The Lieutenant by Her Side

by Jean Thomas

  And all because of Mark Griggs and her fear that he would come after her.

  You do know you’re worrying needlessly, don’t you? He can’t possibly free himself from that headboard until you alert someone at the hotel to go up to his room and release him. And that can’t happen until—

  The realization struck her then in midthought. She couldn’t phone the hotel tonight as she had planned to do. She couldn’t call them until sometime tomorrow morning when the ferry had delivered her to the mainland. Which meant Mark would be spending the whole night locked to the headboard.

  The guilt that had haunted her all evening intensified with the image of him helplessly lying there through the long hours, his arms gone numb, his shouts unheard and all the while convinced that her promise to contact the hotel had been another lie.

  Clare felt awful about it, but what could she do? Nothing until she was safe on the other side and on her way back to New Orleans. Meanwhile, she would be spending her own uncomfortable night here in her car. That, had Lieutenant Griggs known of her situation, might have offered him some small form of consolation.

  On the other hand, she thought, remembering the heat of his anger, maybe not.

  * * *

  The little crook had obviously not called the hotel to help him. Probably had never intended to. Another of her false promises. Mark was on his own. Well, he’d been in scrapes before much worse than this one, and he’d always managed to get out of them.

  He must have spent a good part of the night straining every muscle in his right arm to break the vertical brass rod to which the cuff on that side was locked. His effort was accompanied by a considerable amount of grunting and swearing, not to mention a sore wrist where the matching cuff attached to that arm bit into his flesh.

  The rod was too strong. No amount of his own strength would snap it. But by applying an unrelenting pressure, he achieved something else. Gradually, and with every exertion he could muster, the rod began to bend in his direction. Once sufficiently bowed out, it popped out of the sockets that held it, enabling him to slide the cuff off the thing.

  His right arm was free, but it had cost him a raw wrist, even though he had tried to support the chain binding the two bracelets in order to relieve the tension.

  Free, but too worn out to tackle the second pair of handcuffs until he rested. He hadn’t intended to drift off, but sleep had been a requirement at that point. Although still dark out when he awakened, he must have slept for hours.

  Entirely sober now, he spent what was left of the night attacking the second rod securing his left arm to the headboard. Knowing now what to do, and with both hands able to do it, the work took much less time.

  The sky was still dark outside his window when he was a totally free man again. The first thing he did after crawling stiffly off the bed was to stretch every muscle in his body. They damn well needed it after his long night of punishment.

  That done, he went straight for the keys on the desk, rid himself of both bracelets, dumped them along with the keys into the wastebasket there and headed for the bathroom and the hot shower his body demanded.

  Although he made swift work afterward of getting into fresh clothes and tossing his things into his two bags, the sky was beginning to lighten with the first suggestion of daybreak on the way.

  No time to lose. He had a date with the woman who called herself Nola.

  The yawning night clerk, blinking behind his glasses, was still on duty behind the reception desk when Mark arrived in the lobby. After canceling his booking on the charter fishing boat and checking out of the hotel, he questioned the young man.

  “The blonde who was with me last night. You know if she’s still in her room?”

  “She’s not registered here, sir.”

  Now why was that no surprise to him? “You happen to see her leave the hotel?”

  The clerk nodded. “Sometime after eleven, I think. Went out to the parking lot and drove off in her car.”

  “You notice what the car looked like?” The clerk hesitated. “I’ve got something I need to return to her.”

  “Well, I’ve got a view of the lot from here, and it is well lighted, but I can’t be sure. I know it was a compact. Possibly a Honda. Light in color, maybe a pale gray.”

  Good enough, Mark thought. “So, which way did she go?”

  “In the direction of the ferry landing.” The clerk suddenly seemed to realize he might be offering information he had no business imparting. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I mean—”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. I didn’t hear it from you.”

  Telling the guy to have the hotel put the damaged headboard on his credit card, he departed with his two bags.

  He was limping when he crossed the lot to his black SUV. His right leg was bothering him a bit, maybe because of the chill dampness in the early morning air. He’d be damn glad when the limp finally vanished, as the therapist back at Fort Bragg’s Womack Army Medical Center had promised him it eventually would.

  Reaching his car, he unlocked it, heaved his two bags into the back and climbed behind the wheel. There was no question of catching up to her here on the island, he thought as he raced off toward the ferry landing with the intention of making the first of the morning runs to the mainland. She would have crossed last night on the last ferry of the day.

  Yeah, long gone by now. Didn’t matter. Sooner or later, armed as he was with a description of her car, he’d manage to hunt her down. Like his leg, it was just a matter of patience. Not to mention a healthy supply of stubbornness.

  * * *

  Clare had spent a miserable night sealed inside her car, suffering a stuffy warmth that would have benefitted from a blast of air-conditioning. To achieve that, she would have needed to keep her engine running. Not possible when there was the risk of emptying her tank.

  Even though there was never anyone about, as a precaution she kept her doors locked and her windows up. She’d been tempted several times to lower them just far enough to breathe a fresher, cooler air, but that would have been an invitation to Louisiana’s voracious mosquitoes.

  In spite of all her discomforts, however, she did manage to sleep through much of the night. Enough, anyway, to find herself fairly restored when she sat up and saw the rosy light of dawn tinting the waters of the strait. To her satisfaction, she could make out the distant form of the ferry crawling toward the island.

  The low rumble of engines behind her and the louder banging of car doors had Clare twisting around in her seat. Vehicles were already lined up behind her and others arriving, all of them hoping to be on the first ferry of the day.

  The curve of the approach to the landing enabled her to view the latest arrival, a black, powerful-looking SUV. It pulled into line behind the other cars.

  Her curiosity answered, she was about to turn away when the driver, shutting off his engine, emerged from the SUV. Clare gasped at the sight of the tall, stalwart figure.

  Mark Griggs!

  What she had feared might happen had happened. He’d managed somehow to get out of those handcuffs. A possibility that wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been able to leave the island last night as she’d intended, but now...

  Clare tried to calm her panic, tried to think. Unless he’d learned of the ferry’s failure last night to depart from the island, he would assume she was long gone. Wouldn’t come searching for her along the line of vehicles waiting to board.

  Fearing that might happen anyway, she kept a taut watch on him, ready to duck down in her seat if he started her way. To her relief, he remained where he was, leaning against the side of the SUV, sinewy arms crossed over his broad chest, gaze interested in nothing more than the progress of the ferry out on the waters of the strait.

  She tried to reassure herself she was safe, that if he d
id glance in her direction he wouldn’t recognize her. Not at this distance and inside her car, not in an outfit so completely unlike last night’s sexy one and with her hair pulled back.

  But you can’t count on that.

  As an added precaution, she fumbled inside her purse for her sunglasses, slid them in place and faced forward again. Keeping low in her seat, she used both her side mirrors and the rearview mirror above her head to monitor his position, which remained fixed. When she was not doing that, Clare anxiously checked on the ferry. Its approach to the landing seemed as slow to her as that of a tortoise. Her whispered plea of “Hurry, hurry!” was, of course, pointless.

  She had her car started and ready to roll when the ferry finally reached the landing. She could hear all the other car engines behind her come to life as she watched the two deckhands on board spring into action, binding the ferry to the dock, dropping the solid gate that also served as a boarding ramp, motioning the three vehicles on board to disembark.

  Only when the ramp had cleared did one of the hands signal Clare to come ahead. After bumping up the ramp, she was directed to the far end of the deck where the other hand waited to make sure she was positioned to his satisfaction, her engine turned off and her hand brake locked.

  She was aware of the other cars crowding in behind her. Maybe there wouldn’t be room for the SUV. Maybe the line would be cut off before it reached the SUV, and Mark would have to wait for the second crossing of the day.

  But the luck that deserted her last night was still missing. She was just able to glimpse in her rearview mirror a corner of the black SUV squeezed in at the other end of the deck. Her only hope now was that he wouldn’t leave his car and come wandering her way, that if he did emerge from the SUV he would make his way instead to the upper deck.

  The other passengers were already clattering up the narrow, metal stairway and...yes, there was his tall figure among them!

  “Ma’am?”

  Startled, Clare turned to find the face of one of the deckhands framed in the opening of her lowered window.

  “Your ticket, please.”

  She reached into her glove compartment for the round-trip ticket she had purchased yesterday on the mainland and surrendered it to him.

  “There’s an air-conditioned lounge off the upper deck, ma’am. You might be more comfortable there.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll wait here in my car.”

  She had observed on yesterday’s crossing that the ferry was both a front-end and back-end loader. That if a vehicle was the first one to board it would also be the first to disembark. That much was in her favor. Before the SUV could leave the ferry on the other side she would be long gone from the landing. And maybe, if prayers meant anything, Mark would never be aware that she’d been within his reach.

  * * *

  The gulls were screaming overhead and the sun above the horizon when the ferry docked on the mainland.

  Clare had her engine started and her hand brake released when the gate finally dropped in front of her. Once the ramp was secured, the deckhand signaled that it was safe for her to leave the ferry.

  She didn’t pause, didn’t look back. The solid road waited for her at the end of the dock. Gaining it, she tore off up the highway that would carry her to the inland freeway that led to New Orleans.

  Afraid after a couple of miles that her speed was a reckless one, she eased up on the accelerator, giving herself the opportunity to check the highway behind her in the rearview mirror. There were several vehicles back there, presumably other cars from the ferry. They posed no threat, because she could tell that none of them was a black SUV.

  With any luck, Mark was still on the ferry waiting his turn to disembark. She was safe. For now at least. Just the same, she kept a wary eye on her mirrors. Still no sign of him. Not, anyway, until several moments later when she spotted it. The black SUV roaring around the other cars, passing them one by one in an effort to reach the front of the parade.

  Her heart dropped, ending up in the area of her stomach.

  Mark must have somehow learned she’d been aboard the ferry, that she was now somewhere ahead of him. There was no other explanation for his need to leave the other cars behind him.

  Clare urged her Honda into another burst of speed. Useless, she knew. The compact was no match for that damn SUV. He would overtake her like a falcon swooping down on a helpless rabbit. Luck had deserted her again.

  Or maybe not.

  The highway, bordered on both sides by thick woods, was suddenly no longer ruler-straight. It rounded a sharp bend and once into that bend, with the heavy growth now masking her car from her pursuer, she spied a side road that abruptly left the highway off her left side. Clare didn’t hesitate to dive into it.

  She’d traveled only a few yards along its winding length before realizing the lane was in reality a dirt track. The palmettos that grew on both sides, along with the other vegetation, identified the region as one of lowland Louisiana’s countless marshes.

  This was no good. The track was clearly leading her nowhere except deeper into the marsh. She needed to find a place to turn around. But the narrow lane over which she carefully bumped, its rough surface beginning to look wet now, offered her little chance of that. Not until a small clearing suddenly loomed in front of her.

  It was so unexpected that Clare, in an effort to avoid plowing into a wall of swamp grasses, stomped her foot on the brake. A serious mistake. There was mud here, a mud so slick under her wheels it sent her car hurtling through the grasses and straight into a swamp.

  She heard a loud whump underneath the compact, and then nothing. The engine had stalled. Not that she’d be able to back out of the swamp if it hadn’t. She could feel the car settling into the mire up to the bottoms of the doors.

  Nice work, Clare. You’ve stranded yourself in a swamp. And from the sound of that thump below, probably with something busted.

  There was silence all around her except for the tick of her cooling engine. But only for a few moments while she tried to decide what to do. And then it didn’t matter, because the silence was penetrated by the low growl of an approaching vehicle.

  She swung her head around just in time to see the dreaded SUV crawl into the clearing. In spite of all her maneuvers, Mark Griggs had caught up with her.

  Chapter 3

  Clare didn’t know which was worse, being stuck in a swamp or being confronted by Mark Griggs. Seeing the hard expression on his angular face as he turned off his engine and climbed out of the SUV was all she needed to tell her he was in a vile temper. Given the choice, she decided she might prefer the swamp.

  The Honda had flattened the tall reeds on its plunge into the swamp, giving her a clear view of the man behind her. If she expected a string of shouted curses directed at her, she didn’t get them. Whatever he had in store for her, he was in no hurry about it.

  Clare watched him nervously as he methodically removed his tennis shoes and peeled off his socks. Only when the shoes were placed neatly on the ground side by side, with the socks stuffed into them, did he carefully roll his pant legs up to his knees. All of it undertaken like a well-disciplined soldier readying himself for an inspection.

  Never once during this little performance did he look her way. Nor did she earn so much as a glance from him when he headed purposefully toward the Honda. Wading into the muddy waters without hesitation, he came around to the passenger door, yanking it open with such force that she jumped.

  Clare had laid her purse on the passenger seat. Before she could stop him, he snatched it up, turned and tossed it with such amazing accuracy that it landed safely beside his shoes. With the same swift motion, leaning inside the car, he removed her keys from the ignition and thrust them into his pocket.

  There was no word exchanged between them during this entire action. Not, anyway, until his
hand stretched across the seat to...well, whatever his intention, it had her shrinking back against the driver’s door.

  “Relax,” he growled. “You might deserve a smack, but I’m not known for hitting women. At least so far. All I wanted to do was...”

  “What?” she croaked.

  “This.” He unsnapped her seat belt. “Now scoot across the seat where I can reach you.”

  Clare stayed where she was, not trusting him.

  “Look,” he said gruffly, “you can either let me rescue you, or you can wait here for the alligators and water moccasins.”

  Both of which, she knew, were as common in southern Louisiana as the swamps that bred them. Unfriendly, too, but maybe not as unfriendly as the man who waited for her decision.

  “I’m perfectly capable of rescuing myself,” she informed him stiffly.

  “Yeah? Show me.”

  She could have exited the car by the driver’s door. But, not wanting him to think she was afraid of him, she slid herself toward the open passenger door. “Just get out of my way so I can—”

  Clare didn’t get to finish. Didn’t get to voice a single word of objection. All she could manage was to suck in a sharp, startled breath when his hands, again with that same lightning speed, scooped her up into his arms.

  “No sense in both of us getting wet, is there?” he said.

  How he managed to back away with his load, nudge the door shut with one knee and carry her out of the swamp without staggering deserved an expression of admiration. Particularly when she remembered the injury his right leg had suffered. But she was silent. They both were.

  Once on solid earth again, he lowered her to the ground. Although that wasn’t exactly how Clare would have described it. What he actually did, his arms all the while pinning her tightly against him, was to permit her to slide slowly and with a deliberate sensual torment down his length.