by Connie Mann
“No question.” His vote of confidence and slow smile warmed her all the way to her toes.
A little shiver slid over her skin as he leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Have a good time out there today, okay?” Then he turned and walked away.
Her cheeks flamed with heat when she saw Paul and Oliver watching the exchange with a little too much interest. Paul’s son, Wyatt, fiddled with his backpack, and Brittany had her face buried in her cell phone, oblivious. The two college guys were too busy eyeing Brittany to notice.
“We ready to go?” she asked as she reached them, professional smile in place.
As they pulled out of the gravel parking area, Charlee glanced in her side mirror. Hunter touched the brim of his FWC ball cap in a two-fingered salute that gave her an added boost of courage. She nodded and squared her shoulders. She could do this.
* * *
What was it about that stubborn woman that got under his skin? She had family who loved her, but she didn’t seem to get how important it was to listen to people who not only cared about her but knew what they were talking about. Hunter knew why the family had shown up in force this morning. The same reason he had.
Hunter had read the official incident report from last year. Charlee had taken a side job with an outfitter at Big Shoals on the Suwannee River to lead kayak/canoe trips on her days off from FWC. It was one of the few Class III rapids in Florida. A year ago today, a storm cell had blown in, and the group of four Charlee was leading got separated in the rapids. The teenagers capsized. Charlee was able to reach them in time to save the girl, but the boy was swept downstream and drowned.
Hunter understood regret and the guilt that gnawed at your soul better than most. His brother’s devil-may-care smile haunted him every single day—and most nights. If he could go back in time, he’d find a way to keep Johnny alive. Or die trying.
Instead, he was trying to figure out how to live with his failure—and keep those he cared about from making the same mistakes.
He did another quick scan of today’s weather reports. Except for the usual afternoon thunderstorms, everything should be fine. Charlee and her group should be back from their four-hour paddle by lunchtime, well before the predicted 3:00 p.m. storms.
Yet he couldn’t shake his unease. Maybe it had nothing to do with the weather. Or what had happened last year. Maybe it had to do with the way her smile drew him to her like he was a puppet on a string. Or the way she looked in her cargo shorts and snug T-shirt. Or the way she always smelled like cupcakes. Maybe it was her fierce love for her family that drew him ever closer.
His eyes narrowed at the cloud of dust Abrams had left behind. He didn’t like the way Rick had grabbed her. One more thing to add to the man’s list of sins. Hunter would keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t do anything stupid where Charlee was concerned.
But right now, he had a job to do. He walked over to his FWC vehicle and climbed into the gray-and-green Ford F-150 pickup. He’d been working toward a promotion to lieutenant, had already passed the exam and had his board review, but Abrams getting fired wasn’t the way he’d hoped to get the job. It would take time for him to earn the respect of the officers now under his command—especially Josh’s. Everyone had expected the longtime local boy to get the job. Which meant Hunter had to get his head in the game. Pronto.
Since this was his first day as a lieutenant, he touched base with the members of his unit by phone, rather than simply checking their GPS locations via the computer-aided dispatch, or CAD, system on the laptop in his truck. Officers set their own daily agendas, so he kept things casual, friendly, not wanting anyone to think he was looking over their shoulders. He ignored the grunts and cool responses he got in return.
Then he headed into the Ocala National Forest and touched base with a few of his contacts at a local bait shop. Since he was there, he wandered down to the marina, checked a few fishing licenses and the contents of several coolers, listened to the local gossip, and shot the breeze with a few old-timers who’d claimed the bench in front of the store. But Charlee’s tired brown eyes and the guilt she couldn’t hide haunted him.
Two hours later, he launched his FWC patrol boat at Ray Wayside Park. He’d take a quick run down the Ocklawaha River, say hello, make sure everything was fine.
Just in case.
Chapter 2
Charlee set her paddle across her kayak and ignored the fine trembling in her hands. Even though no wind churned the placid Ocklawaha River and the cypress trees shading the banks stood still in the warm sunlight, she couldn’t settle. She pulled out her smartphone and checked the radar yet again. A scan of the cloudless sky above the tree canopy confirmed there were no storms in the area. She sighed and glanced at the time. Only one eternal hour before she could get off the river.
She heard a bark of laughter and looked around. As usual by this point in the trip, the teens had started getting restless. Troy and Wyatt stood in their kayaks, while Luke filmed them falling in slow motion.
“Enough, y’all,” Charlee called, and all eyes turned in her direction.
“Quit trying to be somebody, Wyatt. Geez, you’re nothing but a total dweeb,” Brittany sneered.
Charlee looked in Paul’s direction, surprised again that he didn’t put a stop to Brittany’s name-calling. Charlee and her brothers had always ragged on each other, but it was never this mean-spirited.
When Paul turned his back on the group and glided away, Wyatt hung his head. Charlee paddled in the boy’s direction, pushing aside how much he reminded her of JJ. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, think about last year. Right now was what mattered. “Just ignore her, Wyatt,” she said quietly. “You’re not the dweeb, she is.”
That got a sideways smile from the teen, and Charlee smiled back.
“For a guy who’s never been in a kayak before, it looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”
Smiling shyly, Wyatt nodded. “It’s pretty awesome out here. I can’t believe this is, like, your job.”
His words reminded her of Hunter’s earlier encouragement to enjoy herself and made her grimace. She wanted to be glad she was out here, but she couldn’t, not anymore.
“Brittany! Brittany! Where are you?” Luke called.
Charlee’s head snapped around at the panic in the boy’s voice. Three quick strokes had her alongside Luke, who held on to an empty kayak. Wyatt pulled up right behind her.
“What happened?” Charlee asked as she slipped off her life jacket, voice calm. She pushed everything aside and focused on the boy, trying to ease his panic.
“Brittany said she dropped her phone and dove down to get it. But she didn’t come up, so Troy went in after her.”
Paul rammed his kayak into the others as he paddled over, eyes wild as he stripped off his life jacket. “Where’s Brittany?”
“We don’t know.” Luke’s eyes were miserable. “Troy dove in after her.”
Charlee eyed the life jackets both teens had left behind, and she turned to Paul. “Is Brittany a good swimmer?”
“I don’t know! Maybe. She used to be.”
Charlee turned to Wyatt, who shrugged, eyes wide and panicked. She turned to Luke. “What about Troy?”
He nodded, and she heard a splash as Paul dove in after Brittany.
Seconds later, Troy popped to the surface. “I can’t find her!”
She glanced at all three boys, expression stern. “Stay here. I’ll get her.” She waited until they all nodded, and then dove into the river, straining to see through the tea-colored water. It was clear but brown from tannic acid. She spun in a circle, waving her arms and legs as she turned, trying to connect with Brittany. She counted the seconds in her head as she expanded the search area, reaching wider, deeper. Come on, come on. Where are you?
A suffocating sense of déjà vu wanted to paralyze her, take her back to that day at the shoals, but she sh
oved it aside. If she let herself go there—for even one second—she wouldn’t be able to function. Just find Brittany.
She dove deeper. Yes. There. She reached a flailing arm and tried to pull Brittany up with her, but the girl wouldn’t budge. Was she stuck? Charlee felt her way down the girl’s torso and legs, finally realizing her foot was wedged under a log. She tugged and tugged, her lungs screaming for air, but she couldn’t pull Brittany free.
A flash of movement caught her peripheral vision, and suddenly, something grabbed her ankle in a viselike grip, clamped tight, and tried to drag her downriver. Her brain shouted alligator, but she didn’t feel teeth, just an unbreakable hold she couldn’t escape even though she kicked with all her strength. No. No. No. Let go.
Frantic, Charlee kept kicking with both legs, desperate to free herself. If she didn’t get more air, quickly, she and Brittany would both drown.
She finally broke free, sent up a quick prayer of thanks, and latched on to Brittany’s arm. She fought the current as she felt her way down Brittany’s body to find the submerged tree that trapped her. Charlee braced her feet against the trunk and pushed with everything she had. She managed to move it just far enough to slip Brittany’s foot free.
Lungs screaming for air, Charlee grabbed the girl to guide her to the surface, but Brittany just floated in the water. Another wave of panic clawed at Charlee’s throat.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
She grabbed Brittany around the waist and used her legs to propel them to the surface. Once they popped up, Charlee spun Brittany faceup so she could get air while she towed the girl to shore.
Her feet touched the bottom near the banks, and she staggered through the mud until she found solid footing near a fallen cypress tree, then stood, pulling Brittany up with her. She had to get the girl up on shore, start CPR.
As she straightened, the water around her suddenly exploded, and she heard several loud bangs in rapid succession. Water splashed her face, momentarily disorienting her. But then the noise registered. Someone was shooting at them!
She heard the boys yell as the shots kept coming.
Charlee raised her voice to be heard above the gunfire. “Get down! Everybody down. Under your kayak, behind a tree. Whatever is closest. Just get down! Now!”
She heard splashing as they scrambled to obey. Even though she crouched with Brittany beside the half-submerged tree, they were still too exposed. The shots stopped for a few seconds, and Charlee scanned the trees, trying to spot the shooter. This might be her only chance. Brittany would die if she didn’t start CPR. Charlee tightened her grip on the still-unmoving girl.
She braced her feet on the muddy river bottom as best she could and leaned a hip against the tree trunk as she got a tight grip on Brittany. Once she’d locked her wrists around the girl’s back and knees, Charlee lunged up out of the water and made a mad dash for the banks.
She was almost to shore when two more loud cracks sounded in rapid succession. Pain exploded above her ear, and seconds later, her head hit the half-submerged tree trunk.
Noooo.
She struggled to keep her grip on Brittany but could feel the girl slipping from her grasp. A loud rushing sound filled her ears while a gray cloud settled over her vision. She fought it with everything she had, but the gray kept getting thicker, darker, deeper. No, no, no.
Charlee dimly heard more shouting as Brittany slid from her slack fingers. “Save Brittany,” she pleaded, but she knew no one could hear.
Her world went black.
* * *
The second he heard the first shot, Hunter hit the throttle on his official Florida Fish & Wildlife Conservation Commission boat, and his eighteen-foot SeaArk shot forward. After his time in the Marines, he knew automatic gunfire. This wasn’t a machine gun, but it wasn’t the single shotgun blast or two from a hunter, either. Not in rapid succession like this. It sounded like a semiautomatic rifle.
He dodged and weaved around partially submerged tree trunks that littered this stretch of the Ocklawaha. The 115 HP Mercury outboard motor kept the boat up on plane, and he hoped that was enough to avoid the endless logs and other obstructions. The shots came from where Charlee’s kayak tour should be now. When several shouts followed the shots, dread settled in his gut.
He sped around a bend in the river, saw the commotion in the water, and ran the bow of his boat up onto the bank, using a big cypress tree as cover and taking in the scene at a glance. Three young men huddled several yards from shore, using their kayaks as makeshift shields from the gunman. Smart thinking.
A pool of blood stained the water near them. Charlee, where are you?
He hopped over the bow of his boat, crouched down, and scanned the banks along both sides of the river, gun in hand. The shooting had stopped, so he couldn’t tell if there was more than one gunman. Silence didn’t mean the danger was anywhere near over, though.
“I’m Lieutenant Boudreau with Fish and Wildlife. I’m here to help. Everybody stay down and stay put,” he called.
“They’re both bleeding bad,” one of the three young men shouted.
Charlee. Oh God, no. Hunter scanned the banks with his Glock as he slogged over to the group.
Paul, the father he’d seen that morning, held his teenage daughter in a desperate grip. The other man held Charlee’s head above water. Her eyes were closed, and that same ominous crimson swirled around her.
He reached over and checked the girl’s pulse. Nothing. He checked again and met her father’s panicked expression. “Let’s get them on shore, behind some trees, so we can start CPR and see how badly she’s hurt.”
He checked Charlee’s pulse next, and his breath whooshed out when he found it, though it was weak and thready. The gouge in her scalp bled like crazy, but he couldn’t tell how deep it was from here, whether her skull had been fractured.
He heard a splash and glanced over his shoulder just as a ten-foot alligator slipped into the water on the opposite bank, aimed straight for their location, no doubt attracted by the splashing and blood. “Everybody out of the water. Now. Get down behind the trees.”
Paul carried the girl, and Hunter scooped Charlee into his arms and lunged for shore. More shots hit the water as Hunter raced up the banks, the rest of the group behind him. Thankfully, no one else was hit. He found a high spot farther up behind a cluster of cypress trees and gently set Charlee down. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gripped his arm, hard. “Save her, Hunter.” Her voice was raspy, desperate. “You have to save her.”
“I’ll do everything I can, cher. You rest.” He pulled his soggy handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the blood from her face, then positioned it over her wound. He took her hand and pressed it over the handkerchief. “Hold this, cher. Firm pressure.” He hoped she had the strength to hold it in place.
He quickly moved to where Paul had set the girl down a few feet away, behind another tree. He checked. No pulse, and she wasn’t breathing. He tapped her shoulders. “Can you hear me?” He turned to Paul. “What’s her name?” he asked.
“Brittany,” several voices said.
“Brittany, can you hear me?” She didn’t respond, and he lifted her slightly and checked her back. The bullet had not gone all the way through. He swallowed a curse as he laid her back down. Charlee’s plea rang in his ears as he started compressions, afraid they were out of time. “Paul, right? Do you know CPR?”
“No. I should. But I don’t. Oh God. Brittany. Don’t let her die.” He collapsed, sobbing as a teenage boy came up next to him and wrapped an arm around the man.
“She’ll be okay, Dad. She’s tough.”
The other man spoke up. “I’m Oliver. I just took a refresher class.”
“Take it easy, Paul. Stay calm. What’s your name?” he asked the boy. “Okay, Wyatt, you stay with your dad.” He nodded to Oliver. “I’ll keep doing compressions, and you
start breathing. Paul, you and Wyatt check Brittany for other injuries.”
Hunter kept up a steady rhythm, relieved that Oliver knew what he was doing. Paul ran his hands over Brittany, crying out when he found the bullet hole. Wyatt stripped off his T-shirt, wadded it up, and handed it to Paul. The distraught father didn’t notice she wasn’t bleeding, just pressed the cloth over the wound.
“What happened?” Hunter demanded.
“Troy went after Brittany, and—”
“There was a loud bang, but we didn’t—”
“We’re not sure—”
“Where did the shots come from?” Hunter barked, interrupting them. He met Paul’s eyes.
The man paled. “I-I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.”
The word shots silenced everyone. Hunter scanned the trees. The shooter hadn’t taken off. He was waiting. Hunter could feel it.
Who the hell shot at kayakers? Sweat poured off his forehead as he kept up the compressions, and Brittany’s anguished father stroked her hand and murmured prayers.
Come on, Brittany. Breathe.
Finally, she jerked, and Hunter rolled her to her side as she coughed up water. Thank God. She gasped and sputtered and finally whispered, “Daddy.” Paul swept her into his arms and cried.
His breath heaving, Hunter met Oliver’s eyes. “Good job. Thanks.” Then he gently eased Brittany from Paul’s grasp and positioned the shirt back over the wound. He met Paul’s eyes. “She’s not out of the woods yet. Keep pressure on the wound, okay?” Now that her heart was beating again, the wound was bleeding. Paul swayed and swallowed hard. Wyatt paled, but he moved in beside his father and positioned his hands over the shirt while Hunter checked on Charlee again. Her eyes were closed, and her hand had slipped down from her head and rested on the ground, but her pulse was steadier.
He eyed the two young men. “Either of you know first aid?” He didn’t want to leave her, but he had to get that shooter.
One of the young men moved next to Charlee and put his hands next to Hunter’s. “I’m Troy. I lifeguard in the summer. I’ll take over.”