Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (17 page)

"When are those knees coming up?" Her question
broke his train of thought.

"Soon enough,
cher
. Soon enough."

"What time is it?" Liz asked, simultaneously
taking in the sky and checking her watch. "Two o'clock!" she
exclaimed, answering her own question. "Why's it so dark?"

She plucked at her thin top, which stuck to her skin in the
suffocatingly thick air, then pointed behind them. "Over there the sky's
as blue as it can be."

"We're in the shade," Zach replied. "The sun
can't get through."

"I know shade when I see it. This is different."
They were deep in a cypress swamp, stopped beneath towering trees in a
water-choking sea of fallen moss and grass.

Zach peered up through the leafy canopy. He'd been worried
they'd taken another wrong turn, and wished like hell they'd used Cormier's
smaller boat. This big tug of Frank's needed room, and if he'd read the signs
of the sloping shore correctly, the channel would narrow even more before they
passed through it.

And Liz taking this moment to point out the dark sky only
served to revive his chilling memory of that long-ago journey.

"Hmm," he said, carefully maintaining his facade
of nonchalance. "Does seem a
 
storm
front's moving in. It'll probably pass, but let's concentrate on getting
through here in case it doesn't."

Cypress knees jutted up all over like bones in some
ceremonial burial ground, some of them taller than he was. Now and then he
spotted the round protuberant eyes of a submerged alligator, but otherwise
there was no sign of life. All was so quiet their voices split the air each
time they spoke. Too quiet, he thought, way too quiet.

He wished Liz had taken his advice. What were they doing out
in this wild terrain? They'd once known this swamp like the backs of their
hands. But they weren't kids anymore, and this was still a corner of the bayou
that even then had scared the hell out of him.

Zach opened the throttle just slightly and started slowly
forward. "Check the clearance on the port side, will you?"

"Port? I've forgotten which side that is."

"Left, if you're facing front."

"Oh, left, right." She laughed nervously, then did
as he asked and stood there gazing down. "All clear."

Zach applied a little more gas. Ahead, was an even narrower
passage. "You think we can make that?" Liz asked. "Maybe we
should turn around and try a different route."

"We'll never get out by dark. If your ma's map is
right, that narrow spot's supposed to lead into a channel that goes back to the
river."

"Watch out, Zach, there's a small knee over here."
He corrected to starboard until she said, "Clear."

Two o'clock, Liz thought. But she'd agreed. Once they were
out of here, they'd turn back.

Everything Zach said rang true. Her father had probably
returned to the cabin even as they were navigating this treacherous swamp.
Trouble was, she didn't want to go back, and she failed to understand her own
stubbornness. How unlike her. If she knew anything, it was how to cut her
losses.

A chill ran down her spine, along with the oddest sense that
this journey was out of their hands. She had felt that even as they'd embarked,
but the farther they went, the stronger the feeling got. What if they couldn't
turn back now, no matter how hard they tried?

This line of thinking scared her, so she forced her
attention back to checking for obstacles. They twisted through the morass of
cypress knees for quite some time, with Liz occasionally giving warning and
Zach making corrections. Soon they reached a cramped bottleneck that led to a
wider passage.

"Stay alert," Zach said, standing up to see
clearly. He slowed the boat to a crawl. The way looked quite clear, so Liz let
up her guard and looked over her shoulder at the dark, forbidding swamp they
were finally leaving behind. Not a place she wanted to be trapped in when the
sun went down.

When she turned back, the port-side bow was nearly on top of
a knee. "Watch out, Zach!"

He veered sharply, but too late. The crunch of metal
colliding with wood mingled with the whir of sudden acceleration. Despite
Zach's efforts, the boat came to an abrupt halt. Steadying herself with the
rail, Liz looked forward to see what had happened.

The bow was wedged between two enormous cypress knees.

"Oh, Zach!" she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm so
sorry. I could have sworn this side was clear."

"It's okay," he replied gruffly, nodding toward
the knee on his side. "I didn't see this one either. These suckers came
out of nowhere."

"Can you get us out?"

Rather than answering, Zach put the boat in reverse,
cautiously applying the gas. The hum of rising rpms wasn't reassuring,
especially since the boat didn't budge. Zach looked over his shoulder and Liz
followed suit. She realized their predicament even before Zach spoke. "If
we do jerk free," he said, taking his foot off the gas pedal, "we'll
end up crashing into those knees behind us."

Liz nodded. Cypress trees were everywhere, blocking out the
pale sun and thrusting their bony roots up through the water. Scum rippled in a
love dance with the fallen moss, and the roaring engine must have awakened the
sleepy swamp. Catcalls, chitters, caws, and cheeps rose from every corner. Liz
had a chilling feeling the animals were laughing.

"So what's the plan,
el capitan
?" she asked
shakily. "I pray it doesn't include spending the night here."

"You think that cell phone will work?"

Her explosion of relief came out as a laugh. "Now why
didn't that occur to me?"

"Why indeed?" Zach teased. "I think of that
thing as your third arm."

"Don't be ungrateful," she said jauntily, leaving
the gunwale to retrieve her bag. "You'll soon owe your life to my
phone."

Zach chuckled, and when Liz came back with the phone, his
face no longer looked tense.

"Nine-one-one?" she asked.

"This all is sure an emergency isn't it?" He
leaned back leisurely and lit a cigarette.

A mass of static reached her ear. Her heart sank, then rose
again when she heard a click.

"You are out of range," stated a raspy, funereal
voice. "There is no help." A malevolent laugh followed.

Liz gasped and her fingers trembled so violently she dropped
the phone.

"What?" Zach said, bending over to pick it up. He
put it briefly to his ear, then pushed the "off" button, his face
white beneath his tan. Liz collapsed in the passenger seat and buried her face
in her shaking hands.

A long while later, Zach spoke.

"We've been skirting around this, Liz," he said.
"But something extraordinary is happening out here. I don't think we can
ignore it anymore."

Liz straightened up, still trying to get a hold on herself.
When she answered him, she didn't trust her voice.

"You may be right. But scaring ourselves with spooky
stories like we did as children won't make things any better." Adopting a
tone she hoped conveyed a skepticism she no longer quite felt, she added,
"Our energy will be better spent trying to devise a way out of here."

Zach reached for his flask, opened it, and took a swallow.

"Try to stay sober until we do," Liz said, more
irritably than she'd intended.

He gave her a hard stare. "You might try a drop
yourself,
 
cher
, loosen up that
tight ass of yours."

She let out a long sigh. "Look. We're in this together,
so let's not turn on each other."

"Then stay off my back. I'm only trying to warm up
before I jump in the drink—no pun intended."

Her expression must have conveyed her confusion.

"I'm going into the water and pull us out."

Her gaze flew involuntarily to the scummy, root-clogged
swamp. "In that sewer? Isn't there another way?"

He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for a suggestion.

Liz flopped her arms helplessly to her side. "What can
I do to help?"

"Push off with a pirogue pole." He stubbed out his
cigarette and stood up, heading down the starboard row of benches. "Check
the bins, would you? Look for rope, rubber boots, and a knife—a good, sturdy
gutting knife will do. I'm going to see if the water's shallow enough for my
plan to work."

Liz hopped up, nearly tripping in her haste. She didn't know
why she'd chosen that moment to criticize Zach for drinking so much. Tension,
she supposed, and a need to blame someone, anyone, for this mess. Ultimately
the blame rested on her shoulders. Not only had she failed to warn Zach of the
danger, he wouldn't have encountered it if not for her.

"Bingo," she heard him say. "We're in
business."

She looked up to see him holding a pole. He wore a confident
smile that reassured her. He'd get them out soon, before the storm exploded,
before the sun set, before— She was frightening herself again, so she hastily
went back to her search.

"Boots," she said soon after, tossing a large-size
pair to Zach.

He picked them up and continued looking through the other
bins. He found rope, and Liz discovered tackle boxes in the last bin, which
held several gutting knives.

"What's the knife for, Zach?"

"From the way the engine lugged, I'd guess there are
roots clogging the propeller."

Zach unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. A line of
perspiration had formed between his pectoral muscles and drifted lazily down
his chest, weaving through the sprinkling of golden hair toward the waistline
of his jeans. Liz watched the trickle with fascination. Heat ignited in her
belly, rising up her body as slowly as the moisture spiraled down Zach's. The
sensation was so strong it took away her jitters.

Flustered, she stepped forward and relieved Zach of his
shirt.

"Here," she said huskily, dabbing his chest with
the sleeve. As her ministrations reached his buckle he took her hand.

"Not now,
cher
," he said with a lazy grin.
"Later maybe."

She jerked away and stiffly hung the shirt on the back of
his seat. "I was just helping."

"I thought proper Midwestern ladies turned their backs
when men undressed," he drawled, unbuckling his belt. "But if you
insist on helping, why you can . . . untie my shoes." His hands went to
the button of his jeans. "It'll make it easier to get these off."

"I'm made of stronger stuff," she teased back,
trying not to let him know he was hitting way too close to home. She bent to
pull loose the laces of his shoes . . . one by one, much slower than needed.
What on earth was she doing? She really should turn her back. But he was
already slipping down the jeans, and hooking his thumbs under the elastic of
his briefs.

Abruptly, she straightened and turned away. "That's
enough, Zach."

"A man has to amuse himself in a tight situation,"
he replied easily. "Tension is the enemy."

A scraping sound told her he'd kicked off his shoes. A
rustle signaled the final peeling of jeans and briefs. "Couldn't you at
least leave on your shorts?"

"You want me to endure jock itch so you can protect
your modesty? What a selfish woman."

Soon the chair squeaked, and the muted chug of stretching
rubber told her he was putting on the boots. Knowing that the pilot's seat
would shield him from full view, she risked a look. She was behaving foolishly.
It wasn't as if she was a blushing virgin, and Zach hadn't exactly displayed
intentions of ravaging her. But the glimpse of his unclad body sparked
memories. And she knew this time would not be filled with excited, inept
fumbles. They were adults now, both undoubtedly skilled enough to create
exquisite pleasure.

A pleasure that would ultimately bond them, shattering the
life she'd built if she didn't put a stop to it right now. Resolutely, she
squared her shoulders.

"Okay," she said briskly, "what do you need
me to do?"

"Other than—" Zach felt an unexpected pang of
loss. One look at Liz's face told him she'd quenched the heat he'd seen there
just seconds before. He swallowed his disappointment and matched her tone.
"I'll tie the rope to the back. Each time I pull, you push off with the
pole."

He picked up the knife and coil of rope, then stood, feeling
extremely self-conscious. He probably looked ridiculous standing stark naked in
the knee-high wading boots and revealing the thickening torso he worked so hard
to keep in check.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't appear startled, although
her quick scan of his nude body was clearly involuntarily. She blinked several
times in rapid succession, then met his gaze. Her tongue emerged from her mouth
and skimmed her upper lip. Zach stiffened and lifted, with nothing to conceal
his state from Liz. A part of him wanted to hide behind the chair, but another
part wanted her to know how much he desired her.

Not that they could take an interlude in this tight
situation, and even if they did . . . well, after that, he'd want her forever,
and Liz wasn't a forever girl. At least not for him. She'd made it painfully
obvious the night before how badly she wanted to avoid her past . . . and
anyone connected to it. Still, the fascinated expression on her face remained
irresistible.

Liz felt a catch in her breath. He was heartbreakingly,
magnificently male. His hair framed a face of rugged angles and strong shadows.
His golden skin covered hard, sculpted muscles that flexed ever so slightly as
he shifted his body to accommodate the subtle sway of the boat. A narrow streak
of white broke his tan at the hips like a loincloth, and the black boots
covered his legs to his knees. He looked like a Celtic warrior, with the rope
hanging from his wrist, the knife in his hand, and the wide scar marking the
inside of his left biceps. His swiftly growing erection only added to the image
of unrelenting masculinity.