“Get up,” he told her.
She exhaled, unable to move because of the knife. She had thought he would rape her, and she had known she would have preferred death to being touched by a man with so much blood on his hands. He smiled, seeing in her eyes all of her fears. “We may get to it later, baby, but I want out of here before Eric returns.”
“But I thought you wanted him,” she said quickly.
His teeth grated. “I want him on neutral ground. Not here.”
“You have no right to be here. Anyone here would kill you with his or her bare hands alive.”
“Smart, lady, real smart. Now get up and get dressed, and let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Don’t ask any more questions. I’ll start to reckon that it might be easier to leave you dead and let him come after me in revenge. Just get dressed. Now. Quickly.”
He kept the knife tight on her body, and she hadn’t the courage to move. He made a sound like a growl, pressing the point of the knife against her breast. She found courage and stood. She fumbled for her shirt, then the jeans—and Elizabeth’s boots. She almost screamed when she pulled them on, thinking that they belonged to a woman this man had killed.
He made a sniggering sound, and she hated the look in his eyes as he stared at her. “Funny, ain’t it? Here I am making you get dressed at knife point. Should be the other way around, huh? Excepting that I don’t usually have no trouble with the ladies. Naw, they like me well enough.” He flashed her a quick smile. “Thanks to Hawk, though, I’ve had me a dry spell for a while. Up in Raiford. It’s a mean place, Miss Ashley, that it is. You should see it when they do get to an execution. The bleeding liberal hearts are all on one side of the fence, screeching about God’s right to take lives. Then there are the bloodthirsty vamps on the other side, chanting ‘Fry ‘em!’ Yep, it’s a hell of a place.”
Ashley swallowed hard. “You murdered people. You were sentenced and condemned.”
“I never wanted to shoot, Ashley. ‘Specially not the girl. Damn, but she was a looker. I didn’t hit her—it was Robbie Maynard did that. Then that half-breed Hawk—Leif Hawk, that is—steps in, trying to defend her. We had to shoot him, and then, well, she’d seen our faces. She had to die. It was real regretful, but…” He shrugged. “Only they knew who we were anyway. We had gloves on and all, but we peeled ‘em off too soon. I had a record, so—” He paused again, looking her up and down in the dim light. “I could have gotten away with it. I was the one who knew the swamps, I knew where to run, and I knew where to hide. Except that Eric knew where to find me.”
If he kept talking, Ashley thought, someone would come. Eric might, maybe to apologize to her. And if he did come back, what then?
“Let’s go,” Jacobs said.
“Where?”
“Down the ladder. Move.”
She walked across the floor as slowly as she could. She wished desperately that she could think of something clever to do, or that she had the courage—or foolish bravado—to scream. She wished that she did belong in the swamp so she could plan some way to escape this man.
Where was Baby? The damned cat had run off when Ashley really needed her the most.
“I said move.”
She started down the ladder, wondering if he was armed with only the knife. Maybe she could get ahead of him and run and start screaming.
“I’ve a nice-size Magnum in my waistband, and I can blow the whole of your head off with one bullet. So crawl down nice and quiet, huh?”
Ashley looked up—straight into the evil barrel of the gun. She no longer had to wonder just how well armed he was.
He smiled and followed her down the ladder. On the ground, he caught her arm. “This way!” he ordered.
He was leading her away from the pool and the village, toward the canal—into the absolute and horrible darkness of the swamp.
“Faster!” he said harshly.
She couldn’t run any faster. Her heart was thundering and she could barely breathe. She tripped and cried out.
“Get up!” He jerked her arm.
She tried to get up, and touched something very soft. She looked down and a scream froze in her throat.
She knew where Baby was. The great cat lay silent and still beneath her.
“Oh, my God!” she whispered, and suddenly it all seemed more horrible than she could bear. He had killed that beautiful cat.
But then he had killed human beings, she reminded herself dully. What could the murder of the cat mean to such a man?
Tears stung her eyes as she stumbled to her feet. He started to drag her.
“You killed the cat. And you killed a man here, on the first day of the storm.”
“Shut up and keep moving.”
“You killed a man—”
“I didn’t kill any man the first day of the storm. But if you don’t shut up, I will kill you. I tried. I tried to reach the two of you at Eric’s house after the storm. You got lucky then. Stay lucky, Ashley. Stay real lucky, and shut your mouth for now. Later, you can scream all you want. Yeah, honey, you can scream all you want.”
CHAPTER 11
Eric cursed himself. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in the past, he might have the good sense to worry about the present.
He couldn’t go back to Ashley. He didn’t know how to explain to her that Jacobs was out and that there was no way for him to find peace—or to escape the past—until Jacobs was behind bars again.
Or dead.
He walked down to the pool. Baby wasn’t around, he noticed, but then she was more mobile than any of them. She had probably gone on to Brad and Wendy’s. Eric mused that not even Baby seemed to like him very much these days.
The cat had good sense, he thought, staring out across the water. He wished that he could stay the hell away from himself.
Ashley Dane was like a star, fallen from the heavens, and she hadn’t been meant to remain here. Not in his life. When she saw that, he thought, his heart hardening anew, she would feel like a caged beast. This wouldn’t be a wonderful wilderness and freedom for her, it would become a prison cell. Maybe she even believed the things that she said to him, and she did know how to touch deeply. But she also knew how to wound, and she knew how to hurt. He had let her come close. He had wanted her to come close. He had played with fire, and now he was burned.
Suddenly he stiffened. He didn’t know quite what it was that alerted him, but he felt that something had changed. Instinct pulled him, and he walked back to the cluster of chickees. He stared at his own and saw nothing—no movement, just the natural quiet of the night.
But something wasn’t right. He knew because he felt the night breeze all along his spine and on his nape—and the breeze seemed to whisper of evil.
He paused below his brother’s chickee—Wendy and Brad’s now—and heard nothing but silence there, too. He looked toward his grandparents’ chickee, far into the center of their small village. Someone was moving about.
He didn’t think twice about running back to his chickee, where he strapped his knife to his ankle and shoved his .38 into his waistband. He climbed down and hurried to the center of the village.
Below Willie’s chickee, flat against one of the corner poles, was a figure.
Eric circled, coming up on the figure from the back. He crouched low and moved across the earth in dead silence.
Then the figure sensed him and swirled around. Eric crashed into the figure, bringing it down with him before it could fire or throw a weapon.
“Son of a gun!” came a mutter. “Eric!”
Just about to throw a hard punch to the jaw, Eric paused and blinked against the darkness, the voice registering slowly in his mind. “Tony!” he gasped. He muttered an expletive and they got to their feet together.
“You scared the hell out of me!” Tony said. “My heart’s still beating faster than the storm!” He dusted off his shirt.
“What are you doing here?” Eric demanded of his brother-in-law.
; “I was worried about Willie and Mary. I thought I heard something. I could have sworn someone was around here. I heard Baby crawling around, and then I couldn’t find her. I just thought that something was up, and I was worried.”
“Are they all right?” Eric asked quickly.
“Yeah. I checked on Willie and Mary; they’re sound asleep.”
The two men both started when they heard Willie clearing his throat above them. He came down the ladder. “I may be old, Anthony Panther, but I’m not dead. I’m not sleeping. I heard you moving. What’s going on here?”
At a loss, Eric shook his head, but the feeling that sent both ice and fire all along his spine was growing worse. “I don’t know, Grandfather. Something.” He turned to Tony suddenly, desperately. “My sister. Marna—”
“Marna’s fine. The kids are sleeping, and she’s wide awake and sitting up with the shotgun. No one’s going to bother her.”
They all swung around then, looking to the canal far away. They could hear the sound of a motor, and a pale light was coming out of the darkness.
“Airboat,” Tony commented unnecessarily.
They started for the water, but Eric paused suddenly, looking down. His heart caught hard in his throat, then seemed to slam against his chest. He dropped to his knees.
It was Baby. Dead, he thought.
He clutched the huge cat into his arms, pulling her onto his lap. Her heart was still beating, he realized. He pulled open her lids and stared at her pupils. She was barely breathing, but she had no visible injury.
Poisoned. She was such a beggar. Someone who had realized that the cat could be more trouble than a pair of pit bulls had managed to see that she could spread no alarm.
Eric picked her up, staggering to his feet. Carrying her on his shoulders, he followed his grandfather and Tony. He heard Wendy’s voice and realized that Brad and his sister-in-law had come.
It was late for a visit. Very late.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Eric demanded.
The motor was already cut; Wendy was standing on dry land, and Brad was leaping over to join her. “Oh, Eric,” Wendy began, then stopped. She stared at Baby; her eyes widened with surprise, then went damp with the threat of tears. “Eric, you tell me, what’s happened? Is she—is she dead?” Wendy rushed forward, lifting the cat’s head, opening her eyes as Eric had done.
“Poison, I think,” Eric said.
“But why?” Wendy demanded blankly. “Baby needs a vet, but we’ll never make it to one on time. We’ll try to induce vomiting. Marna must have something for the kids. And it could be the wrong thing to do, but we’ve got to do something. Let’s get her up to the cooking chickee. And get Marna. And—”
“Wendy,” Brad interrupted his wife softly. “If Baby has been poisoned, there’s a reason, and we’ve got to find it. And you’ve got to tell Eric the message we’re supposed to be bringing, remember.”
“Here, I’ll take Baby,” Tony said, and he lifted the cat from Eric. “Wendy, get Josh from Brad. He’s sleeping, isn’t he? Good, I’ll get him over to Marna. And now, Wendy, you come with me. Brad, you tell Eric whatever it is.”
Brad nodded. “The phones are working. Rafe Tyler called. Two of his chief management officials confessed to charges of murder yesterday when confronted with evidence against them. They were in a conspiracy with Mosby to heist the emeralds in the storm. They were after Ashley. Harrison had been given some big bucks to lure her into the swamp where they could get their hands on her—and the emeralds.” Brad paused, watching Eric. “The body should have been Ashley’s. They killed Mosby for losing her, for screwing up the deal. They probably would have killed him when they were done anyway.” He shrugged. “They weren’t the brightest crooks. Rafe has a half-brother who works covert operations and he was able to trace a few telephone messages and get his hands on some written material that clinched it all. Anyway, it’s over.”
Looking at Brad, Eric slowly shook his head. “It can’t be over. Something is happening here. Baby—” he broke off in horror. He hadn’t actually seen Ashley. He had gone to the chickee, but he hadn’t seen Ashley.
An expletive escaped him like an explosion and he turned around and started to race toward where Ashley was sleeping. He berated himself furiously as he ran, his heart thundering against his chest. He took the ladder two rungs at a time, and then his breath escaped him in a ragged gasp.
She was gone.
There was no sign of a struggle. Eric hurried over to the mat and fell to his knees. He remembered how he had left her. On her knees, her hair streaming behind her. Looking almost as she had when he had first seen her in the swamp, and she had fallen wet and bedraggled in her tiger-striped bikini bottom at his feet in the mud. But there had been nothing wet or bedraggled about her tonight. She had been stunning, proud, her bare breasts beautiful and high in the glow of the moon, her eyes an emerald fire, her hair a river of flame. Her voice and words had seared his heart, and he had longed with all of his being to believe.
That was all that she had wanted—his faith in her as a woman.
And he had left her.
He dared not think of it now. She was gone, and time was passing. Someone had come here, someone who knew what he was doing. Someone who could come quietly, who could watch and wait. Someone who knew the swamp….
He swallowed hard as bile formed in his stomach.
Jacobs.
He knew what it meant for blood to run cold then, for all of his limbs were constricted by ice. He breathed the cold, and he felt it around his heart. He stiffened and cast back his head, barely suppressing a savage scream. For in those moments, he could see it all again—walking with Wendy into the morgue, watching the attendant cast back the white sheet, then seeing Elizabeth’s beautiful face, frozen in death, and the endless blood. The white dress that had been so beguiling against the copper of her skin was stained to crimson.
Jacobs was prowling the swamps with Ashley. He had taken her just as if he had dropped a calling card. Come on, get me, he was saying. It was a cat-and-mouse game. They were well matched. They both knew the swamp. They knew how to hide and move in silence.
Evenly matched! If Eric had had half his wits or his senses with him, Jacobs wouldn’t have made it into the village. Eric would have heard him or sensed him before the damage had been done.
He stood quickly and came down the ladder. Brad was hurrying toward him. “She’s…?”
“She’s gone,” Eric said quickly. “I’m going after her.”
“I’m coming.”
“You can’t.”
“Eric—”
“Brad, you don’t understand. This is a private thing between Jacobs and me. If he sees you, he’ll kill her.”
“He won’t see me,” Brad said firmly.
“But if he does—”
“Eric, four eyes have to be better than two. And if Jacobs does manage to kill you, he’ll kill Ashley anyway. The man has no conscience. He’s already condemned to death. Let me come. I’ll be quiet. I’ll stay low.”
“He’s going deep into the swamp, I’m certain—”
“I know the swamp real well,” Brad interrupted him softly. “I had the best teacher in the world—you. And you’re forgetting something else.”
“What’s that?”
“He killed your wife and your brother. But he also killed Wendy’s husband, and I won’t be able to go home if I don’t get into this with you.”
“Wendy wouldn’t want—”
“I want.”
Eric hesitated a moment longer. Brad was a good man to have on his side, and maybe what he was saying was true. Maybe it was personal for Brad, too. “Let’s go,” Eric said.
They started down toward the canal, then paused, hearing footsteps behind them. They turned around and saw Willie. His huge dark eyes were haunted. “Jacobs?” he asked Eric.
Eric glanced at Brad, then nodded slowly to his grandfather. Willie exhaled slowly, swallowing and closing his eyes, an
d Eric knew that he was thinking about Leif and Elizabeth.
Willie opened his eyes. “Last time, son, I told you not to kill him. I was afraid that your heart and soul would fester with the hatred, and that you could live better knowing that you’d had the strength to trust in the law. And the law was fair—the law of our state condemned him. I’ll tell you the same thing now. Don’t kill with hatred.”
“Grandfather—”
Willie lifted his hand. “But if he threatens your life, or Brad’s, or if he hurts that pretty woman in any way, then I say, blow the monster’s head off and be done with it. Just remember—do what is necessary, and that will sit well in your heart.”
“All right, Grandfather. I’m taking the canoe.”
Willie nodded, and Eric and Brad walked on. The old man called out, “Wendy will save the cat.”
Eric’s lips curved in acknowledgement. “Yes, she will.”
“Tell Wendy where I am,” Brad said.
“Wendy will know where you are,” Willie answered.
Eric pushed the canoe out from the shore and into the water, and they saw Willie, standing calm and stoic upon the land.
As they moved away from the village, darkness settled down upon them.
“I’ll get the lantern,” Brad said.
“No, just the flashlight. We don’t want to advertise our presence.”
“It’s black as Hades,” Brad reminded him.
And it was. The moon went behind a cloud, and the canal water and the saw grass seemed to be one with the sky. “I just need a pinpoint of light,” Eric said.
“How do you know—”
“He’s leaving me a trail, Brad. He wants me to follow him.” To prove his point, he stopped rowing as they passed beneath a branch, and showed Brad the broken twigs and the bracken. “He’s leaving a trail as broad as daylight. He knows that I’ll come.”
Eric sank his paddle back into the water in rhythm with Brad. The canoe glided on through the water.
* * *
Ashley stared out into the night as Jacobs sent his canoe skimming through the water. She could see very little, not even see his face. Yet he was moving through the darkness, sure of his way.
Borrowed Angel Page 18