed at her was dark with suspicion before he bent over his own rig.
They fished diligently. After a half-hour or so in one spot, Charles pulled up the anchor and Kelly let down the small, battery-operated trolling motor that was bolted to the front of the boat. It had a foot control so that ideally it could be operated from the back chair, but it had not worked right since the time Peter had caught his foot in the cable. Kelly had to switch it on from the front seat and use the projecting handle to guide the boat quietly to another vantage point.
By twelve o’clock the arms of the captain’s chairs and every exposed surface of the boat were hot to the touch. The calendar might say that fall was less than two weeks away, but there on the lake it was still deep summer. None of the birds that flitted back and forth among the trees — the sparrows, woodpeckers, blue jays, and cardinals — had thought of heading south; most, in fact, would winter there. Every leaf on the trees was still as green as when it had reached maturity in June. The sun sparkled on the water, a breeze stirred through the trees, and Kelly could hear the humming of bees on a floating mat of water plants.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Kelly said suddenly.
Charles glanced at her, his lips curving into a smile as he nodded. “I’m glad you can see it. Things are never as bad as they seem.”
She stared at him, the breath suspended in her chest. Was he trying to tell her something, or was it nothing more than an idle observation: a comment on the storm of the night before as compared to this glorious morning?
“I — I think I’ll get a little sun.”
“Just remember that you are getting twice as much as usual because of the reflection on the water.”
She sent him a look of irritation. He had pulled off his own life vest and tee-shirt hours ago, just after they had eaten their combination breakfast and lunch. More than once the rays of the sun, catching on the gold disk around his neck, had nearly blinded her.
She removed her own vest, stripped off her top and shorts, and kicked out of her sandals. Propping her feet on the forward apron of the boat, she leaned back in her chair and tilted her hat over her eyes.
“Tiring business, fishing.” he drawled.
She opened one eye. “What?”
“Pulling in all those bass must have been exhausting, still it’s sweet of you to take a breather and give me time to catch up.”
“Are you behind?” she asked, her lips twitching as she pulled her hat lower.
“You know very well I am,” he growled, “by about two to one.”
“Would you like to use my rod and reel?” she inquired.
As if to punctuate her words, the last striped bass she had caught, weighing nearly three pounds, slapped the water with a loud splash as it fought the wire-mesh holding basket let down on a line over the side of the boat.
“No, thank you,” he answered, his voice dry.
Laughter bubbled up inside Kelly, then abruptly died away. What good was it to best him in this one small thing when he held the indisputable upper hand in everything that was important?
The sun beamed down. A hopeful mosquito whined around Kelly’s face and she slapped at it. Silence hovered around them, broken only by the soft slapping of waves against the boat and the whirring sound as Charles cast his bait across the water again and again.
At a faint noise off to the left she opened her eyes to slits. There was another boat drifting toward their fishing place. On the far side of the clearing, it was a lightweight craft of green aluminum with two men in it. One of them was expertly plying a paddle so that they weaved silently through the trees.
She did not think Charles had noticed the new arrivals. He seemed intent on his fishing. In a moment, the two men would bring out their own fishing gear, attracting his attention. If she jumped up and began to yell, would they understand her? Would she be able to make sense before Charles stopped her? She could take a header out of the boat and swim toward the other men, but Charles would be after her in a flash. What would happen, however, if she first flicked on the trolling motor, and swung the handle to the left, guiding the bass boat into the trees? It would take him precious seconds to reach the front of the boat and turn it off, and that might be all the time she would need.
Before the thought had finished unreeling across her mind, she had surged to her feet, flicked the switch, turned the handle, and dived!
She swam underwater until her lungs were bursting, reaching, stretching, kicking with hard, desperate fury. She came up, but did not pause, drawing a long, rasping breath even as she settled into a strong, four-beat crawl. There was no
t time to look where she was going, no time for anything except the hard heart-straining effort. She could hear the beat of her own pulse in her ears, though the splashing as she dove into the water drowned out the sound of the trolling motor. It had been three years since she had swum more than a lap or two up and down a municipal pool. The seconds ticked past, each of them an eternity. Her arms were growing heavy, and there was a growing ache between her shoulder blades.
She eased up enough to snatch a glance over her shoulder. It was an instant before she could locate the boat. It was lodged against the trees, floating free, empty.
Putting her head down, she redoubled her efforts.
Something touched the calf of her leg. She swerved, thinking it was an underwater snag or tree trunk. Then her ankle was caught in a grip of iron, and she was dragged under. She jackknifed, kicking free, but immediately a hard arm was clamped about her waist. With her chest aching as the air was driven from her lungs, she clawed for the surface.
She and Charles burst from the water together. Her eyes flew open as she dragged air into her lungs. He was so close to her she could see the flecks of rage in his eyes and the grim set to his mouth. His hold was merciless, but she had the advantage; it was he who for that brief instant was keeping them afloat. She brought her knee up. He twisted, catching it on his thigh. With that leverage, she drove the sharp point of her elbow into his chest, then with a catlike turn, drew back her fist, ready to drive it into his face.
He saw the blow coming. He rolled with it, pulling her with him. She caught her breath as her head went under the churning water once more, and then she was pushing, twisting, flailing, freeing herself only to be seized again. As she came up once, she opened her lips to scream for help, but his hand was clapped none too gently across her nose and mouth. For an instant, she could not breathe, and as a red haze rose before her eyes, the terrible fear shafted into her brain that he meant to drown her then and there. Her struggles became frenzied.
He released her, even supporting her for one fleeting instant before she struck out at him with the heel of her hand. He caught her wrist, jerking her against him, and they grappled once more, spinning, wrenching, heaving back and forth with their bodies intertwined in an oddly graceful water ballet that could not last. Kelly, her mind blank with despair, recognized that fact as she felt her strength failing while his seemed as steely and encompassing as when they had begun.
Abruptly his grasp loosened. She was free. It came so unexpectedly that she nearly sank as she neglected to tread water. She looked quickly at him, just barely within arm’s reach of her. The startled expression on his face puzzled her, but she did not have time to think about it. Sweeping away from him, she began to swim again, pulling hard for the other boat. In that one moment of stillness, she had seen that it was leaving, had heard the rough curses of the men as they floated across the water. The two fishermen thought she and Charles were kids with no more sense than to stir up a good fishing hole by swimming in it.
“Kelly, my love, aren’t you forgetting something?” Charles’s voice as he called after her was provocative, with an undertone of warning that sounded an alarm in her mind. As she turned her head for air on an overhand stroke, she glanced back, then stopped as if she had struck the lake dam itself.
In his hand Charles held aloft a scrap of material. Aqua-blue, with trailing strings that dripped with water, it was the top to her bikini.
At that moment, she heard the roar of a motor. Above its ear-splitting racket she could never be heard. It was the small power motor on the back of the aluminum boat. The men were scudding away under its noisy power. The opportunity that had seemed so bright moments before was gone. With dread in her eyes and her arms crossed over her breasts, Kelly swung to face Charles.
“How dare you?” she said, the words charged with choked fury.
“Easily, if I had thought of it, which, I am sorry to say, I didn’t. It was an accident.”
“Throw it here!”
He shook his head slowly back and forth. The anger had vanished from his face, and though its smooth planes were sternly solemn, the look in his dark eyes was bright. “You come and get it.”
“I can’t,” she cried, her tone rising.
“Can’t you?” he inquired, looking at the article of clothing he held as if he doubted its importance. Turning, he began to swim in the direction of the bass boat with long, easy strokes.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “Charles? Charles!”
“It will be at the boat You are coming, aren’t you?”
“No!”
He stopped, swung to face her. After a moment, he tilted his head. “I would advise it. Any man who finds you clinging to a tree out here in that condition, like a mermaid in distress, may act first and ask questions later.”
She watched in disbelief as he rolled with a lithe grace and began to swim once more. He was not going to give her top to her. He really wasn’t. Her voice strangling in her throat, she yelled, “I’ll kill you!”
“You’re welcome to try — back at the boat.”
The ferocity of the wrath that washed over her had no bounds. If she could have put her hands on him at that moment, she would have slain him without compunction. She felt on fire with disappointed rage and embarrassment. The blood boiled in her veins, and her skin was so red-hot it was a wonder that the water around her wasn’t turned to steam. She tread water in an agony of indecision, knowing with frenzied certainty that the choice had already been made.
The anger was saving. It gave her the needed strength to kick forward and lift her painfully heavy arms in the strokes it took to cover the distance to the boat. Ahead of her, Charles had already reached it and was clinging to the side.
She swirled to a halt a few feet from him, covering her breasts with one arm as she tried with increasing tiredness to keep herself afloat. The water was dark and murky, but she was all too aware that with the sunlight shafting through it, the pale gleam of her flesh was visible. Holding out her other hand she said tightly, “All right. Give it to me.”
“I’m not sure I should,” he said judiciously. “You seem so much more reasonable without it.”
“If you don’t give that to me —” she began, then stopped with a catch in her voice as she lifted her chin high to keep her mouth and nose above water as she sank. She redoubled her treading efforts, but she could feel the ebb of the last reserves of her strength. Distress flared in her eyes.
“Charles, please,” she whispered.
He had already started toward her. He caught her out-stretched hand, and with a powerful thrust against the water, brought her close enough to the boat to place it on the gunwale. She hung there for long moments with her forehead resting against the fiberglass side and her breathing harsh in her throat. It was a moment before she realized that Charles had released her and moved around to hold to the side of the boat behind her.
“Here,” he said. “Put it on, and I’ll tie it for you.”
“No,” she gasped.
“Don’t argue, or I’ll put it on myself.”
The pale aqua top sailed over her shoulder, and spread out on the surface of the water before her with the right side up and the ties in the correct position. She scooped it up before it could sink and clasped it to her. She shivered a little as she felt Charles’s warm fingers at her back, closing the slide, pushing the wet strands of her hair aside to form the bow. He was good at it, she thought wearily; no doubt the effect of practice.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.
“I’m fine,” she said in a stifled voice.
“Into the boat then. I’m going to give you a boost.” She nodded her comprehension. An instant later, his hands were firm about her waist, and she was surging upward. It took the last of her energy to grab the side of the boat with both hands and pull herself high enough so that her weight could drag her inside. She lay on the bottom for a long minute, then turned, inten
ding to help Charles. There was no need. He heaved himself up with the muscles bunching in his shoulders, then swung himself into the stern. With resentment burning inside her, Kelly watched as he strapped on his thin gold watch and gathered up the things he had taken from his pockets, a small, gold-handled knife, a handful of change, his billfold, and also her own billfold and car keys. A thorough man, Charles, and a swift one. He had taken the time to remove these things from his cut-off jeans, as well as turn off the trolling motor, before he had dived in after her.
Pulling herself up into her captain’s chair, she collapsed. Her mind was numb with fatigue, and her hands shook as she pushed her fingers through her hair. Worse than the fact that he had captured her again was the ease with which he had done so, and his galling generosity in her defeat.
Behind her, Charles spoke. “I hate to tell you, but we lost our dinner. The cord that held the fish basket must have seen a few years. It broke when the boat went into the trees.”
Kelly was saved from the necessity of answering as he cranked up the boat’s motor, letting it idle in neutral. His voice, so cheerful and casual, grated along her nerves. She hated him, she told herself: She would pay him back for every moment of humiliation she had suffered at his hands if it were the last thing she did. She would personally see to it that his little game came to an end. He would never see a penny of the ransom money, never spend a dime. No matter what it cost her, she would get away from him and send the police. He would be arrested and thrown into jail, where she hoped he would rot the rest of his life!
“Excuse me?”
Without waiting for her compliance, he swung her captain’s chair on its swivel and brushed past her, leaning to draw up the trolling motor. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he balanced with a knee on the front of the boat. One push would send him overboard again. She might have time to get back to the controls and push the boat into forward gear.
He turned his head, slanting her a quick glance as he switched the locking mechanism into place on the small motor. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets) Page 9
