Hot Water (27 page)

“Can you get a signal here?”

“Won’t know until I try. At the very least, we have a place to wait until dawn. At best, the Coast Guard will find us tonight.”

“What about the gators?”

“They’re out here, same as us. We have to watch for them. I’ve still got my knife.”

He gave a sharp intake of breath. “You wrestled many gators?”

She didn’t care for the scoffing in his tone and thought about walloping him upside the head with a handful of mud. “Not yet, but it’s on my bucket list.”

“Don’t joke about it. Your safety is important.”

“Believe me, our safety is at the top of my list as well.”

Water streamed down her legs into the mud. She shivered at the bite in the night air. She stopped at the first few strands of cordgrass. If they were here more than a few hours, they’d have to move into the high marsh to avoid the eight-foot tide.

She’d give anything for a flashlight. When she pulled out her phone, she’d at least have a little bit of light. She hoped it would be enough for her to get her bearings. Hard to get rescued if you didn’t know your location.

Her ankle throbbed like all get out. She would need those crutches for real after this. She turned back to gaze at the fire.

Flames danced above the water. She could hear the snap, hiss, and crackle of flames. Her dad’s boat. Gone, like her house. Lester had struck their weak points.

She’d prized that old house. All of her grandmother’s pretty things, burnt. All of her pictures, incinerated. Lester had done his best to erase her presence altogether, but he’d underestimated her. Them. He’d underestimated her and Wyatt.

She gazed at the fire again and felt sick to her stomach. That was Lester going up in those flames. Lester who’d hid his true nature from everyone. Lester, who she’d never really known.

But Lester hadn’t won. She had her life.

And Wyatt. She bent over to reach for her phone, swaying at being off-balance.

“I’ve got you,” Wyatt said.

His hands felt ice cold on her shoulders. And slippery wet. Wetter than they should be.

“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching for him.

“Got a little nick on my head,” he said. “Caught the cleat as I went overboard. Not much of an injury in the scheme of things.”

He sagged against her, and she wobbled from the added weight. Her concern intensified. “Sit down. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“It didn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. Good grief.” She helped him to the soft ground. Mud oozed up around the seat of her pants. Adrenaline rolled through her like July thunder. She caught Wyatt as he slumped forward, cradling his head in her lap. “Wyatt. Oh, my God. Wyatt!”

Her voice shrilled through the marsh. Seeking a pulse, she grabbed his arm. Nothing. Damn.
It’s got to be there.

She tried again.

Something faint registered.

A thready beat.

He was alive.

A cry for help welled up in her throat.

They needed help.

She fumbled in her thigh cargo pocket for the wet bag, praying and bargaining and wishing and hoping it wasn’t too late. Her cold-numbed fingers felt too thick to work, but she clawed at the bag. She’d rip it open with her teeth if she had to.

There.

Got it.

Why couldn’t it be a full moon tonight? The only thing emitting light was the fire and that was drifting out to sea. She frantically fingered the phone to power it up. The welcome display flashed on like a shining beacon of hope. Tears welled as she dialed nine-one-one.

“Amaretto, I need help,” she whispered, unable to summon a full voice.

“Where are you, Laurie Ann?” the dispatcher chided. “I’ve got folks looking for you all over the county.”

“I’m stranded in the marsh on the west side of Sapelo. Somewhere near the northern tip of the island. Beyond that I don’t know.”

“Is that good-lookin’ Atlanta man with you?”

“Wyatt’s unconscious. His head is bleeding. We had…an accident.” She grabbed a deep breath and blurted out the bad news as fast as she could. “Lester sabotaged our boat and tried to set us on fire and we dove under the flames and swam to safety and now Wyatt is out cold and I can’t wake him. What should I do?”

“Remain calm. Is his airway obstructed in any way?”

Laurie Ann shone the phone display on his face. Nothing covering his nostrils or mouth. Air seemed to be flowing. But bright red blood ran down his hair, ear, jaw, neck, and shoulder.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Airway’s clear.”

“What about the head wound? Can you put pressure on it?”

God. The most basic first aid instruction. She’d completely spaced about it. So much for her composure. So much for her training to be calm in a crisis.

Stop that.

Wyatt needs your help.

She shone the phone along the right side of his head and ran her fingers over his scalp. Nothing there. But the left side. Oh, dear Jesus. A long flap of his scalp had been sliced open. No way did she want to get mud in that.

The coppery smell of blood filled the air. The dark color stained her muddy fingers. Her hand trembled.

“I found it,” she said. “The gash is about four inches long. I don’t want to get mud anywhere near the injury.”

“The important thing right now is to keep pressure on the wound. Sounds like he’s lost a lot of blood if he’s unconscious. Don’t worry about the mud. Keep him alive until help comes.”

Keeping him alive was her only priority. She could do better than this.
Think, Laurie Ann.
Her shirt. It wasn’t muddy. She pulled it off, turned it inside out, and pressed the soft cloth against his head in her lap.

Goosebumps rose on her exposed flesh. “Come on, Wyatt. Be strong. Don’t you quit on me. You hear?”

He made no response, but his chest continued to rise and fall. So far so good. She put the phone to her ear again. “I’m putting pressure on the wound. Hurry.”

“Good, dear. Leave your phone on. We’re tracking your GPS signal. I’m here if you want to talk.”

The notion of GPS tracking equipment in their small department seemed as absurd as the burning boats drifting on the strong current. “Since when do we have the technology to track a GPS signal?”

“Since the Secret Service showed up on my doorstep a few hours ago.”

Chapter 52

“Don’t die on me, North,” Laurie Ann commanded, setting the phone down so that she could touch him. He was so still, his breathing so shallow.
Oh, God. Please let him survive this. Please let him come back to me.

Please let her undo the harm he’d suffered through her cousin. Please let her have the hours, days, weeks, months, and years to make it right.

His family, what must they be thinking? They’d sent the Secret Service down here to rescue him. They must think the entire community was redneck central and populated with bumbling baboons. If they tried to spirit him away, she’d put up a fight.

Sure, they’d only known each other for a few days, but the connection between them ran deep. So deep that his slow heartbeat beneath her fingers soothed her own racing heart.

She loved him.

Crazy, but true.

She hadn’t meant to fall in love.

But it was a fact.

Now that the burning boats had drifted farther out, her night vision was crisp. Stars twinkled in the night sky, but their distant light felt cold to her. She’d trade every star in the sky for another chance with Wyatt.

She cradled him close, pillowing his head to her chest, and keeping the pressure on that scalp wound. “Come back to me, Wyatt. I love you.”

What was she going to do?

She thought about the St. Christopher’s medallion in her pocket. Her mother had given that to her father to carry on the job. Her father had carried it every day of his career, and he’d passed it on to her. She never went anywhere without it. She pulled it out and placed it in Wyatt’s pocket.

He needed it more than she did right now.

Help was coming.

They had to hang on. No matter what else the world threw at them. That’s what Dintermans did. They didn’t give up when the going got tough. They fought until their last breath. What did she know about unconscious people? Common wisdom said that they heard the voices of people around them, that they were aware of touch.

She wouldn’t let him go.

That was for damn sure.

“Fight through the darkness, Wyatt. Hang on. Help’s coming. I’m counting on you to be the tough guy, the fireman who won’t give up. The guy who dogged a serial arsonist for two years until he found him. You’re that tough guy, Wyatt. You hang on and fight your way back to me. I’m counting on it. You hear me? Don’t you leave me. Not now. Not when we’ve just found each other. I need you to come back.”

She caressed his stubbled cheek, wishing with all her heart that he’d open his eyes and everything would be all right again.

One minute her focus was a hundred percent on Wyatt, the next it was on the marsh. A gator’s deep-throated bellow sounded nearby in the mudbank. It reminded her of an angry dog snarl. Her blood iced.

Oh, God. Was the scent of Wyatt’s blood drawing the reptile close? Did the gator sense them as easy prey? This could not be happening. Where was the Coast Guard? Where was the Secret Service?

She shifted Wyatt’s head in her arms and grabbed the knife from her muddy ankle sheath. She’d gladly lay down her life for Wyatt. She’d gotten him in this mess. By God, she’d get him out of it.

Where was the phone?

Though she hadn’t cut the call, the display had faded within a few moments of the call starting. She’d had it after she put pressure on the wound, but it wasn’t on her or Wyatt now. It was somewhere in this slushy mud bank.

Emotion slogged her, hard. God. She’d been so strong for so long. She dug deeper for courage. So much was on the line here. Wyatt’s life. Her life. Their future. This couldn’t be the end.

Tears spilled over her lashes, blurring her vision. “Come on,” she shouted, facing the direction of the gator bellows.

“Come on over here, and I’ll give you a taste of something you’ll never forget.” With every word she felt stronger, more in control.

The distant whop-whop of chopper blades came to her ears, but she couldn’t relax for a moment. Not when a fierce natural predator lurked nearby. Not when she had an injured man to protect.

In the dark, noises seemed so loud. She heard the rustle of the gator’s movement. The swooshy, glopping sound of mud being disturbed.

The gator bellowed again.

She clutched Wyatt closer and drew her arm into striking position. If she stood to fight the predator, she’d be perceived as a bigger target. But the gator might lunge for Wyatt, grab him, and dart into the water. She shuddered. Not a good plan.

The phone.

Hopefully, it wasn’t buried in the mud.

Hopefully, the microphone still worked.

“Gator!” she shouted. The reptilian threat was too urgent. “Tell them to hurry. It’s getting close.”

A spolight swept the marsh. Passing over the creek. Following the trail they’d made up the mudbank. The beam stopped, blinding her temporarily.

God. No! Get it away.

The gator was still coming and now she couldn’t see.

“Gator!” she yelled, gesturing right with her knife arm, knowing they couldn’t hear her in the chopper, hoping they saw her frenzied motion.

To her immense relief, the light moved off to the right toward the threat, and she blinked against the darkness, trying to focus. The staccato thud of gunfire rang out in the marsh.

She clung to Wyatt, exhausted and trembling.

The chopper circled and hovered nearby. It looked like someone was descending. She shivered and allowed her hopes to rise.

Moments later, two men in wetsuits slogged through the shallows and up the mudbank. The spotlight followed the men. “Dinterman?” one of them asked.

“Yes. Please help Wyatt. He has head trauma.”

One of the men attended to Wyatt, the other spoke into a radio.

“They call me Pug,” said the one with a stethoscope. “That’s Morgan. Are you injured?”

“I’m fine. Please. Get Wyatt to the hospital. He needs medical attention.”

“Working on it.”

A sturdy frame appeared. The men strapped Wyatt to the structure. Laurie Ann was forced to release the pressure on Wyatt’s head wound. Morgan affixed a line of tape around the shirt.

“His head,” she said as her wadded shirt turned crimson.

“We need to get him in the chopper, ma’am,” Pug said, clipping the frame to a cable. Wyatt rose in the air.

Laurie Ann shivered uncontrollably. Wyatt would get the help he needed. She hadn’t failed him. She tried to get up, but couldn’t manage. The line came back down from the chopper with supplies. Pug went up.

As soon as Pug was in the chopper, it left. Morgan draped a warm blanket across her bare shoulders, but it didn’t dispel the chill inside. “Where are you taking him?” she asked as he pried the knife from her bloody hand and monitored her vitals.

“Memorial, in Savannah. A trauma team is on standby waiting for his arrival.”

“Thank God. I hope he’s okay. I did everything I could.” She shivered. “What about the gator? Did you kill it?”

“We directed it away from your location with gunfire.”

It might come back. Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. “You armed?”

He grinned. “Heavily.”

She was safe from the gator. Wyatt was on the way to the hospital. That only left one loose end. “Lester?”

“Dead.”

“How are we getting out of here?”

Morgan nodded toward the water. “A Coast Guard cutter is ten minutes behind the chopper. I hear a motor in the distance.”

“What about the sheriff’s rescue team?”

He grinned. “Sidelined by the big guns.”

She swallowed harshly. The sheriff wouldn’t appreciate being taken out of the picture of the biggest thing to happen in the county since forever. She’d be lucky if she had a job after all of this. “Should have expected that.”

“Who are you people?” Morgan asked.

“I’m a local cop. Wyatt’s an arson investigator from Atlanta. His family has connections to the President. We got Wyatt out. That’s all that matters.”