by Jana DeLeon
Finally, the man lowered his shotgun. “This swamp is a dangerous place for people that don’t know their way around.”
“I know,” Max said, “but we have to take the risk.”
“If the girl you’re looking for left Cache then tried to return, the risk may be a lot higher than you think.”
The man looked up at the darkening sky. “A storm’s coming. Maybe it will hold off until tonight or tomorrow, maybe not. But if you’re determined…” He pulled a knife from his pocket and cleared some brush away from the ground until only dirt was exposed. Then he began to draw a crude map and explain how to reach the area of the swamp where he’d seen Anna.
Colette watched as he drew one turn after another, and listened as he explained all the channels in the bayou that they had to navigate, and she grew more nervous by the second. Max studied the drawing, asking the occasional question, until finally, the man drew an X.
Max took a picture of the drawing with his cell phone. “Thank you for your help. My name is Max and this is Colette.”
The man nodded. “People call me ’Gator. Ain’t got no given name that I know of. You run into trouble, tell them ’Gator gave you directions. Most of the swamp people know me. It might buy you enough time to ask about your friend fore someone shoots you.”
Colette sucked in a breath and felt Max squeeze her arm.
“We appreciate the help, ’Gator.”
“Good luck,” the man said, but his skeptical look told Colette that he didn’t expect them to succeed.
Before she could thank him, he spun around and disappeared completely into the brush. Colette stared into the undergrowth where he’d left the trail, but couldn’t see any sign of him. Nor could she hear him. No wonder he’d been on top of them before they knew it. It was as if he’d vaporized into the swamp.
“How did he do that?” she asked.
Max stared into the undergrowth and frowned. “Experience.” He started back down the trail to the dock and she fell in step behind him.
“The same experience the people of Cache will have,” she said.
“Yeah. They’ll know we’re coming long before we arrive.”
“Should we continue? Maybe we should go back for supplies or help or both—maybe an entire branch of the Marine Corps.”
He smiled. “That might appear a bit confrontational.”
“Okay, I’ll admit, I’m scared to death of getting lost out here.”
“I have a plan for that,” he said as they stepped out of the undergrowth onto the muddy embankment at the boat dock.
He looked down the bayou in the direction ’Gator had indicated. The foliage was even denser, the light fading as you progressed deeper into the swamp. “It’s everything else I’m worried about.”
Colette stared at the dimly lit bayou and bit her lip. She looked back at Max. “I didn’t pay you to risk your life. If you don’t want to do it, I’d completely understand. I don’t consider this part of the job.”
“No. You paid us to find Anna. This is where the trail leads. As much as I’d prefer to have equipment and a better boat, I don’t want to waste time returning to New Orleans to get it. I think we should take a look around. If we haven’t found anything in a couple of hours, we’ll return the boat and come back tomorrow better equipped.”
She looked up, studying the tufts of dark clouds that littered the sky. “And if it storms?”
Max glanced up and shook his head. “We’ll just hope that it doesn’t.”
She watched the clouds swirl across the sun. A chill came over her, and she hurried down the muddy bank to climb into the boat. The temperature must have dropped as the shadow covered her body. That was why she felt a chill.
That’s what she told herself, anyway.
* * *
MAX PUSHED THE BOAT away from the bank and hopped inside. He started the engine and backed the boat away from the shoreline before turning it deeper into the bayou. The nagging feeling that he was missing something festered in the back of his mind, taunting him for his lack of clarity.
He’d ignored that feeling once before, and it had cost him his self-respect and almost his life.
This entire situation had been sketchy from the beginning, but his sexy sidekick had been the only bother he’d felt when he left New Orleans that morning. The further into the investigation he progressed, the more uneasy he became. He’d have rather Anna’s trail lead them to Alaska than the swamps of Mystere Parish.
He slowed the boat at the first corner and took a shot of the turn with his cell phone. Then he made a note to make a right turn when returning.
“That’s a smart idea,” Colette said. “As long as the battery holds.”
She tried to make the sentence light, as if she was making a joke, but the strained smile and the anxiety in her voice were a dead giveaway to Max. This had become much more than she’d bargained for when she’d strong-armed him into taking her along. But then, it had become more than he’d bargained for as well, so he couldn’t really blame her for her unease. As a nurse, she was trained to handle trauma, but not the kind of stress they were under now.
Still, most women would have already buckled under the pressure. None of the women he knew, except his sister-in-law, Alex, would be sitting in the boat with him, attempting to make a joke. Even his mother, for all her brass in the corporate boardroom, wouldn’t have managed five comfortable minutes in the swamp.
“It was fully charged this morning,” he said, hoping to reassure her, if only a tiny bit. “And I keep it plugged in while I’m driving. As long as it stays dry, we’re in good shape.”
“Then I’ll leave off praying for the cell-phone battery and just pray for no rain.”
He waved one hand out toward the bayou. “It’s going to be slow going. With all the water lilies, I can hardly see the surface at all. I’m afraid to move too fast in case something is submerged.”
“I understand.”
She faced straight forward on her seat, scanning the banks on each side of them. She was saying all the right things, but Max could see the tension in her back and neck as she looked for any sign of Anna or the village.
He’d been surprised that ’Gator had given them information so easily. Granted, he’d held a gun on them long enough to form an opinion, but usually swampers were very protective of each other. Maybe seeing the girl was so odd that ’Gator knew something was wrong, too.
Or maybe he was sending them right into a trap.
’Gator had made it clear that no one left Cache, and Anna had told Colette that she’d been directed never to return. If Anna had dared to leave and now dared to return, the people of Cache wouldn’t be happy to see her. And that sentiment would extend to anyone looking for her.
He checked the picture of the map on his cell phone and steered the boat left into a tiny cut. The cypress trees were so thick with moss that they blocked all but the tiniest ray of light from entering. Max squinted in the dim light, trying to keep the boat in the middle of the narrow channel, where he’d be less likely to hit the knotty roots of the trees that grew underwater and claimed many propellers.
“Colette, check in that bench you’re sitting on and see if there’s a flashlight.”
She rose from the bench and lifted the lid. She dug around in it for a minute or so and emerged with a weather-beaten flashlight.
“It doesn’t look like much,” she said and pressed the button. It flickered then went out. She tapped the side of it with the palm of her hand and it flickered back on.
“Better than nothing as long as it holds,” she said.
He nodded. “Go ahead and turn it off for now to conserve what’s left of the battery. We’ll need it more once we’re onshore.”
She clicked off the light and closed the bench storage, but no sooner had she sat down than she popped back up.
“I saw something out there.” She pointed to the left bank.
Max cut the motor and looked where she pointed. “Something mov
ing?”
“I’m not sure. It was a flash of light color—one that didn’t belong.”
Max removed an oar from the bottom of the boat and paddled them slowly backward, scanning the swamp. The bank here didn’t slope up from the bayou. Instead, the roots of cypress trees made up the embankment, creating a swirled, knotted patchwork of wood that lifted the ground two feet above the water.
Max scanned the ground past the cypress roots and located what had caught Colette’s eye. It was a patch of light color on the ground in the dense undergrowth. One of the few thin rays of sunlight that managed to breach the cypress trees was shining right on it. Otherwise, he doubted it would have been visible at all.
He paddled the boat up to the bank and removed his pistol from his waistband. “Stay here and have the shotgun ready. Remember, the shot will scatter. If you have to, shoot as far away from me as possible.”
Colette’s eyes widened and she lifted the shotgun into her lap, holding it with both hands, ready to fire if necessary.
Max scanned the bank for predators then climbed up the roots and onto the ground above the bayou. He inched slowly toward the object, watching and listening for any sign of life, of movement. About ten feet from the object, he realized it was light blue cloth.
…she usually wore blue T-shirts.
His heart caught in his throat as he recalled Colette’s description. Abandoning all caution, he rushed through the brush, his heart dropping when he saw the motionless body of Anna Huval.
She was slumped over on her side, her back to Max. Her clothes were torn and dirty, her shoes caked with mud. Scratches ran up her arm, dried blood still clinging to her skin. He squatted down next to her and placed his fingers on her neck, Colette’s certain devastation the only thing on his mind.
He felt a pulse!
Faint, but she was still alive. Gently, he rolled her over and immediately locked in on the purple lump on her forehead. There were no obvious breaks or gashes, so he
gently lifted her up and slowly made his way back to the bank.
“Max,” Colette called out. “Is everything okay?”
“I found Anna,” Max said as he stepped onto the bank above the boat and looked down at Colette. “She’s hurt but still alive.”
“Oh!” Colette’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I can’t believe it.”
Max looked up and down the embankment, trying to find a lower place to climb into the boat. “Lift the motor,” he instructed Colette, “and use the cypress roots to pull the boat down the bayou to that low spot.”
Colette almost leaped into the back of the boat and then lifted the motor so that it hovered above the roots that could damage it beyond functionality. Then she grabbed the cypress roots and pulled the boat to the low spot in the bank that he’d indicated. Carefully, he stepped into the boat with Anna and gently placed her in the bottom, where Colette had already placed a life jacket to support her head.
Any doubts he’d had about Colette’s ability to handle the situation were erased in a moment. With the injured girl safely in the boat, she immediately shifted into professional mode, checking Anna for injury, looking at her eyes, taking her pulse, inspecting her mouth.
“Is that knot on her head why she’s unconscious?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly. The bruising on her scalp is probably a day old, but she hardly ran through the swamp unconscious. Still, that much exertion could have exacerbated the head injury, causing her to black out.” She looked up at him. “Her breathing is too shallow, her pulse too weak. We have to get her to the hospital soon.”
He nodded and pushed the boat away from the bank. “I’ll go as fast as safely possible.” He lowered the motor and proceeded down the bayou as quickly as he dared.
Colette looked down the bayou then back at Anna, her face taut with worry. Max wished he could go faster, but the incoming tide combined with a northern wind was creating ripples across the usually smooth water. If he went faster, the boat would bang on top of the waves, jarring the already injured girl even more.
As they crept down the bayou, he scanned the banks. He didn’t want to say anything to Colette until they were out of Pirate’s Cove, but he doubted that lump on Anna’s head was accidental. The location he’d found Anna in contained no path leading to it, so he had to assume she’d arrived there by randomly traversing the swamp. The most logical explanation was that she was being pursued. Anna, of all people, knew the dangers of this swamp and would not have left the trail except by necessity.
Whoever was pursuing Anna hadn’t found her, which meant that he was probably still looking. The sooner they were safely out of Pirate’s Cove, the better.
It took an excruciatingly slow hour to reach Pirate’s Cove. As they pulled up to the dock, Danny Pitre stepped outside the back door of the gas station, carrying a bag of trash. As he lifted one hand to wave, Max jumped out of the boat and dashed up to the startled gas-station owner.
“I need help!” Max shouted as he ran. “Where’s your phone?”
Danny dropped the bag of trash and hurried inside the station. He pointed to the phone behind the counter and watched, wide-eyed, as Max called 911 and asked for Care Flight.
Danny jerked his head around to look out the back window of the station. “Is your lady hurt?”
“No,” Max managed before he rushed back outside and back to the boat.
Carefully he lifted Anna from the bottom of the boat and placed her on the dock at the feet of a dumbfounded Danny.
“I thought…heck, I don’t know, maybe that you guys was fooling,” he said, his eyes wide. “Is she…”
“No,” Colette said and stepped onto the dock. “But she needs care.”
“What happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” Max said, “but I’m going to find out.”
The sound of a helicopter echoed in the distant sky, and Max pulled out his wallet. “What do I owe you for the gas?”
Danny held a hand up in protest. “No charge, man. I hope she’s all right.”
“That was fast,” Colette said.
Max nodded. “They already had a chopper out this way on another call, but it wasn’t needed.”
He carefully lifted Anna from the dock and hurried as fast as he dared to the service road, the best landing place for the helicopter.
Colette insisted on riding with Anna, but they had room for only one. She yelled to Max that she’d call him as soon as she knew anything, and hopped into the helicopter. A couple of minutes later, they were above the swamp and off to the hospital.
Max pulled his keys from his pocket as he ran to his Jeep, but he drew up short when he saw something hanging from the driver’s side mirror. He knew immediately what the small pouch made of burlap was that hung there, even before he got close enough to see the markings drawn onto the coarse material.
A gris-gris.
It meant different things in different countries and cultures, but in this area, in this culture, it was a warning. Someone was letting him know that black magic was at play and he should quietly disappear.
He glanced up the street, where all the business owners and customers had stepped outside to see the helicopter. They were all looking back at him, their expressions full of curiosity. Had they seen the gris-gris? One of them must have placed it here, but which one?
He yanked it off the mirror and fought the overwhelming urge to toss it into the street. It was evidence in an investigation, so despite the distasteful feeling it gave him, he tossed it on the floorboard in the back of his Jeep before jumping into the driver’s seat and leaving Pirate’s Cove as fast as possible.
Chapter Six
Colette looked at the monitors the Care Flight paramedics had hooked to Anna and frowned. Her blood pressure was dangerously low and dropping more every minute. Her normally tanned skin was so pale that the black-and-purple bruise on her forehead almost seemed to glow.
The paramedics kept the
hospital alerted to Anna’s condition, and the emergency room was prepared for her arrival. Colette hoped it wasn’t too late. She had no idea how long Anna had been unconscious, but from the ragged appearance of her clothes and the dried blood crusted around the scratches on her bare skin, it looked as if she’d been in the swamp for a while.
Why was she in that spot, with no sign of life around her? Had she lost her way and tripped, hitting her head on the way down? Max had asked only about her condition but hadn’t commented on how it might have happened. If he had any ideas, he’d kept them to himself.
An emergency-room crew was waiting for them at the landing site on top of the hospital. They transferred Anna to a gurney and rushed her down to the emergency room. Colette insisted on accompanying them, explaining on the way that she was a trauma nurse at another hospital and Anna’s supervisor.
In the emergency room, she found a place where she wouldn’t be in the way and let the doctors and nurses do their job. As much as it pained her to stand by while other people did her job, she knew that staff who worked together every day were more efficient and knew each other’s rhythm. Her trying to help would only hinder.
So she stood to the side, hands clenched, and prayed for good news as the trauma team worked.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor nodded to his team and stepped over to where Colette stood. “She’s stable for now, and I can’t find any sign of injury other than the blow to her head,” the doctor said.
Relief coursed through her. “Thank goodness.”
“I know I don’t have to tell you the risks associated with her condition or that we’re not out of the woods.”
She nodded. “I know you’ve done everything you can.”
“We’ll keep her in ICU until she awakens, but you’re welcome to stay, if you’d like. I can have one of my staff bring you a recliner. Not the most comfortable chair in the world, but it will do in a pinch.”
“I’d love to stay, and I would appreciate even an uncomfortable chair.”
