by Jodi Thomas
I scrambled and kicked as the grip tightened and a fiend of a man worse than any of my under-the-bed monsters appeared. He dragged me across the dock as he used my leg to pull himself up.
His hands and arms were gross with blackened, burned skin that was healing at different rates. In the light I saw pink new underflesh and hanging dead skin that hadn’t yet let go. The rest of him was thin, bony, reminding me of a deformed crawdad as he crawled up on the dock.
If his body hadn’t frightened me, his face would have. His eyes were wide and hollow, his mouth twisted from his effort. Brown hair grew across his chin in patches. Madness flooded his stare.
“Let go of me!” I screamed, kicking at his hands with my free leg.
I connected, my tennis shoes landing hard against the side of his face.
His eyes registered no pain, only fright-like a wild animal gone mad.
His grip tightened, dragging me to him.
I braced to kick him again but his free hand caught my arm and pulled me against him. His body felt fever-hot against me and jerked in tiny panicky movements.
“Help!” I yelled, knowing no one would hear. “Someone help!”
His grip was stronger than I’d expected and I couldn’t break free. As he struggled to his feet, he planted his knee on my captured arm and pulled a knife from his belt.
The cold blade slid beside my throat deep enough to cut into the first layer of skin.
“Be still. Be still, lady. You got to be still,” he rambled, his rank breath polluting the air. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to borrow a car. I ain’t going to hurt nobody. I didn’t shoot nobody. I just got to have a car. A car.” He pushed the knife a fraction deeper into my neck. “You got a car?”
His hand was unsteady. I tried not to breathe for fear he’d jerk slightly and cut into an artery.
He stood, pulling me up to him, then pressing his body behind me. “Take me to it, lady, and I’ll leave you be. I just got to go. Got to have a car.”
We walked like Siamese penguins down the dock. I could feel his body shaking. If possible he seemed more nervous than I was. Frantically I tried to think of something, anything to say. Nothing.
I thought of saying, “Don’t kill me,” but I didn’t want to give him any ideas. If I turned around and looked at him, he’d probably think he had to kill me. He was the one with the knife. He should have been the one in control, but he didn’t seem to know it.
We moved slowly toward the porch. His grip eased a bit, but the knife remained. “Are you here alone?” he hissed in my ear. “Where’s the car? You got a car. Anyone else here?”
“Yes,” I lied. I wouldn’t put Nana in danger. “I’m alone and I have a car. You can have it. I’ll just have to reach inside the door and get the key.”
“Good.” He seemed to think for a moment, then asked, “Why are you here? I’ve been here before once. This ain’t your place. Why were you out by the dock?”
“I’m Jefferson’s niece.”
We stopped at the first step. “Jefferson’s that old guy who used to own the store? I seen him once. He didn’t look like he liked me. You his kin?”
“Yes.” I started to nod, then remembered the knife. “Did you know him?”
“No, but I heard he was a nosy old guy.” He removed the knife and pointed with it to the van. “That your van?”
His grip on my arm warned me not to move. “Yes.”
He poked the point of the knife against my back. “Give me the keys. I don’t mean you no harm. I just got to get away from here.”
I stepped on the porch, reached inside the door, and lifted the keys from the nail just above the light switch. As I pulled the keys away, my hand brushed the switch and twinkle lights blinked on.
He jumped at the sudden dots of light and I saw near insanity in his gaze.
Shoving the keys at him, I yelled, “Here, take the van.” All I wanted was him gone.
He stared at the key, then at the lights, and shook his head as if he thought I was trying to trap him. “No, you come, too.” He turned, shoving me off the porch and onto the steps. “If I leave you here, you’ll call the sheriff and he’ll be real mad at me.”
“No,” I said, deciding I’d rather be killed here than along the dark road somewhere. “I’m not going with you.” My words came out in frightened hiccups. “I’m staying right here.”
He pushed the knife until the point cut through my blouse. “You’re coming with me. You have to.”
I stumbled forward off the last step just as Nana barreled through the door.
“What do you think you’re doing, scaring my child?” She puffed up like a baby horned toad preparing to spit.
I took a step to block him from getting to her.
She grabbed his arm and the knife slid across my back as Nana twisted him to face her. This was the Nana of my childhood, strong and always willing to fight for me. For an instant I saw myself as a young girl, when Nana had been my only warrior, my only harbor no matter what the storm.
He swung wildly, the knife connecting with flesh.
Nana screamed but didn’t back down.
I jumped into action, grabbing one of the lawn chairs and slamming it into the stranger’s head as hard as I could.
He wavered as though deciding which way to fall. I hit him again.
The knife flew. The monster crumbled.
I dropped the chair and ran to Nana. Her arm, from wrist to elbow, had been cut deep.
“Stay still. I’ll get a towel.”
She nodded, pain showing in her wrinkled old face. “I’ll sit on him while you’re gone.”
Running to the office, I grabbed towels and duct tape from the catchall shelf. One of the file boxes tumbled and pictures scattered across the floor. The mess barely registered. Nothing mattered now but Nana.
Nana sat waiting for me, holding her arm tight against her. I wrapped towels around it as tight as I could and bound it with duct tape. “I’ve got to get you to the hospital.”
She looked down at the stranger. “What do we do with him? I don’t think he belongs here.”
I grabbed the duct tape. “We’ll leave him for Luke. He’ll know what to do with him.” In seconds, I’d wrapped his hands and feet.
By the time Nana walked to the van, I knew my attacker wasn’t going anywhere. One last round of tape secured him to the porch. I grabbed Nana’s shawl and ran for the car.
As I drove the van faster than I thought it would ever go, Nana sat beside me, hugging her arm.
“I’m cold,” she whispered.
“We’re almost there.”
The night passed by with blinking telephone poles flickering in the moonlight. I told myself that Nana would be fine. Stitches, that’s all she needed. In a few minutes it would all be over and Nana and I would have a story to tell around the coffeepot.
But a worry wormed its way into my thoughts. If the drug dealer had Luke’s canoe, where was Luke?
Something the drug dealer said kept picking at my brain like an embedded thorn.
He’d said he didn’t shoot anyone.
I shoved the gas pedal to the floor and tried to focus on one crisis at a time.
Chapter 38
2300 hours
North Shore
By the time he reached the gate at the back of Mary Lynn’s old Mission home blood burned in Luke’s throat with each breath. He shoved the wrought-iron gate open, popping vines of dried morning glories as he charged.
A light spilled into the garden from the picture window that overlooked the dam road. Luke trudged across flowerbeds packed for winter, not caring what damage he did to sleeping bulbs.
“She’s home, Nathan. Just a few more steps now.” Luke pushed harder. “I see a light. We’ll have you on your way to the hospital in minutes.” Mary Lynn’s skills at first aid were far better than his. Luke had seen that firsthand the night Dillon had been hurt. She’d take good care of Nathan.
Luke felt responsible for
him. None of the other agents had shown much interest, but Nathan was on board from the first. There should have been four or five seasoned men in the field tonight. Luke should have insisted. He had enough pull to make it happen, but for once he’d misjudged the situation.
That fact bothered him more than he wanted to think about. A supervisor once said that when you start making mistakes it’s time to get out. One way or the other, you will. The only question is, do you walk or ride?
Right now Luke needed to think about the three places he should be at once. First, with Nathan. Second, back rounding up the two drug dealers before the lowlives gnawed out of their chains like wild animals in traps. And third, he should be standing next to Allie in case Skidder made it across the lake. If the wiry little man had no plan when he stole the canoe, with his bug-sized brain he’d be drawn to the firelight. And Allie would be in his way.
Luke looked up and thought he saw movement on the balcony. “Paul! Mary Lynn!”
“Luke?” a male voice yelled back. “Luke, what’s wrong?” Paul ran down the circle of stairs as he shouted, “We thought we heard shots.”
“You did,” Luke answered, allowing himself to slow his pace for the first time since he’d lifted Nathan half a mile ago. “I’ve got a man hurt.”
Paul reached them and shouldered part of Nathan’s weight as they hurried into the open archway beneath the stairs.
Mary Lynn flipped on lights. “Who’s hurt?”
“Nathan, my partner. The drug dealers shot him.”
Rushing to Nathan, she rested her hand on his throat. “Get him to the couch.”
She checked for more wounds as they walked. She had the gentle touch of a healer.
Paul took most of the weight as they shifted Nathan onto the white couch. The half-mile run in sand with a hundred-fifty-pound man across his shoulders had sapped Luke’s energy. He sagged into a nearby chair, testing the capacity of his lungs with each breath.
Paul handed Mary Lynn a stack of kitchen towels. She pulled a first-aid kit from beneath the windowsill and began to clean wounds while Paul tugged off the vest.
Nathan, half-conscious, swore and tried to shove her away.
Mary Lynn calmed him with low, even words. “Roll with the pain, Nathan. It’ll be better before you know it. Conserve every drop of that energy. I’m going to help you get through this.”
Luke, as his breathing slowed to normal, told them what had happened in short, choppy sentences.
Neither interrupted with questions. When he finished, he leaned back in the chair, feeling his energy returning.
Paul handed him a glass of water, then walked to the deck that overlooked the lake and began flicking the light on and off.
“What are you doing?” Luke asked. “There’s no one on the lake this time of night. We’ve got to get him to the hospital.”
“Soon as Mary has him ready to travel, we’ll move,” Paul said. “Until then, I’ll send the signal. Willie told me he and the Landry brothers sometimes run a trotline after midnight. If they’re out on the water, they’ll come.”
“He never told me that.” Luke frowned. So much for thinking he knew what was going on at the lake. Speaking of knowing, it was pretty obvious what had been going on here. Paul didn’t have his shoes on. Mary Lynn’s hair looked like it had been put up hastily with one pin. A half bottle of wine. Two glasses. Luke frowned. Not likely. There must be some other explanation. He’d think about it when he had time. Right now he had calamity line-dancing in his brain.
“I’ve got the shoulder tied off better, so he won’t lose so much blood. He’s lost a lot and the cut on his neck will be infected soon if we don’t get it cleaned out. They can do that far better at the emergency room.” She looked up at Luke. “Let’s go.”
Luke stood and lifted Nathan. Mary Lynn grabbed the pillows from the couch. Paul grabbed his shoes. They followed Mary Lynn to the carport.
As Luke transferred Nathan to the back of her car, Mary Lynn braced the young agent with pillows.
Luke heard Willie’s boat docking and glanced behind the carport to see the old man jumping out with the ease of a man thirty years younger. The lake air must agree with him.
Paul laughed nervously as he handed Mary Lynn a blanket for Nathan. “I told you he’d be here. Sometimes I think Willie never sleeps.”
Luke put his hand on the banker’s shoulder. “Can you get Nathan to the hospital? I’ve got to find the drug dealer who got away.”
Paul nodded. “I can. We’ll take good care of him. You do what you have to.”
They’d shown no surprise when he’d told them he was an ATF agent and Luke couldn’t help but wonder if every Nester on the lake knew it. He wouldn’t be surprised. Keeping secrets around here was like storing wine in a colander.
“And be careful,” Mary Lynn said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”
Luke grinned, knowing the old maid believed saying the words would somehow keep him safe. “I will.” He watched them drive away, thinking that in some strange way they belonged together, the banker with his sad eyes and the old maid with her unused heart.
Willie reached the carport and pointed at the taillights with his thumb. “Where are they going this time of night?”
“I’ll tell you on the way. How fast can you get me over to Jefferson’s Place?”
“Fast as I can get the Landry brothers out of the way.” He jogged beside Luke down the steps to the lake. “They came to help and they’ll be disappointed if you don’t let them. I’ll be hearing their complaining for weeks.”
Luke had never known the Landry brothers to talk to anyone, much less help in a crisis. Nana’s cooking must be affecting their brains. “I’ve got a tough job. You think they can handle it?”
Willie laughed. “They’re old oil field workers. I think it was Larry who told me he was a shooter, handling dynamite for twenty years. His brother was a rigger. I reckon they can handle anything you throw their way.”
Luke glanced at the pair waiting in their chipped green boat. They looked no friendlier than usual. For the first time he noticed their broad shoulders and muscular forearms. He’d thought of them as old men, but now he realized they were far more. They were part of his troops, if only for the night.
A few minutes later, when Luke asked the Landrys to round up the two drug dealers he’d left tied up, one brother picked up a huge flashlight and the other lifted a monkey wrench like a weapon. Without a word, they climbed out of their boat and marched off toward the lodge.
Luke decided Willie was right. The Landrys could handle Tanker and Sneezy. He climbed into Willie’s boat and the motor roared before he had time to sit down.
Willie didn’t bother asking questions as they raced across the lake. Luke felt his muscles tightening as if he were in the water swimming, pulling the boat along. The moon reflected off the lake, making the world seem timeless. A heavy anchor settled against his heart.
He couldn’t see Skidder. If he wasn’t on the water, there would have been only one place he’d try to dock.
With each buck of the boat across the water, they were moving closer to Jefferson’s Crossing. Luke didn’t even blink as he scanned ahead of him for his canoe and the third drug dealer.
Nothing.
The anchor over his heart doubled in weight. Skidder must have made it to the opposite shore.
When Willie tapped the dock, Luke jumped out of the boat and onto the dock as if someone had fired a starter gun in a race. He made it to the end of the dock before Willie tied up.
Luke froze five feet from the door. He took it all in at once.
Twinkle lights stretched through the open door and onto the porch and the steps. Lawn chairs were scattered and broken in the dirt. Blood dripped from one step to the next as if slowly leaving the scene.
“Something happened here,” Willie stated the obvious. “Something bad.”
Luke studied every detail as if it were a ma
p. It took a moment, but he finally registered something in his peripheral vision.
“Hell!” Willie breathed his thoughts. “What is that?”
In the flashes of tiny lights reflecting off silver duct tape, Skidder looked like some kind of half-alien, half-human on display.
Luke tried to grab a handful of hair to raise Skidder’s head. The balding man screamed as if he were being tortured. “Turn me loose. I’m hurt. I was mugged by an old woman. She jumped off the porch and attacked me for no reason. I was just asking to borrow their car. I wasn’t doing nothin’.”
Flipping on his flashlight, Luke ran it the length of the drug dealer. Whoever had tied him up had been in a hurry, but they’d done an effective job with what looked like half a roll of tape. Every time Skidder moved, the tape tried to rip away flesh.
“I think the other one gave me brain damage.” Skidder’s eyes reflected wild in the twinkle lights. “The world’s spinning like crazy. I think I’m dying. Even the lights are blinking on and off like stars.”
“He’s bruised,” Luke mumbled. “Not bleeding.”
Willie’s face twisted in anger. “Ask me if I care. Selling drugs to kids. He should be left here to rot. You mind if I hit him a few times for Dillon’s sake?”
Luke barely heard the old man’s suggestion. He looked back at the splatters of blood on the porch. “If that’s not his blood, whose is it?”
Willie didn’t have to answer. They both knew there would have been only two people at the place this time of night.
Luke nodded toward the old man. “You look around out here, I’ll check inside.”
Willie nodded and stepped into the night.
Luke rushed inside. He checked the kitchen, noticing only the wind chimes moving. Nothing upstairs. Nothing in the store or café.
Flipping the light on in the little office, the memory of kissing Allie flooded his senses thick and rich.
As if his thoughts had conjured her, Luke looked down and saw a dozen pictures of her scattered across the floor. He knelt. School pictures, clippings from the paper when she won an art contest, a snapshot of her waving good-bye in front of what looked like a college dorm. Each was carefully dated.
