I KNEW I NEEDED TO COME UP with some way to get off the island, but the blows to my head had left my brain feeling mushy. Nothing seemed to make much sense. I wasn’t sure I could stand, much less walk, so I decided I to just stay put for a while. I was wakened from my stupor by the noise of strong, gusty winds blowing through the trees, a sure sign of the approaching storm. The men had tossed my laptop into the swamp, another source of amusement for all but me. I thought maybe I could find something in my bag to use as a drain plug and get a big stick that could act as a pole for the boat. It was a long shot, but at least my brain was working again. First, I had to find a way to stand. My whole body hurt, and I had trouble catching my breath. I diagnosed maybe a couple of cracked ribs, hoping for nothing worse.
I managed to wriggle my way to my bag and was rifling through it when I heard the roar of a fast-approaching motorboat. My first thought was “Oh God, they’re coming back.” Now I was wide awake.
I could only see one person sitting toward the rear, using the outboard motor to guide the boat. He backed off the speed just a bit before running it up onto the muddy bank of the island. He wore camouflage pants and jacket, a Pelicans cap, and sunglasses. At least he wasn’t in a dark suit. I hoped he wasn’t from the sheriff’s office.
Leaving the engine idling, he hollered, “Get in, quickly now. We need to beat the storm.”
I got to my feet somehow, but halfway to the boat my knees buckled.
“Oh, shit, that’s just great.” He hopped out of the boat, grabbed my bag, and threw it into the boat. Looking at me in disgust, he waited for about half a second before pulling me to my feet and half dragging me into it. He carefully edged the boat through the trees and stumps. Suddenly the air lifted, the water took on life and we sped out into what I figured must be a real bayou.
I sat on the middle plank facing forward with my rescuer to my back. If I hadn’t been in so much pain and so relieved to be off the island, I would have been scared out of my pants. We flew across the bayou, the boat just skimming the water as we wove in and out of trees and cypress knees. I didn’t think we were going back to the rental place, and I wasn’t about to complain.
After about half an hour of the scariest boat ride I’ve ever had, the boat slowed as it approached a small dock. I could see a house on stilts a little distance behind it. I couldn’t tell if we’d reached the mainland or had landed on another island.
“Just sit quiet ’til I get the boat out of the water.” His voice was oddly low and rough.
I did as I was told, trying to get my heart rate under control, as he quickly positioned the boat, tied it down, and operated the lift that raised the boat from the water. With his assistance, I managed to walk into the house upright. He steered me toward a large sofa and shoved me onto it.
“Here, try to stay warm,” he said, pulling a blanket off a nearby chair. “I’ll get your bag in a minute. I need to make sure everything’s locked down before the storm hits.” He was gone before I could say a single word.
I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and looked around as best I could. From the outside the house looked like a large shack on stilts, but the interior was nothing like a shack. I found myself in a comfortable room with a wood-burning fireplace, the sofa I had collapsed onto, a couple of armchairs, a big screen TV, and a surprising mix of Creole and contemporary art on the walls. The room opened to a small dining room and beyond that to a larger kitchen.
Peering around a corner into a hallway, I could also see what looked like a commercial lab: tables laden with microscopes, glass beakers, and all kinds of electronic equipment. I was just beginning to wonder if I’d landed in Wonderland, when the front door swung open and in walked my new best friend.
“It’s getting ugly out there. Sorry to leave you alone, but we’re in for a rough few days.” He tossed my bag onto a nearby chair.
I was finally able to get a good look at my rescuer. He stood around five feet nine with a thin, wiry frame. He caught me staring, laughed, and pulled off the baseball cap and glasses, shaking out his short, almost blond hair. I felt like an idiot—my rescuer wasn’t a man at all: he was she.
Her eyes were a deep grey, slightly slanted like a cat’s eyes. She clearly spent a lot of time outdoors; her skin had tanned to a deep brown. I couldn’t easily gauge her age, maybe a few years younger than me, maybe a lot younger. She looked oddly familiar, but how could I possibly have known her?
We both laughed at my confusion, and she said, “I don’t know which of us has more questions. You might not feel up to it, but I’d love to know how Jack Patterson landed in my bayou.”
She knew who I was? Had I fallen down a rabbit hole?
I gave a start and looked toward the ceiling as an almost feral howl of wind rushed through the trees outside. She smiled and reached out to put her hand on my arm.
“Don’t worry. My house might look fragile, but it’s built to withstand a Cat Four. There’s no reason you should recognize me; we met at an environmental conference. When? A few years ago? My name is Abby Broussard.”
My memory banks went into high gear trying to remember, but an environmental conference? Nothing came to mind, nothing at all.
I said, “I’m sorry—guess my brain’s still a little foggy. I’m sure it will come to me.”
“No reason for you to remember. Now let me get you something for the pain and make sure you’re okay. We can’t go anywhere for the next few days. Listen to that wind—and it’s just getting started. We should have plenty of time to talk about what a bunch of black-suited fools were doing in the swamp and why you were with them.”
Before I could respond she had jumped up and gone to the kitchen. Abby Broussard? My brain was trying hard, but I still had no idea.
She returned and handed me a cup of something warm in an oversized coffee mug. Some kind of tea, maybe.
“Drink this slowly. It’s better than any prescription drug.”
I took a deep breath and then a sip. I gagged a bit and could feel my face reddening and my eyes tearing. She handed me a Kleenex and chuckled.
“It’s potent alright, but I promise it will make you feel a lot better, so drink up. It’s a family recipe. Do you feel like talking while you finish and before I treat your wounds?” She sunk into one of the armchairs, legs curled under her.
I nodded, and she asked, “Who were those guys, and what were they up to?”
I gave her an amended version, leaving out the part about my new client and my history with Thibodeaux.
“When I came along, they were doing a real number on you. I thought about interfering, but I saw the gun and decided to wait them out. No sense both of us getting killed. I’m just glad they didn’t shoot you.”
“Me, too. And you did more than enough by getting me out of there,” I said.
We heard another angry howl from the storm and the hammer of rain that came down in sheets on her roof. It was so intense I could hardly hear her speak.
“You never would have survived this storm on that little island.” Her voice was deep and oddly comforting.
“How on earth did you happen to be so close? You were a godsend.”
“Oh, it wasn’t luck. I have electronic monitors all over the bayou, even into the swamps. It’s part of my work. Three boats from Earl’s heading deep into that swamp couldn’t be up to any good, especially with a storm coming, so I decided to check them out. When I saw the boats belonged to the sheriff, I knew something was amiss. Our sheriff’s as crooked as they come. He’s always hiring out his boats and equipment to people trying to skirt the law. I thought they were after gators or endangered birds, but when I saw they had you curled up on the ground at the point of a gun I knew this was no ordinary game hunt.
“I hated to sit back and watch them kicking you, but I really didn’t see any other choice. We were lucky to get out of there—you looked pretty beat up, and I knew I couldn’t carry you. That other boat tried to follow us, but not for long.”
“Other boat? I asked.
“Two sheriff’s deputies. I don’t know if they were part of the group who held you or they were just keeping a look-out. They’re why we went flying out of the swamp at full throttle. I sure hope they didn’t recognize me.”
“Sheriff’s deputies watched those guys beat the hell out of me and didn’t do anything about it?”
“Remember what I said about the sheriff?” she laughed. “Well, the same goes for his deputies—brothers Teddy and Mitch Cruz. They’re lower than catfish and have about the IQ of a rock. Your kidnappers must have paid the sheriff to use his boats and make sure no one interfered. Once I got you off that island, I knew they couldn’t follow me; my boat’s faster, and they don’t know this bayou like I do. But if they did recognize me, they’ll be here as soon as the storm blows over, probably with your suited friends. The storm will buy us a few days, but that’s it.”
Great. She’d just saved my life. Now the bad guys would be after both of us. I said “I should leave. Those men won’t hesitate to harm you to get at me. Where’s my phone? I’ll call Clovis—he’ll figure a way to get us out of here.”
I tried to stand but felt light-headed and sank back onto the sofa, trying to fight the rising nausea and sudden chills.
When I’d finally stopped shaking, she said, “They left your phone at the hotel, remember? And we won’t have any cell service or internet during the storm. We’ll be lucky not to lose power, although I do have a generator. We have at least three days before anybody even thinks about trying to get here. Besides, I’ve lived most of my life right here. They’ll play hell if they come after me.”
As if to emphasize her words, the winds howled even louder, and the rain beat against the windows fiercely, sounding almost alive, almost as if it were a living demon. She was right. I would never have made it through this storm on that island.
“Now,” she said, “let’s go check out the damage.”