Liz sighed.
Zach's eyes narrowed and he stiffened. "I best get back to the wheel before we run aground." She heard the edge to his voice, felt contained fury come off him in waves.
She nodded and stepped back, then moved leaderdy to the passenger seat and wrapped herself in her raincoat before collapsing.
She'd felt his horror at almost seeing her killed before his eyes, and also sensed the earlier horror
he must have felt when he'd thought she'd drowned in the bayou. But she didn't want to feel it. She'd done what she'd had to do, and she refused to feel guilty because she'd failed to let him know that some other runaway had been identified as her. Absolutely refused.
Zach glanced at Liz all huddled inside her raincoat, and his mind fixated on the reality that Liz had let him believe she'd died. She hadn't let him know it wasn't true, or apparently even let her parents tell him. A cop, for Christ's sake, he'd been a cop. And now he was an investigator. He'd had the means to track her down if he had known.
She hadn't wanted to be found! Why couldn't he get that through his thick head? Everything about her proved she'd rejected her heritage, and he was a part of it. She wouldn't let him back in. After her deception, why the hell would he want back in anyway?
Until the gator showed up, he'd almost convinced himself he didn't. But the image of that bull rolling and ripping the cypress oar apart was burned into his mind's eye. Every time it popped up, he saw Liz between those jaws instead of a stick of wood.
He bent for his flask, opened it, and took a long gulp. You're drinking too much during daytime hours, he reminded himself, but took another gulp anyway, drawing deeply on his willpower to recap the bottle and return it to his pocket. The pleasant burn eased his inner trembling, and he relaxed, some, allowing another thought to enter his mind.
He'd have sworn he'd seen a log ahead. Up to the moment the gator attacked, he'd been sure they were approaching a log. Alligators usually kept their bodies submerged, allowing only the bulging eyes to peek out. It was odd for one to float so high in the water. Very odd.
Still, the incident was behind them now. He had to hold that thought. Behind them, all behind them, and he didn't need another nip of vodka to make that true.
"Zack " Liz's voice was soft, imploring, but he didn't look at her. "Maddie was on the shore."
That made him turn. "You almost got eaten by a gator and all you talk about is Maddie Catalon?"
"She's hiding something. I know she is."
A sneer wanted to form on Zach's lips, but he tried to hold it back. "So what are you thinking, that she ran more than twenty miles by land to put a curse on us? Why are you so obsessed with that woman?"
"You don't have to be sarcastic," she replied evenly. "And you know why. Everyone knows . . . knew."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean she's out to get you. Seems the other way around, you ask me."
"She's my father's— It's not right, she took away love that belonged to my mother!"
"When're you gonna get it, Liz? Cajun men have had mistresses, since . . . well, way back when. I'd hazard a guess it didn't bother your ma as much as it bothers you."
"Oh, right! Hard-drinking womanizers, and being Cajun explains it all!"
"When did you get so stubborn?"
"Look who's calling me stubborn!"
Zach blew out his breath and reached down for his flask. "If it weren't for you making up your mind your father had taken off in the bayou, we wouldn't even be here. And you sure as hell wouldn't have been in danger of becoming alligator fodder. Did it ever occur to you that your pa might be off on a bender?"
Liz flinched, then eyed him levelly. "I suppose you know all about benders, don't you, Zach?"
"What?"
"You seem to like your liquor." She glanced down at his searching hand, and he hated the way he jerked it back so fast.
"I like a drink or two, cher," he replied breezily. "It mellows me out, but I keep it under control."
"Sure you do."
She let out a sigh that burned a hole in his armor, but he refused to let it sting. Directing his eyes back to the waterway, he opened the throttle a bit. "Check your ma's map again, will you?"
"The journal!" She quickly undid the button of her pocket and snatched out the plastic bag. When she opened it, she let out a relieved sound. "It stayed dry. It's about all I have left of Mama. I would have been heartbroken if . . ."
"Yeah," Zach replied, more sharply than he'd intended. He'd heard the ache in her voice, and wondered if tears would follow. He understood her pain and felt a dangerous sympathy for her. She hadn't wanted to be found, he reminded himself. She didn't want his support, his caring. She'd left Port Chatre without a word— Damnit, he had to stop wishing for something that would never be!
"Check for the turnoff to the cypress swamp, would you? If I recall right, there's a grove of maples on the western shore just before we're supposed to change course."
"Well," she replied, speaking with clearly forced light-heartedness as she opened the journal to the dog-eared page, "I can add something new to the map. 'X' marks the spot where Liz almost became a power lunch for an alligator."
Zach grabbed for a cigarette. "Not funny, Liz." Bracing the wheel between his elbows, he lit up, then goosed up their speed. "Not funny at all."
* * *
They should have sighted her father by now, Liz thought. Not long after encountering the alligator, they'd left the main waterway, and Zach had soon given up his trust in the map.
"Who knows how long ago she drew it," he commented at one point. "It could be years out of date."
Liz replaced the journal in her pocket and agreed that the map didn't appear to be much good. The tour boat had superior speed, but they'd been on the water over four hours and hadn't heard one other engine, even though they'd followed the prescribed route. They'd already found themselves in a bog so shallow, Zach had worried they'd run aground.
Somehow he'd managed to back out, and soon after, they headed up a tributary that gave fairly easy passage. It turned out to be another dead end, so here they were, turned around again, returning to the river to search once more for the turnoff.
She hadn't remembered it being this hot in May. She'd taken off the raincoat sometime back, and the sun had dried her shorts for the most part. Though she'd tried to smooth back her wind-torn hair, she was pretty certain it resembled a whisk broom.
Not that it mattered. Zach now spoke to her only for informational purposes and looked at her even less often. Unfortunately, with just twenty feet to roam, he was her only entertainment: Unless she wanted to return to the journal.
Reading it simply made her heart too heavy.
She slanted a glance in Zach's direction. He'd slipped off his windbreaker and unbuttoned his shirt, which flapped in the wind and bared his chest. How different he was from Stephen, who was long and rather rawboned, with a smooth chest that Liz suspected he shaved in conformance with the current trend. Zach's body was . . . well, it was elementally male. And big. Broad shoulders. Hard, compact, chest. Arms that looked as though they could snap a tree limb in half. She became fascinated by how the light played on the sprinkling of golden hair that curled on his chest to spiral down toward his jeans. Had his adolescent body shown the pattern of the man to come? Had she dipped her hungry fingers in that mass and followed it down to its sexual source?
She closed her eyes, trying to recall what it had been like so long ago. She could almost feel the texture between her fingers; and very vividly remembered the sweet hot thrill of stroking him. God, how intense their love had been.
Her eyes snapped open. What was she doing? The Zach behind the wheel of that boat and the Zach she'd loved then weren't even the same person. The Zach she'd loved had been sweet, caring, and protective.
Still, the Zach sitting in the pilot's chair had done one fine job of saving her from the alligator. But he was so cynical and moody now, and he used his powerful charm to conceal a simmering
anger that had exploded when she'd been attacked. She didn't have to be a psychologist to know the reason.
Why didn't he ask? The question was on his mind. It had to be. She supposed she could explain, but somehow explanations seemed useless at this late date. Leaning forward to flick a leaf off her leg, she turned toward him, and somehow the words just rushed from her mouth.
"Yesterday," she began, "at the Cormiers,' it started all over again. Everyone whispering about me, a little afraid, wondering if I have powers they don't. It was almost as if I'd never left, you know. There I was again, Ellie and Frank Deveraux's wild swamp child, heiress to the guardian's throne."
She leaned forward earnestly, vaguely noticing the blank look in Zach's blue eyes. They seemed bluer now, with the sky above and the water below, and for an instant she was tempted to forget her stupid confession and, just get lost in them. She wasn't even sure she was being truthful. Her reasons way back then were so complex. But what else could it be? No other explanation made sense. This she knew—the words straining to leave her lips came from the depths of her heart. "That's all I would have been, Zach, if I stayed. Mama and Grandmere were teaching me the spells—not that I was any good at them—and Papa kept reminding me I'd be caring for the opal some day. And at school the same kids who wouldn't speak to me on the bus caught me behind the bleachers and asked me to tell their fortunes. I had to leave, Zach, can't you see that?"
He still had that blank look.
"Well, can't you?"
"That was a long time ago, cher," he said evenly, idly flicking his cigarette against an ashtray affixed to the console. "I don't understand why you're telling me this."
Now Liz stared blankly. He didn't understand? She'd just spilled out her guts, spoken words she suddenly realized she'd wanted to say to him for so long. The last time she'd felt so foolish was when she'd been a junior stockbroker at Schwab. She'd been invited to a company party, where she'd enjoyed herself thoroughly. Someone kept filling the glass in her hand, and before she knew it, she was in the middle of a group, telling an old Cajun tale about how a rabbit tricked a fox out of the contents of a honey pot, complete with colorful Cajun dialect.
Several years of speech therapy vanished in the wake of one drink too many. She'd been teased about it for weeks, with people telling her she was quite an actress. That close call made her vow to never drink too much again .
"Right. A long time ago." She stood up and turned away to hide her blazing cheeks. " I felt like talking about it, that's all."
She caught his nod from the corner of her eye.
"It's going to start getting late." His tone sounded softer but she probably was indulging in wishful thinking. "We better start looking for a good place to pull in for the night."
"I'd rather wait till we get back to the river," she protested. She wanted this trip done with. More, she wanted to get away from Zach and the feelings he brought up. "Maybe we can still catch Papa today."
"We'll have a hard time finding a good anchor spot at night." He pointed to the low-hanging sun. "Look."
Liz reluctantly agreed and started searching for a place to pull in.
"Over there?" Liz pointed to their left.
"Nah, it's marsh. Look for high ground with some oak and elm."
Soon they spotted a high point with the requisite trees and grass. Zach eased the boat close to shore and anchored it. "We could take the grill and a kettle," he suggested. "I'll catch some crawfish and boil 'em up. How long's it been since you ate crawfish?"
"A while." She didn't add she normally avoided all things Cajun because now the idea made her mouth water.
Zach unlatched the passenger gate and let the ramp fall to shore, while Liz got out the charcoal and kettle and rummaged around for other supplies and something to go with the crustaceans. She shoved everything into one crate, while Zach gathered up the grill and a net, then put several bottles of water in a bucket.
Soon he was lighting the charcoal, and Liz was filling the kettle. By the time she began peeling potatoes and onions, Zach had taken off his shoes and socks and was rolling up his jeans, preparing to wade into the water with the net.
As she worked, Liz heard him let out an occasional "Damn," and she smiled, knowing a crawdad had just gotten away.
When she finished peeling the vegetables, she settled back, listening to the buzz and chirrups of the swamp at dusk and keeping an eye on the kettle. Now and then, Zach let out a low cheer, and after Liz had heard more than a dozen of them, he came back.
"Br'er Crawdad's all over the place out there," he said, his spirits so high Liz wondered how often he'd dipped into his flask. "Caught nearly two dozen of those suckers. A couple of 'em are over four inches long. How's the fire coming?"
No matter where his good spirits came from, they were contagious. Liz smiled and gestured to the grill. "The water's coming to a boil and I'm about to put in the vegetables. 'Course we could eat the potatoes half raw, the way we did when we were kids."
"Now she wants to go down memory lane." He said the words mildly enough, but Liz still felt their sting.
"I tried to explain," she replied weakly.
"Yeah. Forget it, cher. I didn't mean anything."
She started to say she was sure he did, but he put the bucket down and replaced his socks and shoes, then stood up. "I gotta go see the man."
He came back a few minutes later, looking weary. "Those potatoes coming along?"
"They're ready for the crawdads."
He went to the bucket and examined his catch. "Think this will be enough?" he asked so morosely it sounded as if he were about to boil his best friends. "Maybe I should have caught more."
"They're fine, Zach, just fine." He crouched beside the kettle, poking the potatoes to see how done they were, then dipped in his back pocket.
She got up, collected some paper, and told Zach she was going to find her own potty place before it got too dark. He nodded and opened the flask. As Liz walked away she saw him take a drink.
Lord, oh Lord, it was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eight
When Liz got back, she heard water bubbling and saw Zach stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. He'd taken out plates and plastic utensils, which were stacked beside him, and had also carried the crate with the charcoal and water bottles back to the boat.
"Won't be long." His tone was now upbeat. "Sun's setting real fast, so I got out the lantern in case it gets dark before we eat."
Putting her hands on her hips, she paused to stare at him.
"If you don't stop doing this Jekyll and Hyde thing, I don't know how we'll finish this trip."
He grinned at her, showing not a trace of remorse. "You aren't the first woman to say that." He returned to stirring the crawfish. "Wanna come over here and help me serve?"
She went to his side and bent for a plate. "Do you ever do anything to control your moodiness?"
Zach shook his head gravely. "Nope. I'm incorrigible."
Liz couldn't help smiling. "Should I be grateful Dr. Jekyll's back then?"
Zach laughed. "Liz, I doubt you've ever been grateful for anything. But I forgive you. Are you ready for this crawdad stew?"
She crouched beside him. "I'm going to shock you, Zach. By saving me from the alligator, you've earned my undying gratitude." She winked then, and stuck out her plate. "Now dish up my meal, manservant."
With the grin still on his face, Zach scooped out the crawfish, dividing them equally between them. When Liz said he'd given her too many, he should take more, they argued about it briefly, with Zach finally giving in and taking a larger portion. While they divvied up the potatoes, he nonchalantly asked, "Who's Stephen?"
"My partner. We have a small investment office."
"You are a stockbroker then. I thought so."
"Of sorts. Stephen and I work alone, not for a firm. He does an investment letter, too, but I just trade stocks, bonds, and commodities."
He chugged some catsup on his plate, then set
it on the ground, while he dished up the onions. "Is that all there is between you two, a partnership?"
"Yes." Liz oddly felt as if she was lying. She and Stephen had been involved briefly, but there had been so little ardor, just many shared interests and a genuine respect for one another. Finally they'd agreed they made great business partners, but a romance wasn't in the cards. Shortly after, Stephen started dating a redheaded runner from the exchange floor, and for a while she was all he could talk about. Now that was ardor. Or so she'd thought at the time, while enduring hours of Stephen's copious praise of his flame-haired paragon.
"And you never married?" he went on to ask.
"No, but I know you have. Mind if I ask what happened? From what I heard at Cormier's, I assume you're single now."
He nodded. "As Richard pointed out, they all left me." His voice again took on that cynical edge. Then, in a fonder tone he continued. "But I can't complain about the first two. They gave me my kids. Zettie's the oldest, she's in college now, and my son, Chet, plays high school football. Too bad Carol's none too fond of me. If not for that, Chet and I would get along a whole lot better."
"And Zettie?" Liz cocked her head.
"Things are just fine with her. Rita's her mom, and we made our peace a long time ago." He patted his pocket. "She gave me this flask. First Christmas after we were married."
He dropped a few onions on Liz's plate. "Better eat up before those crawdads get cold. Sure wish we had some Jax to drink with this. It'd go down real smooth."
Liz sipped some water from the cup she'd poured earlier and refrained from commenting that he didn't need beer on top of whatever he'd been sipping from the flask. Besides, her mind was a bit fixated on the name Zach had given his daughter.
"Zettie," she repeated. "Is that a nickname of some sort?"
He raised his eyebrows and regarded her a moment. "Yes."
"For what?"
This pause was longer. "Lizette."
The word hung in the air as their eyes locked. "It was Rita's idea," Zach explained hastily. "She liked the name, that's all."
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