by Mark Romang
The antique longbow was so much different than his modern compound bow. Six feet long and constructed from a yew tree, the weapon exemplified simplicity. No sight, no arrow shelf, no cables or cams or release to aid him, just a string and a bow—archery stripped down to its purest form.
Rafter steeled his courage. He had to act now or they’d be trapped. He took a deep breath and held it in, said a quick silent prayer. And then as he stood up he drew back the string on the longbow to his anchor point just below his ear.
Rafter looked in the same vicinity where he saw the muzzle flash just seconds ago. He spotted a patch of white clothing, and tilted his head until his eye could look down the arrow shaft. He aimed a little high, just above the patch of white to allow for the arrow drop.
Rafter loosed the arrow. An anguished cry pierced the darkness a moment later, signifying his shot had struck flesh. Rafter felt a small pang of guilt. But it wasn’t enough guilt to keep him from reaching into his quiver for the last arrow.
“Drop the bow!”
Rafter whirled around and saw Arcadias holding a gun to Annie’s head.
“Drop the bow or kiss your lovely wife goodbye.”
Rafter released his grip on the longbow. It dropped and rattled against the gazebo floor.
“How bad off is she?” Arcadias called out. “I can hear her moaning.”
“There’s an arrow sticking through Colette’s left arm just below her shoulder,” Damien answered.
Arcadias glared at Rafter. “Well, from here on out we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you two. Wherever we go…you’ll go too.”
Chapter 22
Arcadias looked at Jon and Annie and pointed at the sofa with his Glock. “Sit there where we can keep an eye on you,” he commanded.
“I have some plastic cable ties in my tool bucket. I can tie up their hands,” Damien offered. He held Colette’s uninjured arm and helped her walk into the foyer and over to a chair. She moaned and sat down stiffly, the arrow firmly stuck in her arm.
Arcadias nodded. “Yes, they definitely need to be tied up.”
“Colette needs medical attention. She’s in danger of going into shock,” Rafter said.
“She’ll be fine. We’re not calling an ambulance, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Arcadias replied.
“Her skin looks gray and clammy. She needs to lie down, and her wound needs treated.”
Arcadias’ ash-colored eyes flared. “We’ll get to her. But first things first, Jon, you need to understand the pecking order around here. I give the orders because I am in charge. You and Annie are basically my subjects. Whatever I ask you to do I expect you to do immediately and without complaint.”
“You’re never going to get away with this, Arcadias. Police will be on the scene momentarily,” Annie said.
Arcadias turned toward her. “We took your phones. You couldn’t have called them.”
“We didn’t have to.” Annie looked over at Damien and Colette. “Bonnie and Clyde here shot so many rounds at us that our neighbors would’ve called the police for us.”
Before Arcadias could respond, the doorbell rang. All heads turned toward the door.
“That’s probably the police now,” Annie continued.
“Should we answer the door?” Iris asked.
Arcadias walked over to a window and looked out. “I don’t see any police cruisers.” He turned and looked at Rafter. “Are you expecting company?”
Rafter shook his head.
“Iris, go see who it is. But don’t let them in,” Arcadias said.
Iris crept toward the door and looked through the peephole. “It’s an old man,” she said softly. “What do I do?”
“Talk to him and see what he wants, but don’t let him in.”
Iris unlocked the door and pulled it a quarter of the way open. The old man craned his head and tried to look around her. She stepped to the side and blocked his view. “Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m here to talk to Jon Rafter.”
“May I ask your name, please?”
“I’m Ned Hoxley. I’m Jon’s neighbor.”
“I think Mr. Rafter stepped out for a bit. I’ll tell him you came by.”
“His car is still here. So is his old pickup truck.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hoxley, but you’ll have to come back some other ...”
Ned Hoxley shouldered his way past Iris and stepped into the house. “Jon? Annie? Rosie is injured. I think she may have been shot. She came by the house tonight, dripping blood,” Hoxley said as he walked into the parlor. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Arcadias with his drawn side arm trained on Jon and Annie.
“What’s going on here?”
“You just stepped into a crime scene, Ned. Our guests have taken over the house,” Annie said.
Ned trained his dark eyes on Arcadias. The brown orbs peered out from underneath bushy eyebrows with owl-like fierceness. “Why are you doing this? Jon and Annie are good people.”
“They’re looking for treasure. They think Jean Lafitte treasure is somewhere in this house. Isn’t that crazy?” Annie said.
Ned’s color whitened. He swayed a bit on his feet. “The treasure is long gone. You’re throwing your life away looking for it,” he said softly.
An eyebrow lifted on Arcadias’ forehead. “Who are you? And how do you know the treasure is gone?”
“My name is Ned Hoxley. And I looked for the treasure years ago. I never found it.”
“You must not have looked hard enough,” Arcadias said. He turned his attention to Annie. “You’re awfully talkative. Would you care to explain how you knew we were looking for Jean Lafitte treasure?”
Annie shot Arcadias a stony glare, but said nothing.
Arcadias lifted his gun hand and pointed the Glock at Ned. He returned Annie’s stony glare with an icy glare of his own. “Tell me how you know our intentions, and Gramps won’t get hurt.”
“Go ahead, Annie, tell him,” Rafter said.
“While we were in the attic I found a journal. The journal belonged to Rose Whitcomb, the former owner of this house. I read an entry in the journal that referred to a mysterious box. It was insinuated in the journal entry that treasure lay inside the box,” Annie said.
“Where is this journal? Do you have it with you?”
Annie shook her head. “I left it in the attic.”
Arcadias looked at Damien, who did his best to comfort Colette. “Damien, I need you to keep an eye on Rafter and the old man. Annie is going to lead me to the journal.” Arcadias pressed his Glock against Annie’s ribs. “Let’s go retrieve this journal.”
“You love treasure hunting don’t you, Arcadias?” Rafter said suddenly.
Arcadias shot him an annoyed look. “I do. I’ve been treasure hunting for most of my adult life.”
Rafter nodded. “I’m guessing hunting for treasure is more than just a hobby for you, it’s a passion. It’s what gets you going. You go to bed thinking of Lafitte gold, and wake up thinking of it.”
Arcadias’ eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to get at?”
“I have a passion too, Arcadias. I love to paint. Painting is like breathing for me, I have to do it every day. Painting is who I am; it’s in my DNA strand. It makes me come alive.”
Arcadias scanned the breathtaking murals on the walls. “You’re very good at your passion.”
Rafter shrugged. “Believe it or not, Arcadias, there’s something I love and cherish far more than painting.”
“And what would that be?”
“It’s not a what, but a who. And you’re holding a gun to her ribs.”
Arcadias rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet, but you’re holding up progress, Rafter. Let’s go, Annie.”
“Arcadias?”
The ex-history professor turned back around to face him. “What?”
“If you harm even one hair on Annie’s head, I’m coming for you.”
“Is that a threat?”
Rafter shook
his head. “It’s not a threat, it’s a promise.”
“I know all about the heroics you performed in the Atchafalaya Basin a few years ago, Jon. Your courage cannot be measured. But you are still a mortal man covered with mortal flesh. Your valiance cannot stop a bullet.” Arcadias paused briefly like a thespian stopping their dialogue for dramatic effect. “Provided she doesn’t attempt anything foolish, Annie will return to this room unharmed.” Arcadias jabbed her in the ribs with the Glock. “I want this journal. Let’s go.”
Chapter 23
Copeland, LA—that same moment
Standing in the back of the crammed VFW hall, Newton Laskey scanned the crowd sitting in folding chairs. It seemed like a diverse crowd: young, old, equal parts Caucasian and African-American, a few Hispanics, slightly more men than women, some dressed nattily, while others sported tattered blue jeans and wrinkled t-shirts.
Most seemed attentive to the three Republican presidential candidates as they took turns addressing questions from the audience. Only a few looked as sleepy and bored as Laskey felt.
The FBI man glanced at his watch. He estimated the town hall debate would last another half hour. Laskey served as the SAC—Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Baton Rouge Resident Agency. He had two other FBI agents with him at the debate. The FBI was here upon request, helping the Secret Service because one of the candidates had a stalker.
A half crazy man in New Orleans had it in for Rick Gordon, the current front-running candidate and senator from Arkansas. A restraining order was placed on the man, and it seemed to be working. But the restraining order didn’t keep him from continually posting threatening rants on Facebook.
FBI and Secret Service agents currently observed the unsettled man at his house. Latest reports Laskey had received were that the knucklehead was sitting on his porch and drinking beer in moderation—good news for all involved.
Laskey had actually spent a day in Copeland three years ago. One of his ex-agents—Annie Crawford, now Annie Rafter—tracked some kidnappers to the town’s outskirts and then disappeared into a hurricane ravaged swamp where she ended up a hostage herself. At first Laskey didn’t know what had happened to Annie on that terrible night, and spent several hours canvassing rain-soaked Copeland for her, finally finding her and the kidnapped child walking down a flooded levee road.
Laskey often thought of Annie. Few of his current agents could match Annie’s intuitiveness, her penchant for delving into a case and finding a motive where others couldn’t, and for doggedly poring over evidence until a loose thread unravels and leads to an arrest.
Laskey felt betrayed when Annie quit the Bureau. He never saw it coming. And he considered himself a sage at measuring his agents’ happiness.
It all came down to love. And love can make a person do the unexpected.
Annie resigned shortly after falling in love with Jon Rafter, the hermitlike artist who singlehandedly rescued her and the child from the Boudreauxs. She eventually married him.
At first Laskey didn’t know what to think of Jon Rafter—a man running from the demons of his law-enforcement past. But after spending only an hour with Rafter a day before he married Annie, Laskey came away impressed. He found Rafter to be a man of integrity and unshakeable faith. Rafter was also a chivalrous man with a warrior’s heart. It’s no wonder Annie took to him so quickly.
Laskey couldn’t really blame Annie for quitting the FBI. From childhood to the end of her law enforcement career, Annie witnessed the fallen human condition at its most depraved. She deserved happiness and a mundane life, if that’s what she truly wanted.
The last news he’d heard of the couple was that they’d rehabbed an old plantation house on the town’s outskirts, converting it into a bed and breakfast.
Maybe I should pay a visit to Jon and Annie after this debate is over. I’ll never be this close again, he thought, forcing his tired eyes to scan the crowd one more time in case the knucklehead made an appearance.
****
Not far from where Newton Laskey stood, Keith Jepson caught himself nodding off. Politics bored him. Listening to grandstanding blowhards spin falsehoods ranked high on his list of least desirable activities. Oddly enough, his wife loved politics and couldn’t get enough of it. Somehow their relationship worked and proved that opposites really do attract.
Jepson considered politicians to be almost as dishonest and ruthless as trial lawyers. It pained him to say that because he was a lawyer. The family law attorney lifted the sleeve of his sport jacket and looked at his watch. Will this debate ever end? He only attended tonight’s debate because his wife worked on candidate Bret Kingman’s campaign staff.
Kingman didn’t stand a chance at winning the party nomination. He hadn’t won a single primary yet, not even his home state—his best result a second place finish. And Jepson’s wife said Kingman had just about spent all the money in his campaign war chest. Tonight’s debate might just be his last hurrah.
An idea entered Keith Jepson’s mind. Jon and Annie Rafter lived not far away. The Rafters hired Jepson to help them find and legally adopt a newborn child. So far the Rafters had jumped through a million hoops and signed almost as many papers. But Jepson had one last document they needed to sign before the adoption could go through. And the document was in his briefcase in his car outside.
If I leave now I could probably drive to the Rafters house and have them sign the document and still get back before the debate ends. My wife will never know I left the VFW hall, Jepson thought, grinning inwardly.
Luckily he sat on a chair on the end of the row. He wouldn’t have to make a scene and crawl over anyone getting out. The attorney stood up and, careful not to walk in front of a filming camera, slinked to the foyer and out the door.
Jepson climbed into his red BMW, started it up and headed out of town via the levee road. He figured he would arrive at the Whitcomb Bed and Breakfast Inn in just under ten minutes, maybe less if he tromped on the gas.
He debated whether to speed or drive the limit, and finally decided to obey the law. He had plenty of time to make it back to the VFW hall. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 24
Carrying the journal in her left hand, Annie entered the parlor. Arcadias shadowed her from close behind, aiming his Glock at her back. “Sit down next to your husband and read aloud everything you read while up in the attic. And then read the next entry,” Arcadias commanded.
Annie sat down next to Rafter, whose hands were immobilized together with plastic cuff ties. She flipped through the journal until she came to the first entry she’d read earlier. She cleared her throat and read aloud the entry where Rose and Bobby found the secret room. She found the entry just as exciting and interesting as the first time she read it.
Annie then read the next entry where Bobby and Rose talked about the conversation Rose had with her mother regarding the secret room. When she finished reading it, her heart sped up as she anticipated reading the next entry. Despite the fact she and Jon and Ned Hoxley were hostages, she found herself excited to find out what happened to Rose and Bobby next. Their tender romance enthralled her.
Annie looked up. Every eye rested on her except for Colette’s. She lay on the floor; her feet propped up to help fend off shock. A moan occasionally rose up and escaped her quivering lips.
Annie began the next entry.
****
In the backseat of the 1938 De Soto 4-door sedan, Rose sat in the middle between Bobby and his younger brother Ned. Clive Hoxley steered the De Soto down Florida Boulevard in Baton Rouge, his wife next to him, her face streaked with tears, red-rimmed eyes hiding behind sunglasses.
They traveled east into a blinding sun. An unsettling quietness filled the car. Dread at what terrible fate might lay ahead for Bobby spirited away all attempts at conversation.
Rose rested her head against Bobby’s arm. She reveled in the strength of his shoulder, the intimacy of her body sitting close to his. A strange mix of emotions ran through her
head. She was proud of Bobby for his patriotism, for wanting to serve America and fight for her people. But nightmarish thoughts continually flashed in her head. She kept seeing a flag-draped coffin and a color guard, sad people dressed in black, a firing party raising their rifles to fire a salute to the fallen serviceman—Bobby, her Bobby.
Rose wanted to cry out but held it in. She had to be strong for Bobby’s sake. She wanted to send him off feeling confident and strong. How could he fight for his country and his life when his girl was back home blubbering?
Clive pulled into a parking lot next to the bus station and parked the De Soto. They all piled out and crossed the street into the station. Rose felt her heart speed up and pound so hard her head rattled.
She dreaded saying goodbye to Bobby. And yet she was going to have to say goodbye soon. The farewell approached as surely as the coming second.
Rose looked around and saw other families tearfully sending their sons off to war, and possibly their deaths. Her heart went out to them as she saw them hug farewell. And then Rose felt a sudden surge of anger well up.
She silently cursed America’s enemies: Germany, Japan, and Italy, as well as their power-hungry leaders—Adolf Hitler, Emperor Hirohito, and Benito Mussolini. These egomaniacs didn’t think twice about sacrificing human lives and destroying families. All that mattered to them was acquiring more power.
Bobby and his parents went up to the ticket counter. Rose hung back with Ned.
“He’ll be okay, Rose. Bobby is gifted at everything. He’s smart, and he’s always been the best athlete in school. He’ll come back,” Ned said.
Rose simply nodded her head. She didn’t think her voice would cooperate.
Bobby and his parents hustled back over to them. “We barely made it in time. My bus leaves in three minutes,” Bobby said, stuffing his ticket into his pocket. He turned his attention to Ned, punched him playfully in the shoulder before wrapping him up in a bear hug.
