Dark Cay

by Douglas Pratt

  My eyes were watering as my lungs burned. He had the power to squeeze the life out of me. He was going to do it, but I was damned if he was going to do it fast and easy. Pressing my feet against the wall, I shoved us back. We crashed across the hallway, spewing antiques and trinkets across the hardwood floor. He swung me against the opposite wall.

  My chest burned. My head throbbed from oxygen deprivation. My fists tried to pound at the farmer, missing every mark. My legs drove us back across the hallway, smashing against the banister again.

  Grabbing one of the spindles, I ripped it clear of the railing and drove it back into the farmer’s arm. The splintered end speared into his bicep, and I yanked it out and stabbed again. His grip loosened for long enough to let my lungs fill with fresh oxygen. Enough to lift on my legs and spin him into the railing while gouging at his arms. The impact impaled him with the other end of wood still attached to the banister. He released me.

  His eyes raged as he pulled off the railing and lunged at me. The end of the stake in my hand pierced his eye as I drove it into his face. The old man fell back against the wall and slid to the floor. The “old man strength” faded from his remaining eye, leaving a glassy stare into nothing.

  35

  My rental car was too far for Travis. I knew that. Running out onto the porch, I noticed the Mercedes was gone. Loggins escaped in it. Who had the keys for the Range Rovers? The alligators, I guessed.

  Hot-wiring a newer car like a Range Rover wasn’t in my wheelhouse, and going back to fish the keys out of Blake’s pocket was undoubtedly not going to happen. Instead, I started running. Without having to navigate around the bogs and fallen trees, I made it back to the car in less than five minutes.

  My body was screaming in aching pain. The fight with the farmer was going to leave a lot of bruises. A shiver ran through me when I thought about how close the old guy was to choking me into oblivion.

  Lily and her father were halfway down the drive when I found them. Moving slow, Travis was barely standing. He sprawled into the back seat with Lily cradling his head.

  “I don’t know where the closest hospital is,” I commented. “We need to find a phone.”

  Lily nodded in the back, and the tires on the Toyota threw gravel up as I sped off. The main highway where Las Palmas and Ferris Groves were located made the most sense. At least there, an ambulance could find us easily. It put some distance between us and the bodies at Haynes Farm.

  “He’s not doing good.” Her voice was pleading for me to hurry. The curving one-lane road was only permitting me to go so fast.

  “Travis, can you hear me?” I asked loudly.

  He grunted in response.

  “We’re going to get you help, but Loggins is still out there.” I wanted him to understand that the danger was still there. Loggins was hobbled, with his security team decimated. He would have to regroup, and a man with his resources would be able to do that much sooner than I would like. If I didn’t find him first, we would all have targets on our heads.

  Porter said something inaudible.

  Lily translated, “He said, ‘Thank you.’”

  Shaking my head, I worried that he had already lost too much blood. The leg might not even be salvageable. Worst yet, an infection could wipe him out. Any way he went, there was going to be recovery time, and time was all Loggins needed to find him and Lily.

  “We need to call the F.B.I.”

  “No,” Travis croaked. “Loggins has people there.”

  Lily shook her head too.

  “The hospital is going to call in the cops,” I explained. “An Agent Letson is already looking for you. He’s going to have a lot of questions.”

  “What do we do?” Lily asked.

  In the rear-view mirror, I could see Travis drifting off.

  “He has to get help. That leg is bad, and who knows what’s going on with his hand. We get him help. Tell them he was attacked by an alligator, but you don’t know where. Use one of those false names you had. Your passport is still on Carina. Once we know he’s okay, we can make a new plan.”

  “What if he finds us?”

  Loggins wasn’t my immediate concern; Letson was. He would be hovering like a vulture. If Letson got wind of Haynes Farm, he’d have something to work with. He could hold the Porters as material witnesses. Loggins’ people in the Bureau would alert him. There was little I could do if Travis and Lily were in Letson’s custody.

  Unless I could find Loggins. That seemed unlikely at the moment. Unless he turned up on his yacht, I had no idea where else a billionaire criminal would go.

  “Travis, you still with me?” I asked.

  He moaned an affirmative.

  “Do you have a lawyer?”

  He made another moan, and Lily shook her head.

  “My advice is to stay silent. If Letson finds you, I don’t think he has anything to keep you on. I’m going to figure out where we can hide you, though.”

  He made another muffled sound that I took as agreement.

  The difference between the side road and the main highway was significant. The jarring pothole-filled county road turned into smooth asphalt. The neon palm tree a quarter-mile ahead was a beacon. Las Palmas was open and hosting a decent late dinner crowd.

  The shocks bounced as the tires rolled into the parking lot. Leaving the car running, I hurried inside and demanded the hostess call for an ambulance.

  Showing up twice to Las Palmas was risky. The server or busboy from earlier might remember me if they were still there. There might be questions about why I was asking about Haynes Farm, especially after the police start looking around.

  Unfortunately, Travis didn’t have time for me to shop around.

  The ambulance arrived ten minutes after we did. Two paramedics pulled him out of the car, strapped him to the gurney, and started an IV on him. Lily and I followed the ambulance to the closest hospital one city over in Inverness.

  Before we pulled into the hospital’s lot, I crossed the street to a chain pharmacy. I came out with a bag of chips and a Coca-Cola for Lily, plus two pre-paid phones. It took about ten minutes for each of us to set up the phones and exchange numbers. Lily was fidgeting, ready to check on her dad.

  “Remember you’re Alexa Cooper. I’m going to run back to the boat and get your passport. Do not leave the hospital with anyone. I don’t care if they say they are the F.B.I. or your great-aunt on your mother’s side. No one until I get back. You call me if anyone shows up. I imagine the cops will want to get a statement. You don’t know anything except he was attacked by an alligator. “

  She nodded.

  “Don’t let him talk either, but I’m betting he’s not giving out much.”

  Lily reached for the door and paused. Her head turned to me, and her eyes moistened.

  “It’s going to be alright. You are insanely strong. It won’t take me long–a few hours. If anyone wants any information, give them your name, Alexa Cooper, and tell them your uncle is on his way. I should be back in four hours. Five at the most.”

  I squeezed her shoulder as she got out of the car.

  Before I made it back to the Tilly, Lily called to say that her dad was stable. A police officer came by and took her statement, but he was going to have to come back and talk to Travis and her uncle. I assured her that she was doing a good job. What else could I say?

  The last meal I had was at Las Palmas, and I might not get a chance to eat again. Rule number three is “Eat when you can.” I cut through to the bar. Hunter was working a crowded bar, but he paused to look up at me.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, staring at my mud-caked clothes.

  “Long story,” I explained. “I’m going to run and change. Can you put in a burger for me? To go?”

  He hollered at me as I started out the door. “You have a message.”

  He handed me the phone and a yellow note that had just a phone number.

  “She wouldn’t say who she was,” Hunter explained.
/>   The line rang.

  “Lieutenant Gordon,” Shaw said into the speaker. “Took you long enough to call me back.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel. I was occupied.”

  “The man you’re looking for is Second Lieutenant Blake Corder. He was dishonorably discharged six years ago, but I don’t know why yet. His current location is unknown. Last known address was in Louisville, Kentucky. His mother, Alice Corder, is deceased. Father, Jack Corder, is serving a life sentence at Red Onion State Prison in Virginia.”

  “What was he in for?”

  “Murder.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I owe you one.”

  “You owe me more than that, Lieutenant,” she responded.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “None of this came from me,” she iterated.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The line went dead. She sounded as hard as I remembered her. A smile formed on my face. I missed her.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was showered, dressed, and heading back into the bar. Hunter pointed at a bag at the end of the bar. Swapping the bag for a twenty-dollar bill, I strode through the lobby of the inn and out to the car.

  Lily was waiting for me in the ER waiting room. Her eyes were bleary. She hadn’t slept in several days, subsisting on the bag of chips and Coke I gave her earlier.

  “He’s sleeping,” she told me, “but there’s been a lady in asking about his insurance. I don’t know what to say.”

  “If she comes back, I’ll talk to her. What did the doctor tell you?”

  “He may have some nerve damage, but that will have to be looked at down the road. He’s going to be okay.” She sighed. “Chase, I don’t know what to do.”

  “When he wakes up, we will talk to him. After that, I’m taking you someplace safe. He’s going to have to be here under the Cooper name until he can leave. Maybe by that point, we’ll know where Loggins is.”

  “What if we don’t?”

  “You run. This time there is no coming back. No calling old friends. Just run. If your dad isn’t better, it’s going to be hard.”

  “Won’t he come after you?”

  I shrugged, since I doubted it would be anytime soon. Loggins needed fresh troops. Even the Porters might find some breathing room for now. By now, he will realize that everyone at the grove is dead, meaning he’s running scared. He’s hoping that as long as I have Lily and Travis, I won’t be coming after him.

  He’s very wrong.

  36

  The air was damp and cold. Too damned cold. My lungs felt like they were filling with icicles each time I took a breath. The house ahead radiated heat. The red cedar siding and stone chimney emerged from the snowy forest.

  The closest neighbor was five miles away, down a winding road that last night’s storm left layered in ice. The county wasn’t sending a truck out to salt the road for one person that wasn’t even supposed to be there.

  “If he’s hiding,” Jack Corder explained, “he’ll be either at his place in Mexico or the cabin in Montana. I’m betting Montana. He doesn’t have to worry about crooked Federales up there. Since his security force has to be rebuilt, he’ll be there.”

  Corder wasn’t overly cooperative at first. When I arrived at Red Onion, he agreed to see me. What else was a man with a life sentence going to do? When Loggins’ name came up, the man went silent. I slid the same photograph that I forwarded to Shaw against the glass divider in the visitor’s area. He stared at the image of his son with Loggins.

  “Your son is dead,” I informed him. “Thanks to Loggins.”

  Corder blinked.

  The snow was knee-deep, and the chill was coursing through me. The house was an oasis in the white desert; three satellite dishes sat atop the snow-covered roof. There was no record of my trip. In fact, Carina was anchored off No Name Key. The truck I borrowed was left in Oklahoma. The next car in Idaho. Their owners might never know they were missing if everything went well.

  The burrow I created sheltered me from the wind, but that was about it. The walls of snow were still pressed against my coat. Three hours, I told myself: three hours until dark.

  There were no vehicles visible, and the garage was sealed up. No one had come and gone for the last six hours. The chimney puffed gray smoke indicating life. I knew there was only one person inside the house. The storms the last two days kept anyone from leaving. The worst one was coming up tonight, expecting to dump another 10 to 12 inches on the mountain.

  By the time it hit, I was going to be off the mountain and heading south.

  Despite the cold, I dozed when I could. There was no danger of hypothermia. I was properly attired in layers. While I could feel the chill, I was only in danger of discomfort. For a boat bum, I was feeling a high level of discomfort too.

  My eyes blinked open. The sky was littered with stars, and the moon was full tonight. Several days had passed since I crept through the swamp in Florida. The moonlight reflected off the snow. The forest was bright enough for me to read. The eastern edge of the sky was lined with billowing clouds–the oncoming storm.

  The clouds rolled faster than I expected. The weather forecast indicated the snowstorm would start around one in the morning. If the weather forecasts here were anything like the ones I used in the tropical waters, their accuracy might be suspect.

  Belly-crawling out of my hole, I prepared to make my approach. My boots crushed the top of my nest, covering the imprint my body made in the snow. The coming storm should hide any evidence that I was here.

  Blake Corder’s 9 mm was stashed in my bag with three extra magazines. That should have been almost 50 more bullets than I needed. Prepare for the worst. Removing the Glock, I checked the action. The cold shouldn’t have any effect on the mechanics, but again, preparedness was key to success.

  My approach was direct. There weren’t any visible cameras. After the storm last night, any in the open were covered with a layer of ice. The location was so remote, and the roads were so treacherous that there should be a sense of isolated security. Loggins had no support staff. Even if there were cameras, Loggins wasn’t sitting in front of the monitors.

  No, he was settling in for the night. Something warmed in the kitchen, a drink in his hand, and a blazing fire would lull him into a relaxed state. The first day or two, he would have been alert. The first five inches of snow would have been the first layer of insulation. The next five would have been comforting. The road was too steep to venture up it in this weather. Who was going to traipse up a mountain in a snowstorm?

  After three days, he was comfortable. He was feeling safe. There had been time to make arrangements for additional security people. They would have assured him that they would come straight away. Once the storm abated, they could get in to him.

  The window wasn’t too narrow, but there was a time schedule. There could be some deviations; new security personnel might have been easier to find. Icy roads might not hinder them. Loggins might not be as comfortable as I imagined. He might be waiting for me.

  Crossing the clearing, my feet sank into the thick snow. The world was silent. The crunching snow was the only sound, muted by the crystals of ice blanketing the mountain.

  A porch wrapped around the house, allowing its occupants a panoramic view from atop the peak. The valley to the south turned across the range. Snow-capped trees shone in the shadow of the mountain. The view added at least a zero to the asking price.

  Staying below the windowsills, I kept my back against the cedar siding. The rear of the house was darkened. Loggins was nestling in the den. The back door led out of the house and next to a woodpile, stacked with several cords of this season’s split oak. Dime-sized chunks of salt were scattered over the steps. The snow held recent footprints trailing from the bottom of the steps to the woodpile.

  Was Loggins worried enough to lock the door when he carried in the last load of wood?

  Ascending the steps slowly, I held the 9 mm out. The gloved finger rested on the trigger. A round waited in
the chamber. My left hand touched the brass knob. Turning slowly, I felt the latch recede into the door, allowing it to swing inward slightly.

  Guess his hands were too full? I almost smiled.

  The timer in my head counted off thirty seconds. If he heard the click inside, he needed time to let his brain assure him there was nothing there.

  When the clock stopped, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The inside of the house was warm. My flushed cheeks felt the relief first. Ignoring it, I pushed the door with a gentle nudge. The latch stopped on the door jam, avoiding any clicks.

  A television was playing in another part of the house. The rear door opened into the kitchen, but the lights were out. The room was darker than the woods had been. My eyes took a second to adjust.

  I heard Sam Malone make a snappy comeback followed by canned laughter. The snow on my clothes was melting fast, and I could hear a puddle forming at my feet–no time to wait. My feet moved slowly, lifting off the ground completely, so there was no tell-tale squeak of wet rubber against the marble tile.

  Norm made a jab about his wife. More laughter.

  The light from the other room spilled into the kitchen. There was no door between the two rooms–just an arched opening.

  Ice tinkled in a glass. Diane said something, and a chuckle rolled into the kitchen.

  Glass clinked against wood. A squeaking spring seemed to wheeze.

  I moved through the archway. The floor changed from marble to hardwood; marble doesn’t creak; hardwood does. Once I stepped onto that surface, my element of surprise might vanish. There were 12 feet from the archway to the den. I could see the leather chair on the south side of the room-–another chuckle from the opposite end.

  Sam made a lewd proposal to Diane. Canned laughter. I took four steps. The fifth one groaned as I came around the corner.