Sam grabbed the chair and hoisted it high in the air, ready to crash it over any head that came through the door. Determined not to be left out, Aurora crouched beside the closed door.
“Time to git ready for Jimmy Ray, sugar pie. I’m shore nuff ready for you!” Grinning, Jimmy Ray pushed open the door, only to be hit hard as Aurora slammed the door back into him. Jimmy Ray dropped to his knees. “Wanna play rough, huh?” he said as he stood up and pushed the door back open. Sam smashed the chair across Jimmy Ray’s back, knocking him flat on the floor.
“Now’s our chance!” Aurora called to Sam. “Let’s go.”
“Right behind you, Susie-Q.”
Aurora dashed through the doorway and ran smack into Clyde. He grabbed her, but Aurora kneed him in his groin. Clyde yelled and doubled over in pain. Sam, still in pain himself, delivered a heavy uppercut to Clyde’s jaw with his right, then a belly-wrenching punch with his left before following Aurora to freedom.
Once on the deck, Aurora hesitated. Which way to go? And where to go? We’re trapped somewhere on a forty-mile long lake. She screamed when a flash of lightning revealed a man coming toward her.
“This way!” shouted Luke. “I’ve got a boat!”
Aurora and Sam darted toward Luke’s voice. Another flash of lightning showed the rope ladder flapping off the side, but before they could scurry down, a hard, familiar voice stopped them.
Harold Johns held a flashlight in his left hand. “Where in hell do you think you’re going?” In his right hand was a .38. He pointed it at Sam and Aurora.
“Jump!” yelled Luke. He threw his weight against Harold. Harold dropped the gun and fell to the deck. Luke plunged over the side of the boat and into the water.
“It’s our only chance!” Sam yelled as he shoved Aurora overboard.
Harold snatched up the gun and struggled to his feet. He pointed the gun at Sam.
“I should have killed you a long time ago, Mr. Perfect.”
Before Harold could pull the trigger, Clyde rammed into Harold and knocked him off balance. Clyde grabbed three orange life jackets and flung them over the side.
Sam hurried to the side of the boat and pulled himself over the railing. He dropped into the angry water.
“Grab the jackets!” Clyde yelled. He glanced around for the life ring to toss to the struggling swimmers, and froze. Jimmy Ray, his face bloody, stood in the doorway. A large knife was in his right hand. He glared at Clyde.
Clyde knew he stood face to face with a devil. Jimmy Ray had cracked.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Clyde.” Jimmy Ray advanced. “I’m gonna really enjoy this.”
Clyde backed up slowly, stumbled over the life ring, and fell to the deck. He looked up into the hate-filled, maniacal faces of Harold and Jimmy Ray.
Harold beamed his light at Clyde’s eyes. “Can’t tolerate a traitor. He’s all yours, Jimmy Ray,” Harold said as he kicked Clyde’s ribcage. Treading water, Aurora, Sam and Luke heard Clyde’s scream.
Harold picked up the dropped pistol and fired randomly into the storm-tossed lake until the chamber clicked empty. Then he turned and entered the galley.
“Finish up, Jimmy Ray, and let’s get the hell out of here,” he called from inside the houseboat.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“I respect your position, I really do. I know you’re worried sick about your niece, but you can’t ride with us. You may be a judge, but you’re still a civilian, and our policy is no civilians on board during a criminal investigation.” Then Captain Vincent, game warden, waved curtly at the judge and maneuvered the Virginia Game and Inland Fisheries boat slowly out of the harbor and into angry water.
Helpless, Charlie Anderson—judge, former cop, former district attorney, and now worried uncle—stood in the rain and watched the boat’s bright search lights barely pinprick into the night. Spears of lightning punched the turbulent water. “They won’t let us go, fellows,” he said to the wet dogs whining beside him.”
Sergeant Johnson tapped Charlie on his shoulder. “We can wait in that building over there, judge!” he hollered over the wind. “There’s a phone inside. Lieutenant Conner will call if they find anything. No point in makin’ yourself sick.”
The game warden’s boat was no longer visible. Charlie knew a search during such weather was near futile, but he said nothing. He wanted to be on that boat. He felt useless, like he was deserting his niece, letting his brother’s killer escape. He took one last look at the lake, then he, Little Guy and King followed Johnson inside the building.
“We’ve gotta turn back!” yelled Captain Vincent. “Visibility is near zero. And it’s too rough.”
“Judge Anderson will throw a fit!” shouted Lieutenant Conner. “We can’t give up now!”
“It won’t do his niece or us any good if we sink. Use your head, man.” Vincent pulled his rain hat firmly over his head and his slicker tighter around his neck, but rivulets of water still trickled inside his gear. The captain then barked to his crew, “Head to port. Pronto.” He patted Conner on the back. “We’ll start again at first light tomorrow. We’ll find her.”
Aurora treaded water and tried not to swallow. Where was Sam? She saw him jump off the boat. Something bobbed up and down nearby. Was it Sam? A flash of lightning showed her a life jacket. She swam to the vest and fought against the rough water as she buckled it on.
“Sam, where are you?” she shouted into the blackness.
“Aurora, help me!” yelled Luke. “Sam’s hurt!”
That was Luke, and he’s close. But what did he say? Did he say something about Sam? She dog-paddled toward Luke’s voice.
“Say something so I can find you!” she shrieked.
“Over here.”
Lightning flashed, and Aurora spotted Luke fighting to stay afloat a few yards away. He wasn’t alone; Sam was with him. But Sam wasn’t moving.
“Sam!” she screamed.
“I think he took a bullet after he jumped off the boat. Can’t tell how badly he’s hurt, but he’s alive.” Luke coughed as a swell of water slapped him in the face.
Yanking off her life jacket, Aurora and Luke strapped Sam into it. She knew Luke must be exhausted, even more than she. After all, he’d been fighting to keep both Sam and himself afloat.
“Grab hold of the vest, Luke. Maybe it’ll keep you both up.”
She thanked her good fortune when the next lightning bolt showed her two more life jackets bouncing around in the rough water. “Don’t know how they got here, but thank you, Lord.” Tiring rapidly, she struggled toward them.
Aurora put on one of the jackets, then fought her way back to Luke and handed him the other jacket. The three of them bobbed in the raging water for a few minutes. Then Luke tapped her shoulder.
“I’ll swim for shore and bring help!” he hollered.
“We should stay together, help each other.”
“We could all drown if we stay here,” he answered. “Or freeze to death.”
While not freezing, the April water at around 50° could still kill. The cold rain didn’t help. Hypothermia could set in. Aurora worried about Sam. He couldn’t swim or tread water, so his body generated very little heat. “You’re right,” she said. Luke swam away. Hoping to keep Sam’s circulation going, she massaged his arms and legs.
“My poor, darling Sam. You’re hurt again. And all because you drove up from Augusta to surprise me. Some surprise.” In the darkness, she hadn’t located his gunshot wound. She hoped the frigid water would slow any bleeding.
Uncle Charlie would start searching for her at noon tomorrow—if he got her message on the answering machine, that is. Aurora regretted telling him to wait; she and Sam could be dead by then.
“Luke’s right. There’s nothing to gain by just bobbing around in the lake. Besides, I’d like to put more distance between us and Harold Johns.” Aurora hooked one arm through Sam’s life vest and side-stroked after Luke.
Aurora had just about reached her limit of en
durance when her outstretched hand struck something hard. Have I finally reached land? Dog-tired, she lowered her legs and scraped against a rocky bottom.
When she found a bank level enough to navigate, Aurora half-lifted, half-dragged Sam onto shore.
Aurora wept. She was too tired to move. Stop it, Aurora. Crying won’t help Sam. She hugged him close and felt his breath on her cheek. In the darkness, she couldn’t see Sam’s wounds, but she could use her hands to feel all over his body for injuries. She stroked his head. Above his right temple, she felt something sticky. Was it blood? She couldn’t feel a wound big enough to account for his present condition. There must be something else. She felt for other wounds.
Aurora unfastened the jacket and felt Sam’s chest and abdomen. Nothing. Carefully rolling him onto his right side, she inched her hands under the jacket and along Sam’s left side. Bingo! At his waistline she felt something warm and sticky. Aurora knew it was blood. How much blood has he lost? What can I do? Well, I’ll just have to do the best I can. Taking off her windbreaker, she rolled it up and put it against the wound. Then she pulled the life jacket as tight as she could get it. She hoped this would staunch the bleeding.
She stood and yelled, “Luke!” No answer. “Anybody! Hello?” Aurora looked up toward the sky and realized the storm was over. She wondered when the pounding rain had ceased. I don’t know and I don’t care. Only Sam matters. Hoping to see house lights, Aurora stared into the darkness. She saw nothing. Where are we?
Aurora felt around for rocks and other debris near Sam. When satisfied she had removed the larger obstacles, she dragged him to the cleaned area. She considered making a bed of pine boughs for him, but decided that would be almost impossible in the dark. She removed her life jacket, slipped it under Sam’s head, then stretched out on the cold, wet ground and snuggled up to her husband to warm his body.
When daylight came, she would know better how badly he was hurt. Tears welled in her eyes when she heard him utter a barely audible “I love you, Susie-Q.”
“I love you too, darling. Rest now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A Carolina wren chirped trip-trip-trip in the pre-dawn hour, a mourning dove sang, and an orange-breasted robin whistled a come-hither tune to his mate. Aurora, waking from a fitful sleep, stretched out her arms, not yet cognizant of the events of the preceding day. A raucous crow, perched in the tree above her, cawed his disapproval at her presence.
Aurora struggled to a sitting position and groaned. Every bone, muscle and joint in her body ached, and she shivered from the cold air that dripped with a heavy blanket of fog. For a brief second she wondered why, then remembered the harrowing events of the previous day and night. Sam, I must check Sam!
She leaned over her husband and touched his face with her cheek. He’s not breathing! Quickly she unfastened the life jacket she’d used to help stop the bleeding and prepared to start CPR. Again she put her face close to his. This time a whisper of warm breath caressed her cheek. He’s alive! Thank you, God.
Aurora looked up at the sky. Soon she’d be able to see Sam’s injuries. Once the sun came up and the fog lifted, she would try to figure out where they were and how to get them out of this mess—and get medical attention for Sam.
“Susie-Q.” Sam’s eyes fluttered, then opened. “What happened?”
“Shh. Don’t try to talk, Sam.” She kissed his forehead. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.” Tears ran down her cheeks.
“Did ten mules kick me? I feel like they did.”
“I know, darling. Hush now. You need to save your strength.”
Sam closed his eyes. Aurora breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the faint, but rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.
“We’ll beat this, Sam. You’ll see.”
Aurora waited for the sun to burn off the fog and thought about something her mother said to her years ago: “It’s not what happens to you in life that matters, Aurora. The important thing is how you react. You can sit around and feel sorry for yourself or you can do something about your problem.” Aurora smiled at the memory.
A few minutes later the fog lifted. Smith Mountain loomed straight ahead. Aurora pushed her way through the trees. In front of her towered the 230-foot tall hydroelectric dam.
We’re on Dam Island, the closest island to the dam. And the closest to the huge penstocks—or tubes—that carry water from the lake to the turbines. She gasped when she realized how close they’d come to being sucked into the turbines. Surely the intake screens, designed to keep debris out of the penstocks, would have stopped us. Or would they? Luke! Had he escaped the dam, too?
Aurora sat on a pine log and watched the water that surrounded their little island. Actually, this isn’t a bad spot to be. Fishermen pass this island daily, especially this time of year. Images of King flashed in her mind. She knew he missed her as much as she missed him, knew he would be searching the house and yard for her when Uncle Charlie opened the gate to the dog pen sometime after noon. Noon seemed like a lifetime away.
Hope soared when she spotted a boat zipping over the water. “Help! Help!” She waved her arms to attract attention, but the boat continued on its course. Minutes later she spotted another boat, but no one on that boat saw her, either. Several more boats passed in the distance. Her spirits plummeted.
They can’t hear me; their engines drown my voice. And they can’t see me because I blend with the trees. I need something to attract their attention. The life jackets! Surely someone would notice their orange color.
Crossing back over the island, she checked Sam again, then eased the life jacket out from under his head. She faced the main channel, ready to wave the jacket when another boat appeared. Soon two boats were visible, and she jumped up and down, wildly swinging the orange jacket from side to side. Hooray! It worked! The closer boat changed course and headed straight toward Dam Island.
They were saved.
“Hooray! Now you can get medical care, Sam!” Then she froze.
The oncoming boat looked like the speedboat that had tried to capsize her, the boat she’d seen in her cove, the boat in one of the pictures hidden in the Wyeth painting, Bad Boat. What could she do? “King, where are you?” she screamed into the wind.
Aboard the cruiser, Lieutenant Conner, Captain Vincent and the crew searched the water and shore through binoculars for any sign of Aurora and Sam. Conner hoped they were safe, but he was worried. He put down the binoculars and poured a cup of steaming coffee from a thermos. If he were this tired, this cold, he figured Sam and Aurora would be near freezing. If they were still alive, that is. Or they could be prisoners, maybe even dead, on a fifty-foot houseboat somewhere on Smith Mountain Lake.
Boats other than Conner’s were looking for the missing couple. Some concentrated on stopping and boarding boats resembling the descriptions of the speedboat in the picture, and of the houseboat the drunk in the small cabin cruiser had described. But Conner knew Aurora and Sam could be anywhere.
For a while early this morning, Lieutenant Conner thought they would have to handcuff Judge Anderson to keep him off their boat. Conner understood the judge’s desperate need to help search for Aurora and Sam. The judge finally relented after convincing Conner and Vincent to take King with them.
“That dog has senses we humans can’t conceive of. And he loves Aurora with his whole heart and soul. I know it sounds strange, but the two of them seem to communicate with each other. Pay attention to King, and he’ll take you to Aurora,” the judge said. Little Guy whined.
The crew scanned the water and the shoreline with their binoculars. Twice they stopped boats fitting the description of the speedboat they sought. Both vessels, however, belonged to anglers fishing for stripers.
King stood, put his front feet on the gunwale, sniffed the air, and cocked his head. Then, with a high-pitched whine and eager bark, he leaped into the water. Using his tail as a rudder, the dog paddled straight toward Dam Island.
“Slow down!” yel
led Conner to Vincent. “King’s overboard!” When the boat stopped, Conner hollered, “King, come!” But the dog ignored the command and increased the distance between them.
“Follow him! Maybe he’s scented Aurora!”
The police cruiser turned and followed the Lab. With their binoculars, the crew searched the water and land ahead of King. Conner spotted a fast-moving boat to his left. He recognized it as the boat in one of the pictures hidden inside the painting.
“Look over there!” yelled a crewman. Everyone stared in the direction the other boat was heading: Dam Island. A flash of orange disappeared in the woods. Could it be Aurora? Vincent changed course, steered the boat around the swimming dog, and headed after the speeding craft.
“Shouldn’t we pick up King?” shouted one of the men.
“No time. We’ve gotta reach Aurora before that other boat does.” Conner, an avid duck hunter and owner of two Labs himself, knew King’s ancestors were bred for just such swims.
The blood from generations of champion Labrador retrievers coursed through the big dog. Undaunted, King swam strong, his webbed paws propelling him through the water.
The instant she recognized Bad Boat, Aurora left Sam’s side and ducked into the woods. Determined to protect Sam no matter what, she broke off a stout hickory stick, sat down, jerked the shoelaces from her wet sneakers, and knotted the laces together. Next, she reached in the side of her left shoe for the pocketknife. She hoped it hadn’t slipped out into the water during her swim. Hallelujah! Her fingers found the knife. She opened the three blades and lashed the knife to the stick, crisscrossing the laces over the knife body and the stick until she was confident the knife wouldn’t fall off. Voila! She had a weapon. Not pretty, but then I’m not entering it in a weapons beauty pageant, either.
At the far end of the island, Aurora stepped out into the open. She intended to draw attention away from Sam. Maybe the kidnappers would think he’d drowned. She watched as Bad Boat changed course and headed toward her. She ducked back into the woods. Jimmy Ray raised his rifle and fired. Aurora heard the bullet splinter into a nearby tree. She knew her only chance was to lure them onto the island, somehow get behind them, then attack. “Lord help me,” she whispered.
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