SHE WAS GONE FOR LONGER THAN “a few.” I was beginning to worry when I heard the swoosh of the door opening. She carried a large bamboo tray filled with the basic requirements for a barbecue—a platter of pulled pork, a bowl of coleslaw, buns, two squeeze bottles of sauce, and a jar of bread and butter pickles.
“Wow,” I said, trying to take the tray from her. “How did you manage this? Don’t tell me that roasting a pig is another of your talents.”
She put the tray on the coffee table and handed me plates and napkins. “Nope, no pig killing around here. My grandmother taught me and my brothers how to cook. She used to say, ‘anyone who can read can cook; it’s not rocket science.’ But my mother also taught me there’s nothing wrong with take-out. Why should I try to fry a chicken or butcher a pig when other folks manage it so much better?”
“Well, my hat’s off to both your mother and grandmother.” I raised my wine glass toward her, but my words sounded slurred, even to me, and I felt dizzy, a little disoriented. I couldn’t think of anything even vaguely intelligent to say.
We ate in silence. She had just picked up my empty plate when the winds suddenly picked up again. The howl of the rain beating against the storm shutters was truly frightening. I’d been in scary weather before; tornado sirens are a regular feature of spring in Arkansas. But these winds were different. They seemed to have intent, a purposeful, almost visceral intent to destroy. My face must have revealed the sudden panic I felt, because she quietly sat down next to me again.
“It’s okay, Jack. It sounds worse than it is, and we’re on the inside. The house is strong, and I promise we’re safe. The storm won’t last forever; we just need to wait it out.”
Her voice was calm, her words reassuring, and I took a deep breath, feeling like an idiot. What was the matter with me? Where was my normal male bravado?
She watched, looking slightly amused, as I wrestled with my ego. Giving up, I gave her a sheepish grin and tried to take the plate she was still holding.
She put it on the floor and turned to me. “Jack, you’re exhausted, just running on fumes. Give your body a break, let it rest. I’ve got something to say, and we need to come up with a plan.”
She was mostly right on all counts, but as I leaned back against the cushions, I heard her take a deep breath.
“Look, I know you wish you hadn’t said what you did, and I’m sorry I let it get under my skin. Truth is, I think we both feel a mutual attraction. Who knows if it’s real or a result of the stress of our current circumstance. Maybe we’ll have the chance to pursue that attraction, but right now we need to figure out how to get out of here and back to what most people think is civilization. We need to stop flirting and concentrate on saving our necks. Maybe…”
She was right, and I told her so, relieved to hear my normal voice again. “You’re absolutely right, Abby. But promise me this: dinner next week in New Orleans. Now that I’ve finally had the courage to ask, please say yes.”
“It’s a date, Mr. Patterson,” she answered. “Now let’s figure out how to get out of this mess.”
We discussed the possibility of calling her brothers. But one or the other of them might say something to their friend the sheriff, or worse still, Mitch and Ted. Apparently, the deputies were always called ‘Mitch and Ted,’ like they were one person instead of two. Her brothers might end up cooperating with the sheriff in what they thought was an attempt to rescue Abby from the DC lawyer who was up to no good down here.
“I love my brothers, but they aren’t the brightest bulbs in the parish. No matter how many times I tell them to keep quiet about something, in the end they always blab. They can’t help themselves; it’s just who they are. You’d think I’d learn,” she said with a rueful smile.
“Let’s leave your brothers out of this,” I said. “We need some way to get word to Clovis without alerting the bad guys. We need Stella. She’s a technology whiz, a professional who also happens to be married to Clovis. I think I can send her a message from you, something totally innocent, that she’ll send to Clovis. If you can give me some idea of where and when we can pull your boat onto dry land, there’s a good chance Clovis will be there to meet us.”
“I can give you the where,” she replied slowly. “But what if he’s not there? What if your dark-suited friends beat him to it?”
“We can worry about that en route,” I smiled. “No sense borrowing trouble.”
She didn’t look convinced.
I’d thought about contacting the FBI, but Royce had been pretty sure they were behind the wiretapping of the lunch meeting at Charlie’s. In fact, other than Clovis, Stella, and Brian, my staff of one, and now Abby, I didn’t know who I could trust.
We went over other possible options, but soon realized there were none. I had to assume the bad guys could listen to any conversation on Abby’s cell phone and read any text or email she sent. I felt sure the guys in the boat weren’t actual agents, but the FBI could easily have provided them with the technology. Of course, that would have been illegal without a court order, but in my experience the FBI preferred to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, and usually got it. What’s the old question—who will watch the watchers?
Abby pulled a map from a kitchen drawer and showed me how she hoped to leave the swamp and where she intended to make landfall. It was a place called Cary’s Landing on Lake Charles. She said Cary was a former Razorback football player and an old friend.
“He has no use for our crooked sheriff, and he’s the toughest man I know. It’s a longer boat ride, but if we make it, I know he’ll help. I had a huge crush on Cary once upon a time, but his heart was always with another. He’s as trustworthy as they come.”
She handed me her iPad and watched as I drafted the following message to Stella:
You may not remember, but Jack Patterson introduced us at an event hosted by the Cole Environmental Trust. He said you had formed a consulting business, and that I should call you if I ever had any problems with my computer system. I think I may have been hacked, that someone might be trying to steal my research. We’re in the middle of a big storm down here, but when it finally winds down, I’ll have to make a trip to Cary’s Landing in Lake Charles to restock. Cell service in the swamp is spotty at best, so I’ll call you when I get there. Just didn’t want you to be surprised. Thanks in advance. Dr. Abby Broussard.”
Stella hadn’t attended the conference but knew all about the Cole trust. In fact, she had developed its website. Hopefully either she or Clovis would read between the lines of this unexpected message.
I handed the iPad back to Abby, and she quickly pushed send. Of course, the message wasn’t sent. We were counting on the Wi-Fi to return, hopefully before Mitch and Ted did.
The email was clumsy, a long shot at best. I hoped that anyone who intercepted the message would read it as a legitimate request for computer help. I’d been tempted to tell Stella to bring an army but of course anything so obvious would result in a raid on Abby’s home before the storm ended.
She was sure she could navigate the swamp better than anyone else. But getting to Cary’s wouldn’t solve the problem if there wasn’t a friendly face there to greet us. We could only hope that Clovis would be waiting on the dock with plenty of back-up. We decided to leave as soon as the storm began to die down.
Speaking of the storm, it was still raining buckets, and the house was still shaking from the force of the wind. I felt another surge of gratitude for Abby’s rescue. But for her bravery, I would surely have drowned or been dinner for a lucky gator by now.
She said, “I’m tempted to leave tonight, but no telling how this storm has affected my route. Trees will be down everywhere. My bet is we’ll have one more day of storms and high winds before anyone can venture out. My sensors will detect anyone headed this way, but I’d rather we were long gone before they get here. We must be ready to leave quickly, whether you’ve reached Stella or not. Keep your bag packed.”
We both laughed, and on cue, the power went out. The generator kicked in after a few minutes, but even then, the lamps in in the living room were dim. Abby had jumped up to rummage in a closet and returned carrying several small lanterns.
“The house is wired so the generator powers my lab and the freezers first. The rest of the house will remain a bit dark, but these lanterns should give us enough light. And the power usually comes back in a day or two.”
“You seem to be prepared for every contingency,” I said, as she handed me a lantern.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Mother Nature has a way of teaching us who’s in control, and it’s sure not us. Right now, I think she’s out of patience with every one of us. Remember the snowstorm that covered Texas a couple of years ago? Or how about the fires in Canada that brought layers of toxic smoke to the states? Or the heavy rains that flooded Vermont and New York a few months ago? We used to think of those as once in a hundred-years events. Now we watch them on TV or the internet, mesmerized by the images for a couple of days before we move on, completely ignoring the fact that we humans are the cause, that it’s our own fault. And we go right back to our wicked, wasteful ways. No wonder she’s fed up. Why on earth can’t…”
She was interrupted by another roar of wind from outside followed by a crash that made the house shudder and just about scared me to death.
“Well, time for me to get off my high horse,” she laughed. “You know, as long as my boat doesn’t break loose and float off down the bayou, we should be fine here.” I tried to match her nonchalant attitude, but she wasn’t buying.
“Jack, I’ve told you—this house is secure. We’ll be okay. But we both need to get some real sleep before we can deal with tomorrow. I left something to help you sleep on the nightstand next to my bed. I need to make sure the lab is secure and the fridge and freezer are running properly before I can sleep.”
My eyebrows arched sharply at her casual reference to her bed. “Look, Abby,” I said. “I’m happy to sleep on the couch. Just tell me where to find a pillow.”
“Don’t be silly—my bed is plenty big for the both of us. Although I admit it may be the first time I will have slept with a man before our first date.”