Aside from the fact running was a physical impossibility, what with the water and all, wild horses couldn’t drag me away from this woman and the answers she might possess. Who was she? What was she? When had she been dumped? Where had she come from? How had she ended up in the swamp? Why had she been abandoned here? On and on and on to infinity.
I lifted my shotgun, braced the butt against my shoulder and watched for eddies around the victim. Gator skulls were thick, and gator hide was tough. I’d dated a boy in high school who hunted them with his brothers. In the way of guys desperate to impress girls, he’d explained in detail about the amount of skill required to hit what he called a kill spot at the base of their necks. Fire a bullet at the right angle, and it blasted straight into their brain for a humane kill. Or so he claimed.
But that thing wasn’t a gator. Would the same rules even apply?
I was no slouch with a firearm. I had to qualify with my service weapon and a shotgun each year in order to keep my job. I could hit a bullseye, sure, but the idea of a kill spot being the size of a quarter and positioned behind the protection of meaty jaws made my palms damp.
The visual examination I had performed on the girl earlier indicated no obvious wounds, and there was no blood in the water. That was good. But hauling her out presented us with a couple of serious issues. I had no doubt that thing would get testy about us stealing its food and attack her or us or both. And johnboats weren’t all that stable when two people attempted to haul a soaking wet third over the low rim. The last thing we needed was to end up in the water with her.
The purr of the motor turning over startled me, and I glanced back at Uncle Harold. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t get her out without backup. Not without one of us getting injured. That gator—that thing—is too aggressive.” His hand trembled on the tiller extension handle. “We’ll put in that call to MDWFP and wait on them to dispatch a conservation officer with the proper equipment and experience to make this work.”
I was already shaking my head. “The girl—”
“I saw her markings.” He stared at my covered arms, recollection of my own banding clear in his gaze. “I want answers for you—for Eddie too—but the risk is too high.”
“I can’t walk away from this.” I lowered the shotgun and twisted to face him. “If she dies, everything she knows goes with her. I can’t let that happen.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” He lifted his chin. “And I outrank you, Officer Boudreau.”
My lips had parted on a fresh argument when a high-pitched whine drew my attention as an airboat zipped from the direction of River Bend. A massive airplane propeller churned in a gleaming metal cage anchored to the stern and kicked up a damp breeze ripe with decaying vegetation and an earthy musk. Two men dressed in black tactical fatigues, their muscles coiled tighter than spring-loaded mousetraps, parked on a bench mounted in front of the cage. A third crouched on the bow with his head tipped back, nostrils flaring as though he was scenting the moist air. Weird.
“Who are these yahoos?” I murmured.
“No clue.” Uncle Harold waited until they cut their engine, then killed ours, and yelled, “I’m Sergeant Harold Trudeau with the Canton Police Department. Identify yourselves.”
“We’re with White Horse Security out of Tupelo,” the crouching man called back. His head swung toward me, the pink tip of his tongue peeking from between his lips as he inhaled. Weirder. “The Claremont family hired us to aid in the search efforts for their daughter.”
I removed the flashlight from my duty belt and skimmed over their equipment. Their company logo was printed right there on the side of the boat. Most of their supplies were branded too, with the image of a muscular, white warhorse stamping its left front hoof. As I went to put away the light, the beam crossed over the face of the crouching man, who had shifted closer during my search, and I almost lost my grip. For a second I thought his eyes . . . No. My mind was playing tricks on me. Still. I swept it in an arc, on purpose this time, but he had tucked his chin to his chest to avoid the glare.
“Are you licensed and equipped for animal control?” Uncle Harold asked, far too calm to have witnessed the same green reflection as I had imagined. “We’ve got a situation out here.”
“Yes, sir.” One of the seated men lifted a sleek, black shotgun in one hand and a gallon-sized, plastic freezer bag full of papers in the other. “We are.” He toed the corner of a cooler strapped down with bungee cords. “We came prepared with bait, hooks and line, just in case.”
“Call your credentials in to dispatch.” He rattled off the number from memory. “Once I get verification, we’ll talk.”
The man who had yet to speak was the one who made the call. The guy with his foot still propped on the cooler pretended interest in the shore beyond my shoulder while sneaking glances at me. I was used to covert observation and caught him at it. He chuckled and shrugged like, I’m staring, so what? The first man was having trouble keeping his eyes to himself too.
What were the odds of a crew out of Tupelo recognizing me on sight? Sure, coverage of my initial discovery had gone nationwide, but that was old news. And yeah, a handful of stations outside our area had televised my graduation from police academy along with a human interest story cobbled together with soundbites and snatches of footage used without my or my dad’s permission. But I couldn’t shake the impression their interest in me was sharper than it ought to be.
A subtle vibration hummed through the soles of my boots, and I flattened my palm against the metal base. “What is that?”
The White Horse men kept mute, and not a one of them met my eyes. Behind me, Uncle Harold tapped his phone against his thigh like it might shake out the call he was waiting on. He’d felt it too, and he didn’t want to analyze what might be large enough to send a growl bouncing off the bottom of a boat.
Careful not to lean out over the water, I wedged myself into the V near our spotlight and watched over the girl, whose eyes had closed after that brief spark of awareness. “We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy,” I promised in case she could hear me. “You’re going to be okay.”
The crouching man tilted his head in a catlike manner as though my behavior puzzled him.
Less than five minutes later, dispatch called with an all-clear, and Uncle Harold mopped his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. “They’re good.” He cranked the motor. “Gentlemen, I thank you for your efforts. We’ll await you on the shore.”
I grasped his hand. “We can’t just leave.”
“You’re welcome to stay with us,” the quiet man offered.
The crouching man’s lips stretched into a pointed smile. “There’s an extra seat.” He gestured to a shorter bench mounted behind and higher than where the others sat. “We’ll make quick work of this.”
Uncle Harold kept our hands linked. “Luce, I don’t think—”
“I’ll be fine.”
The crouching man tossed me a rope, and I used it to reel us closer. The cooler man rose and aimed his shotgun at the water on one side of our boat, and the quiet man claimed a weapon from beneath his seat and did the same on the other side. They were covering me. “Keep my shotgun,” I told Uncle Harold, jerking my chin toward the White Horse men. “I won’t need it.”
“Take care of my girl,” he warned them. “Luce, I’ll be on the tailgate waiting for you.”
The crouching man reached for me. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not,” I lied through my gritted teeth. I took his hands, and his long fingers slid under the cuffs of my shirt to finger the first of the metal bands embedded at my wrists. I snatched my arms out of his grasp, my pulse roaring in my ears. “Touch me like that again, and we won’t need to use what you’ve got in that cooler for bait.”
His eyes went heavy-lidded at the threat like I’d offered to strip naked and ride his thigh.
“Thom,” the quiet man said, “don’t antagonize Luce. You know the rules.”
“Luce?” Uncle Harold hesitated.
“I have to do this.” They could have been cannibals sharpening their knives and salivating, and I would have stepped into their arms with a smile if it meant saving this girl. “I’ll be careful.”
Turning my back on my uncle, I clasped forearms with the crouching man, and this time he behaved himself as he hauled me over the water and onto their boat. At least until his nose skimmed the column of my throat. Weirdest.
The quiet man emitted a displeased rumble of sound, and the neck-sniffer flowed back into his crouch at my feet. “I’m Miller Henshaw.” He indicated the cooler man. “This is Santiago Benitez.” He scuffed his boot near the crouching man. “Thom Ford you’ve already met.”
“Thom’s our tracker. Vanishes in the bush for weeks at a time.” Santiago’s dark, chocolate eyes flicked up to mine with a taunt in them. “He’s half wild. Some might say feral.”
Wild. Feral. Oh yeah. These guys knew who I was, and Santiago wasn’t shy about letting me know it.
The thing about bullies is they tend to deflate when ignored, which is what I did to Santiago.
“We need to get her out of the water,” I said to Miller. These guys had the muscle and resources to make it happen. “What’s the plan?”
Smirking at Santiago’s affront, Miller strolled to the cooler and flipped open the lid. The stink of whole, raw chickens left to stew in the sun almost bowled me over. “We’re tossing these into the water. Soon as the gator heads after it, we’re hauling up the girl.”
Simple. Easy. I liked it.
Santiago abandoned his station and thrust his weapon into my hands. The weight of it made me cringe imagining the recoil, but these guys were built like brick houses. They could handle it. Santiago, who glared at Miller until he backed away from the cooler, lifted out the first of four chickens. He wound up his arm and hurled it. It made a loud splash when it landed, and the smell. Phew, boy.
Miller flipped on a spotlight mounted on a brace and panned the area. On the third sweep, he locked the base. “Got him.”
Water churned, and two eyes breached the surface, their crimson reflection eerie but normal for gators. For that reason, I asked, “How sure are you that’s the same one?”
“Positive.” His tone left no room for argument. “Thom?”
Movement teased the corner of my eye, and I turned as Thom slipped into the water. “What the hell is he doing?”
“Saving the girl,” Miller drawled. “That is what you wanted?”
“But Thom—”
“Will be fine,” he assured me, returning his attention to the beast and Santiago’s chicken flinging.
Thom reached the woman with an elegant breaststroke that sliced through the water. Sliding his arm around her waist, he reclined and used a one-armed backstroke for the return trip. The sight made my palms sweaty, and the shotgun slipped. The idea of getting in the water with that thing . . . Nope with a side order of nah-uh, never gonna happen. I returned the gun to the rack beneath the bench, afraid I’d fumble the thing and lose it to the swamp, then dropped to my knees and gripped the handhold for leverage. With Thom’s help, I hooked one arm across the girl’s chest and hauled her onto the deck. He hopped up beside us before I could offer him a hand.
“You’re strong.” He slicked damp hair off his forehead. “Soaking wet, that girl weighs a good buck thirty.”
I didn’t look up from checking her vitals when I said, “Adrenaline.”
He made a thoughtful sound I figured was aimed at me until he wiped his fingers across her cheek. “This isn’t Angel Claremont.”
“No, she’s not.” The Claremont girl had family. She was normal. This girl—this woman—was anything but ordinary. “Does it make a difference?”
“Not to us,” Santiago added cheerfully. “We get paid either way.”
“Keep an eye out,” Miller ordered. To me, he said, “Hold on.”
I sat down, pulling her upper body across my lap, elevating her head, careful to avoid touching her bare arms, and braced my foot against the cooler to keep us from sliding. Halfway to shore, Thom placed his hand on my shoulder, and his grip was iron. I didn’t rock even when Miller ran aground.
The EMTs rushed us in a flurry of activity. Lifting the woman and strapping her to a stretcher, they hustled her off to the waiting ambulance. Uncle Harold lingered near the tailgate of his truck waiting for the crowd to disburse, a cell pressed to his ear. Rixton lacked his patience. He stepped onto the airboat without waiting for an invitation, offered me his hand and hauled me to my feet.
“You okay?” The corners of his eyes were pinched. “I saw her arms . . . ” He trailed off when he noticed the men flanking me. “Gentlemen.”
“I’m good,” I said, cutting him off quick. “We’ll talk later. I’m heading to the hospital.”
“No.” He blocked my exit. “You don’t want them connecting the dots any faster than they already will.” He stuck out his arms when I tried dodging him. “Let me go. I’ll keep you updated.”
I seesawed between shoving him in the muck then bolting for my Bronco, and thanking him for having my back even though things in Luceville just got more bizarre. “Fine,” I grated out. “We’ll try it your way, but I want to know the instant she wakes.”
Rixton tipped his chin at the White Horse Security guys. “Thanks for the assist.”
“No problem.” Miller spoke over my shoulder. “We’ll be in the area until the situation is resolved.” He reached into the box under his seat and produced a business card from the freezer bag where he kept his paperwork. “Call if you need anything.”
I took the card, running my thumb over the embossed lettering. “I might take you up on that.” I tapped the card against my palm. “Keep in touch. We all want the same thing, but Canton PD has jurisdiction. We don’t need to step on each other’s toes when we can learn to dance. Got me?”
“I’d be happy to keep you in the loop,” Santiago piped up, “but fair warning. I’ve got two left feet.”
“Night, guys.” I cast them a wave then turned, pulling up short when Thom eased between me and Rixton. “Something to add?”
“No.” He took a wet wipe from a packet Miller tossed him and cleaned the hand Rixton had used to pull me to my feet. “Just thought you might want one of these. Antibacterial. Don’t want to get amoebas.”
I accepted the wipe from the peculiar man and finished the job myself, tucking away the trash. Uncle Harold took my hands and helped me to shore, and Rixton landed beside me. The three-man security team reclaimed their original positions and motored back into the dark heart of the swamp.
“There’s something off about those guys.” Rixton stared after them.
“You caught that too?” The dynamic between the three men had been peculiar, the whole experience surreal.
“That one guy sniffed you.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “That’s not normal.”
“They told me he was a tracker.”
“Trackers can be peculiar folk,” Uncle Harold allowed. “We’ve got one in town that won’t hang doors in his house because they make him feel confined.”
I mulled that over, unable to put my finger on what bothered me about those guys. Other than their timing. They must have been listening to a police scanner, picked up the radio chatter then decided to announce their involvement by offering us assistance.
“I called your dad,” Harold admitted after a pause. “Considering the girl . . . you don’t need to be alone tonight. I know how protective you are of your privacy, so I figured you’d rather have him at the house with you than you join him at ours.”
Gratitude welled in me. Thankfully it didn’t leak out over my cheeks. “You’re the best uncle, you know that?”
“I have the best niece.” He chucked me under the chin. “She makes it easy.”
“I’ve checked in with Sherry and told her where I’ll be.” Rixton glanced up from a string of texts on his phone. “I’m going to head on up to the hospital. I’ll call when I’ve got an update.”
“Keep Jane safe.” Until she told us otherwise, that’s who she was. Jane Doe. The urge to go after her, to be there when she woke, was a magnetic tug in my gut. But Rixton was right. Me showing up now was like inviting the circus to town. “I don’t want her to vanish until I can question her.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this.” The strobelike effect of a camera flash had him shielding me with his broad back. “Go home before they scent blood in the water.”
I nibbled my bottom lip. “I just . . . ”
“I know,” he said, and I knew he understood. “I’ll ping some guys I trust, and work out a security detail so we have eyes on her at all times.”
“Thanks.” I ducked my head and wended my way through the dwindling crowd.
Sleep was off the menu for tonight, but first things first. I stank from the muck weighing down my clothes, and I wanted to scrub away the memory of those putrid chickens. As soon as I got home, showering off the sludge was my first priority. After that, I’d lock the doors and windows, turn on the security system and check the motion-sensor floodlights.
Rixton had made his point. It was the only reason why I’d let him go and agreed to stay behind when every instinct I had urged me to hold vigil at Jane’s bedside. Once people got a look at her markings, they would start digging, and I was the first and only name they would find. My origin was about to be examined under a microscope. Again. Privacy would be a thing of the past. Not that I’d ever had much to begin with.
Happy birthday to me.