“There!” Grisha’s sharp eyes were focused downriver where a johnboat—two, no, three—were poking their bows out from the pall of smoke that was beginning to obscure the river, even to the south. The men in the center seats were pulling at the oars as if on the final stretch of a sculling race. Tears sprang to Mandy’s eyes. She doubted there was a man in Calusa Campground under sixty, but in a matter of minutes Glenda had found three willing to charge to the rescue. Mandy could only pray it didn’t kill them.
She could almost hear Doug Chalmers roaring: “You did what?” Sorry, FBI, but three seniors with rowboats are our best way out of this mess.
With only one tree providing a convenient root system for a handhold, the boats had to be loaded one at a time. Peter, Karim and Grisha formed a line down the slippery bank, handing the girls—most still clutching their pillowcases—into the boats. Mandy and Nadya hung back, determined not to leave until their men did. It quickly became apparent there wasn’t room for all of them in the three tiny aluminum boats. Either the boats would have to make a second trip or those left behind were going to have to swim the river after all.
“Mandy, don’t be a goddamned idiot!” Peter shouted, as he motioned her into the last boat. An equally harsh exchange of Russian between Karim and Nadya ended with Karim throwing up his hands and ordering Grisha into the third boat.
“Come back for us,” Peter directed the boatman. “We’ll be fine. The fire’s not that close.” Not if we keep running around stamping out sparks, Peter thought glumly. And the whole damn thing doesn’t blow up the way the fire did on the north road.
Flames from the house were rising high, firing the treetops, leaping forward far faster than the ground fire. In a matter of minutes the house fire would merge with the wall of flames moving in from the east. Damn it to hell! Peter grimaced. He really didn’t want to swim the river, but it looked as if they might have to. He scrambled back up the bank, snugged his arm around Mandy, rested his chin on her head, and held on tight. He should have picked her up and tossed her in the boat, but that would have snapped them back to Square One. Yet what good was love if your only choice was dying together?
Peter peered downriver. The swirling smoke was now lit by embers, sparkling and deadly, drifting down like suicidal fireflies into the black hole of the river. He thought he could see the boats approaching the campground dock.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking . . .
A scream ripped through the clearing. Anya was long gone, and Peter would have sworn Nadya would never give in to hysteria. He and Mandy swung round in time to see the Russian girl disappearing into the smoke sweeping out of the woods where the footpath led to the old house. There was no one else in the clearing. Karim was gone.
“Shit!” Before Peter could take in what had happened, Mandy was half way across the small clearing. Karim, determined to avoid the police, must have decided to find his own way out. Nadya, finding him gone, had panicked and was heading back into the fire to search for him. Peter muttered a few more choice epithets as he pounded across the clearing after the two women. The idiots were heading straight into the inferno.
She’d entered hell. The smoke was so thick Mandy kept blundering off the path. But Nadya had gone this way; she had to be somewhere not far ahead. Damn love! Mandy steamed as she bent low, battling the smoke. Love was senseless. Mindless. Pitiless. Dumb stupid girl not to realize Karim would never go this way. That he’d fade into the woods to the south, swim the river downstream where it might not be so crowded with wildlife. Mandy stumbled, fell to her knees. Eyes streaming and swollen, she moved her hands over the obstacle that had tripped her. Nadya. Relief was swamped by the realization she hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of moving her. Mandy bowed her head, gulped for air. The fire was all around her now.
To have come so close . . . so very close . . .
She had to get up . . . save herself . . . but she couldn’t move. Whatever toxic fumes had felled Nadya were getting to her too. Peter! Peter, I’m sorry . . . so damn sorry. Love really does make fools of us all.
Strong hands dragged her to her feet. “Move! Get going!” Peter shouted, shoving her back down the trail. “I’ve got to get Nadya,” he barked more urgently. “Get with it, Mouse. It’s move or burn!”
Mandy staggered forward. Alone again. No romantic endings for Amanda Armitage. While Peter Pennington saved the Fair Maiden, she had to save herself.
When they broke into the clearing, two johnboats were waiting. Even through the tears that ran down her cheeks and the coughs that wracked her body, Mandy decided they were the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. She was the sole passenger in the first boat. Peter, still hanging tightly to Nadya, lifted his burden into the second johnboat. Just as Peter’s boat pushed away from the riverbank, the far side of the clearing near the path erupted into a solid mass of flames. Fire, rushing across the clearing, began to lick at the brown fronds of the fallen palm tree.
They’d cut it close. Very close. But it looked as if the alligators would have to settle for a four-footed menu after all.
By the time they were half way to the campground dock, Mandy had recovered her ability to plot and plan. When they got to shore, things could turn a bit sticky. She had a good idea where Karim had gone. If the river hadn’t taken him. But did she have a right to tamper with people’s lives any more than she already had?
Kira, forgive me. Right or wrong, I played the only ace I had. The “kill” gene skipped me. I want to save lives, not destroy them.
They were a sorry-looking lot. Mandy surveyed the cluster of girls in the campground’s clubhouse and shook her head. Soot-streaked faces, swollen red eyes, hair hanging in tangles, clothing streaked with grime and burn holes. Too exhausted to cry, they simply sat, heads hanging, while Glenda and several other women bustled about offering coffee and, incredibly, chocolate chip cookies. The only men present were their three rescuers. Their names had sailed over Mandy’s head but not their histories. The oldest had survived the Inchon landing. One was an ex-marine who had served in Desert Storm; the third, a retired detective from Philadelphia. Mandy assured them they were the greatest heros she had ever met. Eat your heart out, Daddy.
But their own men were missing. Mandy had gotten Ed Cramer to drive Peter to Amber Run to check on his house. Grisha, she’d been told, had jumped ship five feet short of the dock and disappeared into the woods. Irrational as it was, Mandy couldn’t help but be glad. Karim was . . . well . . . Karim was gone. Nadya was slumped down at a trestle table, head in her hands, refusing all food, drink or consolation, in spite of Mandy’s repeated assurances that she was sure Karim had gotten away, that he was only trying to make the police think he was dead. Nadya, desolate, simply didn’t believe her.
Which left Mandy with an unanticipated problem. She had never before attempted to play God. The responsibility was awesome.
At least the police had not been waiting for them. Glenda, knowing every officer must have been out on emergency duty, had never called them. Nor did the older woman have any idea the FBI was involved. Mandy would have to make that phone call herself. After all, what was she to do with eight soot-streaked, frightened young women? Doug Chalmers would be here any minute now. And she had a moral dilemma to face. Time was running out.
Mandy touched Nadya’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said, “There’s something I need to show you.”
A defeated Nadya lifted her bleary eyes, shook her head.
“It’s important,” Mandy urged. “There’s something I have to check on. I need your help.”
Nadya’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed. A spark of her customary intelligence lit her eyes, a realization that something important might be happening. She nodded, pulling herself up by leaning on the heavy trestle table.
“Glenda,” Mandy called. “I’m going to check on my RV. Be right back.”
With weary, somewhat uncertain steps, the two women made their way out of the clubhouse into the night.
Her RV might be dark and silent, Mandy thought as they approached her campsite, but she was nearly certain life lurked inside. Turning to her companion, she announced, “Nadya, you have a decision to make.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“What a mess!” Mandy breathed. She and Peter were standing on the edge of the rear deck, looking out over the blackened expanse of what had once been lush green grass and bushes stretching down to the river. Around them, all four sides of the deck were marred by scorch marks. The roof, windows and deck were streaked and dirty from the river water the fire department had been forced to use after their pumper truck ran out, but nobody was complaining. Peter had already vowed to make a substantial contribution to Golden Beach Fire Department.
“Poor Brad,” Mandy added softly.
“He only lost the house they’d just framed, and insurance will cover it. The firemen had to let that one go while they hosed down the homes that were occupied.”
“But the firebreak,” Mandy murmured. “Everything along the river . . . it was so beautiful, and now it’s gone.”
“This is Florida, Mouse. A year from now most of it will be back. The trees are a little singed, I admit, but I think most on this side of the river will recover. The firemen did one hell of a job. I hear only a barn and a garage burned on the east side. Not counting the line shack,” Peter added on a more somber note.
“Mm-m-m.” Mandy turned to look at the live oak where she had seen the owl. On the east side its outer leaves were brown and curled at the edges. The Spanish moss dripped sickly brown and black. But nine tenths of the huge tree stood as it had for years. Tall, green and sturdy, fluffy air plants and drooping moss decorated its branches in their customary pale gray-green. Mandy supposed Peter was right. The greenery would come back, but she was afraid Brad and Claire Blue were going to have a rough time for a while. Along the river Amber Run had lost most of the “old Florida” ambiance proclaimed in its advertising.
“Just think how much more of the river we see now,” Peter remarked, straight-faced.
Mandy sighed, leaning her shaky legs against the deck railing. There were things that had to be said, but her mind refused to frame the words. Last night Peter had returned to rescue her, informing Doug Chalmers he could finish questioning them in the morning, that he and Mandy were both too tired to know what they was saying. A gallant gesture, Mandy thought. Peter, sensing she was treading on thin ice, had gotten her out of a tight spot.
Score a big one for Pennington.
The firebreak along the river was so effective the Fire Marshal had actually allowed them to return home. They’d dropped their ruined clothes on the kitchen tile, then staggered, hand in hand, into Peter’s huge shower where they scrubbed each other down, alternately wincing at the discovery of a welter of tiny burns and grinning like idiots as the pain emphasized they were alive and well, safe in their own home. They took turns spreading cortisone cream on their various sore spots, fingers lingering, caressing, pressing on to the next burn or scrape, conceding the physical impossibility of doing anything more interesting. Finally, they’d tumbled into bed, not even their wounds keeping them from sleeping wrapped in each other’s arms, undisturbed by the soft sounds of the weary firefighters keeping watch throughout the night.
Only after they crawled out of bed just before noon and fixed a leisurely brunch did they face up to what had happened to their idyllic world. As depressing as it was, Mandy found she considered the blackened expanses along the Calusa River a challenge. The debris would need to be cleared, new plantings put in to aid Mother Nature. Whatever was needed to bring back the idyllic nature of Amber Run, she wanted to be part of it.
The doorbell rang.
“That’s Doug,” Peter growled. “I hope you know what you’re going to say.”
“Of course,” Mandy replied demurely. Her biggest lie so far. Heart pounding, she followed Peter inside. Amanda Armitage was unaccustomed to finding herself this far over into the dubious side of the law.
After a brief and sympathetic overview of the devastation outside, Doug Chalmers accepted a tall glass of iced tea before facing Peter and Mandy across the coffee table in the library. Face somber, his fingers beat a tattoo on the side of the glass. “We found the Buick,” he said. “A charred wreck. Two bodies.” A rather long silence. “Big car,” he added softly. “Somehow I’d expected more people to be in it.”
“We were afraid they wouldn’t make it,” Peter explained. “We . . . ah–persuaded them to let the rest of us try the river.”
“The van was wrecked by a tree across the road,” Mandy contributed. “The river was the only certain way out.”
“So exactly how many of you made this trek?” Doug asked.
Mandy and Peter glanced at each other. There were too many girls who knew the correct answer to that one. There was no way they could lie about it. “Twelve,” Mandy replied. “Eight girls, Peter, myself, Karim Shirazi, and a guard named Grisha.”
“So where did you lose them?” Doug inquired, his voice so quiet his heavy sarcasm could almost be ignored.
“The man who was rowing the third boat told me Grisha jumped overboard about five feet from the dock, swam to shore and took off. Nearly swamped the boat, he said,” Mandy contributed helpfully. “I suppose Grisha was afraid the police would be waiting.”
“No doubt,” Doug muttered.
“Doug,” Peter interjected, “we had a fire on our heels. We had to call for the nearest help. I’m afraid the police weren’t our top priority.”
Special Agent Doug Chalmers, obviously recognizing a stacked deck when he saw it, made a show of looking Peter, then Mandy, straight in the eye. “So what happened to Shirazi and Nadya?” he inquired.
“What do you mean what happened to Nadya?” Peter demanded. “I dragged her into a boat and up to the damn clubhouse myself. Saved the silly twit’s life. Don’t tell me you’ve lost her, because I don’t believe it.”
Silently, Mandy applauded. How fortunate she hadn’t told Peter what happened to Nadya. No one could doubt his shock was totally genuine.
Mandy opened her eyes wide. “We . . . well–um–we hadn’t gotten around to talking about that yet,” she admitted. “You see . . . Nadya and I went to check on my RV and she . . . well, she simply disappeared. I’m not sure what happened to her.”
“She wasn’t still upset about Shirazi, was she?” Peter demanded. “I mean, not enough to . . . to go back to the river?”
Mandy cocked her head to one side. “It’s possible, I suppose. She always seemed so level-headed, but she really lost it when Karim disappeared. She might have . . .” Mandy paused, looked at Doug. “I told you about that last night, right? That Karim took off while we were waiting for the second round of boats. Just disappeared when no one was looking. Nadya was frantic. She ran back toward the house. That’s when Peter and I had to rescue her.”
“I doubt Shirazi made it,” Peter added, beginning to sense where all this was heading. The fullness of what was expected of him. Shit! “The river was so full of creatures you could almost walk across on their backs. If an alligator didn’t get him, a moccasin or a rattler did. His body—or what’s left of it—will turn up downstream next week . . . next month.”
“I never realized how attached Nadya was to him,” Mandy added sadly. “If she was convinced he was dead, she might have . . .” She shook her head. “I just don’t know.”
“Nadya was an important witness,” Doug growled.
“You have seven others,” Peter told him. “And several of them will be good ones. Elena, Felicidad, Tama, and Kai were like rocks. They let out a shriek or two, but mostly they just kept going. You don’t need Nadya.” And damn his conniving little wife for whatever she had done with Nadya. He hoped she was fully appreciating his loyalty. She might have told him!
“So you have no idea what happened to Shirazi or his girlfriend?” Doug repeated, directing a sharp but far-from-hopeful look at one Pennington, then the other.
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“Of course we have ideas,” Mandy replied. “We just told you. We think they drowned. Or were eaten. Or possibly they got away,” she added ingenuously.
“Just walked away, like the guard,” Doug mocked.
“How else?” Mandy murmured, looking the picture of innocence, her patrician New England face displaying all her battle decorations of burns and scratches.
“Wonderful!” Doug growled. “And that, of course, is all you’re going to tell me.”
When Peter had shown the disgruntled FBI agent out, he stood in the door to the family room, staring at his wife, thinking hard. It appeared his country mouse had pulled off a very neat switch. Just how neat he had yet to find out.
“Anybody who thinks it never snows in Florida hasn’t witnessed Amanda Armitage in action,” he declared, watching his wife give him the same wide-eyed stare she had turned on Doug Chalmers. Peter sat in a chair opposite the sofa where Mandy was still perched. He steepled his fingers. “Tell me, Mandy,” he inquired easily, “did your RV survive all right?”
“Of course. There was no damage to the campground.”
“So it’s still there?”
“Uh . . . well . . . no. I decided it was safest to have someone drive it out. After all, I didn’t need it any more.”
“I presume,” Peter said, still very softly, “that whoever drove it out just kept on going?”
“Probably,” Mandy agreed, studying her shoetops.
“It’s possible it took two people to drive the RV?” Peter suggested.
“That seems likely.”
“Why?” Peter began, then shook his head.
“We never would have made it without him, and . . . well, I offered him the RV before the fire,” Mandy said, the truth tumbling out at last. “I drew a map of the campground, wrote out the license plate number, told him where to find the hideout key. It seemed our only chance. I was almost certain Karim wanted to get away as much as the girls did, but he never actually said he’d accept. I couldn’t tell which way he was going to jump.”
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