Secret Assignment (22 page)

She scrambled backward, splashing across sodden ground. One of her shoes stuck in the muck, threatening to pin her in place, but she jerked it free and scuttled farther back, onto firmer ground, her pulse so thunderous in her ears she could barely hear the ragged rasp of her breath.

The alligator didn’t seem inclined to follow her out of the water, so she backtracked a little farther, deciding to keep to more solid ground on her trek south.

With the rain having abated for now, she could guide herself by the position of the sun. It was already dipping westward to her right, so as long as she could keep the sun generally on that side of her, she’d be headed south, even if she had to detour now and then to avoid the water.

Gideon had to be wondering where she was by now. Had someone seen her being abducted? Her wrist still ached where her captors had ripped her watch off in the struggle—had they realized it had come off? Had they picked it up and brought it with them?

She also didn’t have her phone, but Ray and Craig may have taken that off her when they took her GLOCK.

Gideon had to be looking for her by now. He’d know she wouldn’t just hare off on him, wouldn’t he?

The sound of whistling slowly entered her consciousness, and a flood of relief washed over her at the first sound of human civilization she’d come across in what felt like hours. But she couldn’t afford to be foolish. For all she knew, one of her captors had doubled back, found her missing, and followed her into the swamp.

She crouched behind a wide bladed palmetto bush and watched cautiously as the whistler hiked into view.

It was a man in his early thirties. Hard to say if he was handsome or not, with his head down and covered with a camouflage baseball cap. He wore a dark T-shirt and faded jeans, with a lightweight olive green slicker-style jacket that still glistened with rain drops from the most recent shower. He carried a long pole with a three-pronged steel gig at the end of it, and a large olive-green rucksack. He continued whistling as he strode unhurriedly past her, deeper into the swamp.

It was a little early in the evening for frog gigging, but maybe he knew a place that took a while to reach. Or maybe he just couldn’t stay out here late at night and preferred, while surrounded by cranky alligators, to be able to see where he was putting his foot as he walked.

Just stand up. Call out. Ask for help.

He looked friendly enough, the pleasant tune he whistled as he strolled through the swamp reminiscent of a song her father had taught her to whistle years ago, when she was just a little girl.

Of course, there were other things her father had taught her when she was a little girl.

Never talk to strangers.

But sometimes a stranger could save your life.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and called out. “Hello!”

The frog gigger jumped at the sound of her voice, whirling around. He looked alarmed, pressing his hand against his chest.

“You scared the life out of me, ma’am! Are you lost?” He spoke in a thick, nasal country accent, slow and drawling. But his eyes looked friendly and the smile he shot her way made her feel more at ease.

“I’m lost,” she said, deciding to keep it simple. “I need to get back to Terrebonne. Can you help me?”

“Sure.” He walked back to where she stood. “What did you do, wander off from a hiking party or something?”

“Something like that,” she said, not willing to freak out her friendly rescuer with the truth. “If you can just get me to civilization, I can take it from there. Or—do you have a cell phone? I could just call someone to come here to get me.”

“Sure, I’ve got a phone.” He looped the handles of the rucksack over one finger of the hand holding the frog gig and pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand. He held it out to her.

She reached for the phone, nearly wilting with relief.

Until he whipped the frog gig forward and pressed it against her throat.

She froze, not even wincing as the sharp tip of the gig pricked the flesh at the base of her throat. The man smiled at her slowly, the skin crinkling around his startling blue eyes.

He put the phone in his pocket and caught her arm. “You’re a whole lot of trouble, you know?” The drawl was gone, replaced by a cultured Northeastern accent she placed somewhere in upper New England.

She lifted her chin, fighting the flood of despair rattling her knees. “And you, I presume, must be Leo.”

Chapter Sixteen

“I’m less than an hour from Terrebonne,” Jesse told Gideon over the engine roar, which he explained was the sound of a helicopter rotor. He said his cousin J.D., a former navy chopper pilot, was behind the controls, and he’d brought other reinforcements.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to get involved yet.”

“Changed my mind. What are you doing to find Shannon?”

Gideon didn’t want to admit there wasn’t much he could do. She’d simply vanished from the diner. “I’m trying to find a witness, see if anyone spotted a strange vehicle around—”

“What about prints, evidence—”

“We both know who has her.” Just not what they’d do with her.

Jesse fell silent.

“Do you have a place to land?” Gideon asked.

“J.D.’s friend has a hangar at the local airport. He can set down there and we can meet you.”

“I’m going to be looking for witnesses—maybe we can figure out what sort of vehicle her kidnappers were driving.”

“Stay in touch.” It was a warning, not polite small talk.

J.D. hung up Shannon’s phone and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans. Holding on to it for her, just as he was holding on to the broken watch. Small totems reminding him how essential she’d become to him in such a short amount of time.

She had to be alive. If they wanted her dead, he’d have found her in the bathroom in a pool of her own blood. They needed her alive for some reason, and all she had to do was keep her head down until Gideon could find her.

But would she do that? Would she just sit there and be a complacent hostage, waiting for her rescuer?

Hell, no. That wasn’t the Shannon Cooper he knew. She’d push back. She’d try to escape. And she might well get herself killed.

“Gideon?”

He looked up at the sound of Margo’s voice. She stood nearby, next to a tall, lean man in his early thirties, dressed in a lightweight suit.
Cop,
Gideon thought.

“This is Doyle Massey, with the Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department.”

Gideon supposed it was inevitable that someone would call the law. He nodded at Massey. “Gideon Stone.”

Massey walked over slowly, his gaze on Gideon’s face as if assessing the mood. “You want to catch me up on things?”

It was the last thing Gideon wanted to do. “Who called you?”

“Does it matter?”

He supposed not. “My friend went to the bathroom. She didn’t return, and when Margo went to check on her, we found the window open and this lying on the floor.” He showed Massey the broken watch, now safely encased in a plastic zip-top bag.

“Blood?” Massey asked, nodding at the red spot on the watch crystal.

“I think so. Probably scraped her wrist when it tore off.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Shannon Cooper.”

Massey’s eyes narrowed. “Kin to J. D. Cooper?” Massey asked.

“Cousin.”

Massey sighed. “This isn’t connected to a South American drug cartel by any chance?”

Gideon shook his head. “No.”
Just a group of ruthless, deadly mercenaries.

As Massey was about to ask another question, Gideon’s cell phone rang. Checking the display, he saw a number he didn’t recognize and almost ignored the call. Then he realized whoever had Shannon might contact him with demands.

Excusing himself, he took the call. “Stone.”

The male voice on the other end of the line was smooth and articulate, the accent Northern and educated. His pleasant tone clashed with his words. “Mr. Stone, you have something I want. And I have something you want.”

Gideon felt his muscles contract with rage, but he tried to remain outwardly calm, well aware that Deputy Massey was a few feet away, watching him with deep curiosity. “Who is this?”

“Someone not stupid enough to share that information with you.”

“It’s Leo.” That was Shannon’s voice, strong and angry, close to the receiver. “We’re in a swamp—”

A soft gasp cut off her words, and Leo’s voice came over the line again, a little strained. “Now you know what I have. Want to trade?”

“If you hurt her—”

“Yeah, I know, you’ll hunt me down and kill me like a rabid dog.” Leo sounded bored. “Let’s not make this hard, okay? You don’t know what’s in the journal anyway. It’s coded, and you’re not going to find the keys to decode it. So, really, it’s not a hard choice.”

Gideon kept his voice low, acutely aware of Massey’s presence nearby. “Are the Harlowes still alive?”

The question seemed to surprise Leo. He didn’t answer immediately.

“That’s how you know about the journal, right?” Gideon pressed.

“Aren’t you a clever boy?” Leo asked quietly.

“Don’t give it to him!” That was Shannon again.

“Shut up!” Leo snapped.

“Where do you want to meet?” Gideon asked.

“I’ll call back.” The line went dead.

“Was that your friend?” Massey asked, closer than Gideon expected.

He looked at the deputy, wondering how much he’d heard. “No.”

“Let me rephrase,” Massey said quietly. “Was that the person or persons who have your friend?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Gideon took a step toward Massey, crowding him. He had a five-inch advantage on the other man, so he might as well put it to use. “Am I under arrest?”

Massey’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Then I’ll be going.” He walked over to where Margo stood, watching with worried eyes, and squeezed her arm. “I have to go.”

“Did you find her?”

“Not yet,” he said grimly.

But soon.

* * *

L
EO STILL HADN’T
produced a gun, Shannon realized as she walked slowly through the marsh in front of him and his sharp-pronged frog gig. It didn’t mean he didn’t have one on him, but for whatever reason, he’d decided to keep it hidden and rely on the gig pole to keep her under his control.

It was working well enough, she thought bleakly. She was still bleeding a little where he’d pricked her throat with the prongs. It would be just about her luck if that gator she’d passed earlier smelled the blood and came hunting.

Which wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, she realized, scanning the swampy woods ahead of her for any sign of familiar territory. She’d run into the gator near a fallen oak tree, she remembered, mistaking the moss-backed reptile for tree root sticking out of the water until he’d snapped at her.

A fallen oak tree lay about thirty yards ahead, close to a watery bog. Was it the same tree? It appeared to be straight ahead, right in their path. If they passed it, was there a way to coax the gator to make another appearance?

Her shoes squished loudly in the mud as they walked. She hoped the alligator was listening.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Leo murmured behind her.

“Just trying to figure out what you really want.” She kept her eye on the bog beside the fallen tree. There was a grayish-green mass barely visible above the waterline. Was that her friend the alligator?

“I told your boyfriend what we want.”

“But why?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

The shape of the mass in the water looked about right. If she could just get Leo on that side of her when they passed—

“I’ve heard about the Coopers,” Leo said. “Our nemeses, I guess you’d say,” he added with a laugh. “Never heard anything about you, though.”

“I’m just a computer geek,” she said drily, edging closer to the bog.

“Why did they send you on this job, then?”

“It’s archiving. I’m an archivist.”

Now,
she thought as they reached the edge of the water.

“Ow!” She stopped and bent, shifting to the side, away from the water.

As she’d hoped, Leo didn’t stop when she did, his forward momentum taking him halfway around her, perilously close to the bog.

The gator surged from his watery hiding place, jaws snapping.

Leo cried out, scrambling back. He toppled to his backside, dropping the frog gig. He also dropped his cell phone as he fell. It bounced off Shannon’s foot and landed right in front of her.

She scooped it up and started running.

A sharp report shattered the air behind her. She didn’t know if Leo was shooting at the alligator or at her. She didn’t stop to check. Splashing through the marsh, she zigzagged the best she could, seeking the cover of tree trunks as she wound her way north, deeper into the swamp.

The ground grew firmer soon, but she wasn’t any closer to recognizable signs of civilization. She could still hear the sounds of movement in the swamp behind her, but Leo was far enough away for her to stop and get her bearings.

The sun was gone again, dipping behind a dark band of clouds overhead. Rain had resumed falling, deepening the shadows in the woods around her.

She had no idea where she was. For all she knew, she might be just yards away from the shack from which she’d escaped. Ray and Craig might be close by, waiting for Leo to bring her back to captivity.

She looked down at the cell phone still clutched in her tightened fist. Sending up a silent prayer for a signal, she flipped it open and looked at the display panel.

No bars.

She hung up, slid the ringer to vibrate, and put it in her bra with the folding knife. If it rang, she’d feel it, even if she couldn’t hear it.

She listened carefully to the forest sounds, trying to discern between natural noises and any signs that Leo was headed her way. If he was moving toward her, she couldn’t hear him at all.

Maybe he’d gone still, listening for her.

She felt a flutter of confidence beating slowly but steadily in her chest. Driving a boat wasn’t the only thing she’d learned from her cousins as a child. Jake and Gabe, the best trackers in the family, had taken her under their wing and taught her all sorts of arcane things about moving silently through the woods. The swamp wasn’t exactly Gossamer Mountain, territory as familiar to her as the freckles on her face. But the same basic rules applied. Move silently. Be deliberate. Leave no signs.