by Sharon Sala
“Whatever you do, stay in the dark,” Justin said. “We don’t want you men becoming targets.”
They nodded.
“I need to make sure that all exits to the house are covered, and that no one gets close enough to take a second shot.”
“What kind of gun he usin’?” one of the men asked.
“Unless he’s saving it for hard times, he doesn’t have a rifle,” Justin said. “The shot was fired from a handgun. Not sure what kind.”
Manville grinned. “Then we got it made,” he said. “’Cause my boys can shoot a fly off a deer’s antlers at fifty feet.”
“Lord, Daddy, the older you get, the wilder your stories get. You know good and well it’s not more than thirty feet, and I’m a little rusty about doin’ it in the dark,” one son said.
Manville laughed at his son’s brag, and then they left. Justin watched them disperse, leaving a man at each corner of the house while Manville went to the back porch and took a seat next to the wall beside the door. With the lights out and the lack of a moon, no one would ever know they were there until it was too late.
Justin breathed a quick sigh of relief, then hurried back into the house. He raced up the stairs, then into Laurel’s room. When she saw him, she put a finger to her lips and pointed to Marie, who’d fallen asleep on the bed beside her.
Justin nodded, then lay down on Laurel’s bed and pulled her close against him. Their whispers were soft, audible enough for their ears alone.
“Is she okay?”
Laurel nodded. “Just tired. Did you find Manville and his sons?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I would hate to think they might come to some harm because of me.”
“They didn’t leave.”
Laurel grabbed Justin’s arm, urgently begging him to make them see sense.
“They have to,” she whispered.
“They won’t leave you unprotected. Said they’ll wait until Harper and his deputies get here.”
For a few moments, Laurel was silent. Then she swallowed.
Justin saw her lower lip tremble.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said softly.
“Oh, Justin.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. I will never forget this night, but not because someone tried to kill me. Instead, it will be the night when I learned what it meant to be accepted… to belong.”
Justin put his mouth against her ear. His words were soft—so soft, and warm, so warm—and what he said filled her heart with such joy that her eyes quickly teared.
“You belong to me, too, love. Since the first night when you slipped into my bed as quietly as you slipped into my mind. You are always in my thoughts and in my heart. I love you, Laurel. So much.”
She shuddered on a sob, then took his hand and pulled it to her lips.
Love you, too, she mouthed, then closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
***
Trigger didn’t know when it first occurred to him that he might not get out of this mess as easily as he’d planned, but it was certainly his first thought upon seeing the armed men and their dogs coming toward him in the distance.
Even though it was dark, the lights from the lanterns they were carrying illuminated each of their faces enough for Trigger to believe he’d been found. He thought about shooting at them before they got any closer, then realized that, even if he killed every one of them, there would be no ammunition left for the dogs.
And Trigger was deathly afraid of the dogs.
Uncertain what to do or where to go, he froze, and it was the single thing that kept his presence unknown.
Downwind from the dogs, and too far back in the trees to be detected by the minimal beams of lantern light, he watched five armed men and four leashed dogs pass within twenty yards of his location.
Certain that they would hear his heart pounding or, at the least, his shattered breaths, he couldn’t believe it when they passed him by and then disappeared into the night. When he could no longer see them, he began to shake. His stomach knotted, and then suddenly he spun around and retched—over and over until there was nothing left in his belly to come up.
When he was through, he leaned against a tree trunk and wept. He cried for the life that he’d ruined, the innocence that he’d lost, and the man he’d left to die. There was a brief moment of lucidity when he knew what he had to do. To hell with McNamara. To hell with his father’s good name. He had money in the Cayman Islands under an assumed name—enough that he could live comfortably for the rest of his life. All he had to do was disappear. There was a moment of grief as he thought of never seeing his mother again, but then reality raised its ugly head. If they caught him and convicted him of treason and murder, he would either be put to death or die in prison, anyway. He would rather be lonely, rich and alive, than miserable, incarcerated and dead.
Having come to that decision, Trigger felt one-hundred-percent better. He had fake ID stashed in a locker in the Miami airport for just such a moment as this. Now all he had to do was get the hell out of this place and keep driving. He would be out of the country before McNamara even knew he was gone. Then it wouldn’t matter how much talking he did, they would never find him.
He glanced all around him, making certain that the armed men were not coming back, then dared to use his flashlight just long enough to check the compass on his watch. He knew where he’d parked the car. And he knew the direction he needed to go to get back to it. Even more to the point, he was fairly confident that he’d hidden it sufficiently so that it would be all but impossible for someone else to find it in the dark. When daylight came, he would be long gone.
So he’d shot at Laurel Scanlon. So what? He’d missed her, hadn’t he? She didn’t have all that much to complain about. As for her old man, he decided that he would give the authorities a call and let them know where Scanlon was, but only after he’d made it out of the state.
Turning himself until the compass on his watch indicated that he was facing true west, he started to walk. In the distance, he could hear the occasional bark from the hounds, and each time he did, he increased his stride. The farther away he moved from the old mansion, the faster he ran. But it wasn’t easygoing. The undergrowth was almost as thick as the trees, and more than once Trigger stumbled and fell. And each time he would stop and listen before he got up, making sure he was not being followed. No barking meant no dogs, and no dogs meant no one on his trail. Despite the rips in his pants and the scrapes and scratches on his face and hands, he moved on with a smile.
As he walked, he kept hearing the sound of running water off to his right and vaguely remembered studying a map of this part of the state and seeing a river somewhere near. Confident that he knew where he was, he let down his guard. He didn’t hear the shifting of dead leaves in the underbrush, or the low, guttural rumble of a big cat on the hunt. He didn’t even know it was there until it leapt into the path in front of him, and he saw the yellow glitter of its eyes.
Trigger gasped and then froze, unable to think. His heart began to pound, and he had a sudden and unavoidable need to pee.
“Shit… shit… oh, shit…” he groaned, and then remembered his gun.
Slowly, he slid his hand into his pocket. Even when he felt nothing but the inside of his pants, he didn’t believe it. The gun must have fallen out during one of the times when he’d fallen. In desperation, he looked around for something else to use as a weapon, but in the dark, it was hopeless.
The black cat crouched, its ears flat against its head.
Trigger shined his flashlight directly into the panther’s eyes, hoping to startle it enough that it would leave.
But the cat was already in a bad mood. Thanks to the hunters and their dogs, it had lost two different chances to feed. Now, with the dogs gone and no scent of the men with the guns, the cat lifted its head and let out a scream.
Trigger stared in disbelief. If he hadn’t been looking at the cat, he would have thought it w
as the desperate, heart-stopping scream of a woman in distress.
Again the cat growled, then bared its teeth in a snarl.
Trigger started to move backward.
The cat crept forward.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Trigger gasped, then picked up a rock and flung it toward the panther.
It missed by a good three feet and only served to antagonize the big cat further.
“Get!” Trigger shouted, and waved his arms in the air.
The cat snarled and then started toward him.
Trigger pivoted sharply and began to run, shouting and begging for help as he went.
The cat’s scream shattered what was left of his control. The warm surge of urine was already running down the inside of his leg when the cat leaped. The blow sent Trigger sprawling, and he was still screaming as he tried to get to his feet.
But the cat had downed its prey and had no intention of letting it get away.
The first bite went through the back of Trigger’s neck, crushing two vertebrae and rendering him helpless. He couldn’t feel his arms or his legs and it was becoming difficult to breathe, but he could still scream, and scream he did.
For help.
For mercy.
Then for God to let him die.
And, blessedly, He finally did.
Trigger’s last thought ended the moment the panther’s mouth closed over his head. He felt a fang in his ear and, from a distance, heard the crunch of tooth against bone, and then it was over.
Gerald Dupont DeLane, only son and heir of four-star general John Franklin DeLane, had lived a privileged life without appreciation of the sacrifices his parents had made on his behalf, taking it all as his just due. He would never have imagined that it would all end in a bayou in one of the country’s southernmost states, and at the mercy of a four-legged carnivore with no consideration for the social status of man.
***
Justin had stayed with Laurel until she’d fallen asleep beside Marie. After that, he’d gone downstairs and slipped out the back door. He was sitting on the steps, talking quietly to Manville, when Harper Fonteneau drove up in a patrol car, followed by two other cruisers.
“’Bout time,” Manville muttered, and followed Justin off the steps.
“We’re not alone,” Harper said, as he pointed over his shoulder to the headlights of two other cars that were driving up behind his deputies.
“What’s going on?” Justin asked.
“Feds. They were just coming into the office as we were going out. They got all territorial on me, and we had a discussion about Robert Scanlon’s kidnapping. Came to an agreement. They get the man who snatched Scanlon. I get the man who shot at Laurel.”
“But it’s the same man,” Justin said.
Harper grinned. “You know that, and I know that, and I’m gonna bring in the guy in the woods. Did you know that possession is nine-tenths of the law?”
“I don’t care who jails him first, I just want him behind bars and away from Laurel.”
“Yeah, right. And as soon as the suits get their asses in gear, we’re going in after him,” Harper said, then eyed Manville and his four sons. “What are they doing here?”
“We were invited, and after the shooting, we thought it would be neighborly to stay with Justin here until you guys decided to show up,” Manville drawled. “Now that you’re here, we’re goin’ home.”
Harper frowned.
Manville spat off to the side, then shouldered his gun.
“Come on, boys. It’s past my bedtime. Your mama will be worried half out of her mind.”
“You’re gonna have to wait until these men visit with you a bit.”
Manville spat again, then stood, watching as four men in suits walked up with the deputies who’d come with Harper. A tall, stocky man with a blond crew cut and a dimple in his chin stepped forward.
“Agent Gabe Clancy from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. These are my associates, Agents Smith, Harwell and Bronson.”
Justin nodded, briefly identifying himself without explanation as to why he was there. “Justin Bouvier.”
Clancy glanced at Harper, then frowned. “Okay, I’m the new guy in town, but we’re all here for the same reason.”
“And that would be?” Justin asked.
“To apprehend the man responsible for kidnapping federal prosecutor Robert Scanlon.”
Justin stifled a snort. “You people didn’t even believe Scanlon was in danger until it was moot,” he said. “And because you didn’t, you let the bastard get too close to Scanlon’s daughter.”
Clancy frowned. “We understand there was a shooting out here, but given the presence of these five armed men, it remains to be seen as to who might have been doing the shooting. If they were hunting on the premises, it could have been a wild shot from one of their guns.”
Manville bristled, but it had to be said that, to his credit, he didn’t punch the man in the nose. Instead, he stepped forward and shoved the rifle under Gabe Clancy’s nose.
“Take a whiff, Irishman. It ain’t been fired, and neither have the guns my sons are carryin’. We was huntin’ painter, not man, and if we’d been doin’ the shootin’, we wouldn’t have missed.”
“Painter? Why were you hunting a house painter?”
“It’s a colloquialism for the word panther,” Justin said.
Clancy’s eyes widened briefly as he glanced into the darkness beyond, then shoved the gun back in Manville’s face.
“Don’t point that thing unless you mean to use it,” he snapped.
“Am I gonna have to?” Manville countered.
“Look, mister,” Justin said. “The shot came from a handgun, not a rifle. The slug is on the kitchen table inside the house. These men came at Miss Scanlon’s request to get rid of a panther that has strayed out of its territory.”
“Did you get it?” Clancy asked.
“Didn’t I just tell you that we didn’t fire a shot?” Manville muttered.
Clancy frowned. He didn’t like to be caught in a slip-up.
“So there’s a panther on the property?”
“Couldn’t say,” Manville said. “There was. We found sign, but we didn’t find no cat. We’re goin’ home now. Justin knows how to find us if you got more you think needs to be said. Personally, I said my piece.”
The five men turned around and headed toward their trucks without waiting for permission. Clancy didn’t like their attitudes, but they weren’t who he’d come to get, so he let the matter slide.
“So what do you want to do first?” Harper asked.
“Go find my man,” Clancy said.
Harper shrugged, then stepped aside, waving his arm in a generous gesture.
“Be my guest,” he said.
Clancy frowned. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“Not in there—and not at night.”
“Come on, officers. There are seven of us. We’re all armed. You can’t be that afraid of one wild animal who will probably run the other way.”
“Maybe your cats are cowards where you come from,” Harper drawled. “But down here, ours mean business. Besides, it’s not the living I’m afraid of. This is Mimosa Grove. Here, it’s what you can’t see that will get you.”
Clancy frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Justin sighed. This was going nowhere fast. “Some people claim they’ve seen ghosts,” he said.
Clancy snorted. “Ghosts. Holy Mary, Mother of God, what manner of place have we come to?”
He glared at Harper, who glared right back; then he turned to Justin.
“You look like a reasonable man. Have you seen these ghosts?”
“Yeah, actually, I have,” Justin said.
Before anyone could answer, they heard the first scream. It was faint and obviously quite distant, but it raised the hair on the backs of their arms. It was followed by another, then another, and then what seemed like a constant and never-ending scream of unimaginable pain.
“Jesus!” Clancy muttered. “What was that?”
“The first scream was the panther,” Justin said, then looked at Harper, who looked as sick as Justin felt.
“And the others?” Clancy asked.
“Not having seen it, I can’t say for sure, but if I was guessing, I’d lay odds that neither one of you men is going to take a suspect into custody.”
Harper motioned toward one of his deputies.
“Go call the coroner. Tell him to be out here by sunrise.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and headed toward the cruiser.
Clancy was more than a bit taken aback by what had just happened.
“Are you saying that the other screams were human?”
Justin nodded.
Clancy muttered a quick prayer, then motioned to his men. “Get the rifles and spotlights out of the trunk.”
“We’re going in there?” one of them asked.
Clancy stiffened.
They didn’t ask a second question.
Harper sighed. “Well, hell. If ya’ll are going in, then I suppose we’ll have to go, too. I can’t let you city boys show us country boys up, now can I?”
“Much obliged,” Clancy muttered as he headed back to his car.
As they were standing in the front yard in the dark, the front lights of the old mansion suddenly came on. Everyone turned toward the lights like moths to a flame, watching as the door slowly opened and a tall woman in a long white gown and robe walked out to the steps.
“Is she real?” Clancy mumbled.
“Yes,” Justin said. “And she’s mine.”
He started toward her as she began to run.
***
Laurel heard the screams in her dream before she heard them for real. She came awake within seconds and was out of the bed and reaching for her robe even before her heartbeat had settled back into a normal rhythm. She glanced toward the bed. Marie was still sleeping.
She ran out of the room and then down the stairs. When she didn’t find Justin anywhere, she looked out in the yard. It took her a few moments to determine that numerous vehicles were there that hadn’t been before. She turned on the porch light and then headed for Justin.
