Bad Break (12 page)

“I don’t care about any damn money. We need to stop this before it goes too far. While I can still salvage my career and you can stay out of prison.”

“No.” The other woman’s voice was determined. Mateo felt as if a death sentence had just been passed. “The kid’s seen too much. And if Robert lives, he’ll figure out that I swapped his insulin for water. He loves me but not enough to forgive me for trying to kill him. We need to get rid of them both. Tonight.”

Chapter 20

“FLEMING’S PUMP IS
at the nature preserve on the west side of the island. According to the satellite maps,” Taylor told Lucy as she drove toward the location. “The reason why that area is uninhabited is because it’s basically a maze of inlets and tidal marshes. Perfect place for a boat to hide.”

“And faster for a boat to flee from, disappear into another section of the marsh or vanish out to sea.”

“Especially Fleming’s boat. Only has a fourteen inch draft, so the tide’s not much of an issue.”

Damn. Could nothing go right tonight?

“How long for the sheriff’s men?”

“They’re about forty minutes out.”

The sign for the nature preserve appeared on her right. She slowed and turned into the parking lot. There were two other vehicles already there: Shelly Fleming’s and Chief Hayden’s. “I’m here now.”

No answer. Lucy glanced at the phone. No Wi-Fi signal here in the nature preserve and the cell tower was still down. Guess she was going it alone.

She grabbed her Remington and left the car. On the other side of the parking lot, there was movement in the tall grass leading out to the marsh. She aimed her flashlight just in time to spot an alligator slipping through the grass.

Great. One more thing to worry about. But she was more concerned about the human predators than the reptilian ones. A map at the end of the parking lot revealed several trails braided through the preserve. One of them twisted around the inlet where Fleming’s boat was anchored. She’d have to go cross-country for the final approach, but it would get her close.

She swapped her flashlight for her thermal night vision monocular, scouting the trail ahead. It was amazing how much more detail the monocular could pick up than her own vision even aided by a flashlight. The trail she’d chosen was narrow, maybe four feet wide, with thick foliage on either side, including knee-high, sharp-leafed palmettos that sliced at her bare legs. Crowded pine trees and gnarled live oaks, Spanish moss dangling from their limbs, created a claustrophobic atmosphere. It didn’t help that the sulfur smell of decay overrode the more pleasant scent of the pine needles that cushioned the hard-packed surface of the trail.

The forest wasn’t quiet; instead, it was filled with random noises ambushing her from every side. Squawks of birds or maybe frogs, deep-throated notes that came from frogs or maybe insects, splashes that Lucy hoped were fish or birds and not alligators.

She was using her monocular when sudden movement sparked through the thermal sensors. Something darted from the brush and stopped on the path. It was a strangely shaped image—too short to be a gator. It turned to face her. An armadillo, complete with prehistoric armor, blinked at her. Then it scurried away, the plants rustling behind it.

She kept moving. The trail twisted around a lagoon that gave a hint of the wider stretch of water beyond, then a boardwalk appeared. According to the map at the trailhead, the boardwalk headed in the direction she wanted to go, so she moved across it. The stench grew worse as she walked above the marsh. The clicking noises of crabs scurrying across the mud below made her wonder if the tide was low enough for her to cross through the mud, sneak up on the boat. When she turned to scan the area between the boardwalk and the sound, she could make out several birds walking over the mud and caught sight of another alligator as it slinked along the bank.

One more curve and the tree branches thinned enough for her to see the boat. It was at anchor in an inlet surrounded by trees and mud on three sides. A few tiny slits of light were all that made it through the cabin windows—black-out curtains, she guessed. Thick grass rippled in the night breeze, making it appear as if the boat were moored in the middle of a hay field. She was tempted to climb over the boardwalk’s railing and simply walk up to the boat.

No way it would be that easy. Movement caught her eye as an alligator she hadn’t spotted before glided past, following an unseen current through what had appeared to be solid ground. Swamp. That’s what this was.

Okay, so how did Hayden and Shelly Fleming get to the boat? Lucy continued on the boardwalk, moving slower and bending low to keep out of sight. A cluster of trees got in the way, but then the boat came into view once more, only twenty feet or so away from the boardwalk.

A Zodiac type of motorized raft was lashed to the railing at the stern. Question answered. She judged her options. The boardwalk continued on but turned inland, away from the boat. She made out several heat signatures in the boat’s cabin but they were so close together it was difficult to be certain how many there were. Four, she hoped, because that would mean Mateo was still alive.

Several sprawling limbs from a live oak reached out toward the boat, one stretched over the raft. She eyed the tree. Its trunk emerged from the mud a good three feet from the boardwalk. Lucy mapped it out in her mind: climb the railing, leap onto the trunk, shimmy up to the branch, then over the branch to the raft, lower herself down… No sweat if she were ten years younger and didn’t have a bum ankle to worry about.

The boat began to rock. Light speared the night as the cabin door opened. Two figures emerged, one carrying a large duffle. Lucy couldn’t make out their faces, not at this distance, but they definitely were both women.

She focused her monocular on the cabin. Now the two heat sources left behind were easier to make out. Both were low, on the deck, but not spread out like they were lying down, rather balled up and not moving. Restrained? Perhaps shoved into a compartment? She hadn’t had a chance to view any plans for Fleming’s cabin cruiser, but the ransom video made it look a lot like the inside of a RV or camper.

If the two heat sources were Fleming and Mateo, why would they both be restrained? Why wasn’t Fleming up and about if he was the mastermind?

Had Lucy gotten this all wrong?

Chapter 21

FOR ONCE, MEGAN
didn’t mind being left behind while Lucy went to work. She wasn’t even resentful that she’d been relegated to the sidelines. And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t worried about her mom.

Something had broken inside her mother a few months ago when she was injured. Megan had diagnosed PTSD and a reactive depression—from the way her dad acted around Lucy, she guessed he agreed. But today, Lucy was back, the confident posture, the quick thinking, piecing together almost invisible clues to come up with the answer while everyone else was still figuring out the right question to ask.

She smiled and pulled the fleece blanket tighter around her. Definitely warmer than Pittsburgh, but the wind was coming right at her here at the front of the house. After a few moments of shivering, she got to her feet, gathered the laptop and water bottle, left the package of rations, and strolled to the back of the house. Definitely less windy here.

The back yard was fenced in with gates at the drive where Megan stood and at the path leading out to the dunes—probably because it had a pool and spa. Wouldn’t want anyone wandering off the beach falling in.

She raised the latch and walked past the pool to the deck area beside the rear wall of the house. There were chairs and chaise lounges scattered around and the area was sheltered above by the overhang of the upper deck, making it much warmer than the front porch. She curled up on a lounge chair, set up the laptop on a table beside her, and snuggled under the blanket. The sound of the waves was hypnotic and there was something in the salt air that made her drowsy.

That was the problem with waiting; it was so damned boring. She leaned back, not fighting the feeling—if Dad or Mom texted the computer would alarm—and allowed her eyes to drift shut.

“Hands where I can see them,” a man’s voice sliced through the gentle sound of the surf like a cleaver.

Megan blinked as a bright light speared her vision. She couldn’t make out the man behind the light.

“Hands,” he repeated.

She slowly slid her hands out from under the blanket, holding them palms forward so he could see they were empty.

“Megan, is that you?” The light inched down just enough for her to make out Officer Gant’s face. “Where’s your mother? What are you doing here?”

Gant. Chief Hayden’s right hand man. Panic sizzled through Megan although she fought not to show it. Stay calm. Focus. That’s what Lucy would do. “How did you find me?”

“There’s an alarm on the swimming pool gate.”

Shit. Megan didn’t hold her breath—that was the worst thing to do if you might be getting ready to fight or make a run for it. Instead, she planted her feet firmly, moved the blanket aside so she wouldn’t get tangled in it, and scanned the area for possible weapons.

Nothing within reach except her laptop. Ahh… the best weapon of all. She twisted her body to face Gant, brushing her arm against the keyboard to wake the sleeping computer. Two clicks, that’s all she needed, just time enough for two clicks and she could activate the video chat app.

“Why are you here?” Gant asked taking one step toward her and stopping as if she posed a threat. “Where’s your mother?”

How much did he know? Was he in on it, working with Chief Hayden? Or just an innocent cop caught up in the chief’s web of lies?

“Thought you’d be working with the sheriff and state lab people over at the Fleming’s house,” she said.

He shifted his weight as if uncomfortable. Ah-hah, Megan thought. He knows. And he knows we know. Was that good or bad? If he was working with the Flemings and Hayden did he now realize he’d have to silence Megan as well? She just needed to distract him, two seconds, that’s all she needed. But how?

He ignored her implied accusation to glance over his shoulder, his hand falling to his weapon. “Answer me, Megan. Where’s your mother?”

Megan jerked her chin toward the drive at his back. Gant’s gaze followed as he drew his gun. She darted her hand out to the computer and clicked. Gant caught the movement and whirled back.

“Stop. Don’t move,” he ordered. Megan froze, her hand in mid-air.

The computer made the pinging sound of the video connection and Taylor’s face appeared. “Megan. What’s up?” he asked, squinting at the screen.

“There’s a police officer named Gant here,” she said, somehow managing to keep her words from tumbling over each other in her rush of relief. “He has his gun drawn and is asking about my mother.”

Gant holstered his gun and approached. “Who the hell is that?”

“That,” Megan told him, “is the FBI.”

“Special Agent Taylor. We’ve been fully briefed and the sheriff’s department and state police are on their way. Step back from Ms. Callahan, Officer Gant.”

“The FBI? Why—someone want to fill me in on what the hell is going on?” Gant asked, his gaze swiveling from Megan to Taylor’s face on the screen to checking the area behind him as if expecting an ambush.

“Does this have something to do with Chief Hayden cancelling the crime scene unit?” He lowered his light so they could now look each other in the eye. “It wasn’t just budgetary concerns, was it?”

“Did you ever call the sheriff for help?” Megan asked.

His lips tightened and she was sure he was going to tell her it was none of her business or ask what right a kid had to be questioning a cop’s authority. But Gant surprised her. “I did. Found out later the chief cancelled them as well.”

“Like she also shut down the cell tower and left the drawbridge up so no one could leave Harbinger Cove?”

He pulled out his cell phone with his other hand—meaning he wasn’t about to shoot her, Megan noted with relief. “Did Chief Hayden send you here to hurt my mother? Stop her from talking?”

Confusion crossed his features before he blanked them. “Why would the chief—talking about what?”

“About how that crime scene was staged by Pastor Fleming. About how he was faking his own death, and how he kidnapped Mateo to frame him, or how the chief and Mrs. Fleming are helping to cover it all up.”

“Megan—” Taylor’s voice cut through hers, a warning. Right, never give away too much. But he wasn’t the one here with a guy three times her size carrying a gun.

Gant must have had his doubts already. Or he’d seen enough behind the scenes to put it all together as well. Because his shoulders sagged and he blew his breath out as if surrendering. “It was those damn church loans, wasn’t it? I knew it was too good to be true, but the chief put her own money in and Fleming was her brother-in-law—”

“Do you know where the chief is now?” Taylor asked.

Gant shook his head. “She left me to cover any calls, said she was going to inspect the crime scene again.”

“There was no one there when we drove by,” Megan said. “Just an empty patrol car.”

“She’s probably with Fleming and her sister,” Taylor said. “The sheriff’s emergency response team is still half an hour out.”

“You found Fleming’s boat?” Gant asked.

“My mom’s on her way there now.”

“She left you here alone?”

“Thought I’d be safe from the chief and any cops working with her. I would have been if I stayed out front where I was supposed to.”

“She had the right idea. Stay here and I’ll go watch your mom’s back. Tell me where she is.”

Megan wanted to go with him, make sure her mom was okay. But she realized she was a liability—not because she was a kid or because she couldn’t handle herself in a crisis. Because if things went wrong, she could be used as a hostage against her mother.

And the fact that Gant wanted her to stay behind proved that he was one of the good guys. Didn’t it?

She glanced at Taylor. He looked uncertain as well.