Bhatt nodded grimly. Quinn was already afloat.
I winked at her, faced the river and strode quickly into the swirling waters, bracing myself for the frigid reception. It didn’t help. Icy fingers of water tore at my clothing and soaked my bandages. I gasped, letting the shocking waves roll over my legs. Everything was playing out as planned, up until the point where Bhatt was supposed to follow me into the river. I faced her, holding the bucking kayak in place and beckoned her in.
Her eyes were rimmed with white, and for a moment, I was sure she’d bolt. She swallowed, looking at me like a terrified fawn.
“Move, Bhatt! One foot in front of the other.” I shoved the kayak as close to the bank as I could, edging it onto the sand. “You don’t even have to get in the water. Just get in. I’ll do the heavy lifting from back here. Move to the side of the kayak, put your butt in the seat and pull your legs in.”
What her wooden movements lacked in grace, they made up for in speed. She was in her seat before I could worry about her. I jumped into mine, glad to get my legs into the relative warmth of the air.
I jabbed my paddle into the river, pulling us around to follow Quinn, who bobbed in the distance. “Just like I told you on land. One smooth stroke down through the water on one side, lift it up and do the same on the other side. I’ll talk you through it and do all the steering.”
Bhatt’s back was rigid, making her movements in and out of the water stiff and her shallow paddling as much a hindrance as a help. I countered her jerky movements with my own strong, smooth, deep strokes, muscle memory kicking in as my wounds shouted out, alternating on either side of the kayak.
A gray shape jutted out of the water, fifty feet ahead of her. “Bhatt! Paddle left. Left! The other left!”
I stuck my paddle deep into the water on the right side of the boat and kept it there, counting on her frantic paddling to help swing us around. Seconds later, the big river rock sailed past on our right. I exhaled, long and loud, and kept paddling.
“Why did you not tell me about the rocks?” Bhatt’s accent sharpened as she paddled.
“You can go back to alternating sides with the paddle now. And slow your roll. Paddle smooth and steady.” I looked upriver at Quinn, bent over his cell phone, frantically poking at the screen, as I steadied our little craft. What had he learned?
Bhatt would paddle once, maybe twice, then her fear would crawl up her spine, causing her weight to shift and the kayak to move with her. Her panic was endangering us both. I had to talk her off the ledge, or she’d put us both in the water—maybe worse.
“Listen, Bhatt, Lisa, you got this. Just relax, breathe, and slowly paddle on one side of the kayak and then the other. It’s easy.”
“I do not have this, Chief.” She kept her frantic paddling up.
Another large rock appeared on our right, less than thirty feet ahead. “Bhatt. Relax. Put your paddle on the right side of the kayak and paddle faster.”
She looked up. And panicked. She jumped out of her seat like a cat, landing too far to the left.
“Bhatt! Stop it! Calm down!” My shouting only panicked her more. Time to try a different approach.
She looked back at me, terrified. “Do you have any more fine advice?”
“Yeah. Not sure how all this works on your side of the ocean and all, but feel free to start praying, fasting and maybe sacrificing small woodland animals at any time.”
“You are a cretin!”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
I opened my mouth to tell her how to steer away from the rocks when she screamed and leaned her weight too far to the right.
“Relax, Bhatt. We got this.” I spoke in low tones, trying to calm the wild animal that had been unleashed inside her. And then I saw what she saw—five feet of glistening charcoal shale jutted up in front of the kayak, slightly to our right.
“Hard right! Paddle hard right!” I jabbed my paddle into the swirling waters trying to steer us away from the rocks. For a moment, I thought we might sneak past it.
But I couldn’t control Bhatt. She panicked again, overcorrected, lost her balance, flew to the right of the kayak, then leaped back to the left. The kayak bucked and shifted. The rocks moved toward us at the speed of sound, and we crashed right into the hulking mass of rock.
The hull of the kayak moaned and split open. Water rushed in, covering Bhatt’s feet, her legs. I was about to tell her how to lower herself safely into the rapids, when a wall of water slammed into us from the side, pushing us into the middle of a wild cauldron of churning waters.
My head snapped to the left and back again, hard. Cracking sounds reverberated up and down my neck. Was it broken? My end of the kayak slammed into another rocky outcropping. Pain shot through my shoulder, and then my head followed the movement, smacking hard against the rocks. An image of Bhatt throwing her paddle into the air and jumping into the foaming waters was the last thing I saw before everything went black.
A thousand scorpions stinging me to death. A giant, out-of-control washing machine tearing me one way, dragging me another. A steel sword jamming into my thigh, and a concrete wall slamming me from the back. Teeth chattering. Cold blasts of air pulling through me. A giant’s wings fluttered above.
Sunlight seeped through my slitted lids as I slowly opened my eyes. Nausea churned through me. I turned my head and emptied the contents of my stomach onto the ground next to me. I bolted upright, wanting to get as far away from the foul liquid as possible. My head burst into a red ball of pain. I leaned back on my arms and breathed deeply.
“She is awake. Mija, I am here.”
Cuban cigars, fresh linen, applewood bacon, strong arms pulling me to safety.
“Gino!” I wrapped my arms around him, burying my head into his chest. “But how?”
“Your foresight in sharing Quinn’s plan has saved your lives. It is that simple.” Gino smoothed my forehead. “The moment I received your message, I followed your signal. And so it is, we found you both.”
“Bhatt?” I could only hope she’d made it out of the river alive and with all her parts intact. Gino’s light tone suggested as much.
“The lovely Officer Bhatt is changing into dry clothes.” Thank God. “And she credits you with her rescue, the timing of your text.”
“Timing is everything, G.” I pushed away from my muscular friend.
Zaps of pain flooded me, and I touched a soft spot on my forehead gingerly. Jackhammering sensations pounded my temples as I completed my inspection. A goose egg on the back of my head, the smaller one on my forehead and an open gash near where the bandage used to be had been added to my injuries. Great.
“Where’s Burdock? And Nick? Did you bring him?”
He pressed four pills into my hand, passing me an opened bottle of water. “Extra-strength ibuprofen. It’s all we’ve got for the moment. And know that our Nick has a mind of his own. Once we had pulled you to safety, he insisted on joining Quinn in pursuit of our suspect—who is believed to be farther down the river.”
Had he floated past us? I slammed the ibuprofen down with a long slug of water. “Quinn and Nick on the river together, teaming up again? Oh boy.” After I’d gone behind Quinn’s back and called in my own cavalry? Oh boy.
“Yes. Knowing our boys as we do, I imagine their wild river ride could rival any memorable scene from Deliverance.” Gino’s matter-of-fact tone did me in.
I spit out a sip of water and collapsed into laughter, then grimaced as spasms of pain jabbed into my ribs.
Bhatt appeared, wearing dry clothes, and launched immediately into a fair rendition of that infamous tune. Her mouth-harping the Deliverance theme was so completely out of character Gino and I crumpled back into shrieks of laughter. Tears squeaked out of my eyes, and I looked up at her with renewed admiration, our near watery death notwithstanding.
She held a bundle of clothes
out to me. “Here, put these on.” She placed them on the ground in front of me, then retreated half a step.
I looked at the clothes, then back up at her. “I know you didn’t have these with you in the kayak.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Your friend is very perceptive. And inventive.” She turned aside and gestured behind her.
In the clearing beyond where we rested sat Bhatt’s little red gem. The Bugatti glittered on the other side of a sea of bright green leaves. I marveled at her perfect lines and turned to Gino. “How’d you get the thing started?”
Gino and Bhatt exchanged a glance. “I don’t want to hear this again,” Bhatt said. “All I know is my baby is in beautiful shape, and she is right here when we need her. And like you, I’ve learned to come to the party prepared.” She nudged a toe at the tidy pile of clothes on the ground next to me. A white box with a red cross sat next to it.
“Well-played, G. Well-played.” I smiled, images of Gino breaking into and hotwiring Bhatt’s two-million-dollar beauty dancing through my head.
Inch by painful inch, with Bhatt’s careful assistance, I managed to change out of my heavy, wet clothes and wrap the scratchy blankets around me. The river had wreaked havoc with my bandages, and Bhatt’s little white box had just what the doctor ordered in that department too. “Of course I keep a well-stocked first-aid kit in my primary vehicle. Doesn’t every cop?” She seemed miffed at my surprise.
I thought of my tin lunch box sporting a picture of Dale Evans, Roy Rogers, and Trigger and its meager supplies of Barbie Band-Aids and bacitracin. “Yeah, sure.”
She was as careful with my burns as she had been earlier, gently rubbing them with some mystery salve that dialed back the pain several notches the minute after she applied it. Then she rewrapped my legs, arms, nose, and ear.
She appraised her work when she finished, then handed me the small pile of clothes. “You’ll feel better when you change into dry clothes.” She walked over to her car to join Gino. A small group of officers from the Sauk County Sheriff’s Department stood around them. She peered over Gino’s shoulder at a piece of paper he had been reading out loud.
I dressed and began the slow walk to the little group. Gino had said he drove Bhatt’s car to the ferry with Nick following in Gino’s Z28. Given Nick’s quick exodus to join Quinn on the river in another sheriff’s-department one-seater, that left the three of us with two cars. I had an idea where we might be headed.
I wanted to make sure my two amigos were on the same path. “Head to Prairie du Chien? Beat them to the trailhead?” I’m going to need a few more pills.
Gino nodded slowly. “That is my thinking.” He stepped away from the group of chinos-clad men, folding a piece of paper into his pocket and beckoned us to follow. “I think we leave these gentlemen here to make sure the malo doesn’t double back, and we take our show on the road.”
“So, we all go to Prairie du Chien?” I didn’t want to leave it to chance. Woozy sensations floated over me.
“Yes.” Bhatt and Gino chorused. Had they talked it over without me?
I was in no shape to drive and chose to join Bhatt for the ride. I had every intention of teaching her better ways of navigating churning waters by way of regaling her with river stories, but I was asleep the minute the smooth engine purred to life.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A change in speed woke me up. Bhatt downshifted as we passed a rickety sign sporting a white, hand-painted greeting: Welcome to Prairie du Chien.
“Prairie of the dog? As in prairie dogs? What kind of name is that to give a booming metropolis like this?” Bhatt’s mood behind the wheel of her Bugatti was a solid improvement over her mood behind the paddle of a kayak. I kept that observation to myself.
“Turn right at that stump. See the dirt road up ahead?” I pointed down the road unnecessarily.
“The one adjacent to the lovely Guppy’s Minnows and Other Bait Shoppe?” She pointed a sleek, manicured finger at a dilapidated storefront.
“That’s the one.”
“And is that a surname, Guppy?” She was back. Snippy even.
I smiled. “Yup. Though I wouldn’t call ol’ Gup sir. No siree.”
She turned onto the dirt road as directed, tsking as dust rose over her beautiful ride. I rolled my eyes. “Just park it. You can wash it later. On second thought, maybe you should hit the road, join Gino at the trailhead, make sure Burdock doesn’t get past us.”
She squinted at the shack before us. “I will not leave you here alone. Freshen up, I’ll wait.”
I smiled. “Awww. Thanks, Mom. But I’m fine. Really. Just hand me a five spot before you go and then head on up the road. With you and Gino scouting the local stops, you both ought to be back here before I finish.”
She looked at me, eyebrows arched.
“I’m going to go in, mix with the locals. Ask a few questions. Always looks more legit if you buy something. And I’ll make up a story about you abandoning me here, cover for your impossible ride showing up in a dump like this.”
She handed me the money. Her phone buzzed. “Wait a minute. Gino’s texting.” She read her phone and looked up at me. “White’s tattoo. It was another letter. An S.”
I’d forgotten all about it. “An S? So that gives us, what, a game of Scrabble gone bad?”
Bhatt gave an impatient shake of her head. “Gino seems to think the letters may have been an address. A street name even.”
“What?” I squinted at her. Squinting didn’t seem to hurt.
“The letters. J-E-M-E-H-A-I-S. What if they are a partial street name out in the middle of nowhere? Wisconsin’s colorful past includes some settlers from all over the world. This area is full of unusual names of Native American Indian, French, and Spanish, Scottish, even Asian origins.” Bhatt’s recitation sparked my memory.
“Well, we grew up on some pretty grim tales about traders and merchants of old, and it’s true, they had to get through Prairie du Chien to get to the rest of the world. At one time, it was the largest trading post in the territories.” Pictures of large bearded men laden with pelts and weapons danced through my mind. “You got any paper, a pen in this jalopy?”
Bhatt opened a console I hadn’t noticed between us and pulled out a small notebook, pencil tucked on top. “Work your magic.”
I wrote out the letters. “J-E-M-E-H-A-I-S.” I studied it and recalled the M and E had appeared on the same bead. I circled the pair, trying different pronunciations. “Gem hays? Gee me hah …” My voice trailed off as knowledge washed over me. “Holy crap. Not an address. A phrase. In French.”
“What?” Bhatt took the notebook from me. “French? ‘I hate myself’?”
“Yes. Je me hais. He’s telling us the men, Nick, they have no value. They are all substitutes for his abuser, and he hates them, making them the perfect victims.” Nick. “Bhatt—you’ve got to go. Now. Catch up to Gino, and between the two of you, bring my Nick back safe.”
“Don’t worry Josephine—we will find him.” Her eyes glistened.
Patting empty pockets in search of my cell phone, I sighed. It was probably on the bottom of the river. “Find him.” My words came out in a whisper. I hefted myself painfully out of her car.
I watched as she rolled slowly away, then I limped into the bait shop.
Nick. He has to be okay. Please, God. I pushed the thought he might not be out of my mind, willing my limp to fade as I walked. With every step, my hunger and thirst magnified, until it was official: I was jonesing for a bag of BBQ Corn Nuts and an ice-cold can of Diet Coke. A glass door, littered with flyers taped to the inside, sported a list of offerings, hand painted in splotchy red lettering. In my exhaustion, I could have sworn they were painted in blood. LIQUOR MALTS FIREWOOD SNACKS FLIES NIGHTCRAWLERS MINNOWS GRUBS ICE BUT NO GUPPIES.
I shook my head. Only in Wisconsin. And maybe on the set of Fargo. Pushing m
y way inside, I lost my balance in the darkness. I reached out for a nearby shelf, hoping to steady myself, and managed to knock over two rows of canned goods instead. Smooth. They scattered to the floor, announcing my arrival to the nonexistent customers in the crammed little shop. Once my eyes adjusted, I picked up the cans.
The shop was a glorified box. Each side had windows running along the top, air holes really, complete with dirty gingham curtains, remnants of the owner’s one and only long-term relationship. There were two interior aisles of groceries and “assorted home goods,” according to a small sign atop one of the rows. The back of the shop featured water tanks, and I knew from past visits the tanks would be full of bait, as advertised. A strange assortment of camping and canoe equipment and hardware supplies lined one wall.
A purveyor of curiosities, Gup could outfit yuppies for a river trip or cater to rednecks looking for nothing more than a six-pack and a carton of nightcrawlers. Opposite the wall full of hammers, shovels, and who knew what all was Guppy’s little office. Guppy himself spent much of his life glued to an old stool with a duct-taped vinyl cover, in front of a cigarette-smoke-stained counter, attached to an old-time cash register.
He sat there now, looking at me without blinking.
“Afternoon, Gup.” I nodded my head at him, keeping my distance, letting him lead the dance.
“Miss.” While he did nod back at me, he otherwise didn’t move a muscle. His arms were crossed over his aging frame, and his dark brown curly hair framed a pair of brown eyes that were rimmed in red. Allergies?
“You gotta phone I could use?” I had to call Nick, hear his voice. Please let him be okay, God.
Gup shook his head.
I waited for him to say something, scanning my brain for any recent feuds between his kin and mine. Finding none I could remember, I shrugged my shoulders and headed toward the snack rack standing in front of the tanks.
A long wooden pole that had once held a shovel had been run through the hard plastic handles of each tank. Gup’s makeshift security system, designed to keep kids and tourists from leaving the tops off. I turned to face him.
Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3) Page 17