Shallow Grave

by Karen Harper

  “Semper Fi, man. I’ll be there as fast as I can, but have those landing lights ready. And, like they say, keep your head down.”

  Jace ended the connection. His head was already down. He was more than depressed and scared.

  “He’s coming?” Brit asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Yeah, but ASAP isn’t soon. We need to put the electric lamps out again. I don’t know, just don’t know,” he said, glaring at the dark screen of his phone in the dim light of the BAA trailer, as if he could read something there.

  “Don’t know what?”

  “What I’m gonna do. Nick said to lay off, wait for him to call, but if they go back too far into the ranch, it’s blackout land for phones.” He hit his forehead with his fist. “I may just get in the chopper and have Falcon take me in. We need a miracle, and the thermal imaging just might be it.”

  “Here, coffee, remember?” Brit asked, pointing at the cup she’d poured him either a few minutes or ages ago. Time was fading, terror was growing. Combat had been easy compared to this.

  * * *

  Claire was still tied, though Glover finally pulled out her gag again. He’d put her in a rope hammock high in the tree, a mere step from the upper floor of a wooden tree house. As far as she could see, this open air room held a large bed, a small chest of drawers and a table and two chairs. Rolls of mosquito netting were tied above, since they weren’t needed this time of year.

  Glover amused himself by sitting on the edge of the floor, telling her things like, “Don’t look down,” and “Don’t rock the boat,” and swinging her hammock with one foot. It would be a beautiful place if she wasn’t terrified, a room where someone could eat and sleep cradled in the massive limbs of the trees with leaves rustling all around.

  Irv was obviously waiting for someone. She figured Stan Helter. Somehow Stan—maybe with Irv’s help—had found the bodies of Grant Manfort’s lost mentor and his granddaughter. Maybe Irv had killed them, but how did Grant fit in? Could Irv be blackmailing Stan or Grant? Stan must have wanted to get Grant away from his mentor, get him to invest in the ranch and not just the insurance company he had joined.

  In the moments when Claire’s head cleared and she didn’t hallucinate, she figured out that Irv’s cell phone did not work out here. And that she probably did not have long to live. Irv was not only killing time until Stan Helter came but probably planning to kill her.

  “Irv,” she said, her voice shaky, “you could end all this right now by just getting out of here. You said you know this place like the back of your hand. My husband will pay you a fortune to bring me back, and then you can just keep going. And make your son proud that you didn’t harm his friend, because I am that.”

  “Sounds sweet, darlin’, but I already got me a fortune coming. Besides, it’s gonna feel like a fortune to settle with the lawyer who sent me away in the first place, and he’s coming here now—know who I mean?”

  Shock shot through her when she was sure nothing could get worse. “Nick? Nick is coming here? You told him he had to come here to get me back? Is that what this is all about, to trap him?”

  “Naw, that’s just a bonus. Honest, I wasn’t expecting you to find me digging up those bones. Overheard on the spy phone they rigged up for me that the land would be searched and maybe bulldozed, so had to cover my tracks. Hey, I hear voices, someone close. Party’s on,” he told her and gave her hammock another shove with his foot that rocked her hard, so hard she thought she might spill out. At least he left her.

  She too heard voices and looked down through the web of hammock rope. She saw no people but noticed another hammock like this one right below, no doubt for the ground-floor level. She hadn’t had much time to look around when he’d carried her up here. She’d tried to stop remembering her mother reading to her and Darcy from that old story, The Swiss Family Robinson, where the shipwrecked family lived in a tree.

  Again, she heard voices below, men’s voices. But she didn’t hear Nick’s. She felt so scared and so very alone. But then, once more, her baby moved as if to say I’m here with you. But if she died, her little one died too.

  * * *

  Nick still pretended to be out cold. Stan slung him over his shoulder and struggled to carry him upstairs to the top level. Nick was glad the bastard was grunting and groaning. Were they going to throw him off the second story? Bury him in this wild area Bronco said was full of gators, pythons, fire ants and who knew what else? It was survival of the fittest out here in more ways than one. And where was Claire?

  Stan dropped him on a hard wooden floor and pulled out his gag. He smacked him on both cheeks, thinking he had to bring him to.

  “Careful, or you’ll roll off the edge, Markwood,” he told Nick, so he must have realized he was conscious now. Damn. That might have given him an edge.

  “You got about five minutes,” Stan went on, “then you’re both outta here for good—for parts unknown. Just be grateful I’m not letting a guy who works for me at you—yet. I could just fly you out to where we get our girls, but no can do. Your wife’s in that hammock out there. One wrong move and she’s going down two floors and you with her, but Grant says to give you two some time.” He snorted. “After he got rid of Rowan and the girl, funny he’s getting soft. Irv says your wife’s a little looney, off her rocker. Like I said, make it quick.”

  Irv? Irv Glover? He’d come back and kidnapped Claire to get his son back? Nothing made sense. Stan left him, and Grant wasn’t in sight.

  “Nick, is he gone?” Claire’s quiet voice came to him as if from a dark, vast space. “Are you there?”

  He rolled closer to the edge, lifted himself up on one elbow. Her voice came from a spiderweb of white ropes suspended just out of his reach. A dim light shone from across the room and more ricocheted in from downstairs. Rolls of mosquito webbing hung from the ceiling above her, but he figured they’d never reach the ground, hanging on that.

  He managed to find his voice. “Sweetheart, yes, I’m here but tied.”

  “Me too.”

  “Thank God you’re all right. We saw where they took you under the fence.”

  “Just Irv Glover. He hates you. He’s working for Grant. I think Irv helped Grant kill his mentor, that insurance CEO, and the girl. The bones—I saw their heads—preserved heads in the taxidermy shop. I keep going in and out of dreams since I don’t have my meds, but I’m trying hard.”

  She saw their heads? She must mean their skulls. He’d seen her like this before if she didn’t take her meds. “Keep talking, sweetheart, and I’ll respond. I think they’re downstairs deciding what to do with us.”

  “And, hopefully, keep Irv away from you. He hates you for sending him to prison.”

  “Talk.”

  He had an insane thought, but they were goners if it didn’t work. That time he’d stubbed his toe and cut his foot on the metal frame under their bed—maybe there was a similar frame under this bed. Such a big bed for a tree house, but he had no doubt there had been women imprisoned here, warming it for guests for a price.

  Yes, reaching underneath now he could feel a piece of metal that held the frame to the leg of the bed had a thin edge. He tried to concentrate on sawing it across his wrist bonds while Claire’s trembling voice went on. He loved her—so much.

  “Nick, I know we said we wanted to be surprised, but I swear I’m carrying a boy. He’s been trying to help me through this, giving me a little punch now and then when I went—went off too far, off the edge. He gives me strength. I love you. You’re so good for Lexi, but together—Nick, they’re arguing downstairs.”

  He couldn’t believe that this minimal exertion had made him break out into a huge sweat. The wind up here was chilly for autumn in South Florida.

  “I can’t believe I screwed this up—trusted Grant,” he called quietly to her.

  “I’ve done that before, all my training and
still I’ve done that. Darcy will take Lexi and love her if I’m gone.”

  “Don’t—talk—think—that way.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Loving you no matter what happens. There—ah...”

  He’d sawed loose one of the several cords around his wrist. He yanked his wrists apart, tried to slide a wrist free. Sweat, desperation...

  The ropes burned his skin, but one wrist popped free, then the other. He pulled his knees up to his chest and reached for the knots around his ankles. Big mistake that they hadn’t wanted rope marks on his corpse. But how to get Claire free, get her past them? Grant had a gun and who knows who else was down there. Damn, he’d made mistakes, but Claire had not been one of them. And just when he’d told himself they were safe, out of danger...dead gator in the pool, snake in the driveway, but neither could have prepared them for the criminals planning their deaths below.

  To avoid making noise he didn’t get to his feet, but rolled to the edge of the open-air room.

  “Nick, what are we going to do?”

  “Keep talking a regular conversation. Pretend to cry a little. I think I can unhook one end of your hammock, and we can ride it down to the ground. Hang on. I know you’re tied, but hang on to some of those woven ropes, because we’re going to swing free.”

  “I wish we could get away, but they have us trapped,” she said, maybe a bit too loudly. At least voices were raised below now.

  He was amazed at the weight of the hook that fastened the foot of the hammock to a post. But he’d carried her before, over the threshold, to their bed...

  When he freed her, the weight of the hammock almost yanked him over the side. Claire clung to the webbing, swinging back and forth. He lunged for her and the hammock. Crazy, but he pictured Tarzan and Jane in the jungle from some old movie.

  Claire, her tied wrists thrust through the webbing, held to him with both hands. They went one way, then the next, and finally snagged in the other hammock on the lower level.

  He had to get her feet untied so they could run. But he’d carry her away first, get a little distance.

  But they must have been seen or heard already.

  “No!” someone shouted, a man’s voice he didn’t recognize. “Stop! Don’t! You need me!”

  A gunshot. Another, one, two more, bam, bam.

  But he didn’t think the shots were aimed at them—yet. He picked Claire off her feet and ran for the thick blackness of the trees.

  35

  You need me...you need me, the man’s panicked shout circled in Claire’s head after the gunshots rang out. She needed Nick, and he needed her.

  She would have jumped and screamed at the sound of shots, but she was hanging on to Nick with all her might. Had someone shot at them? Dim light from the tree house windows chased them as Nick ran, bouncing her.

  She fought her dazed confusion. It must be time to take her midnight meds. So hard to wake up to do that. Her phone must not have buzzed to remind her, so Nick was trying to wake her up. But her head was always clear when she had to take that bad-tasting stuff.

  She heard a shout behind them, a man’s voice, upset. But who else would be in the house but Nick and Lexi?

  Gasping for air, Nick sloshed through shallow water. Were they back at Flamingo Isle?

  “Listen to me,” he told her, his voice ragged. He gave her a little shake. “This is not a dream. We’re in danger. Stan Helter and Grant are working together. They knocked me out, must want to kill us. One of them may have shot the other, but we have to run and hide.”

  Her head cleared. Fear fueled the remnants of her energy. “Nick, I know the voice that shouted ‘You need me.’ That’s Irv Glover, Duncan’s dad. He dragged me under the fence. He’s the gate guard there—here. He hates you.”

  Nick swore under his breath as he put her down behind a thick tree with protruding cypress knees. Despite the blackness, wan light from the tree house cast hanging moss and vines in twilight. The water came just above her ankles as he propped her up against the rough bark of a tree trunk.

  “You sound clearheaded again,” he said as he reached down to fumble with her bonds in the water. “You come and go, but you have to concentrate. We have to get out of here, get help. If they shot Glover, they’ve decided to make a clean sweep of witnesses, and that means us. Maybe they’re bringing in exotic animals—sex trade women too. But I still don’t think they killed Ben Hoffman.”

  Untied at last, her feet tingled from the ankles down like when a foot fell asleep and tried to wake up...she had to wake up. Nick said this was real. They had to get away, save their baby.

  “Nick, it’s not just that,” she said. She leaned hard against the tree as he fumbled with her wrist ties. “I think Irv either murdered Grant’s boss at the company, the guy’s granddaughter too, or knows that Grant did. They were the ones in the shallow grave, and I caught Irv finally moving them.”

  “But Stan and Grant would get the grave back when the BAA is sold to Stan—no, that’s right. It was going to be surveyed and leveled. Maybe they knew that.”

  “Yes, Irv said it was going to be bulldozed. Maybe one of them has our phones tapped again. It could be that’s how they knew Jackson had to be shut up or stopped too—they overheard his call to Brit when I was with her.”

  “If the bones belonged to the lost pair, that means Grant must have paid Glover to get rid of them, probably to get his hands on the company. He’d somehow gotten himself in Steve Rowan’s will, so the company would have been his, but he must have not wanted to wait until Rowan’s natural passing. I—I can’t believe it, that he hid their bodies all these years. Terrible he killed the girl too—he was supposed to love her—but either she was onto him or else he was just using her in the first place to get close to Rowan. You’ll have to testify what you heard, even if it’s hearsay. But are you sure the bones in the grave were the Rowans?”

  “No, but I recognized their detached heads from seeing their pictures during my research. The preserved heads are in the taxidermist’s cupboard at the ranch. Irv showed me—horrible.”

  “And we’re next on those maniacs’ list. Can you run?” he was asking, his voice rough and shaky as her wrist bonds fell away. “Once they get rid of Glover, they’ll be hunting us.”

  “If we go deeper in, they’ll trap us against the fence. What are you doing?” she asked as he bent to lift her discarded ropes.

  “Stringing these between two cypress knees. If they run in here, maybe it will trip them up, or they’ll at least think that’s the plan, and that we’re hiding deep in this cypress swamp.”

  “But it’s so far to the road. We could go under the fence where Glover brought me through.”

  “That’s miles away too.”

  “To get out of here, I can run.” Words tumbled from her as he finished with the ropes.

  “We’ll head toward the road and hope there’s a lot of darkness left, and that we don’t panic or stampede nocturnal animals. And that Jace figures I’ve been gone too long and brings his friend to look for me.”

  He took her arm and they started away, wading, trying to avoid cypress trunks and knees.

  A sharp shaft of light stabbed the darkness, then swept across them. They jumped behind a tree, snagging themselves in hanging Spanish moss.

  “They gotta be out here,” Stan’s voice came to them. “I’m going back to the tree house for that infrared hunting gun that picks up animal heat in the dark. Just a sec.”

  Trying not to make noise in the knee-deep water, they felt their way from tree to tree, stumbling toward what Claire prayed surely had to be the way out to salvation.

  And there it was—a wooden walkway elevated above the swamp. They climbed onto it. It had a railing and was not in good repair; even a tree trunk had fallen on it to partially block their way.

  “Don’t know where that g
oes, but we’re taking it,” Nick whispered.

  Their feet thudded like muted drums along its rough surface. But another beam of light skittered across the low water, probing the night, searching for them. Nick pulled her over to the side after him where a piece of railing was broken. He sat, then got down into the mire as another light beam swept their way.

  Thank God he didn’t disappear into the muck. She sat on the edge of the rough wood too; he lifted her down with him. Cool mud and water came up to her thighs, but what if snakes and gators were in here? No choice—maybe no chance now.

  * * *

  Until Falcon brought the helo in, Jace had paced despite his crutches.

  “So what’s the plan?” his friend asked when he got out, even before the rotors stopped revolving. The two of them huddled away from the others standing around.

  After he brought him up to speed, Jace added, “I swore I’d wait and not rush in, but my gut’s telling me not to sit this out. Nick said not to call him, but he should’ve called me by now.”

  “You sure cells work over there?”

  “As far as the compound part, yeah, but probably not way back in,” Jace said. “Without being able to recon the area, it would be damned dangerous to go in but...”

  “Yeah. I’m game if you are. A flyover?”

  “It may be survival of the fittest at the hunting ranch, but we’re the fittest, man.”

  “You need help getting in the helo with that bum foot?”

  “Hell no. Bronco, we’re going in!” Jace called to those standing outside the circle of landing light.

  “But Nick’s the boss in this, and he said wait!” the big man shouted before the whap-whap of the starting rotors drowned him out.

  Jace pretended he didn’t hear him. He thought Brit would try to hold him back, but, bending low, she ran close to hug him hard and then released him. “Bring them back!” she shouted.

  He nodded and turned away. Damn sure, that was the woman for him, and he’d propose again soon as he got back. Though pain sliced through his ankle, Jace climbed in and threw his crutches behind his seat. When they lifted off, in the square of landing lights below, he saw the little crowd covering their faces from the swirl of dust and debris: Bronco, Heck with his arm around Gina, Ann and his beloved, bold Brit. He belted in as the helo rotated its nose west and lifted over the double fences as if there was nothing there at all.