“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. A really great replica of a seventeenth-century boat. I’m a little rusty on maritime lore, so Ashby will have to fill you in on the particulars. I told him we’d meet them there right about now. If it wasn’t for all these cypress trees, you could see it around the next bend.”
A piece of bark exploded off the nearest tree and left a nasty scrape down Annabelle’s right arm. Birds emerged from the branches overhead in a flurry of flapping wings, squawking their protest. Mark froze, his body not in sync with the dozens of panicked thoughts jostling through his mind. His eyes took in the blood dripping down Annabelle’s arm while his ears finally processed and identified the gunshot still reverberating through the trees. A moment later another piece of bark flew off right above her head.
“Mark,” she whispered, “I think that was a—”
“Don’t talk,” he ordered. “Run!” They took off down the path. Annabelle kicked off her sandals immediately. The dirt was rough and littered with twigs and pebbles. Mark knew they had to be cutting her feet, but she still matched his pace. Without any warning, one more bullet shot into a tree ten feet in front of them.
Mark didn’t bother to look for the shooter. He knew they were easy targets on the well-cleared path. Swearing, he grabbed her arm and jerked her off the path. Branches slapped at their faces, and the only sound was of their labored breathing.
“Do you have a plan?” Annabelle asked, panting.
“We head for the boat. It’s the nearest shelter, and the trees will give us some protection. They must have a high-powered scope on their rifle—I don’t hear anyone chasing us.”
“We should split up. I’m the one they want.” She tripped over a large tree root and nearly fell.
Mark put a hand under her elbow to steady her. “Just keep running, no matter what.” They zigzagged through knee high shrubs, scaring a flock of angry birds into the sky. There was no time to think of who was shooting at them, or from where. There was only blind instinct driving him forward, hopefully away from the shooter. He knew they had to be close to the river bank.
“Ashby!” Mark yelled at the top of his lungs. “Start the engines!” The river was in sight. They paused at the edge of the forest. Without the cover of trees, the last hundred yards to the boat would be extremely dangerous, but crossing that expanse was their only chance.
“Cast off now!” The boat edged downriver and came closer to Mark and Annabelle’s position. Mark signaled with a squeeze of her hand and they ran, hunched over, to the water’s edge. He grabbed her by the waist and literally threw her onto the boat. Ashby leaned over the edge and held out his hand to Mark, but the gulf between the shore and boat was too wide. If Mark tried to run alongside in the water the boat would outpace him. His feet pounded against the soft sand and he jumped with all his might.
It wasn’t enough, and his palms scraped down the outside of the hull. As his feet sank into the water, a thick rope slapped against his face. He grabbed on.
“Floor it, Ashby!” He felt an enormous tug at his shoulders as the boat took off down the river. Water poured over his head, the force pushing him deeper beneath the surface. No way was he going to escape getting shot only to drown. He heaved himself a few inches higher on the rope, his head barely above water. It took all his strength just to keep his hands around the rough twine and fight the pull of the river.
He tensed, waited for a bullet to slam into his body, but nothing happened. Mark looked up and saw Jillian and Annabelle reeling in the rope, hand over hand. It felt like forever before they pulled him up the side and onto the deck. He flopped onto his back and concentrated on breathing.
“Mark, are you okay? Are you hit?” Annabelle’s voice quivered as she ran her hands frantically over his body checking for blood.
“I’m fine. Got the wind knocked out of me when the engines revved and slammed me against the boat. Think I swallowed about a gallon of river water, too.”
“What the hell is going on?” Ashby yelled over his shoulder, holding tight to the wheel. “Kind of a dramatic entrance. Want to fill me in? Tell me where we’re headed? And why I’m apparently stealing this boat?”
It was Annabelle who answered. “Head to the harbor. This river does connect to the harbor, doesn’t it?”
Jillian nodded. “If we use the engine instead of raising the sails we should be there in about ten minutes.”
“I haven’t navigated this part of the river in a while. Not too familiar with the layout. Might be a good idea to cut the engine and take it a bit slower,” said Ashby.
“Don’t slow down!” Mark and Annabelle shouted as one.
“Why not?”
Mark pulled himself to his feet and tucked Annabelle securely against his side, still gasping greedily for air. “Because someone tried to kill us. We don’t want to wait around and give them a second chance.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t call the police.” Jillian nudged the screen door open with her hip. She carried a plate of deviled eggs in one hand and the other held a tray overflowing with hamburger fixings. She held the door for Annabelle, who deftly balanced an armful of beer bottles.
Annabelle was relieved to be in fresh clothes, even if they were baggy shorts and a T-shirt that proclaimed in neon orange and red Geologists Rock! By the time she finished checking Mark for injuries her clothes were almost as wet as his. While a South Carolina river probably wasn’t quite as toxic as the canals in Venice, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances with the deep cut on her arm. She jumped at the chance to shower away the muck from the river. While she and Mark cleaned up, Ashby and Jillian had started on dinner.
Now they were in Mark’s back yard, a cozy brick patio dominated by an enormous magnolia tree. Lush green ferns surrounded its trunk. A jaunty blue and white striped umbrella gave the big glass table an extra dose of shade. Matching blue cushions covered the chairs and two chaise lounges.
Jillian set the tray on the table and unloaded it. “A shooting in a public place is a crime. We need to let the police know what happened so they can find out who did it.”
Jillian had been arguing this point the entire ride to Mark’s house. As soon as Mark was safely on board, Annabelle had launched into a full recapitulation of the events both in the forest, and everything leading up to them. When people saved your life, they deserved the truth. Except now Jillian and Ashby wanted to throw in their two cents. A partner was one thing, but now she had the makings of a full team. It put her off kilter almost as much as the attempt on her life.
Annabelle dug deep, but knew her reserves of patience were running low. “We already know who did it. I mean, we don’t know their name, but we do know it has to be the same person that’s behind Vanessa and Tad’s disappearance.”
Jillian wagged a fork with an olive on the end. “Doesn’t help protect you, does it? Maybe the police can find evidence at the crime scene to lead you to that name. Pull the bullet fragments out of the trees and do some laboratory magic on them. Maybe even trace it to the shop where they were purchased.”
“Geez, Jilly, how much television do you watch?” asked Ashby.
“So what if I watch CSI every week? It’s better than all the reality crap you watch. The point is that the police have resources we don’t. Maybe enough to fix this mess.”
Annabelle knew it was time to shut down this argument. “It’s a pretty big maybe to risk. I told you the police haven’t bent over backwards to help so far. They refuse to connect Tad’s mauled corpse with Vanessa’s disappearance. I’ve no reason to believe they wouldn’t chalk this incident up to a random shooting, or even a high school prank. The media would get wind of it and my cover would be blown.” Annabelle poured a beer and sat down.
“People are shooting at you!” Jillian exclaimed. “I’d say your cover’s already blown.”
“Point taken. However, we have to be close to figuring the whole thing out, or they wouldn’t risk such a public attack. I know if I find a few mo
re pieces, I can put the whole puzzle together.”
Ashby looked up from his precise poking at the coals. “Part of me agrees with Jillian. Someone—let’s call him Mr. X—is keeping close tabs on you. He’s proven he can follow your movements and can obviously get close enough to hurt you.” He shifted his gaze as Mark joined him at the grill. “You got lucky today, buddy. Any one of those bullets could’ve hit you. On top of that, you practically drowned. How long do you think your luck’s going to hold?”
“Lady Luck is a powerful ally. Don’t knock her just because you play the lottery every week and have yet to win a single dollar.” Mark gave Ashby a friendly jab on the shoulder.
Ashby grabbed a beer off the table. “South Carolina’s a small state. One of these days my numbers are bound to work. And don’t think I’ll share any of it with those who mock me.”
“Please—I could buy a new car with all the money you’ve thrown away over the years on those stupid tickets. Any sane person would make fun of you.”
Annabelle was amused by their easy bickering. “I can tell you two have been friends for years. You snipe at each other like an old married couple.”
“This is nothing,” Jillian added. “You should see them play racquetball. You’d think the fate of the free world rested on the outcome of every game.”
“Jillian, please stop sharing all our secrets with the pretty lady. You might scare her away.” Mark laid the burgers on the barbeque. The patties gave up their juices and a steady, constant sizzle came out of the grill. “I swear there is nothing finer than the smell of barbecue on a warm summer night.”
Annabelle stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. He was as handsome as a magazine ad, and clearly in his element working over the shooting flames. The hair on his arms glinted over flexing muscles in the light of the fire as he wielded various tongs. “Such a Southern male stereotype, right here in front of me in living color. Strangely sexy, I must admit.”
Ashby made several throat clearing noises. “I thought the plan was a brainstorming session, not a make-out session.”
“I don’t know about the plan, but nothing gets my brain cells revved like a good make-out session.” Jillian batted her eyelashes at Ashby. Annabelle saw, and was surprised to see, Ashby appear completely oblivious to the gesture. She sent Jillian a look of commiseration.
Mark clanged his spatula against the grate. “To clarify, the original plan was to kick back with friends, break in my new barbeque, enjoy a few beers and relax. Whoever wrecked my plan by using us for target practice is in a heap of trouble. Shooting at us is one thing, but potentially ruining a backyard barbecue, well, that crosses the line, ladies and gentlemen.” He pulled the cordless phone out of his pocket and tossed it at Annabelle. “Call your brother and find out if he knows anything. I think I saw your cell phone floating behind me in the river. He might’ve tried to call.”
She hadn’t even thought to check her pockets. “Are you kidding? It’s the fourth phone I’ve lost in three months.” Annabelle nipped inside to grab her notepad while she dialed Jonathan’s number. He picked up after only one ring.
“Jon, where have you been? I’ve been waiting for your call all day!”
“I’m fine, thanks. And how are you?” he asked with false sincerity.
“Knock it off, Jon. I don’t have time to stroke your ego with the fact you’re a computer genius, not to mention the best brother in the world. Did you find anything on the laptop I sent?”
“I did. I’ve been trying to call you. Did your phone get run over by an ice cream truck again?”
“No, this time a river swallowed it whole. But you’ve got me now, so tell me what you found.” Annabelle paced in the small kitchen, impatient for any shred of a lead.
“Before you get too excited, there wasn’t much there. Some notes about a trip to Richmond, but I don’t think she made it there or she would’ve written more.”
“Richmond, Virginia? Any specific person there, or the city in general?” Annabelle heard the screen door slam as Mark came in. He peered over her shoulder as she scribbled in her notebook.
“Varina Howell was mentioned, but since she’s been dead for a while, I doubt Vanessa was planning to go have tea with her. Which brings me to my next topic.” His voice held an angry edge. “Why didn’t you tell me this is Vanessa’s computer? And why the hell did you make me hack into Vanessa’s computer? I felt like a pretty lousy friend once I figured it out.”
Annabelle sighed and leaned against Mark’s chest. “Jon, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything until I had concrete news.”
She told him of Vanessa’s disappearance and gave him a quick synopsis of her investigation so far, omitting only Mark’s involvement. She couldn’t explain him to her baby brother when she couldn’t explain him to herself. But it was a little easier to talk about Vanessa with Mark’s arm around her waist. It was warm and strong and carried the oddly comforting reminder she wasn’t going it alone. Against her better judgment, sure, but it seemed to be working.
Annabelle might have wasted another day or two going down false alleys trying to make the connection to Varina Howell. On the other hand, seeing Mark in the river with bullets whizzing past his head might have sprouted her first gray hair. Taking chances when someone else’s life was on the line along with hers was a whole new experience, and one she didn’t relish.
When Jonathan spoke, his voice was subdued. “You should’ve told me sooner. Vanessa’s my friend, too.”
“I know.”
Mark tapped on her arm to get her attention. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “They keep records of the Confederacy in Richmond.”
Annabelle squeezed his arm in thanks. “Jon, you’ve been a huge help. Completely backs up the disgruntled relative theory. Fax the notes you recovered to my hotel tonight, please. First thing tomorrow I’ll go to Richmond. I need you to work on a family tree starting with Varina Howell, and bringing it forward to today. Oh, and you’d better do Jefferson Davis, too.”
“Genealogy web sites are hot right now.” Sounding smug, he added, “I might even have it wrapped up by the time you get to Richmond.”
“One more thing—I’m looking for a book, but I don’t know the title.”
He groaned. “Knew you couldn’t stop at the easy request. Do you know anything about this book?”
“It lists everyone who ever served in the Confederate Army. I’m fairly certain it’s out of print. Can you find it?”
“I can try. What about booksellers down there who specialize in that field?”
“If you can’t find anything by tomorrow night, it’ll be my next step. As soon as I get to Richmond I’ll call you with the number of my hotel.”
“Be careful. Somebody isn’t playing by the rules. Watch your back.”
“My cell phone was the last innocent victim of this nutcase, I promise.” She hung up just as Ashby banged on the window.
“Burgers are ready. Last one out has to clean the grill.”
Mark snorted as he followed Annabelle out the door. “I can tell you really wore yourself out plating the meat after I did all the cooking. Cleaning the grill would require a Herculean effort on your part.”
Ashby beamed at him. “I love it when you show off all your PhDs. One Greek myth reference and I’m proud all over again I let you copy my homework in the seventh grade.”
“Once! It was one lousy time, and after twelve years and three universities, I’ve made up the work load somewhere along the line.”
Ashby set the platter of burgers on the table and sat down. Jillian did a quick two step around the table to nab the seat next to his. While the buns and meat were passed, Annabelle brought the others up to speed on what she’d learned from her brother.
“So now I need to go to Richmond tomorrow,” she finished.
“You mean you and Mark need to go to Richmond tomorrow,” corrected Jillian.
“Before Annabelle says anything to shrivel my ego to the size o
f an acorn, let me jump in and say that she’s completely capable of handling both the research and any possible bad guys without help from me or anyone else.” Mark raised his beer in a silent toast.
Annabelle surprised herself by touching his arm gently. “Actually, I would like to have some company on this little jaunt. Especially Civil War buff type company.” It was a leap of gigantic proportions for her. She was astonished the words had come out of her mouth. Her heart raced, her skin was clammy, and there was a huge knot where her stomach used to be.
His answer was to wipe his hands calmly on the paper napkin in his lap. She closed her eyes in sheer torture. They flew open the next moment, when he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. She leaned into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. The way the man kissed was truly sinful. Dark, sweet and heady all at once, like eating a triple chocolate brownie covered in rich, hot fudge. Having a partner had some worthwhile perks.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was an initial flurry of passing condiments and side dishes. The table was crowded with corn on the cob, coleslaw, chips, and of course the legendary potato salad. Mark halted all discussion while they busied themselves with filling their plates. It was quiet for a few minutes as they dug in.
“Mark, this potato salad is everything you promised and then some.” Before even finishing what was still on her plate, Annabelle took another big scoop. “It’s absolutely scrumptious.”
“Good enough to go in your article as a reason to visit Charleston?” Jillian asked.
“Well, it’s certainly a reason for me to visit Charleston.”
His heart did a weird flip flop at her words. In order to visit a place, first you have to leave it. In the back of his mind, her departure had always been inevitable. But for the past few days he’d ignored it and simply enjoyed being with her. His entire life had been leading up to the day he met Annabelle. Every other woman paled in comparison to this beautiful, loyal, passionate, prickly and captivating bundle of energy.
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