Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set

by Flynn, Connie

  "Whoa . . ." He took hold of her smooth round hips and stopped her. "Whoa, Liz. Let's take our time."

  Such torture, holding back, such exquisite pain, but he lifted her hips into slow, even strokes to which she surrendered. Soon she began rotating with controlled movements so tantalizing they swept all thought from his mind.

  Then it was too late, too late to hold back, and they moved again into frantic movements that rocked the boat. It swayed with them, swayed with every loving stroke, and the wild things in the swamp came alive with sound, and the storm clouds emitted a roll of thunder, echoing their pleasure cries and ragged breaths until finally, too soon, yet not soon enough, they reached a crescendo that drowned out everything except the ecstasy they shared.

  * * *

  She had collapsed on him like a soft rag doll, and Zach held her tenderly, loving the sound of her uneven breathing, loving the warmth and the smell of her. The swamp things still called and the thunder had gotten closer. Dusk was coming and this dark place would soon get even darker.

  "I hate to sound like the guy who won't spend the night," he said softly, "but I don't think we should linger."

  He dropped a kiss on her neck as she slowly lifted her head, her golden eyes looking slightly glazed and she murmured, "hmm . . . ?"

  "In case you've forgotten, we're still in the swamp."

  "Oh! Oh!" She shot up, still straddling him and looked around. "We do pick our places, don't we?"

  This time he kissed her mouth. "It was worth it. You are . . . well, there aren't any words."

  "I have some. About you, that is. You're incredible. That was incredible."

  "Yes. Yes, it was."

  Reluctantly, he lifted her with a pat on the rump. "Dress, woman," he said, searching the boat. "By the way, where are my clothes?"

  Liz stood up, feeling the pain of separation as she pointed to the place where she'd stacked them. She was filled with the afterglow of marvelous sex, and though the fear that he'd move into her life and expose her deception niggled at her, she refused to let herself think about it.

  Besides, Zach had given her something else to focus on. They had to head out. The stirring of the sleepy swamp had escalated and the discordant calls sent shivers down her spine. She hurried to dress.

  By the time she was done, Zach was in the pilot's seat, putting on his socks and shoes. She supposed he was still cold, as evidenced by the way he buttoned his windbreaker to his neck.

  Probably starving, too.

  "You need to eat," she said. "You've burned tons of carbohydrates."

  He chuckled. "Sure did."

  "Not that," she replied in mock exasperation. "By pulling the boat."

  His stomach growled as if on cue and they both laughed. Then Zach turned on the key and pushed the ignition button. Liz turned to the storage bins.

  The rumble of engine beneath her feet soothed her jitters as she searched for something that would go down quick. She settled on a hunk of hard cheese and a bottle of spicy sausages, then grabbed a knife and some plates and moved forward.

  Zach had picked up his flask, which he put away as she approached.

  "Eat something," Liz instructed.

  She handed him a plate, and though the sun still descended and the sky still rumbled, they took that interlude to fill their bellies as they'd just filled their bodies.

  Finally, after they'd consumed all the cheese and half the jar of sausages, Zach presented some wrapped, candy-striped mints from his jacket pocket. Liz took one, remarking that it would abate the garlic from the sausage, and Zach lit up, smoking the cigarette slowly and finding himself unable to keep his mind on the present. There'd been another day when he and Liz had shared cheese and sausage.

  He'd been almost fourteen and in his first year of high school. Liz had been ten, and they'd sat side by side on the bench of her pa's boat, fishing poles hanging over the edge, eating as voraciously as they had just now.

  "You have the gift, Izzy, you know you do." He'd been trying hard to convince her to tell him if he'd make the high school varsity football team.

  Liz leaned forward to pluck up a sausage, her catlike eyes filled with excited anticipation. "I ain't in no hurry to use it. Maman say to take my sweet ol' time. Yesterday, she showed me the way to grind herbs to make medicine. She give some of that stuff to Missy Martin and that baby just pop out so easy like, no screamin' and hollerin'. It's a miracle, them things she does. A miracle, for true. I want to be able to do them someday."

  "You will." He touched her arm, all berry brown from the sun. "I know you will. But this is now, so tell me if I'll make the team."

  She laughed and playfully slapped his arm. "That's all you want me for, I swear."

  "Not true." He laughed, too. "Who else'd show me the best fishing and frogging spots?"

  She slapped him again. "One of these days!"

  He leaned forward then, cupping her young face. The other guys called him a cradle robber for hanging out with her. But it wasn't like that between him and Izzy. She was his buddy, she was part of him, and he knew with certainty where it would eventually lead.

  "One of these days, cher, you'll grow up, and I'm gonna marry you."

  "Pooh! Y'all'll grow up, too, and forget all about me."

  "That'll never happen. I promise."

  "Cross your heart?"

  Cross my heart and hope to die. That's what he'd answered. And when he'd thought she'd died instead, he almost had. But that had been years ago, so he turned toward Liz and said, "Let's navigate, cher."

  Liz took her position on the left side of the boat while he moved the craft forward.

  "The knees seem thinner," she remarked. "Isn't the power of imagination a mystery?"

  "I agreed not to talk about it," he replied. "But don't go on with that imagination stuff or I'll be tempted to break that agreement."

  She looked at him levelly for an instant, a flicker of fear in her eyes, then said, "All clear on this side."

  "Clear ahead, too. Looks like we're out of here!"

  Liz whooped, leaning over to kiss Zach on the cheek.

  "I like this side of you. Maybe we should get trapped in a cypress swamp more often."

  "Very funny." But she still beamed from ear to ear as she perched on the copilot's chair. "Home, we go. I'll kill Papa if he's already there after what we've been through."

  "Better brew your poison. It's my guess he is."

  The channel had opened onto a wide passage, and while the sky above was still a curiously dark contrast to the blue horizon, the water was free flowing and getting deeper, allowing Zach to increase the speed. "We should arrive at your destination in approximately two hours, miss," he said with comic formality, hoping to establish a light mood in which to open his next subject. "You think you can spare some time to talk about what happened?"

  Her eyes widened. "In what regard?"

  He restrained an urge to mimic her stiff response. "The part where we got it on, bumped bodies, did it, fu—"

  "I get your message, Zach."

  "My message be damned. I have a question. Did you like it?"

  "Did I . . . like it?" she repeated incredulously. "What do you think?"

  "Enough to take up where we left off so long ago?"

  She looked away, her cheeks flushing. He'd touched a nerve. He'd known it, feared it.

  Her shoulders squared slightly when she turned to face him. "Part of me does, but I'm—"

  "You remember the first time I asked you to marry me? You recall that day?"

  She gave him a slow nod, and Zach wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a sheen on the surface of her eyes.

  "I meant it, and have never changed my mind. I don't want a one-night stand. I want love, commitment, marriage. I want it all, Liz. With you . . . no one else, just you."

  "No, not me." She shook her head and clenched her hands into tight knots. "You want it with Izzy." She climbed to her feet in agitation and stared down at him. "I'm not her, Zach, can't you see
that? You don't even know who I am! You're in love with a memory of a child who doesn't exist anymore!"

  Zach looked up, mildly shocked by her vehemence. With her top stained from last night's gumbo, her hair a mass of untamed curls, her eyes on fire with young Izzy's passion, as heartfelt words streamed from her mouth, he thought she'd never looked more like her young self.

  "Yes, she does, cher," he answered softly. "She's standing in front of me. And she's a woman now."

  Just then, Liz tilted. His view of her was suddenly cockeyed and jerky. The wheel spun in his hands.

  "Omigod!" she whispered.

  Even as she said it, Zach realized he'd lost control of the boat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zach jerked his attention back to the console. The wheel vibrated crazily, and he strained to regain control, but it was like grabbing a spinning gyroscope. Then the boat itself was spinning, dipping and rising, and throwing him out of his seat.

  Everything happened at once. Liz stumbled down the deck, still on her feet. Zach's head hit the console, momentarily disorienting him. The next thing he knew the boat was going over. Mother of God, they were going to capsize! He dove for Liz's legs, determined they stay together at all cost, but she'd been thrown too far away. Rising to his knees, he inched in her direction. Each time he thought he had her, she slipped away. As the boat yawed to one side, he made a last lunge that proved to be too late. She tumbled over the railing and into the water.

  "Liz! Liz!" he shouted, rolling as the boat righted itself. "Liz!"

  He grabbed for the rail, staring down into a dizzying vortex. Her head bobbed in the water, rising, sinking, rising again. "Zach!" she screamed, reaching for him. He turned to grab a life preserver, but they were gone. The raccoons must have thrown them overboard. So much had been lost, he'd never thought to check.

  He whirled back to the rail and leaned over with outstretched hands. "Liz! Grab hold!"

  She was already too far away, her calls for help nearly lost in the turbine roar of the spinning water. Unless he went after her, she'd drown. A pirogue! A pirogue could stay afloat. He rushed to the forward cleat of the one on her side and started untying the securing rope.

  The boat dipped again. Staggering, he grabbed for safety, but his hands came up empty. He flew over the rail, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling toward the maelstrom and losing sight of Liz's bobbing head as the murky waters raced to meet him.

  He landed with a splash that instantly merged with the churning water, Liz's safety foremost in his mind. Liz . . .

  In seconds, water rushed into his mouth and washed up his nose, choking him, while the pirouetting boat loomed above. Liquid fingers snatched at his legs and arms with firm, insistent pressure. His soaked windbreaker made it all the worse, but he didn't have the strength to slip out of it.

  The tour boat spun closer.

  His eyes burned so much he could hardly see, and he had the oddest feeling this was it. His life was over, and he'd spent it working too hard, partying too hard, drinking too much, never really knowing his children, never really loving his wives . . . never having the love of Liz Deveraux.

  The boat was on him now. Soon the force of the whirlpool would bring it down on his head, splitting his skull, knocking him helplessly unconscious to sink below the waves. He numbly wondered if his body would drift ashore like Jed's, nipped by fish and alligators, barely recognizable, but still requiring identification from his poor, poor mother, who'd already suffered so much.

  Through his disjointed thoughts came a dim realization. His flailing arm had struck something hard, something not of metal. Still battling the vortex, he forced himself to open his stinging eyes.

  The pirogue he'd half untied had broken loose and now skipped beside him, overturned, but still floating. He plunged his hand in the water, coming up to grab the under edge, then held tight and strained until he had an arm over the hull. Next, a leg. The rough cypress surface scraped his hand, and his muscles screamed, but he ignored them, and inch by painful inch he managed to lever up until, panting and gasping for breath, he finally lay on his stomach. The pirogue rose and fell, but he held tight.

  Soon—unless he was kidding himself—he sensed an ebbing of the whirlpool. He lifted his head to look for Liz, but didn't see her. His shoulders slumped, along with his hopes. He dropped his head onto the canoe. Give it up, he thought. Give it up.

  No! He wouldn't lose her again, even if he had to bring her back from the dead. He craned his aching neck. Just as he'd almost lost hope again, he saw a thrashing arm. He slipped into the water, clinging once more to the underside of the canoe and prayed the churning water wouldn't swoop him away.

  Mercifully, his assessment had been right. The power of the whirlpool was weakening, and he was able to guide the craft in the direction where he'd last seen Liz.

  He called her name, though his voice was little more than a croak. Called it again. Again. And once again, until he forced a final decibel from his exhausted lungs.

  "Zach? Help! I'm here!"

  She repeated his name, then coughed.

  Keep saying my name, keep coughing, he silently urged as he headed for her, guided only by her feeble sounds and occasional appearance above the waves. The water surged and dipped, and at times he lost sight of her. Once she went under for so long he thought she'd drowned. But after an endless moment, her black hair emerged above the surface. He narrowed the space between them in fits and starts, until finally . . .

  A tired, triumphant grin crossed his face.

  He had her under an arm, pulling her from the watery grave. He had her, alive, warm, breathing. He'd ripped her away from death, just as he'd vowed, and he would have wept for joy if she weren't clawing at him so fiercely he could barely inhale.

  Liz scrambled to climb up Zach's body. Holding on, holding tight. She coughed and gagged and let out terrified squeaking sounds. Every cell in her body screamed to eject the brackish water in her stomach and lungs.

  "Shh, shh, cher. I got you."

  And he did have her. His strong arm held tight even as he fought off both the currents and her attempts to save herself.

  "Shh, shh . . ."

  Somewhere, despite her sheer animal terror, she found a scrap of common sense. And trust. She trusted Zach to hold on, which gave her enough courage to stop fighting for her life.

  "That's the way," he said, pulling her against him.

  She let her head flop on his shoulder and was soon able to comprehend where they were. Zach held on to the pirogue, which supportd them as they traveled in a ceaseless circle. Except for the churning water, there was silence all around.

  Then a crash of thunder broke the stillness. Liz jerked, clawed for Zach's neck.

  "Liz. Ease up. We'll both go under."

  Letting out a mewing sound, she bobbed her head and loosened her hold. But when he relaxed the arm he had around her, it was all she could do not to grab tighter.

  "I'm going to push you up on the hull. You have to help."

  She could hear the effort talking cost him. He'd fought these currents to get to her and must be as exhausted as she was. Although her every instinct protested, she unlaced her death grip on him and put a hand on the canoe. Slowly, tentatively, she put the other one next to it, supported only by the arm Zach had around her waist.

  "Hold tight." He slid his hand to her bottom.

  When he shoved, the bucking canoe fought back. Her fingers recoiled from the rough surface and she lost her grip. A helpless shriek escaped her mouth, but Zach caught her.

  "Again," he ordered.

  He gave another shove, and even though the unfinished hull tore at her fingertips, this time she held fast.

  Then she was lying diagonally atop the pirogue, her body begging for rest. But Zach was still in the water, now needing her. She rolled on her side and extended a hand. Zach took it and just held on for a minute, treading water, resting, gathering strength. She could barely see him, it had grown so dark, but the warmth of his
fingers revived her stamina.

  "Come up, Zach," she whispered, not sure he could hear her above the noise of the water.

  He let go of her hand and started crawling up the hull. His weight caused the craft to tilt. For a horrible instant, Liz thought they might both roll off. Spasms coursed through her body—she would vomit very soon—and her muscles screamed from fatigue, but she knew if he fell back into the water, she'd go after him by her own volition. They would survive together . . . or go down together.

  She scooted back, providing a counterbalance to his weight. The canoe leveled out, and he threw his other arm over the keel. Then his legs were up and he collapsed beside her, clinging fast and breathing in gasps. Liz wanted to fall upon him and feel how alive he was. She wanted to cry out her exultation that they'd survived.

  Instead, she gave in to her retching stomach and emptied its contents into the swirling bayou.

  * * *

  They drifted for eons around the edge of the waning vortex, silent in the dark, spread-eagled over the curved hull of the pirogue. The canoe rocked gently now, providing safety for the moment, and neither possessed the endurance to swim to freedom, nor even suggested the possibility. Though thunder sometimes interrupted the stillness, Liz took comfort in Zach's presence, hoped he also took comfort in hers.

  When the moon began to rise, she turned her head to gaze at him. His eyes were open, and she wondered how long he'd been looking at her. "Better?" he asked, his voice raspy with fatigue.

  She smiled wanly. "Much. How about you?"

  "I'll live. For a while there I wasn't sure."

  "Yeah."

  Silence again. Liz almost nodded off.

  "What were you thinking out there?" he asked. "You know, when you thought you might drown."

  "What a question."

  "Yeah. Not one that comes up every day."

  "I'm not sure. Everything was so jumbled, emotions, thoughts . . . regrets." She hesitated.