by Sharon Sala
She sighed as she picked it up, dangling it between her thumb and forefinger, as if it were roadkill.
“This looks a lot like me this morning.”
Nick was fastening the last button on his jeans and looked up to see what she meant. The breath caught in the back of his throat. She was nude from the waist up, and kneeling in a wide swatch of sunlight and dust motes. From where he was standing, there was an aura of light emanating from her silhouette—like an earth-bound angel, unabashed by her seminude state.
Then he saw the bra she was holding and tried to figure out what she could possibly have in common with it.
“I don’t get it.”
“We’re both past redemption,” she drawled, and then tilted her head back and laughed.
The dust motes shifted in the sunlight, changing their appearance to gold dust. It seemed fitting—an angel kneeling in a cloud of gold. God. He didn’t know whether to bow at her feet or strip her naked and let lust have its way. He’d never been turned on by a woman’s laugh before.
“You’re something else,” he said softly.
When he held out his hands, she tossed the torn bra aside and grabbed hold. He pulled her up, then into his arms, kissing her over and over until she seemed to melt into him. Finally he pulled away with a muffled groan.
“Either we stop now, or you need to take those jeans back off.”
Amalie stepped out of his arms, then reached for the zipper.
His eyes widened. When she stepped out of the jeans, his heart slammed against his rib cage with a thud.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
He put a hand on his chest, right above his heart.
“Just making sure it didn’t quit beating.”
Amalie sighed. She loved to look at him—at the hard, sinewy muscles and the long, lean body. He triggered every lustful thought she’d ever had—a pretend-to-be-bad man wrapped up in one seriously sexy package.
His jeans hit the floor, and he took her down with them.
This time, when they began to dress, they did so without words. The reality of what they had to do now was sobering. But the passing of time had also given Nick time to think, and with that had come a revelation.
No one knew he’d found her, so he wasn’t taking her back. He just needed to figure out how to get her to safety and still get back to the house without wasting anymore time. He would have preferred to walk away with her, but for the time being, he needed to maintain his less than proper identity.
He watched as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, sans the misbegotten bra.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Think I’ll make the best-dressed list in this?”
He shook his head and took her in his arms, then, remembering what had happened last time, stopped and held her close to him instead—as if memorizing the way she fit against his body.
“We need to talk.”
Amalie frowned. “Is this the place where you say we shouldn’t have just done what we did?”
He frowned. “Hell, no! This is the place where I get your pretty ass to safety.”
“What do you mean? I thought I had to go back with—”
“I was dodging too many lightning bolts last night to be thinking clearly, but this morning I realized they don’t know that I found you. For all they know, you got away, and I got lost and had to wait until light to find my way back. I’m also going to be on the defensive and angry at all of them. Partly for the fact that Lou tried to kill me, and also for fear that you could be dead. So if you went walking from here, how far is the nearest house?”
Amalie was beginning to shake. The thought of not having to go back to face Lou Drake was nothing short of heaven, but parting company with Nick was anything but.
“Remember the man who came to the house on the John Deere Gator? Louis Thibideaux? His house is about five miles that way.” She pointed.
“Hopefully not as the crow flies, because neither one of us is going back through that swamp.”
“No, no…there’s a road.”
Nick took her by the shoulders. “Then here’s what I want you to do. You get to Louis’s house. And if the phone’s still not working, you get him to take you into Bordelaise. Tell the police chief everything.”
“Okay, but what about you?”
“In a minute,” he said. “There’s one more thing. How good is your memory?”
“Good enough to remember the names of about three hundred students.”
He grinned. “That’ll do. When you get to a phone, I need for you to call my boss. His name is Stewart Babcock. He’s the deputy director of the DEA in D.C.” Nick rattled off the number, then made her repeat it back to him twice. “Tell him what’s happened, and that the info he needs is in a private mailbox in a Box and Post in New Orleans just off Rampart Street. It’s box 125. Got all that?”
Amalie repeated the phone number, and the number and address of his private mailbox.
“If that’s what I’ll be doing, then what about you?” she asked.
“I’m going back to your house. If we can, we’ll leave in your car. If we’re still there when the authorities show up, then that’s where we get caught.”
“But why—”
“For now, I think it’s best that I maintain my cover. Let myself get arrested again with the others. My boss will get me out when he’s ready.”
“What if you’re not there?”
“Then tell them to look for us to show up at a hospital in New Orleans, because if Tug’s still alive, that’s where we’ll be headed.”
“All right.” Then she threw her arms around Nick’s neck. “Don’t go and get yourself killed. I might like to see you again.”
He groaned. “You’ll see me again. Count on it.” Then he kissed her—hard and long—as if branding the shape and taste of her into his soul.
When they finally pulled away from each other, Amalie was crying and Nick was shaking.
“Damn it, don’t cry.”
Amalie swiped at the tears on her face.
“And you don’t get yourself killed.”
He nodded, then held out his hand.
“Deal.”
Amalie gripped it, telling herself this had to work out.
“Deal.”
“Go!” Nick said. “And be careful.”
“You, too,” Amalie cautioned.
Nick darted away, anxious to get back to her house and see where things stood. It had already occurred to him that, if they got the car in drivable condition before he got back, they would leave him behind. He didn’t want that to happen. Now that Amalie was safe, he had a score to settle with Lou Drake.
Amalie stood for a few moments, watching Nick go. The farther he went, the faster he moved. Picking up on his anxiety, she turned and started walking. By the time she got to the main road that would take her to Louis’s house, she was running.
Wayman was in a panic. Tug was out of his head, and Lou’s eyes were swollen completely shut. Besides which, after the beating Nick had given him, the man was so sore he could barely move.
But what was worrying Wayman more than Tug’s and Lou’s conditions was that Nick hadn’t come back. Once the storm had passed, he’d kept expecting him to show up. When he didn’t, every bad thing he could think of went through his mind—from Nick drowning to him being eaten by a gator. Finally, to keep his mind off his troubles, he’d gone to work on the car as soon as it began to get light.
His massive size was against him as he tried to maneuver within the crushed interior. Finally he’d gotten the idea to take out the bucket seat on the passenger side. After that, he had some room to move. Then, using the jack and adding wood blocks as needed, he literally jacked up the roof.
When he’d first begun, it had creaked and popped, but he kept adding blocks. Every time he raised it another few inches, broken glass would fall out of the windows, much of it inside the car. When the ceiling finally popped up, glass flew in all directions.
Excited, he’d run back inside to tell Tug, but Tug was burning up with fever and totally out of it. He found Lou asleep on the sofa and woke him up to tell him they would be leaving soon. But all Lou could do was talk about the pain he was in and how hungry he was with nothing to eat.
Disgusted, Wayman went back outside to replace the seat. Once he had it reinstalled, he began cleaning out the glass. One of the back doors wouldn’t open, and the other was ajar and wouldn’t shut. But Wayman had a plan. As soon as they got in the car, he would just wire the door shut and off they’d go. If no one looked very close, they would just look like they were driving with the windows down.
His biggest concern now had to do with how to get back to a main highway without going back through Bordelaise. What if he got turned around and drove right back into town? Then all of this would have been for nothing.
It was ten minutes after eleven when he backed out of the front seat. The car was devoid of glass. There was more than half a tank of gas, and he’d found a package of peanut butter crackers in the console and was downing them without conscience. Lou didn’t deserve them, and Tug couldn’t eat them, so by rights, they were his.
Satisfied with the job he’d done, he shook the head-rest on the bucket seat, making sure the seat was secure. Now all he had to do was get Lou in the front seat, then go back and get Tug. Wayman was counting on Tug being able to walk some, or he would never get him into the car on his own.
He tossed the wrench he’d been using back into the box of tools that he’d found and was dusting his hands off on his pants when he happened to turn around.
When he saw Nick coming across the grounds toward the house, all he could think was, Thank God.
It took him a few seconds to realize Nick had come back alone. That was when his elation turned to concern. What was it Nick had said? If anything happened to the woman…
He swallowed nervously.
The first thing Nick had seen was that the car roof was up. So Wayman had finally done it. That meant they could leave. Now all he had to do was to let the rest of his plan play out. By the time he reached the house, he had his game face on.
“Where’s the woman?” Wayman asked.
Nick shook his head, his voice low and angry. “I couldn’t find her. Where’s Lou?”
“Now, Nick…he’s laid up real bad. Just leave him alone, okay? I got the car fixed. At least we can leave now. Whatever happened to the woman is her fault. She’s the one who ran.”
Nick doubled up his fist and swung before he thought.
Wayman reeled from the blow. The urge to hit back was strong, but he was pretty sure he was going to need Nick’s help to get Tug into the car. Besides, he wasn’t so sure that, in a fair fight, he could beat Nick Aroyo. Especially when he was mad.
Nick was shaking with rage.
“Her fault? She ran for fear of her life, you stupid son of a bitch. And after she went out of her way to help your brother, that’s all you have to say? She probably died in that godforsaken swamp last night. How freakin’ ironic is that? Survive being shot by some asshole kid you spend your life teaching, only to come home and die like that? Damn it, Way! I thought better of you! Damn it all to hell!”
Wayman was almost in tears.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just—”
“Fuck you. Fuck all of you,” Nick said softly. “As for the car, looks like you were going to leave without me. So consider yourself on notice. I’m leaving here in fifteen minutes, with or without the rest of you.”
“No, no, we’re ready. I was just about to go get Tug.”
Then Way flushed. He’d just all but admitted he was going to leave without waiting to see if Nick came back.
Nick let it slide. Just the fact that Wayman was already worried and on the defensive was all the edge he needed.
“I’ll help you get Tug into the car,” he said.
“We can’t leave Lou behind,” Wayman said.
“I can,” Nick muttered.
“He can’t see. His eyes are swollen shut. I’ll get him. I’ll do it myself.”
Nick didn’t argue. He just headed for the house with Wayman right behind him. He strode through the kitchen, then into the hall, and saw Lou sitting in the living room. The television was on, but it was obvious the man could only listen. His eyes were swollen shut, and his nose appeared broken and was leaning at an odd angle to the rest of his very battered face.
A muscle twitched in Nick’s jaw as he took satisfaction in the fact that the beating he’d given Lou would leave a permanent mark.
Then, as if sensing he was no longer alone, Lou tilted his head toward the doorway.
“Way…is that you? I need to take a piss.”
“No. It’s not Way. It’s me, you sorry son of a bitch.”
Lou grunted, then struggled to his feet. Even though he couldn’t see, he thrust his arms out in front of him and began backing up.
“I can’t see! I can’t see! You can’t hit me now. I can’t see!”
“Yeah, well I didn’t see you, either, when you came up behind me with that crowbar.”
Lou started to whine.
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry. I was just jonesing for a piece of tail so bad…. You know how it is…when you want it, you want it. Tell the woman I’m sorry. I won’t bother her again.”
“I can’t,” Nick said.
“Why not?” Lou asked.
“Because I couldn’t find her. She either got away clean, which means our safety here is over, or she’s dead. Either way, your ass is mine. Once we get Tug to a hospital, I just might finish what I started.”
Lou whimpered like a dog that had just been kicked.
Wayman came up and grabbed Nick by the arm.
“Leave him be. I’ll tend to him after we get Tug in the car.”
Nick shrugged him off and headed for Tug’s room.
“Do the phones work yet?” he asked.
“No,” Way said.
Nick frowned as he strode into the bedroom.
“Tug! Hey, Tug…we’re ready to leave.”
But Tug wasn’t talking.
Nick put a hand on the man’s forehead.
“He’s burning up with fever.”
He pulled back the covers, then frowned.
“He’s also not dressed.”
Wayman was already grabbing Tug’s clothes.
“Yeah…I know, I know. Just help me get his pants on him.”
Nearly fifteen minutes elapsed before they managed to get Tug’s clothes on him. He kept going in and out of consciousness, muttering words that made no sense. By the time they finished, Wayman was in tears.
“Is he gonna die? Is my brother gonna die?”
“I’d say the only chance he has left is if we get him to a hospital in time.”
“But Tug said—”
Nick grabbed Wayman’s arm. “Way! Listen to me, damn it! We are going to New Orleans. We are going to take Tug to a hospital. You can either stay with him, or you can drop him off and we’ll make another run for it together. But either way, Tug’s running days are over. If he doesn’t get medical help, hell, yes, he’s going to die.”
Wayman swiped away snot and tears, slid an arm beneath his brother’s shoulders and sat him up on the side of the bed.
“Tug. Tug! You gotta help me now,” he said. “We’re gonna walk to the car, and then we’re heading to New Orleans.”
Tug mumbled, then tried to stand.
Nick got on the opposite side to steady him.
“Move your feet, Tug. We’re walking,” he said, and somehow Tug French found the will to move.
By the time they got him out of the house and into the backseat of the car, he was nearly unconscious again.
“I’ll get Lou,” Wayman said.
Nick didn’t comment. He wanted all of them to stay uncertain. He needed the upper hand to get through the rest of this day.
A couple of minutes later Wayman emerged from the house, leading Lou. Nick watched as he paused long enough to shut the door, then guided the other man down the steps and toward the car.
Nick’s nerves were on edge. He couldn’t quit thinking about Amalie. Had she gotten to Louis Thibideaux’s house all right? Had the old man been home? Had she been able to call the police chief, or did they have to drive into Bordelaise? Everything that would happen to the four of them within the next few hours hinged on her timing.
“Lou can sit in the back beside Tug,” Wayman said, as they reached the car.
“Hell, no,” Nick said softly. “He sits in the front beside me.”
Lou flinched. “No. No. I don’t want to.”
“You lost your choice in the matter yesterday,” Nick said. “I want you right where I can see you, not behind me. Not ever behind me again.”
Lou argued all the while Wayman was putting him in the passenger seat, but it did no good.
When Lou was finally seated, Nick crawled in beside him. “Stop talking,” he said softly.
Lou took a deep breath and then dropped his head.
Wayman crawled into the backseat, then pulled a piece of wire from his pocket and wired the door shut.
“We’re ready,” he said.
Nick started the car, put it in gear and drove away from the house without looking back.
Twelve
Amalie had started running once she made it to the road, but after her race through the swamp the night before, it didn’t take long for her energy to run out. Then one of her shoes began rubbing a blister on her heel, and she stopped long enough to take them off. She tied them together and slung them over her shoulder, then tested the blacktop with her bare feet.
The day was already hot. She was guessing in the high nineties, but nothing she couldn’t handle. All she had to do was put one foot in front of the other for the next few miles, so she started walking.
One mile came and went, and when she started on the second, she couldn’t remember ever being so hungry or thirsty. She kept reminding herself that, thanks to Nick, she was still alive to be miserable. A little misery was a good reminder.