by Rebecca York
After stowing the laptop and equipment case inside a couple of large black garbage bags, he helped Francesca into the small craft. When she was settled in the bow, he lowered himself to the seat in the stern.
“Your arm’s bleeding,” Francesca said, as she gave him a quick inspection. We should have brought more bandages.”
“We can do that later,” he said, anxious to get to their destination.
To his relief, the small motor started, and they set off again, staying close to the right-hand bank. They were making good progress until he saw a lazy looking alligator sunning on a mud bank. He hoped it would stay there, but it raised its head, then slithered into the water and started toward them. Shit. What if the damn thing chomped the side of the rubber boat? They’d be in the water with nothing between them and the gator’s jaws.
Francesca gasped.
He considered using his gun, but the sound of a shot would be like an alarm bell in the peaceful wildlife preserve.
His only option was to cut the engine, then reach for one of the oars lying on the boat’s floor.
“What are we going to do?” Francesca gasped as the scaly body headed straight for the dinghy.
“Hang on tight.”
She clenched her teeth and clutched the handles on the boat’s sides as Zane stood and raised the oar. He slapped it in the water hoping that would warn the beast away, but it kept coming, probably thinking it had found an easy meal. When the creature drew close enough, Zane leaned over and whacked it on the top of its head as hard as he could with the sharp edge of the paddle. As the beast dove, the craft tipped dangerously.
Zane fell back onto the seat, scrambling not to fall out of the boat. Francesca reached to grab him, and they swayed together in the rocking craft.
Praying the alligator wasn’t going to take another shot at them, Zane scanned the water. When he saw nothing but ripples, he breathed out a sigh of relief.
Starting the outboard again, he continued on course, this time keeping to the center of the waterway.
Francesca was on alert now, scanning one bank and then the other. There were more gators sunning, but none of them stirred as the small boat passed.
They rounded a curve, and he saw what must be the marina up ahead. He’d told Francesca what to expect, but he wasn’t exactly prepared for the knot of spectators being held back by police.
He glanced at his mate. “Get ready.”
“Is this really okay?”
“Yes,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it because his only option was to chug ahead, bouncing against a wooden dock as two cops with guns drawn rushed toward the dinghy.
Francesca looked like she’d rather be in a spaceship on the way to Mars than at this marina.
“It’s going to be fine,” he whispered, praying he had calculated this right.
Chapter Eighteen
“Out of the boat, and no funny stuff,” a patrol officer ordered, his voice gruff as he threw Zane a line. He took it and tied up.
One of the uniforms helped Francesca out. Another man was keeping the crowd back from the scene of the capture.
“Okay folks. The excitement’s over,” he called out. But nobody was stepping back from the impromptu show. Zane could hear murmurs from the spectators and hoped none of them was going to do anything stupid.
“Hurry it up,” another gruff voice advised him.
“Keep your shirt on,” Zane snapped.
His arm was throbbing, but he made it to the dock under his own power. One of the cops climbed into the boat to pick up his bag with the computer. Two men on the reception committee pulled his and Francesca’s hands behind their backs.
“Stop it,” Francesca called out. “Can’t you see his arm’s bleeding?”
“He should have thought of that before he got himself into trouble,” one of the cops answered without breaking his stride. The officers marched them down the dock.
“Back up,” another uniform shouted to the onlookers as the fugitives were escorted to a pair of waiting black and white Florida State Police cruisers. They were both helped into the back seat of the lead car. Two of the men climbed into another black and white and followed as they headed out of the marina.
Zane wanted to put his arm around Francesca and pull her close, but that was impossible.
The best he could do was mutter to their captors, “Nice performance. You can drop the Law and Order act now.”
The driver turned to his prisoners with an apologetic expression on his face. “Sorry about the restraints. We had to make this look real. I’d stop and get the cuffs off of you, but I want to get out of the area before some hothead gets excited.”
“You should have read us our rights,” Zane answered after letting out the breath he’d been holding.
He looked from the driver to his life mate and back again. “Francesca, my brother Knox Marshall is driving. And the guy beside him is Jonah Raider. They’re both Decorah agents—and good friends.”
Francesca stared at them. “Are you both wolves?” she asked.
In the rearview mirror, Knox shot him a look. “I see you had to fess up to your lupine condition.”
“It was either that or risk getting shot after she saw a wolf on the back deck of the boat.”
“And why was a wolf there?”
“Chasing away a Florida panther.”
Jonah cut into the conversation. “I’m not a wolf. I’m a telepath.”
“A what?”
“Under the right circumstances, I can communicate mind to mind. It’s useful for finding kidnap victims.”
Francesca’s head swung to Zane. “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“We don’t talk about our talents unless we need to.”
Knox gave him a smirk.
They headed for an airstrip where a small plane was standing by. The cars pulled up, and everybody got out. As promised, Jonah cut the wrist restraints off of Zane and Francesca.
Zane flexed his arm.
“You need a new bandage?” Knox asked.
Zane inspected his shirt. “It looks like it’s stopped bleeding.”
He and Francesca watched as the men opened the trunks of both cars, taking out equipment and going to work on the exteriors with some kind of cleaning solution. The white paint came off the top halves of the cars. The insignia and words “State Police” came off the bottom. The light bars on the top were also removed. When they were finished, two ordinary looking black cars sat at the side of the runway. All the equipment and cleaning supplies went into large plastic garbage bags which Jonah carried to the plane.
Francesca turned to the Decorah agents. “That was so real,” she breathed. “For a few minutes I thought you really were cops.”
“Didn’t my brother tell you what was going to happen?” Knox said.
“Yes, but I couldn’t picture it. And I couldn’t help reacting.”
“Well, that made it look real to the onlookers.
“How did you manage everything?” she asked, sounding like she still couldn’t believe they’d actually pulled it off.
“Planning,” Knox answered.
“Isn’t all of this illegal? I mean impersonating cops. Taking away murder suspects.”
“Yes. But we’ll straighten it out later.”
“You’re sure nobody back at the marina is going to figure out you weren’t the real thing?”
“If they do, we’ll already be gone.”
Luke Garner and Brand Marshall came over from the other car, and Zane introduced them.
Luke turned to Zane. “Why did you come in a small boat?”
“Because the Lady Slipper couldn’t get through the channel. She’s hung up a couple of miles from here.”
“Okay. We’ll tell the owner where to find it, and make sure he gets a bonus for retrieving it.”
“Zane has a recording of his conversation with Tuckerman,” Francesca said. “And you can hear the gunplay and his friend coming in.”
“And accusing me of murder,” Zane supplied.
“So the tape might be problematic,” Jonah said.
“Then what are we going to do?” Francesca pressed.
“Hopefully, get enough evidence to figure out what’s really going on. Luke’s going to stay down here investigating.”
“And I’m going to see if I can get any information from my father,” Francesca added.
Zane nodded in agreement, then looked at Knox. “We’re going directly to Newton?”
“Yeah.”
His brother took off his uniform shirt. He was wearing a dark tee underneath. Stepping to the other side of the car, he changed from the trooper pants to jeans. The rest of the fake cops did the same, stuffing the uniform tops into another garbage bag.
While they waited for Brand to finish his preflight check, the men put the garbage bags in the cargo compartment. Then Zane, Francesca, Knox, and Jonah climbed into the passenger area. The plane was surprisingly roomy, with a dozen seats arranged in groupings facing each other across low tables.
When they had taken off, Francesca breathed out a sigh. “I can hardly believe we’re really out of there. I know Florida is supposed to be a nice place to visit, but I’m never going back.”
“Maybe in a few years,” Zane said, then gave Francesca a concerned look. “You haven’t had much to eat in the past few days.”
“You either.”
The other agents had brought steak for Zane, which he wolfed down raw, pardon the pun. Francesca sipped on a mug of beef and vegetable soup.
“Try to get some sleep,” he told her.
“I don’t think I can.”
“Don’t you think it’s better if you’re rested when we go to see your dad?” Zane asked.
“I guess you’re right,” she agreed.
The Decorah agents changed the configuration of the furniture, folding several of the chairs into beds, then drew a curtain across the cabin.
Francesca flopped onto one of the beds. Zane took the other. He was also sure he wasn’t going to get any sleep, but fatigue and stress had taken their toll. He didn’t wake up until Brand announced over the comms system that they would be landing in twenty minutes.
He blinked and looked out the window, seeing a large metro area below them. Glancing across at Francesca, he noted that her face was pinched. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“How can it be?”
“We’ll make sure it is.”
They landed at the small airport and taxied to the general aviation area, where a car was waiting. As soon as Francesca stepped off the plane, Zane saw her shiver.
“I forgot it was going to be cold up here,” she said.
Knox came up behind her with a man’s jacket. Wear this for now.”
“Thanks.”
Zane zeroed in on her expression. “Something else is bothering you.”
“I want to get to my father as soon as possible. But I feel like a mess, and I must look like one, too.”
“Why don’t you call the nursing home, and see how he’s doing. If you get a good report, we can stop on the way to clean up.”
“Yes.”
Zane pulled out the burner phone and handed it to Francesca. When she called the nursing home, they had some good news. Her father was better than when she’d left him.
Zane saw her face light up and slipped his arm around her shoulder.
“We’ll be over in a couple of hours,” she said, then looked at the Decorah agents for confirmation.
“Perfect,” Knox said.
“Are you coming with us?” she asked.
“Yeah, for insurance.”
She thought for a moment. “I could go home. I’ve got clothes there.”
“But I don’t,” Zane countered. A little worm of worry gnawed at him.
“What does that expression mean?” Francesca demanded.
“I’d rather you not go home yet.”
“Why?”
“Did your uncle know where you live?” he asked.
“No. I wasn’t going to tell him until it seemed like everything was okay.”
“Smart,” Zane answered, but he was only partly reassured. He’d thought more than once that nothing about their present trouble was exactly as it seemed. He hoped her father’s story would clear that up.
She clenched her teeth before relaxing her jaw. “Actually, I know now that my whole plan was a stupid idea.”
“All you wanted to do was make your father happy.”
“Yes, but it’s too bad I didn’t consult Decorah Security before I went charging down to Florida.”
Zane answered with a small nod. She’d gotten herself into deep kimchi by contacting her uncle. And he couldn’t help wondering if trouble had followed her north. But how?
“Why don’t we repeat our Florida routine and stop at a discount department store.”
She agreed and directed them to a shopping center where they both bought outfits suitable for the cooler Massachusetts weather. Then they drove to a chain motel not far from the nursing home.
Brand and Jonah waited in the car while Zane and Francesca checked in. When they were alone together, she stepped into his arms, and he clasped her tightly.
“My dad tends to get confused,” she whispered. “What if he can’t help figure how to get out of this fix?”
“Let’s hope for the best,” he answered, holding her for a few moments before easing away. “You go ahead and get dressed first.”
“You’re not going to shower with me?” she asked, obviously trying for a light tone.
“If I do, we’re not getting out of here any time soon.”
She squeezed his hand, then disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.
He was pacing around the room when she came out, freshly showered and dressed and looking anxious again.
He showered and changed clothes in record time. When he came out, she was sitting at the table by the window, her head cupped in her hands.
“Let’s do it,” he said.
“I’m kind of afraid to go over there,” she answered.
“Because?”
“Because I may not like what I’m going to hear.”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“How—enter the Decorah Security fugitive protection program?”
“If we have to.”
She clenched her fists before turning toward the door.
Outside, they slipped into the back seat of the car with the two waiting Decorah agents occupying the front.
“I’ve arranged for us to go in separate vehicles,” Jonah said. “So it looks like you’re alone.”
“You think someone’s watching the nursing home?” Francesca asked, an edge of tension in her voice.
“Not necessarily. But from what you’ve said, stuff keeps happening.”
“You’ll take this car after we pick up our vehicle,” Jonah said.
Zane sat back and relaxed. From the sound of his friend’s voice, he had something tricky in mind.
Jonah didn’t disappoint. He drove to a strip mall a few miles from the motel where he and Knox went into a flower shop. When they returned they were wearing caps advertising Nelson Floral and holding a couple of flower arrangements.
“We were able to rent the shops delivery van for a few hours,” Knox explained. “Perfect for a nursing home.” He turned to Francesca. “You go in and talk to your father. We’ll be lurking nearby. What’s his room number?”
“Three twenty one, but the place is all on one floor, to make it easier for the residents. When you go in the front door, you walk all the way to the end of the hall and turn right. Then it’s the . . .” she stopped and thought for a moment, “The fifth door on the left.”
“Okay.”
“But you can’t just walk in there. You have to be making a delivery to a resident,” Francesca said.
“We already thought of that. A generous donor has provided flower arrangements
that everybody can enjoy in the dayroom.”
“How far is the dayroom from your dad’s room?” Zane asked.
“When you get to the end of the hall, you turn left instead of right. It’s at the end of the corridor. But it’s not that far.”
“Got it,” Jonah answered. He turned to Zane, “And let’s arrange a little coordination before we split up.”
The three Decorah agents huddled together for a few minutes. When they had agreed on a plan, the two bogus deliverymen walked to the van, where Knox opened the back door and set the flowers inside.
“You go ahead,” Knox said. “We’ll follow in a few minutes.”
Zane slipped behind the wheel. Francesca took the passenger seat. Glancing over, he saw the grim set of her mouth. “It’s going to be okay,” he said gently, hoping he was telling the truth.
“I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to hear something that will change everything I know about my dad.”
“You didn’t think of that before you decided to visit your uncle in Florida?”
“Maybe a little. But I was so focused on making Dad happy by giving him back his brother. Then I went down there, and all my good intentions hit the fan.”
“Yeah.”
She kept her gaze on Zane. “And now I have to tell him that Uncle Angelo is dead.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“It would have been better if I’d just left it alone.”
“But then you wouldn’t have met me.”
She covered his hand with hers. “That’s what makes all the bad stuff worth it.”
He pulled into a space around the corner from the entrance.
“You were a regular visitor before you left for Florida?” he asked.
“Yes. They know me pretty well here.”
When she started to get out, he put a hand on her arm. “Just let me look around first.”
“I guess I’m not the only one who’s jumpy.”
“Just being cautious.”
He stood on the sidewalk, sweeping his gaze over the parked cars and sniffing the air. He couldn’t say exactly why, but he was uneasy.
When he saw motion from the corner of his eye, he turned and saw the flower truck pulling into a space at the front of the building. He didn’t acknowledge the arrival of the other Decorah agents, but their presence was reassuring. Leaning in the passenger side window, he spoke to Francesca. “Let’s get it over with.”