by Kay Hooper
She felt like that, exposed in a new form she hardly recognized. Some rigidity in herself she had barely been aware of when it existed was gone now, leaving her softened, almost undefined. All the emotions Dane had drawn to the surface remained there, and she didn't feel the need to fight them any longer.
Jennifer tried to work in her study, but found it a wasted effort. More than once, she caught herself gazing into space, her mind filled with images having nothing to do with work. Finally, abandoning the struggle, she left the room. It was after two o'clock; she had skipped lunch, but wasn't hungry.
Nothing in the house could hold her attention for long, and by three o'clock she was too restless to remain there. She decided to walk to Belle Retour, nothing in mind but her need to be active and her desire to look at the lost home that was still a bittersweet ache inside her. She would merely look, she assured herself, going no farther than the woods near the house. Just Stand and look and, perhaps, this time manage to say good-bye.
She had forgotten Dane's promise.
The path she took, one she had made herself over the years when the cottage had been her studio, cut the two-mile distance to the house almost in half. Not yet overgrown. It wound through the woods and along the edges of fields. She walked slowly, enjoying the warm breeze, thinking vaguely that a storm was coming. After growing up here in an area vulnerable to fierce gulf storms, she had become like a cat in her sensitivity to the falling air pressure that heralded a storm, and that Instinct told her now that the pressure was low, and dropping.
Was a storm forecast, perhaps even a hurricane? This was the season for them, but Jennifer hadn't paid attention to weather reports on radio or television lately. Her pace quickened even as the breeze died, and she knew without thinking about it that a storm was no more than an hour away.
There was still time, she thought.
She found herself on the edge of the woods no more than a hundred yards from the house, and stood gazing toward it, conscious of a tangle of emotions. Odd, she thought, that this old collection of bricks and wood could rouse such feelings, Inspire such memories. . . .
Her mind snapped back to the present as she watched Garrett Kelly emerge from a side door and start out through the garden, and she frowned in puzzlement. He was carrying a small satchel made of leather, and his step was brisk. And he didn't stop when he got through the overgrown garden, but continued into the woods to the south of the house.
Where was he going? she wondered uneasily. There was nothing in that direction except –
Of course! The realization was stark in her mind, and she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it sooner. Where else could a man hope to hide a printing press – even an entire counterfeiting operation – except in the depths of an almost inaccessible cypress swamp?
Jennifer surveyed the house and grounds quickly, looking around Intently, but saw no sign that Kelly was being followed. Where was Dane's partner? This was what they'd been waiting for, what this entire operation had come down to, and there was no one following Kelly!
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip in indecision, then swore softly and started out after him. She was hardly dressed for a trek into the swamp, but there was no time to worry about that. She'd just have to trust to her own surefootedness and keep a wary eye out for snakes. In her tomboy days, she had practically lived in the swamp – to the despair of Francesca – and there were few who knew it as well as she did.
So Jennifer trusted herself to find out just where Kelly was going; she thought she could even guess now. She didn't look back as she vanished into the forest, which was a pity. If she had, she would have seen a tall man step from the concealing shadows near the house and stare after her, a frown on his face. She might even have heard him utter a variation of her earlier cussword with a great deal more force. But she didn't look back.
Instead, Jennifer concentrated on speed until she caught a glimpse of Kelly ahead of her, then settled down to match his pace and be quiet about it. There was no path through these woods, at least none to speak of, but she saw evidence that Kelly had gone this way more than once in the past. She felt a surge of excitement, increasingly certain that she was right. And she was so conscious of the prey ahead of her, that she never noticed the silent hunter behind her.
The ground beneath her feet became softer and wetter as they neared the swamp, the towering oak trees thinning out and gradually becoming the cypress trees common in such an area. It became more difficult to keep close to Kelly, and Jennifer was forced to drop back in order to hide her own presence as the concealing underbrush of the forest gave way and the rich, ripe smell of wetlands closed around her.
She glanced up once to find the sky leaden, conscious of increasing heat, of stillness. Definitely a storm, and probably a big one. She realized only then that Kelly was unlikely to have run an electric line out here. Did he have a generator? Was his press electric? And why, she wondered suddenly, had Dane found In the safe only one of the necessary two plates?
Some part of her mind turning those questions over, she followed Kelly cautiously, skirting the edge of the swamp where it was almost literally impassible, where murky water ringed tall cypress trees and rotting stumps alike. Broken-off trees reared up like jagged wooden teeth, and limbs floated idly on the still water.
Jennifer hardly noticed the eerie landscape, too Intent on her quarry. She followed him to an old shack on the far edge of the swamp, watched him enter the ramshackle building. After an instant's hesitation, she crept closer, as silent as possible, until she could crouch below a boarded-up window at the side of the house.
Hearing another man's voice, she managed a quick look between the boards, surprised to realize that the other man had been living in the shack, and for some time it appeared. She could barely see a narrow cot, a shelf with foodstuffs, a small table.
And an old printing press.
Elated, Jennifer pressed her ear close to the wood and listened, determined to find out all she could. For the first fifteen minutes or so, she heard only the low murmur of voices, indistinguishable, droning on. It was impossible to catch more than a word here and there. Then the voices rose in anger, and she heard very clearly what was going on.
"So it's all right when you need money," the stranger was saying bitterly.
"Listen to me," Kelly told him in a hard voice. "If you hadn't gone crazy and spent thousands right here in the area, we wouldn't have had to lie low for a while at all. I've told you, we'll be back in business in a few weeks, once we're sure they can't trace those bills back to us."
"And what about this? You want me to print out half a million so you can play poker with some cardsharp!"
"I gave him a note, don't you get it? The only way I can redeem it is with phony bills."
"Oh, hell, why don't you just tell him you don't have the money? Let him sue you for it."
"Fool." Kelly paused, obviously gathering the threads of his patience. "He's a professional gambler, Alan, and men like that don't go to court to collect poker debts."
"Afraid of a busted kneecap?" Alan sneered.
Kelly ignored the question and the sneer. "I have to redeem that note. And Prescott has three quarters of a million to lose."
"He hasn't lost yet," Alan reminded bitterly.
"He will. Tonight. I mean to beat him."
"And what if you don't? What if he walks away from the table with half a million in phony money? We'll have the feds down on us so fast – "
"Don't be stupid. He's going back to Florida after this last game. Besides, money passes through his hands so quickly that even if he found out it was phony he'd never know where it came from. We're covered even if I lose. But I won't."
Alan was silent for a moment, then said flatly, "You'd better win from the first hand then, because you won't have half a million to play with."
"What?"
"You heard me. We suspended operations, remember? I have just enough paper here to print about a hundred and fifty g
rand. And our paper supplier's in Baton Rouge."
"Damn," Kelly said softly and bitterly.
"Still think you can beat him?" Alan jeered.
"Just print the money. How long?"
"With or without serial numbers?"
"How long, dammit?"
"A few hours."
"I'll come back then."
"Listen," Alan said suddenly, "are you sure that cousin of yours won't tip the feds? You said he had the plate."
"He won't turn me in." Dryly, Kelly added, "He may try to blackmail me later, but we'll deal with that if and when it happens."
Alan grunted.
Jennifer heard the sudden creak of the door being opened, and flattened herself against the shack to avoid being seen. Kelly would turn in the opposite direction when he left, she knew, which meant he wouldn't see her –
Then, her mind fixed on Kelly, she abruptly felt more than heard another presence, and before she could move, a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth.
* * *
Dane had managed to sleep a couple of hours, and awoke feeling far more rested than he'd expected. He showered and shaved, and was about to start making calls to find someone who knew a bit about presses when the phone rang.
It was Skye, calling from the phone he always insisted on in a rental car.
"Better get out here," he said without preamble. "Our man just struck off through the woods with a bag, and Jennifer's trailing behind him."
"Damn!"
"I said something stronger than that," Skye told him. "She's being cautious, so it may be all right. I'll keep them both in sight, but according to maps of the area, they're headed into a swamp."
Dane looked at his watch, thinking rapidly. "It'll take me about fifteen minutes to get there."
Skye didn't question the optimistic estimate; he knew how fast Dane drove. "Come in from the southwest," he said. "Assuming they've reached their destination by then, I'll meet you about halfway along that old track from the main road to the house. If I'm not there, head east to the swamp."
"On my way," Dane said. He wasted no time on the drive, settling the Ferrarl into its highest gear and hurtling around curves in a way that made the tires whine. Fifteen minutes after leaving his hotel, he was parked on Belle Retour land, out of the car, and heading through the woods.
Both partners had a strong sense of direction, and neither was surprised when they encountered each other near the edge of the swamp. Skye had been moving back away from the swamp and toward the track, but halted and waited for Dane to reach him.
"Where is she?" Dane asked immediately, keeping his voice low with an effort.
"Calm down, she's fine," Skye told him. "Kelly went into a shack on the other side of the swamp, and she's settled down right next to it, listening. Someone's been living in the shack, by the way, one man."
"That may explain why Kelly has only one plate," Dane said absently as they began working their way cautiously toward the swamp. "If he has a partner, each of them could hold one plate until they print."
"To make sure nobody gets too greedy," Skye mused. "It figures. Crooks do tend to think that way."
Thunder rumbled suddenly, and Dane glanced up at the sky, frowning. "A storm. That's all we need."
His partner didn't comment, but led the way around the edge of the swamp until they were in a position to see the shack clearly, and Jennifer's still form crouched beneath a boarded-up window.
"She's too close," Dane muttered.
"Not unless she makes a noise."
Dane shook his head. "I won't take the chance. Look, you stick with Kelly if he leaves before I get Jenny out of here."
"What about the press?"
"If Kelly leaves, follow him. I doubt he'll bolt, but we don't need to take chances now. I’ll take care of the press if I can. If it comes down to a choice between disabling the press or getting Jenny safely out of here, to hell with the press."
Skye nodded, but said flatly, "Don't risk your skin to get at the press."
Dane left his partner's side, moving cautiously and trying to keep under cover as long as possible. Still, he was forced to cross a good twenty feet of open area in order to get to Jennifer, and he was halfway across that when the shack's door began to creak open. He covered the last ten feet with a speed that would have surprised him if he'd been conscious of it, and clamped a hand firmly over Jennifer's mouth just as Kelly stepped out of the shack and shoved the door closed behind him.
She stiffened against him for a brief moment, then relaxed suddenly, but Dane didn't release her until he was sure Kelly was well on his way back to the house.
"Fancy meeting you here," Jennifer said in a breathless whisper.
Eight
Dane hugged her wordlessly for a moment, grateful that she would emerge from this unharmed. From the moment he had heard Kelly had a partner, he had known that there must Indeed be a counterfeit operation of some scope, and that meant Kelly and his partner would have a great deal to lose. Men in such positions tended to protect their interests, often with violence.
Jennifer could have gotten herself killed. He waited until sounds from inside the shack indicated the occupant was busy and less apt to hear them, then caught Jennifer's hand and drew her back across the clearing and into the partial cover of a trio of cypress trees.
"What the hell are you doing, Jenny?" he muttered. She kept her voice low as well. "I suddenly realized where the press had to be, so I followed him to make sure. There was nobody else – "
"Skye was watching him, Jenny. My partner."
"I didn't see him."
"You weren't supposed to," Dane told her dryly.
She smiled reluctantly. "I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, Dane. But it's all right after all. And the press is in there. I saw it."
He glanced toward the shack, frowning. "I need to get in," he said half to himself.
Jennifer held on to his hand tightly. "You can't. It's too dangerous. There's another man, and he didn't sound very nice."
Dane hesitated, still frowning. "Could you tell if it was an electric press?"
"Manual. An old one."
"Damn. And I'll bet Kelly told his partner to print out anything up to a million bucks."
Jennifer wasn't sure why it mattered, but she was glad her reckless action was providing information Dane would find useful. "That's what he wanted, but the other man – Kelly called him Alan – told him there wasn't enough paper for that much. He said he could print only a hundred and fifty thousand."
Some of Dane's tension eased, and he sent a mental thanks to Lady Luck. "Good. Now, come on. I'm getting you out of here."
"Wait." Jennifer's attention had been caught by a flicker of movement between them and their path back toward the house, and she looked in that direction now. "We can't go back the same way. Look over there."
He followed her gaze to their left, his eyes narrowing on a ten-foot-long grayish shape that had crawled from the water and onto a hummock of damp earth. It was an alligator, and it didn't look at if it had any intention of moving in the near future. And it was perched on the only patch of reasonably dry land in that direction, with murky water all around.
"He probably wouldn't attack us," Jennifer said slowly. "They don't usually bother people. But ..."
"But," Dane agreed dryly. He looked back over his shoulder at the thickening woods behind them. "How about that way?"
She was shaking her head. "This swamp is fed by an offshoot of the Calcasieu River. If we go that way, we'll have to cross it, and after all the rain we've had lately, we'd have to circle all the way back to the main road to find a safe way across."
Dane looked to his right, studying the eerie landscape of the swamp. "Can we circle the swamp that way?"
"It'll take more than an hour to work our way around," she told him. "But it passable and safer."
He looked at her with a smile. "I gather you know this godforsaken place like the back of your hand?"
"I pra
ctically grew up here," she said, returning his smile. "We used to play games in the swamp."
He shook his head a little, but said, "You lead the way, then."
Holding his hand, Jennifer led the way, taking them toward the east and working her way carefully along a path she remembered from childhood. The swamp had changed since then, of course, and she found herself forced to search for alternate paths from time to time because a fallen tree that had once been a bridge had rotted and collapsed into the water, or because a remembered hummock was now beneath the surface.
She led them without flinching past a second alligator, and paused once as a water moccasin slithered by no more than two feet away. Dane, watching her, was fascinated by her composure. He knew that there was no particular virtue in accepting what was familiar – and this swamp was definitely familiar to Jennifer. Still, the recklessness of youth almost always gave way to the cautious awareness of adulthood, and more than one childish bravery became a fear in later years.
But not with Jennifer. She had true courage, he thought, the kind of courage that was instinctive and unaware, that accepted small dangers and large ones without thought. He had known that already, though. She loved him – and how much courage had been demanded of her to take that risk?
Within fifteen minutes, they were completely out of sight of the shack Kelly had led them to, and the scents and sounds of the swamp closed around them like a hot, wet blanket. It was darker now, the tall trees all around blocking most of the sky.
Jennifer paused, looking around slowly, and Dane felt it the moment she did. Stillness. An abrupt silence as if all the birds and animals of the swamp had suddenly become mute. He hadn't realized how many sounds had filled the air until they were gone, leaving a thick, heavy silence behind.
"A storm," Jennifer said, her tone normal now that they were far from listening ears. "And a bad one, I think. We'll never make it around the swamp in time." She looked at him, hesitated. "I know a place about five minutes from here, shelter. But we may be stuck there for hours."