by Paula Graves
“What if we did?” Gideon asked. “Where would you send us?”
Rudy seemed to give it a little thought. “Cypress Grove,” he said finally. “About ten miles east of here, near the wildlife reserve.”
“You know how to get there?”
“I can draw you a map,” he answered. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
As Rudy disappeared inside, Gideon looked at J.D. “Big gorilla that tried to take his head off?”
“Long story.”
Rudy came back, holding a grubby-looking sheet of paper. He handed it to Gideon. “Watch your step. There’s gators in that swamp as big as either one of you.”
Gideon’s stomach tightened at the thought, his fear less for himself and more for Shannon, who might be a tough, brave woman but was no match for a pissed-off alligator.
“You drive, I’ll navigate,” he told J.D., handing him the keys to the Cadillac. He got in the passenger side and unfolded the crudely drawn map, trying to figure out what was what.
Rudy had supplied the roads into the swamp, calling them not by their official names but by the local monikers the roads had borne for decades. Gideon wasn’t a Terrebonne native, but he’d made a point of living as the locals did once it was clear he was going to be here awhile, tasked with protecting the general and Lydia. He’d approached the job the way he’d approach special missions in battle zones—listen to the locals, get to know their customs and their ways, learn everything he could about every nuance of life in the area.
He knew that “Old Grove Road” was County Highway 14, a winding two-lane road that ran all the way from Terrebonne to the Mississippi state line. The small curvy turnoff Rudy had labeled “Sycamore Road” must be the dirt road that seemed to lead to nowhere just after you passed mile marker number twelve.
“Know where we’re headed?”
Gideon nodded, pointing him toward Highway 14. “We’re going to have to park somewhere eventually and go on foot. I’ll let you know when we get there.”
They were about two miles from the turnoff when J.D. made a low, murmuring sound deep in his throat.
“What is it?” Rick asked from the backseat.
“Don’t turn around. Just keep looking forward.” J.D.’s voice was low and tense. His gaze kept flicking toward the rearview mirror.
Gideon darted a glance at the side mirror. There was a black sedan behind them, about seventy yards back. “The sedan?” he asked.
“It’s stuck with us the whole way so far. Same distance back, no matter how fast or slow I go.”
“We’re coming up on a traffic light,” Gideon said. “He’ll have to come closer if we get stopped there.”
Ahead, the light at the intersection with Highway 6 went from yellow to red. As much as Gideon chafed at the idea of stopping instead of shooting through the yellow light, he held his tongue. He directed J.D. to adjust the side mirror controls as the sedan pulled closer to give him a better look at the driver. There was little glare on the windshield, thanks to the cloud cover, allowing Gideon a good look at the driver of the Buick sedan.
Big guy. Short, dark hair and a pugnacious jaw. At a guess, it might be the one named Craig. The muscle, he thought, rage burning in his gut. But instead of making him feel out of control, the anger acted as fuel, coursing like lifeblood through his veins. He channeled his fury, let it strengthen him and focus him.
“Do you recognize him?” Rick asked quietly.
“I think it might be a guy we know as Craig. J.D., adjust the mirror until Rick says stop.” He waited for Rick Cooper’s assessment.
“Craig Linden,” Rick murmured. “Army washout, dishonorably discharged. He’s one of the former SSU agents on the FBI watch list.”
The light turned green. “We have about two miles to go to the turnoff,” Gideon told J.D. “Around a mile out, there’s a sharp curve that will hide us from the Buick. If he keeps back seventy yards or so, I’ll have about five seconds to exit the car and hide.”
J.D. shot him a disbelieving look. “And what, we just head on down the road like decoys?”
“That’s exactly what you do,” he answered. “I know this area better than y’all do. I can get to her faster. And if you draw Linden away, that’s one less SSU thug we’ll have to deal with.”
“Do it,” Jesse said quietly from the backseat.
J.D.’s lips pressed flat with displeasure, but he drove on in silence.
As Gideon had hoped, the Buick fell back seventy yards behind them. “As we near the curve, gun it. Then brake when he’s out of sight.”
The curve loomed closer. J.D. pressed the pedal to the floor and they whipped around the curve at an alarming speed. He braked almost immediately and Gideon flung open the passenger door. He jumped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him, and rolled into a shallow ditch just off the shoulder of the road.
The Caddy drove on. Gideon stayed flat, out of sight of the road.
Hearing the second vehicle pass, he waited until it was well past before he lifted his head a few inches to make sure it was the Buick that had gone by.
It was. It continued around the curve and out of sight.
Gideon stayed low as he moved, in case there was a trailing vehicle, edging his way deeper into the woods, toward Sycamore Road a mile to the east. According to Rudy’s map, the road would take him by an old shack Rudy had labeled “Cody’s place.” Gideon didn’t have a clue who Cody might be, but Rudy had seemed to recognize the place just by Gideon’s limited description. And the fact that Craig Linden had been tailing them suggested he was, at the very least, in the right area.
Once he could no longer see the road—and was sure no one on the road could see him either—Gideon stood and started hiking as quietly as he could toward Sycamore Road.
* * *
SHANNON’S LEGS WERE cramping from her tightly tucked position. The pain was almost nauseating, but she clenched her jaw and rode it out, keeping a watchful eye on the two men standing just four feet away from her hiding place behind a broken-off pine stump.
“Linden says they’re heading well east of here. That old guy must have sent them on a wild-goose chase.”
Shannon didn’t know what they were talking about, but the grim satisfaction in Leo’s tone gave her a squirmy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could hardly dare to breathe with them standing so close by, and the ache in her muscles and joints was becoming downright excruciating.
Please move on, she pleaded silently. Go look for me somewhere else.
“How did she get away from you?” That was Stephens. She recognized the Midwestern accent.
“Ran me into an alligator pit,” Leo snapped. “How did she get away from the two of you?”
“She must have found a sharp edge to saw through those cuffs,” Raymond said defensively.
“Or maybe you just didn’t search her properly,” Leo shot back.
She’d be unlikely to hold on to the knife if they caught her again, she realized. They wouldn’t let a hiding place in her bra stop them if they got their hands on her a second time.
She had to make sure they didn’t find her.
There was a soft burring sound. She gave an involuntary start, afraid she’d forgotten to put the cell phone on vibrate instead of ring. But it was coming from where the men stood.
The sound cut off and Raymond spoke. “Yeah?”
“Give me the phone,” Leo demanded.
“You lost yours,” Raymond sneered back.
There was a brief scuffling sound. Leo spoke next. “What’ve you got, Linden?”
Shannon heard the growly sound of Craig Linden’s voice over the cell phone speaker. It was almost too faint to make out, but she thought she heard the word Stone. She strained to hear more clearly.
“Are you sure?” Leo said aloud.
“The other four people just got out and went into the food mart, but Stone’s not with ’em. I looked in the car. It’s empty.”
“He didn’t just di
sappear.”
“I didn’t let ’em out of my sight, man. I swear.”
“Not even for a few seconds?”
There was a pause on Linden’s end of the conversation. “I lost sight for about five seconds around a curve, but I picked them right back up.”
The phone in Shannon’s bra vibrated, the shock of it knocking about ten years off her life. She folded herself tightly around the humming sound, terrified the others would hear.
“We have to assume Stone got out of the car in those five seconds,” Leo said as the phone continued buzzing softly against Shannon’s breast. “Where did it happen?”
“Just west of the turnoff to the cabin,” Linden answered.
* * *
THE PHONE KEPT ringing, but no one answered. Gideon’s gut tightened with fear, but he shut off the phone and kept moving forward. He had the cabin in sight. It was almost exactly where Rudy Lawler had drawn it, tucked away in the middle of the rainwashed swamp. A muddy dirt track wound its way through the marsh toward the small clearing where the house sat, ramshackle but still standing after who knew how many hurricanes and tropical storms that had ravaged the Alabama coast over the past few decades.
He eased his way closer, a ghost in the woods, moving with stealth learned through years of Marine Corps Special Operations training. He’d been out of the Corps for two years now, but a marine never forgot.
A quick reconnaissance convinced him the cabin was empty. He stepped into the open and hurried to the cabin, taking it commando-style, in case he was wrong.
But he wasn’t. It was empty. There wasn’t much left inside anymore—a rickety table, a couple of chairs. On the floor by one of the chairs were the remnants of plastic flex cuffs. They’d been sawed in two.
That’s my girl, he thought with a grim smile.
He pulled out his cell phone and tried the number for Leo’s phone again. This time, Shannon answered on the first ring. “Gideon, where are you?”
“I found the cabin.”
“Get out! They’re coming for you!” She sounded out of breath, as if she were on the move.
“What are you doing?” he asked in alarm.
“Coming to help.”
“No! Stay put.” He lowered his voice, trying to listen for sounds outside the cabin. He heard nothing so far, but if Shannon said they were heading for his position, he believed her. “How do they know where I am?”
“They know you aren’t in some car or something—I couldn’t make much sense of it.” She was whispering now. Did she have the other men in sight? Fear clenched his gut into a tight knot.
“Shannon, find somewhere to hide and stay put. I’ll come get you.”
“You’re outnumbered two to one.”
“I’m a marine,” he answered flatly. “Being outnumbered is a feature, not a bug. Who’s coming?”
“Raymond and Leo.”
He edged over to the window and stared through the grimy, rain-streaked glass. He spotted a couple of figures approaching quickly, less than a hundred yards away.
“Have to hang up now. Hide somewhere and stay put!” He shut off the phone and considered his options.
Going out the front door was out of the question—they’d spot him easily. The only choice was the side window, opposite the woods where they were. If he could somehow get them to go inside the cabin, while he was outside, he’d have the upper hand.
The window opened with a loud groan. Wincing at the noise, Gideon vaulted through the window and landed quietly outside.
Even though they’d been moving quickly, they weren’t making much noise. But he had to take the risk to close the window. He slid it shut, pleased that it didn’t groan nearly as loudly on the way back down. He crept to the corner of the house and crouched low, taking a quick peek through the high grass growing beside the cabin.
There was only one man approaching now. Gideon was pretty sure it was Raymond Stephens. Where had the other man gone?
He edged back toward the wall of the cabin, flattening himself and listening. Stephens was moving with stealth, which would suggest he wasn’t trying to draw Gideon’s attention away from his accomplice sneaking around the cabin from a different direction. But Gideon couldn’t take a chance.
He crept to the back of the cabin and took a quick look. Nobody lying in wait. He slipped around the corner and moved silently along the back wall of the cabin until he had to stop or risk being seen.
Around him, the woods had gone silent. No squirrels chattering, no birds singing. Only a deep, unnerving hush.
Moving with utter silence, trained into him by some of the finest marines to ever wear the uniform, he circled the back of the house and took another quick look around the corner.
Raymond Stephens stood right in front of the cabin, holding a Ruger automatic rifle. He was close enough that Gideon could see the expression on his lean face, the petulant rage that burned in his hazel eyes.
He thinks I’m inside the cabin, Gideon thought, holding his breath to see what happened next.
Stephens answered the question with a rapid spray of bullets straight through the flimsy front wall of the cabin.
* * *
THE rat-a-tat of automatic weapon fire split the humid air. Shannon ducked on instinct, crouching in the underbrush as she listened for the sound of bullets whizzing overhead. The sound wasn’t immediately nearby, she realized as another round of bullets ripped through the silent swamp. She started to unfold herself from the crouch to get a better bearing on where the gunfire was coming from, but something cold and hard pressed against the back of her neck.
“We meet again.” Leo’s voice was inches from her ear.
Her heart gave a rolling lurch.
“No greeting in return? Where are those legendary Southern manners I keep hearing about, Ms. Cooper?”
She fought the flood of terror melting her bones. “Your friend’s making a lot of noise out there.”
“Just getting rid of some vermin.”
Gideon, she thought, her heart thudding a rapid cadence of dread. Please, God, don’t let it be Gideon at the other end of those bullets.
“Let’s see, where did we leave off?” Leo asked. “I believe I was going to use you to get the journal. Of course, we’d planned to hold you over your boyfriend’s head, which isn’t going to work now that it’s probably full of lead.”
She bit back a moan. Leo was wrong. Gideon wasn’t dead. He wouldn’t let Raymond Stephens get the drop on him. Not with the warning she’d given him.
He had to be alive.
“Did you know your brother is in town? I have a friend watching him right now.”
She started to turn her head to look at him, but he pressed the sharp edge of the gun hard against her skull, making her gasp with pain.
“Maybe we should give your brother a call,” Leo added.
So he’d already given up on Gideon? Was he that confident that Stephens had killed him? The unbearable thought nearly paralyzed her.
“Still have my phone?” he asked.
“It’s in my bra,” she muttered before she could stop herself.
“Give it over or I’ll get it myself.”
The phone wasn’t the only thing in her bra, she realized, hope fluttering through her chest.
“Now,” Leo commanded.
She reached under her shirt and pulled the phone free. As she handed it over her shoulder to him, she let the utility knife fall into her palm while he wasn’t looking. She took a deep breath and brought her hands together, easing the largest blade open.
“Your brother’s phone number?”
“He doesn’t know where the journal is. He can’t get it for you, no matter how many ways you threaten me.” She lowered her hand to her side, the knife blade facing backward. She kept it hidden within her palm, ready for her first chance to make a move without getting herself killed.
“They can find it if they want it enough.” Leo pushed the gun barrel against her temple. “Number?”
“Gideon’s the only one who knows where it is,” she said more urgently. “So you’d better call off your rabid dog out there and pray he hasn’t already killed your only chance of finding that journal.”
She felt Leo go tense behind her. “You’re bluffing,” he said.
“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” She infused her voice with a cocky confidence she didn’t really feel.
But it seemed to work. After a moment of silence, Leo gave her a push in the back. “Walk.”
She walked ahead, moving as quickly as she dared without looking as if she were about to make a break for it. If she could just get to Gideon and reassure herself he was still alive, they had a chance of turning this whole mess around on Leo and Stephens.
But long before they reached the cabin, which was barely visible now yards ahead, the gunshots ended. Even as the last blast of the rifle rang in the trees, a dreadful silence swallowed it whole.
Despair rattled through Shannon’s body like a chill.
* * *
THE RIFLE STUTTERED uselessly, out of ammunition. From his crouched hiding place at the side of the house, Gideon heard Raymond Stephens spit out a string of profane curses.
Time was up. The best-case scenario was that Stephens was out of ammo altogether, but Gideon couldn’t count on such a good outcome. He pulled the Walther from its holster and made his move.
Stephens was digging in his pockets, his movements shaky with adrenaline-fueled mania. He found a handful of rounds and tried to shove them into the rifle’s chamber. As Gideon came roaring around the edge of the house, he jerked the barrel up and tried to get off a shot, but the rifle jammed.
Gideon hit him with a tackle, grunting with pain as he landed on top of Stephens on the ground. A sharp ache centering around the old bullet hole in his chest made him gasp for breath, but he didn’t have time to coddle himself. Stephens was already digging for another weapon.
Gideon stunned him quickly with three hard, fast punches to the face. Stephens’s eyes rolled back in his head briefly, long enough for Gideon to flip him onto his stomach and twist his arms behind his back.
Gideon called Stephens a few choice names as he searched the man’s pockets. He came away with a Smith & Wesson and a lethal-looking Bowie knife, both of which he shoved into the pockets of his own pants.