Storm Force
Meredith Fletcher
A TIDAL WAVE IS FAST APPROACHING. AND THAT'S THE LEAST OF HER WORRIES.Wilderness guide Kate Garrett is having the bad day of the century. The worst storm in Florida's history is about to hit land, and she's been taken hostage by a gang of escaped convicts. Worse, her children are stranded on low ground and her ex-husband can't be reached.Now Kate must race against time to guide the prisoners through the swamp and save her children from the tidal wave. She can't afford to be distracted by Shane Warren, the powerful convict who claims to be helping her, even as he keeps her from escaping. But Kate does have one advantage: there's no deadlier force in nature than a mother fighting for her young….
Kate pulled alongside the prison bus and glanced inside the vehicle.
Nearly a dozen men sat in the uncomfortable seats behind the wire mesh screen that protected the driver and the armed guard in the front.
One of the prisoners sat at the window. Sunlight glinted from his unruly shoulder-length blond hair, picking up the streaks and highlights that summer had burned into it. His face was chiseled, but a few days’ dark beard growth covered his cheeks and jaw. Wide-spaced hazel eyes peered out from under dark brows that arched with sardonic amusement. Despite the shaggy look, the dimple in his chin plainly showed.
He glanced at his watch, then back at Kate. The amusement left his features and concern filled them.
Then the double explosion ripped through the Jeep’s interior.
Dear Reader,
When I look back on life, as I’m sure we all do, wondering how we got to where we are whether for good or bad, I think about the storms I’ve weathered. Personal storms. Broken hearts. Tragedies. Another choice I could have made.
Sometimes it seems as if everything I am today is defined by storms I’ve passed through. But all those things have made me stronger or made me see a little more clearly. Sometimes they made me focus on the little things. And sometimes they broadened my horizons.
More than that, though, I’m an avid storm watcher. I love spring and the wonderful electrical storms that the season brings. There’s something simply exhilarating about lightning streaking across the dark sky. It touches something elemental within me and makes me feel so alive! Those of you who feel the same way know what I’m talking about. And those of you who don’t probably think I need counseling.
Kate Garrett has been weathering her own personal storms for years. But now she’s about to step into the eye of a particularly nasty tropical storm, in the midst of escaped convicts and a sexy man who presents a danger that Kate has steered clear of for years.
I hope you enjoy this one!
Meredith Fletcher
www.bombshellromance.blogspot.com
Storm Force
Meredith Fletcher
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MEREDITH FLETCHER
doesn’t really call any place home. She blames her wanderlust on her navy father, who moved the family several times around the United States and other countries. The one constant she had was her books. The battered trunk of favorite novels followed her around the world when she was growing up and shared dorm space with her in college. These days, the trunk is stored, but sometimes comes with Meredith to visit A-frame houses high in the Colorado mountains, cottages in Maine, where she likes to visit lighthouses and work with fishing crews, and rental flats where she takes moments of “early retirement” for months at a stretch. Interested readers can reach her at MFletcher1216@aol.com.
This book is dedicated to Mary Beth Bulmer,
who lived in Florida for years and makes one of
the best Key lime pies in the world!
And to Tara Parsons and Tashya Wilson,
who make it all possible AND presentable!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Bright morning sunlight slashed across the bug-smeared windshield of Kate Garrett’s five-year-old Jeep Cherokee as she sped along the two-lane highway. Staring into the glare through the map of scattered insect anatomy crusted with road dust, she felt the stress of the day already getting to her. Discomfort knotted up across her shoulders and at the base of her skull. If the frustration kept up, she knew her jaws were going to ache, and that would be the first step toward a killer migraine. She so didn’t need that.
“Are you listenin’ to me?”
Kate tucked the cell phone more firmly under her chin. “Yeah, Dad, I heard you. Tyler called you and told you one of my clients is shooting the local wildlife.”
Tyler Jordan was the eighteen-year-old she’d hired to help with the Mathis contract. He was a local youth and good with the Everglades areas all along the Tamiami Trail, but he didn’t much care for the fact that he worked for a woman. Tyler’s father had worked for her father. As a result of their fathers’ influence, they’d gotten stuck working together.
“That guy’s out there shootin’ up everythin’ that moves,” her dad said.
“I got that,” Kate went on. “I told you I was on my way out there.” She cursed silently. When she’d first seen Darrel Mathis she’d known the man and his buddies were going to be trouble.
“Stupid cell phones,” Conrad Garrett fumed in his coarse gravelly voice. “Oughta be a law, I tell you. You were breakin’ up.”
Despite the fact that one of her high-paying clients was off in the bush chasing after wild boar through the Florida Everglades, Kate had to grin at her dad. He claimed to hate new technology, but he was always the first to upgrade to a new cell phone or computer. And he was the one who had bought her kids the new PlayStation 3, then promptly sat down to beat them at every game they wanted to play. Steven and Hannah, her eight-year-old son and five-year-old daughter, didn’t always seem comfortable with her, but they loved Grampa Conrad.
“If I didn’t have a cell phone we wouldn’t even be having this conversation,” Kate pointed out.
“Yeah, well I’m tellin’ you that if they were gonna put in new digital networks to replace the old analog ones they should have at least put in ones that worked.”
Kate loved her dad. He’d held it together for her and her two sisters and brother after their mother had died of ovarian cancer. Kate had only been four years old. She barely remembered her mother.
But she remembered how her dad had taught her to swim and camp and track and hunt. She’d learned how to fish and run trotlines a couple years before she’d gone to school. She was the baby of the family and the only one who hadn’t promptly moved away from Everglades City when the first chance presented itself. Her sisters and brother couldn’t wait to be somewhere else and seldom visited. Janice and Carol were married and lived in Atlanta, Georgia, and Doug was in the navy. Kate and her dad only had each other these days.
During Kate’s younger years, her dad had worked as a hunting and fishing guide through the Everglades, managing big-game expeditions as well as deepwater fishing. Kate had gone everywhere with him.
Her dad had gotten to where he couldn’t stomach the tourist clientele coming in from northern Florida and out of state wanting to fish and hunt in the Everglades wilderness. These days, he worked as a marine consultant, specializing in shallow-water recovery and occasionally dabbling in treasure hunting. Her dad was always and forever finding some new trade or learning a new skill. He’d passed part of that restlessness on to all of his children, and he blamed himself because they’d all left.
“You gotta get out of the guide business, baby girl,” her dad said.
Kate smiled and shook her head. She was twenty-eight years old, divorced for three years, and running her own business shepherding hunters, fishermen, tourists and the occasional university professor through the Everglades. She hadn’t been anybody’s “baby girl” in a long time.
“Not all of us can get certified to do marine salvage,” Kate responded. She checked the road up ahead and saw a big white bus. The rear of the vehicle had Everglades Correctional Institution stencilled across it in blocky black letters. Department of Corrections was written below in smaller letters. She could barely distinguish the passengers but she imagined the hard-eyed men in shackles and orange jumpsuits inside the bus. Everglades Correctional Institution was over in Miami proper and she wondered what the bus was doing traveling the back roads.
“I could get you certified for divin’ and recovery,” her dad offered. “Be no problem at all.”
“Dad, I don’t want to be certified. You like diving. I don’t. Being underwater makes me feel like I’m drowning.”
“Marine salvage is doin’ good business,” her dad said. “And now that we’re in hurricane season again, I’m bettin’ there’s gonna be a lot more business. There’s a storm movin’ in. Should be here by tonight.”
Kate looked up at the eastern skyline. Darkness already roiled on the skyline. By this afternoon the Miami coastline would start feeling the fury of Hurricane Genevieve.
“Why, if I had a little bit of paint and knew you were interested,” her dad continued, “wouldn’t be no trouble at all to add and Daughter after Garrett Marine Salvage.”
Just like you added and Daughter to everything else you were doing when I was growing up. In addition to the guide business, Kate had also spent time overhauling boat engines, replacing decks and coaming, and piloting airboats. Her childhood hadn’t lacked for something to do.
When she’d been growing up, though, she hadn’t felt the need to stand on her own two feet. Now, with the divorce behind her and only visitation with her kids granted instead of custody, she wanted to be her own person. More than that, she needed to be independent.
“All I’m sayin’,” her dad went on, “is that you should think about it. There’s more money in salvage work than in the guide business.”
“I’m doing all right for myself.” Kate bristled slightly. Her ex had pointed out her inability to care for their children in the manner to which they’d become accustomed—expensive summer camps, nannies and international vacations—every time she’d scraped together enough money to hire a lawyer to make an attempt to adjust the visitation. But she’d returned to what she had known, to what she had loved. There was nothing like being out in the wilds of the Everglades away from civilization. She just hadn’t been able to convince her kids of that.
“You got some almighty prideful ways,” her dad said.
“I wonder where I got that,” Kate replied.
“And did anyone ever tell you that stubbornness was unattractive in a young woman?”
“I prefer to think of it as determination.”
Kate slowed as she caught up with the D.O.C. bus. Her dad meant well. She’d never had a person stand by her like her dad did. Through thick and thin.
“Maybe you could just do marine salvage part-time,” her dad suggested.
“We’ve been over this,” Kate said. “You travel too much. How could I maintain a home for Steven and Hannah if we lived and worked off a boat together?”
“We’d find a way, baby girl,” her dad said in his rough, prideful way. “You and me, we’ve always found a way.”
A lump formed at the back of Kate’s throat. “I know, Dad.” She paused, looking around at the thick forests and the sweeping plains of sawgrass that hid the cypress swamps. Mangroves grew in salt water and cypress grew in fresh water. Big Cypress Swamp was all fresh water until the sea invaded it during the occasional tropical storm.
“And that boy of yours,” her dad said, “why he’d love a chance to play at being a pirate lookin’ for lost treasure.”
Maybe with you, Dad, Kate thought. Steven remained distant from her despite her best attempts to get closer to him. Every time he looked at her, Kate got the feeling that she just didn’t measure up, that he faulted her for leaving.
Looking back on her marriage and divorce, Kate had to admit that he was right. She’d never belonged in Bryce Colbert’s world. He was computers and international deals, long business trips spent in Europe and interviews in Forbes and Money.
She’d always been her father’s daughter. At home in the small towns in southern Florida with the bush and mosquitoes. Tall and athletic, she didn’t look like the tiny fashion dolls Bryce seemed to prefer. She was five feet ten inches tall, had curves that turned the heads of most men, and a thick mane of auburn hair she wore past her shoulders that had humbled the hairdressers in several New York salons. Freckles scattered over the bridge of her pug nose couldn’t be hidden by cosmetics. Her eyes were such a dark green they sometimes looked black.
This morning, since she was going to be in the brush, she wore heavy khaki pants, a black T-shirt under a tan Banana Republic vest and hiking boots. Wraparound amber-tinted sunglasses protected her eyes and she wore her hair tied back. Back when she’d met her future ex-husband, she’d been dressed much the same. She was definitely not Bryce Colbert’s kind of woman.
But Bryce had blown into her world like a hurricane and swept her off her feet. He’d been ten years older, with one marriage already in flames and a string of jilted lovers behind him. Kate hadn’t known that then.
Nine years ago, Bryce had hired Conrad Garrett to lead him and a small party through the Everglades on a hunting expedition. Bryce had brought a woman with him, but she didn’t take to the rough living conditions and the fact that he was paying more attention to Kate than to her. The woman left in a hurry.
At that time, Kate had felt a glow of pride that she was able to turn the head of a man like Bryce Colbert. He was so confident and so sure of what he wanted. Kate hadn’t responded to Bryce’s advances at first, which had only seemed to increase his desire for her. In the end, though, she’d been thoroughly captivated by Bryce’s charm and he’d been driven to win her. That kind of infatuation, and she knew now that’s what it had been, was nothing but trouble.
Shortly after the marriage, Kate had gotten pregnant with Steven. The marriage started falling apart almost immediately, but Kate busied herself with raising her child. There was nothing in the world that she loved like her son and daughter. For the first time she’d known what had prompted her father to set his life aside for her till she was grown.
During the six years of her marriage she’d lived in New York and tried to fit in. She’d worn the dresses Bryce had bought for her, gone to the salons he’d pointed her to, and taken classes to learn how to entertain in his home. Only later did she realize how hard she’d worked to become a trophy wife. She’d been competing in an arena that she didn’t even care about, but Bryce had somehow brought out the desire in her to be the perfect Stepford wife. In the end, she knew she hadn’t been much different than the fish, deer and wild boar trophies she sent home with her clients.
Even before the divorce, Bryce had resumed dating. He hadn’t even tried to hide it. Or maybe his infidelity had gone on longer than Kate had known. Now, she didn’t want to know. Whatever had drawn him to her in the beginning was gone. Bryce had gone back to the same kind of woman he’d always pursued.
Five years old and impressionable, Hannah always talked about the women her daddy dated. She didn’t see the pain it caused Kate, and Kate wouldn’t have let her daughter see it for anything. Hannah was fascinated by the clothing and jewelry the women wore, how her daddy was always dating “princesses.”
Kate wasn’t jealous. For the most part. During the marriage, and especially during the divorce when his attorneys had painted her as a gold digger in court and in the three years since, when he’d fought off every attempt she made to see more of her kids, she’d learned that marrying Bryce Colbert was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
Of course, she’d made some good ones later too. Agreeing to guide and care for Darrel Mathis’s group was one of those.
“Maybe we could talk about this later,” Kate suggested. “You’re breaking up at this end.”
“Sure, Kate, sure,” her dad agreed. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”
“You didn’t.” Kate hated to make her dad feel like he’d said or done anything wrong. “I’ve just got my hands full today.”
“When Tyler called me this morning—”
Kate fully intended to address the “Tyler issue” as soon as possible. Tyler had called her dad no doubt thinking that calming down a drunken hunter was more a man’s work. Wisely, though, her dad had called her.
“—I thought about goin’ out there myself,” her dad said. “Takin’ care of it for you.”
“That would have been a mistake, Dad.” Kate heard the icy anger in her voice.
“I knew it,” her dad told her. “That’s why I called you. But I also knew you had to pick up the kids from the airport in Miami today.”
Kate glanced at her watch. It was 6:14 a.m. She made herself take a deep breath. “I’ve got plenty of time to do that.”
“Yeah. Figured you did.”
Hearing the hesitation in her dad’s voice, Kate relented a little. “I appreciate the thought.”
“Sure. No problem. Did you ever find out why the Toad’s sendin’ the kids down?” Her dad never used Bryce’s name, as if by not acknowledging it he could strip away her ex’s dignity. Toad was short for “scum-suckin’ toad.”
“No.” Outside of the four weeks she got to see Steven and Hannah in July every year, Kate rarely got to have her children. She spent Christmases—either before or after, according to Bryce’s plans—in New York. Surrounded by the snow and the hustle and bustle of the city, she always felt like an alien.
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
“You should’ve.”
“I’m getting to see my children,” Kate said in a tight voice. A lump formed in the back of her throat as she thought about all the times she couldn’t see them. Her vision blurred and tears threatened to leak down her cheeks. She steeled herself. “I’m not going to question that.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” her dad agreed. “I should be clear here in a day or so. Okay if I come by?”
“Of course. They would love that.”
“What about you? Or have I worn out my welcome this mornin’ bein’ a busybody?”
Kate grinned, knowing that despite her dad’s gruff demeanor he really was feeling awkward now that he’d said everything he had. “I’m willing to tolerate it,” she told him.
“That’s good,” her dad said, sounding a little relieved. Most people, except for the ones that really knew him, wouldn’t have noticed the change. “Mighty good. I’ll call you before I come over.”
“Just come, Dad.”
“I will. An’ if you need anythin’, let me know.”
Kate said she would, told him she loved him, and pushed the end button. She tapped the brake to slow down and slide behind the D.O.C. bus as it rounded a sweeping curve between towering cypress trees. Her thoughts ran to her kids again.
Her dad was right: she should have asked Bryce why he was sending Steven and Hannah. During the past three years, he’d never let her see them any more than the court order had declared. For Bryce, custody was all about power and controlling his financial vulnerability. From all accounts, Bryce didn’t spend that much time with Steven and Hannah, but paid others to. She kept having visions of her kids growing up in a vast, empty apartment among strangers.
Put that away, Kate told herself. There’s nothing you can do about it right now. You’re working to change that. Stay with it.
The two-lane highway straightened out again. Kate knew for a fact that the Florida Highway Patrol and the Collier County Sheriff’s Department didn’t monitor the highway. In fact, she was surprised that the D.O.C. bus was using the route. The road was well off the beaten path.
Her cell phone rang.
Kate scooped it up and answered automatically. “Garrett Guides. Kate Garrett speaking.”
“Kate, where the hell are you?” Tyler Jordan sounded scared and pissed and out of breath all at the same time.
“On my way,” Kate said.
“Well, you need to hurry. That damned idiot is out there shootin’ up half the Everglades. He gets around some of the regulars through here, they’re gonna shoot the ass offa him.”
“I’m getting there as quick as I can,” Kate said. “Faster than my dad would have. He was over in Miami when you called him. If you’d called me first, I’d have been a few minutes closer by now.”
“This didn’t seem like something a—” Tyler caught himself just in time and closed his mouth. “Like something you’d want to deal with,” he finished lamely.
A gunshot cracked over the cell phone connection.
“That was Mathis?” Kate asked.
Three other gunshots followed in quick succession.
“Yeah,” Tyler said. He swore vehemently. “He’s a crazy son of a bitch, Kate. If it’s movin’ out there in the brush, he’s shootin’ at it. Damn wonder he ain’t shot nobody. He’s an anesthesiologist, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Something tells me that man’s been raidin’ his own goodie box.”
“Give me fifteen more minutes,” Kate said. She put her foot down harder on the accelerator, getting ready to pass the D.O.C. bus. “I’ll be there.”
Another gunshot echoed over the phone connection.
“Sure,” Tyler said sourly.
Kate pulled alongside the D.O.C. bus. She couldn’t help glancing inside the vehicle.
Nearly a dozen men sat in rigid-looking seats behind a wire mesh screen that protected the driver and the armed guard in the front.
One of the prisoners sat at the window. Sunlight glinted from his unruly shoulder-length blond hair, picking up the streaks that summer had burned into it. His face was chiseled with a few days’ dark beard growth lightly covering his cheeks and jaw. Wide-spaced hazel eyes peered out from under dark brows that arched with sardonic amusement. Despite the shaggy look, the dimple in his chin showed plainly. He wore the familiar orange inmate jumpsuit.
He glanced at his watch, then back at Kate. The amusement left his features and concern filled them.
“Just do what you can,” Kate said into the phone. She tried to shake the prisoner’s gaze but found it hard to look away. The man was handsome and she couldn’t help wondering what he had done to get locked up. “I’ll be there as soon as—”
The double explosion ripped through the Jeep’s interior. At the same time that she realized the sound had come from beside her and not from the cell phone, Kate saw the bus’s front tire shred and come apart. Chunks of rubber flew through the air and slapped against the Jeep, knocking bug debris from the windshield.
Throwing the cell phone down, Kate put both hands on the wheel and tried to speed up as the bus crossed the dotted lines. Before she was able to get clear, the bus slammed against the Cherokee’s right rear quarter panel.
Although the collision barely caught the Jeep, the vehicle wobbled and the tires tore free of the highway pavement. Kate tried to shove the transmission into four-wheel-drive with the shift-on-the-fly selector but by then it was too late.
The Jeep swapped ends, spinning out of control. Metal screeched as the bus slammed into the smaller vehicle again, driving it like a battering ram, striking again and again. The passenger window shattered and fell away. The side mirror crumpled inward and fell off.
Kate struggled to recover, jerking the steering wheel and alternately hitting the brakes and the accelerator. Evidently the bus driver was trying to do the same thing because the bigger vehicle tore free. As she tried to regain control of the Jeep, Kate watched in horror as the D.O.C. bus fell over on its side.
Careening wildly across the two lanes, the bus left a trail of sparks. The sound of tortured metal shrilled over the area, startling dozens of birds from the trees and filling the sky with feathery clouds for a moment.
Then Kate lost sight of the bus as the Jeep left the road and skidded into the swampy treeline. She held on grimly as the vehicle crashed through the brush. The seat belt felt as if it was cutting her in two as it restrained her. She came to an abrupt stop against a cluster of knobby-kneed cypress trees in black water.
Even though he’d been prepared for the explosion and the eventual wreck, Shane still jumped at the sound. Seated in the stiff seat, he grabbed hold of the chains secured to the D-ring in the floor between his feet. He lifted a foot and jammed it against the seat in front of him.
Some plan, he told himself. You’re going to be lucky if you don’t get somebody killed.
That wasn’t the plan. The plan was all about escape. For himself and for the men he’d fallen in with while in prison. The man who had rigged the explosion worked in Hollywood doing elaborate movie stunts for guys like Richard Donner and John Woo. All stuff with big explosions and flying cars.
It’s a hell of a lot easier watching a stunt like that than being involved in it, Shane thought as the bus started to flip.
All around him, the prisoners cried out, scared and surprised.
Except for Raymond Jolly. The big man sat braced in his seat, broad face implacable. He glanced at Shane with those dead eyes. “You ready?” he asked.
Shane leaned forward to reach Jolly’s hands and took the lock pick he’d fashioned from a piece of wire he’d snared while the prisoners had been at the hospital. They’d been tested for an outbreak of the latest flu everyone was talking about in the media. Shane’s nose still hurt from the deep swab.
Working quickly, he picked the lock. The cuffs fell open. By the time the bus was sliding along on its side, finally slowing with a deep grinding noise, he had his legs free.
He pushed himself up and checked the driver and the guard. The guard’s attention was locked on the wounded driver. Shane walked across the seats, duckwalking from seat to seat as he used his hands on the seats above him.
Reaching the wire-mesh door, he used the lock pick again. The guard heard the noise a beat too late. Shane opened the door as the guard started to raise his shotgun. Grabbing the weapon’s barrel, Shane shoved forward, closed his hand into a big fist, then hit the man in the face.
The guard stumbled backward, releasing the shotgun.
Grabbing the shotgun, Shane rammed the butt into the side of the guard’s jaw. Go down! Shane thought.
The man’s eyes rolled up inside his head and he sank into a boneless heap.
Shane breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to kill anyone.
“Shane!” Jolly yelled.
Reaching down, Shane took the guard’s keys and tossed them back to Jolly.
Jolly caught the keys and quickly uncuffed himself. He handed the keys to the prisoners next to him, then he made his way forward and joined Shane.
“Gonna have to climb out the window.” Jolly plucked the sidearm from the fallen guard. He grinned crookedly at Shane. “Woulda been better if the bus had fallen the other way.”
“Would have been worse if my buddy hadn’t been able to rig the bus,” Shane pointed out.
“Yeah.” Jolly looked at the two fallen guards.
Shane knew the man was thinking of killing them. Raymond Jolly was a merciless man and had killed before. “If you kill one of them,” Shane said in a calm, non-threatening voice, “I guarantee you’re going to amp up the pursuit. Escaping prisoners is one thing. Escaping prisoners who capped guards while they were helpless is another.”
Jolly hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Let’s hit it.” He shifted his attention to the driver’s-side window and surged up.
Shane’s stomach unknotted. He followed Jolly, climbing from the bus. He’d heard the sound of the Jeep colliding against the bus. Now he wondered what had happened to the woman.
He slithered free of the bus, surprised at all the smoke. Then he realized the bus was on fire.
Dazed, Kate fumbled for the cell phone in the floorboard. The Jeep’s engine sputtered and died before she could get the clutch pushed in. She punched in 911 and looked at the spiral of black smoke wafting up from where she had last seen the D.O.C. bus.
When the phone didn’t connect, Kate looked at it. No signal.
She switched the ignition on and heard the engine catch. Then she pressed the accelerator and tried to back out of the swamp. The tires spun, even in four-wheel-drive, and refused to find purchase.
Thinking that the men might be trapped in the burning bus, Kate forced her door open and got out. The swamp water was almost up to her knees. Working her way around the vehicle, she opened the rear deck and took out the fire extinguisher from the other gear she kept on hand. Then she turned and slogged up the muddy hillside to the road.
The bus lay on its side, sprawled two-thirds of the way across the road at an angle. Bilious black smoke poured from the engine compartment.
Surely somebody is going to see that, Kate thought. There were enough hunters and fishermen in the area that someone would call in a fire.
She sprinted across the street. The fire extinguisher banged against her thigh at every step. Although the extinguisher wasn’t much, it was all she could think to do. Her mind whirled. The driver and guard would be free, but the prisoners were shackled in the back. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching anyone burn to death.
She attacked the flames in the back immediately, hosing down the smoke and flames with the extinguisher. The white clouds warred with the black smoke. Her eyes burned and watered.
Movement to her right drew Kate’s attention. She turned and spotted a man in an orange jumpsuit coming through the smoke. He carried a fire extinguisher too and helped her spray the flames. In seconds the cold white powder crusted the engine compartment and the flames disappeared.
As she staggered back, almost overcome by the smoke, Kate saw that the prisoner was the blond man she’d spotted through the window. Blood wept from a cut over one of those hazel eyes.
“Guess you came along at a good time,” he said in a deep, resonant voice. Then he shrugged. “Of course, I guess you could say it was a bad time too. Another few minutes earlier or later, you’d have missed this altogether.”
Another prisoner joined the blond one. The new arrival was broad and chunky. His thick-jowled face looked menacing. A thick scar bisected one eyebrow. His hair was oiled and combed straight back.
“You the girl in the car?” the new prisoner growled.
Kate stepped back. “Where are the guards?”
“Guards didn’t make it,” the prisoner grunted. Then he smiled. “Where’s your car?”
Lifting the fire extinguisher to use as a weapon if she needed to, Kate didn’t answer. If the guards were dead and the prisoners were free, she was in a hell of a mess.
The menacing prisoner lifted his arm. He held a pistol pointed at her. “Where’s your car? I won’t ask you again.”
“In the swamp,” Kate said. “It spun out of control across the road.”
The prisoner held out a hand. “Gimme the keys.”
Before the man or Kate could move, the blond man stepped forward and grabbed Kate. He stood behind her and wrapped a hand around her upper body, holding her trapped for a moment, and fished the Jeep’s keys from Kate’s vest.
He held the keys up, dangling them from his thumb. “Got ’em, Jolly.”
The prisoner with the gun smiled. “Good job, Shane.”
Moving quickly, Kate stamped her heel against Shane’s shin, scraping skin with her hiking boot. He yelped in pain, but that was quickly muffled when she slammed the back of her head against his nose. She made a desperate grab for the Jeep’s keys, but Shane closed his fist over them.
Jolly aimed the pistol at Kate.
Moving quickly, Kate threw herself around the end of the bus out of Jolly’s line of fire. Guards didn’t make it. The cold, flat declaration ricocheted through her mind. She was out here alone with escaped prisoners.
On the other side of the bus, Kate ran. Guide work was physically demanding. She exercised and ran every day even though finding the time was almost impossible, keeping herself in peak condition. Her life and the lives of the people who hired her depended on her ability to take care not only of herself but of them as well.
Footsteps slapped the pavement behind her. Curses rang out.
Kate ducked and slid down the muddy hill on the other side of the road from where the Jeep had gone off. A gunshot cracked behind her and leaves fluttered down from the cypress trees in front of her. She didn’t quit running, leaping and dodging through the cypress forest with the sure-footed grace of a deer.
Fifty yards into the swampy tangle, hidden deeply in the brush, Kate stopped behind a tree and glanced back at the bus. Shane and Jolly hadn’t pursued her.
As she watched through the residual smoke coming from the bus’s engine compartment, Shane, Jolly and four other prisoners in orange jumpsuits disappeared over the other side of the road.
Knowing they were going for her Jeep, Kate edged through the cypress forest, working her way forward. Jolly had a pistol, but there might be more weapons on the bus. Once they found out the Jeep was mired in the swamp, they might come for her. After all, she knew the area. If she had a chance to get to the bus and get a weapon—a pistol or a shotgun—she was going to. But if she had to flee farther back into the swamp, she was prepared to do that too.
She halted at the edge of the treeline and listened to the Jeep’s engine catch. The transmission whined, then she heard the wheels grab hold. Evidently with six bodies aboard, the Jeep had found enough traction to extricate itself.
A moment later, the Jeep roared back on to the road with Shane at the wheel. The tires slung mud off, found traction again, then dug in.
Kate watched in disbelief as her Jeep accelerated and disappeared down the road. The adrenaline hit her then, strong and savage, and took away nearly all her strength. She leaned against a tree and shuddered, hoping that someone had seen the smoke and was coming to investigate.
She couldn’t stay here. She had a client with buck fever and she had to pick up Steven and Hannah from Miami International Airport in a few hours. Taking a breath, she steadied herself and started for the overturned bus.
Chapter 2
Kate paused beside the bus, breathing hard. Slow down, she told herself. The men inside this bus have been convicted of armed robbery, drugs, murder and rape. You can’t just charge in there. But what about the guards? She sighed. She couldn’t let anyone burn to death.
During her guide experience—with her dad and on her own—she’d had several close calls. Snake bites and other injuries to clients as well as herself topped the list. And she’d ended up being the medic for her dad and her siblings when they’d gotten hurt. Taking care of people was just second nature to her.
She studied the bus, wondering how best to handle the situation. No matter what she did, there was some risk. At least it didn’t look as if it was going to catch on fire and burn again.
“Is the bus gonna explode?” someone yelled from inside.
“Man, why didn’t those guys cut us loose while they were at it?” someone else griped.
“Can anyone reach the driver? He’s got a set of keys on him.”
“Dude,” someone else said, “I think that guy Jolly or one of his cabrons took the key ring.”
Kate jumped up and caught hold of the edge of the bus, then hauled herself up. The men inside the bus saw her through the windows and started screaming for help, wanting to know if the bus was on fire. They beat on the windows with their free hands, the other hands manacled to the D-rings in the floor. Several of the prisoners yelled at her, urging her to get inside and set them free. Some of the comments bordered on suggestive. Kate ignored it all, hoping she wasn’t going to find the guards dead.
The driver’s window was open. Kate looked inside and saw the uniformed guard lying spread-eagled across the bus doors that were now flat to the street and unable to be opened. The guy was in his fifties, heavy-set and balding. She couldn’t help thinking he was somebody’s husband, somebody’s father, maybe even somebody’s grandfather. But she had no idea how she was going to get him out of the bus if it caught on fire again.
Holding on to the edges of the window, Kate let herself down into the bus. She knelt beside the fallen guard. Blood covered his face, still leaking from a deep laceration on his forehead. Bleeding’s good, she told herself. Bleeding means the heart’s beating. He’s alive. But he had to stop bleeding to stay that way.
The wound wasn’t going to stop bleeding on its own. It was too wide, too deep. Judging from the look on his head, he’d have a concussion at least, but something short of a skull fracture, she hoped.
“Hey!” one of the orange-jumpsuited prisoners called out. “Hey, chica! Get his keys! Get us out of here before we burn up!”
Several other prisoners echoed the demand/plea. A few of them were crying or praying.
“You’re not going to burn up,” Kate stated. She reached under the dash and freed the large first-aid kit secured there. Sorting through the supplies, she found a gauze pad and a roll of adhesive tape. She pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and cradled the guard’s head in her lap. Working quickly and from experience, she wrapped the wound, fashioning a turban that would compress the laceration and help aid the clotting to stop the bleeding.
“Damn you, woman!” someone swore. “You can’t just leave us in here to die!”
Kate didn’t take the verbal abuse personally. Being a single woman in what was essentially a man’s profession drew a lot of ire and harsh speculation as to why she did what she did. A lot of men felt threatened. None of them seemed to understand or accept that she just loved being part of the world her father had introduced her to. There was a real freedom in being a guide, in staying out in the wilderness where she wasn’t under someone’s constant scrutiny.
“You’re not going to die,” Kate said, not looking at them. They were captives, chained to the D-rings mounted in the floor. Most of them had to stand now, or sit on the opposite seats because they were at the end of their chains.
“This frickin’ bus is on fire, lady,” someone snarled. “Look at all the smoke.”
“Was on fire,” Kate said calmly. “I put it out before your buddies stole my vehicle.”
“Jolly ain’t no buddy of mine,” someone said. “That bastard had this whole thing wired, this escape an’ all. Blew up the bus. An’ he didn’t invite nobody else in on it.”
Kate let that pass without comment. The prison pecking order wasn’t her concern. Finished with the wounded guard, satisfied that she’d done all she could do under the circumstances, she turned her attention to the second guard.
He was younger, probably twenty-four or twenty-five. He was slim and good-looking. Or at least he would have been if it hadn’t been for the massive swelling on the side of his face. Somebody had hit him really hard.
Reaching into the first-aid kit, ignoring the continued caterwauling of the prisoners, Kate took out an ammonia capsule and snapped it under the younger guard’s nose. The acrid stink caused Kate to choke and cough, but it woke the guard.
He came around fast, jerking his head to get away from the ammonia. He cursed and reached for his pistol but found only an empty holster. His eyes were wide and frightened as he looked up at her.
Kate looked at his prison ID, noting the picture and the name. If something had been planted on the bus to cause the tire to blow it, it could have been an inside job. Just because the guy was wearing a prison guard uniform didn’t mean he was a good guy.
“Bill,” Kate said in a neutral voice. “Bill Maddox. Can you hear me?”
“Huh?” Maddox blinked at her. Awareness gradually seeped into his eyes. He touched the side of his face. “Damn but that guy can hit.”
Kate held up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Maddox looked and blinked. “Two.”
She smiled at him, feeling some of the control returning to the situation. “Good. You’ve been in an accident, but you’re going to be fine. Do you know what happened?”
“Yeah. Something on the side of the bus blew up. Pete lost control and we flipped. By the time I recovered, Shane Warren was out of his seat, off the chain and through that security door. He hit me before I could pull my weapon.” Bill shook his head slowly. “I’ve never seen somebody move that fast in my life.”
“Can you sit up?”
He managed it with help and Kate left him propped against the top of the bus.
“I’ve got to try to get help,” Kate said. “Your friend needs someone to look after him.”
“Where’s Pete?”
Kate pointed at the older guard crumpled against the doors.
Maddox started to get up, then his legs turned rubbery and he sat back down hard again. The prisoners jeered at him, making fun of his inability to stand.
“Easy,” Kate said, looking him in the eye. That was important to a shock victim, she knew. The victim had to feel that he could take care of himself. “You’re probably a little lightheaded right now. After everything you’ve been through, that’s to be expected. Just go slow and you’re going to be fine.”
Leaning back, Maddox started taking deep breaths.
“Breathe slowly,” Kate made herself say calmly. She knew she sounded much more calm than she felt. She’d practiced sounding that way during stressful situations. She demonstrated till he started breathing that way too. “You breathe fast like that you’re going to get your blood too oxygenated, you’ll hyperventilate and you could pass out. That won’t help Pete.” Give him someone else to take care of, she thought. That way he’ll stop worrying about himself so much.
“Okay,” he said. “Thanks. Are you a nurse?”
Kate checked an immediate impulse to ask him why he thought she couldn’t be a doctor. She made herself smile reassuringly. “No. But I’ve done a lot of first aid.”
“How did you get here?”
“I saw the accident happen. Thought I’d stop by and lend a hand. Unfortunately, some of the prisoners managed to escape and stole my Jeep.”
Maddox looked into the back of the bus. “Who?”
“Somebody named Jolly. Another guy named Shane.”
Maddox cursed.
“There were four other guys,” Kate said, “but I didn’t get their names.”
Looking back through the prisoners, Maddox said, “Phil Lewis, Monte Carter, Deke Hannibal and Ernie Franks. They were the ones that helped Raymond Jolly pull the Desiree Martini kidnapping.”
That rang bells. Desiree Martini had been the twentysomething heiress of Gabriel Martini, the international shipping magnate who operated out of Miami-Dade. The kidnapping had taken place a few months ago. The last Kate had heard, law-enforcement officials had “feared the worst” and the ransom money hadn’t yet been recovered. Jolly had stashed it someplace before the FBI had apprehended him.
“We need to call 911,” Kate said. “Let them know we’re out here.”
“Sure.” Maddox pulled his cell phone from the holster on his belt. He checked it, shook his head and immediately regretted that. “No signal.”
“It happens down here in the low areas,” Kate said. “Let me borrow it and I’ll hike up on one of the hills. See if I can get a signal there.”
“I can do it.” Maddox tried to get up again but couldn’t manage it. Ruefully, he handed Kate the phone. “I’ll just stay here and take care of Pete.”
“You do that,” Kate said.
“What should I look out for?”
Kate stood and shoved the phone into her pocket. “Keep his head elevated. That’ll relieve some of the pressure and naturally help slow the bleeding. If he throws up, don’t let him breathe it in. Turn his head and get it out.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Should be cake.”
“Cake,” Maddox echoed doubtfully.
“I’ll be right back as soon as I get through to someone.” Kate climbed up and caught hold of the window. She heaved herself out and dropped over the side of the bus. She forced herself to jog, not run, not allowing herself to give in to the panic that throbbed inside her.
She had to run a quarter-mile to reach a rise. Even then she only had one signal bar showing. But when she punched 911, she got right through. As she explained the situation—giving her location and knowing the phone GPS coordinates would back her up—she looked back at the overturned bus. A thin trickle of black smoke continued to pour from the engine compartment. The quiet of the Everglades made everything she saw feel surreal.
She couldn’t help wondering where Raymond Jolly and his cohorts had gotten off to in her truck.
“Hell of a mess you got yourself involved in, Kate.”
Standing to one side of the accident site, Kate watched Sheriff Harvey Bannock walking over to her. “Didn’t exactly have this on my schedule either, Sheriff.”
Bannock smiled and wiped the back of his wattled neck with a handkerchief. “Damn, but it’s humid.” He looked to the south where the ocean lay only a few miles away. “Supposed to be blowing up a storm out there that’ll be on us soon. They’re calling it Genevieve.”
“That’s what Dad said.”
“How come the bad ones always get those sexy names?”
Kate shook her head and watched as the prisoners were led from the overturned bus into another one under the close supervision of shotgun-toting prison guards. Several of the prisoners had complained of medical problems, insisting they needed to be taken to a hospital and not back to the prison. Besides the prison bus, there were several sheriff’s deputies, paramedics and a few of the local reporters. Miami had even sent a news helicopter.
Bannock was a thickset man who’d been sheriff in the county for twenty-five years. His florid face came from too much drinking, but he ran a tight ship. His iron-gray hair was neatly clipped and he wore a jacket over a Colt .45 he’d carried as an officer during his tours through Vietnam. He looked like somebody’s grandfather with his jeans and cowboy boots, but the mirror sunglasses and no-nonsense attitude were all cop.
He was also a good friend to her and her dad. He threw a lot of out-of-town business her way with recommendations and business connections he had. Sometimes Kate thought it was because he felt sorry for her, but Bannock always insisted it was because he could trust her to treat people right and not overcharge them or allow them to poach or indiscriminately kill.
That reminded her of the Mathis party Tyler Jordan had called about.
“You okay?” Bannock asked.
“I’m fine,” Kate said.
“You look a little jacked.”
“Maybe a little,” Kate admitted.
“Prison guard Bill Maddox said you took care of everything inside the bus.”
“Is the other guard going to be okay?”
“The EMTs had him talking. They tell me he’s going to be fine. Part of that’s because you bandaged him up. A few stitches, a stay at the hospital tonight for observation, he’ll be home this time tomorrow.”
Kate glanced at her watch. So far she’d been at the site for almost two hours. She still had Mathis to deal with, and guessed that Tyler Jordan was probably beside himself right now. He might even be prompted to quit. She sighed. All she needed was to be left shorthanded with Steven and Hannah coming so unexpectedly.
“Problems?” Bannock asked.
“I have a client who’s turned the site I put him on into his own private shooting gallery. Tyler called me this morning. I was on my way out there when this happened.”
“I’ll send a deputy around when I can. Where’s the site?”
Kate told him.
“Don’t know how soon I can get a man there,” Bannock said. “We’re battening down the city, getting ready for this thing. But I’ll have him there as soon as I can.”
“I appreciate it.” Kate was antsy, feeling the need to go burning through her.
Bannock wiped his sweating face. “I’m gonna cut you loose, Kate. Ain’t no reason for you to hang around here. If I have any more questions, I’ll give you a call or come by.”
“Thanks, but since they took my Jeep, leaving’s not exactly an option.”
“There might be a way,” Bannock said. “Clyde Burris wants an exclusive interview with you.”
Clyde Burris worked for one of the weekly newspapers out of Everglades City. Kate bought advertising space from him and sometimes allowed him to do interviews with out-of-state clients who wanted a little extra publicity before they returned home.
“I really don’t like the idea of talking to the news,” Kate said.
“That’s the good part,” Bannock said. “It ain’t the news. It’s Clyde. And when other media agencies call you, and I guarantee they will because the story’s a good one—‘Local Woman Hero,’ Raymond Jolly, and the unsolved nature of the Desiree Martini kidnapping—you’ll be able to tell them that you’ve granted an exclusive to Clyde.” He paused. “That’s guaranteed to get him picked up on every stringing service across the nation.”
Kate didn’t doubt that. As she recalled, the Desiree Martini kidnapping had been huge news a few months ago.
“How’s that going to help me get to my site?” Kate asked.
Bannock sighed. “I have to do the math for you too? And here I was believing your daddy when he said he raised a bright girl.”
Not too bright, Kate thought sourly. I married Bryce Colbert and didn’t see him for the louse that he is.
“Just tell Clyde you’re willing to do the interview in the car on the way to your site. He’s taken all the pictures of a wrecked bus that he can publish. What he needs is a bigger story. Something with a little more homegrown flavor, and a personal look at the ‘hero’ of this little shindig. And Tyler Jordan’s driving one of your trucks, isn’t he?”
Kate nodded.
The sheriff spread his hands and smiled. “There you go. You can drop Tyler off at home and keep the truck so you can pick up your kids at the airport. I’ve even provided you transportation. Problem solved.”
Kate had to admit that the arrangement would work out fine. She wasn’t even surprised that Bannock knew she was picking up Steven and Hannah. It was a small community, and Bannock kept a close watch on things.
She took a deep breath. “Let me know when you find my Jeep?” It was a point of pride more than anything. She didn’t want Jolly and Shane to get away scot-free.
“You bet. I’m going to have to keep it in impound for a few days. It’s evidence now.”
“Sure.” Kate thanked him again, then walked over to Clyde Burris and laid out the deal. The reporter quickly agreed and guided her to his car, changing tapes in his microcassette recorder as they walked.
By the time she reached the site, Kate felt all talked out. Clyde, slim and nervous and a chain-smoker, had kept at her the entire trip, somehow managing to change radio channels and keep up with all the local breaking news at the same time.
There was a lot of speculation about what had caused the bus to wreck, from an organized prison breakout all the way to a terrorist attack.
Clyde had kept returning to that too, but Kate hadn’t been able to tell him any more than she already had. She’d been curious about the blond man with Jolly, though. According to Clyde’s sources, Shane Warren was pulling a thirty-year shot on a drug charge and second-degree-murder rap. Supposedly the Atlanta district attorney was even looking at him for killing an undercover narcotics agent.
“Not a good guy,” Clyde had summed him up. But the reporter had been curious as to why Shane Warren had ended up with Raymond Jolly.
When they arrived at the site, Kate thanked the reporter for the ride and got out looking for Tyler. The young man was sitting sullenly in the guide truck listening to a Toby Keith CD. His auburn hair hung down to his shoulders. Aviator sunglasses covered his eyes. His skin stayed red all the time and was covered with freckles. At eighteen, he was short and skinny like his father, but still in possession of out-of-control hormones and way too much male attitude.
“I’d about given up on you,” Tyler said. His stained straw cowboy hat was more crumpled than creased, and had bright-blue peacock feathers jutting from it. His black T-shirt was festooned with marijuana leaves. Not exactly the kind of message Kate wanted to send out to clients. She could imagine the T-shirt showing up in pictures people showed their friends and family back home.
“Where’s Mathis?” Kate asked, walking by him. She checked her watch. Damn, but the time was getting away from her. She was going to have to hurry if she was going to pick up Steven and Hannah on time.
“The cabin. Got back about twenty minutes ago and started drinking. Him and his buddies.” Tyler uncoiled from the four-wheel-drive pickup and got out.
“Bring the video camera.”
Remaining sullen, Tyler asked, “Why?”
“Just do it,” Kate commanded.
Tyler cursed. For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to do what she said. Then he reached into the truck to get a compact video camera. He reluctantly followed her.
Kate held a stun baton in one hand. So far, Tyler hadn’t seen it. The weapon was one Kate had learned to use out in the bush. It was an Asp Electroless Tactical Baton specially made for a humid environment like southern Florida. When closed, it measured only nine and a half inches, but the release button expanded it to twenty-six inches of carbon steel guaranteed to stand up under repeated impacts. The weapon only weighed a pound and a half.
Her father had introduced them to her when she’d been fifteen, and even made her take courses with it at a martial arts dojo till she knew what she was doing. You’re a woman, baby girl, her dad had said, and you’re workin’ in a man’s world. Some of them guys you take on are gonna show a mean side ever’ now an’ again. No matter that you can scuffle an’ fight, you’re likely gonna be givin’ away a hundred pounds or more an’ maybe a few inches of reach. It’d be stupid for you to work in them conditions an’ not be able to properly take care of yourself.
Over the years, Kate had worn the weapon out in the bush. She’d used it more on snakes, wild pigs and alligators than men. But she’d used it on men before too. It usually shortened the fight any belligerent drunk might want to provoke to a matter of seconds, with no one getting seriously hurt.
“Did you take video of Mathis shooting the wildlife?” Kate asked. That was why they kept the camera. Sometimes as an added feature to the hunt, and sometimes to shoot evidence of poachers.
“Yep. Lotsa footage.” Tyler shook his head. “Dumbass. He wants a copy. Even paid me in advance.”
Kate breathed out in an effort to stay calm. Guys like Darrel Mathis just didn’t understand that shooting video of what they were doing was for a court case, not a vanity recording they could show their friends later.
“We booked five buddies,” Kate said. “How many are still with him?”
“Three.”
“What condition?”
“About as drunk as Mathis.”
“Any idea what set him off?”
“They’ve been drinking since last night,” Tyler said. “I don’t think they’ve come up for air or been to bed.” He was silent for a moment. “What are you going to do?”
“Ask them to leave.”
“Great.” Tyler snorted. “I’m sure they’ll just pack right up and go. Is the sheriff sendin’ somebody around?”
“They’re tied up with the escaping convicts.”
“Goin’ up there is stupid. He’s just gonna laugh in your face.”
“Just make sure you keep the camera on.” Kate willed herself to go cold inside. Sometimes a paying customer went willingly, maybe feeling remorseful about what they’d done, and sometimes they were so drunk they were easy to handle. And sometimes Sheriff Bannock had a deputy that could stop by when Kate pressed charges and produced a digital recording.
The camp was a neat, compact affair, one of the permanent sites she maintained under contract with the landowner. Keeping the guests from shooting up the wildlife—and sometimes the landowner’s livestock—fell under Kate’s purview.
There was a single log cabin with three small bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and two bathrooms with shower facilities. An outside patio provided a brick grill and oven so any game taken could be cooked and prepared fresh instead of packed away and frozen for transport back home.
All of it sat in a hammock of broad-leafed oak trees that looked alien against the backdrop of the cypress trees that were generally the norm this far south in Florida. Most of the hardwood trees never ventured into the wetter climates near the coastal areas.
Shade covered the gleaming SUVs and luxury cars parked under the carport. Any one of them would have cost more than what Kate made in a calendar year as a guide, but she didn’t owe for anything. After her divorce from Bryce, she’d been very careful with her money, saving as much as she could before giving it to attorneys to fight the impossible fight for more time with her children.
Kate didn’t resent her moneyed clients the income they had, but it did remind her of Bryce and the fact that she’d never be able to match what Bryce was able to give Steven and Hannah on what she was doing now. But there was something to be said for being free.
She’d built her cabin in the off-season, after securing the lease. She’d felled the timber, cleaned it up and negotiated furnishings, plumbing and kitchen appliances from building contractors she worked with when hunting and fishing was slow. She’d taken pride in her work. And in the fact that her dad had helped her put it together these past few years.
She only had three sites with permanent housing. The rest were campsites. Permanent housing was a plus. The clients didn’t have to drive in every day from Everglades City or one of the outlying areas, and they didn’t have to rough it in a tent. Being able to get drunk, bring women out or watch satellite television if the hunting trip turned into a lazy vacation made the difference to a lot of clients.
At the door, Kate hooked the Asp to her belt, took a deep breath, then knocked.
“Who is it?” a male voice demanded.
“Kate Garrett, Dr. Mathis,” Kate said.
When dealing with clients, her dad had taught her always to refer to them as Mr. or Mrs. or, in this case, doctor.
“We’re fine, sweetheart,” Mathis said. “Don’t need anything. But I appreciate you stopping by.”
“We need to talk, sir.” The “sir” part sometimes came hard, like it did in this case, when a client turned out to be a trigger-happy fool.
The door opened. Darrel Mathis glared down at her. He was a big man, six feet four inches tall, a lot of it running to fat. His jet-black hair and goatee came out of a bottle, as evidenced by the untreated three-days’ growth of ash-gray whiskers on his cheeks. He wore camouflage pants spotted with blood and a black T-shirt.
“That sounded awfully official,” Mathis said.
“Yes, sir,” Kate agreed. “I’m afraid it was. I’m here to ask you and your friends to leave.”
Mathis looked at her for a moment, then he grinned and stepped back into the cabin. Behind him, three men in varying degrees of sobriety sat at a card table. Clothes lay scattered everywhere, as well as rifles and bows. A porno movie played on the wide-screen television to their left. The dramatic groans of the stars filled the silence in the cabin.
No one made a move to switch off the television.
Kate got the feeling that she’d walked into an NRA frat party.
“Our guide,” Mathis said drunkenly, gesturing to Kate. “Says she’s here to throw us out.”
The three men sat there, obviously not knowing what to do.
Then Mathis started laughing, and the other three joined him. Turning back to Kate, Mathis said, “This is Friday, sweet cheeks. I’m paid through till Sunday. Come back and throw me out then.” He gestured at the cabin. “I’ll probably be ready then. I have to tell you, the atmosphere isn’t exactly what I’d thought it would be.”
He said that with air-conditioning pouring into Kate’s face. She’d worked hard to get air-conditioning to the cabin, had to pull extra shifts at the construction work to afford the units and the gasoline-powered generators to run them.
Mathis tried to close the door.
Kate shoved her foot into it before the door met the jamb. The hiking boots protected her feet from a lot, including weather and impact. She didn’t even feel the door close on it.
“Dr. Mathis,” she stated firmly, “you’re leaving. Now.”
Mathis got red in the face and cursed, not nearly as inventively as Kate thought a medical school graduate should be able to. She stood before him and didn’t react, didn’t let any of it touch her. The last time she’d let herself be hurt by anything a man said had been in divorce court, when Bryce had accused her of being unfaithful in their marriage and had got several of his friends on the stand to swear to the affairs they’d had with her.
None of it had been true. But the judge had believed it. Or maybe he was paid to believe it.
“Get your foot out of the door,” Mathis said.
“No, sir,” Kate said.
“And you, you little pipsqueak!” Mathis roared, throwing a big finger at Tyler. “What are you doing with that camera?”
“Figured they might have an anesthesiologists’ convention sometime in the near future,” Tyler said. “Thought maybe I could send them footage of you blowin’ up Little Bunny Foofoo with a thirty-ought-six. I’m bettin’ they’ll find it real entertainin’.”
Kate really didn’t want Tyler baiting Mathis, but she knew she couldn’t divide her attention.
“Shut that camera off!” Mathis yelled. “Or I’m going to come out there and beat you to a pulp!”
“An’ that’s assault,” Tyler added in that smartass tone he had down so cold. “My, my. Your legal difficulties do continue to multiply.”
“Dr. Mathis,” Kate said calmly, “we can do this with the sheriff’s office in attendance, or we can do it without them. I’m amenable to doing it without them because they could want to arrest you.”
Mathis cursed, then he reached out, obviously intending to grab Kate by the face and shove her back from the door. Kate grabbed Mathis’s wrist and yanked, swiveling her hip to put her weight into the effort and pull the man out into the yard. She stuck her foot out in front of him and tripped him.
Caught off-balance, Mathis fell, landing hard on the ground and rolling. “Now you’ve done it, bitch!” He pushed himself to his feet and doubled his big hands into fists. “I tried to be nice to you, but you wouldn’t have it that way. Hell no. You want to be some tightass ice princess? Well, now we’ll see who’s laughing. I didn’t come out here to get made fun of by some backwoods hillbilly.”
He came at her swinging. There was no finesse to his effort. He was just brute strength focused on hate and powered by rage.
“Dr. Mathis,” Kate said, putting her right hand on the Asp at her hip, “I’m asking you to cease and desist. Before someone gets hurt.”
“You’re the only one who’s going to get hurt.”
Kate knew there was no use talking to him. Either Mathis was too drunk or too full of himself to listen. She took two steps back, dodging punches at her head.
“Dr. Mathis,” she said, “this is your final warning.”
“I’ll give you a final warning!” he roared, punching again.
Pulling the Asp from her hip holster, Kate pressed the stud and extended it to the full twenty-six inches. She kept it hidden by her leg. When Mathis reached for her again, still roaring with rage, she whipped the Asp around and hit him in the elbow, not enough to break anything, but enough to numb the limb. She darted to the side and hit him again, this time in the right calf, temporarily crippling him. Still moving, she walked behind him and hit him in his left thigh, numbing that leg as well.
Mathis fell.
Kate wasn’t even breathing hard. She left Mathis lying on the ground, cursing and moaning in pain. Inside the house, worried that one of the doctor’s buddies would try for a rifle and throw the whole situation ballistic, she looked at the men.
They stood staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. Even Tyler looked astonished, but he kept the video rolling.
“You can’t do that,” one of Mathis’s buddies said.
“It’s done,” Kate said. “It’s over. Grab your belongings and get out.” She walked back out of the cabin on trembling legs. Don’t throw up, she told herself.
“You know,” Tyler was saying to Mathis, “I take a lot of crap about workin’ for a woman. Ever’day, it seems like somebody’s got some smartass thing to say about it. In fact, as I recall, you seemed to have taken some shots at me over it this mornin’, while you were out there shootin’ holes in deer an’ birds an’ anything you spotted. But you know, workin’ for a woman just kind of takes on a whole new complexion when you see her kick somebody’s ass. I mean, who’d expect it?” He grinned. “I didn’t. I know you didn’t. I can tell by that bug-eyed look of surprise on your pasty face. As you can see, I just kind of developed a whole new appreciation for my boss.” He looked over at Kate. “Want me to call the sheriff’s office now?”
Kate nodded, afraid to talk because she didn’t trust her voice and didn’t want to sound confused or mad or scared. Actually, she was all of those things. She glanced at her watch. More than that, she was definitely going to be late picking up Steven and Hannah now.
Chapter 3
Late! Kate hated to be late. She glanced at her watch as she strode through the Miami International Airport to Traveler’s Aid. She fought back an unaccustomed sense of panic. Sheriff Bannock had sent a deputy around to collect Dr. Darrel Mathis, but it had taken more time than Kate had counted on.
All around her, people were coming and going, moving like cattle through the increased security measures. They stripped off their shoes and subjected themselves to almost invasive security measures. And a few that got singled out for one infringement or another did get subjected to invasive security measures.
Forty-eight minutes late. If Bryce knows…Kate stopped herself. He can’t know.
Feeling panicked, Kate stopped at the car-rental desk and asked directions to Traveler’s Aid. The young woman behind the desk pointed at the sign that Kate had missed. She thanked the woman and walked over to the aid center.
Steven and Hannah sat in chairs against the wall. Steven wore a perfectly tailored dark suit and looked like a junior executive even at eight years old. He had his father’s dark hair—carefully styled, of course, not a hair out of place. But he had his mom’s dark-green eyes, which had irked Bryce because people always mentioned how much he looked like his mother after they saw Steven’s eyes.
Hannah had long blond hair, the color a throwback to family on both sides that had added weight to the infidelity charges Bryce’s attorneys had trotted out to muddy the waters of the divorce. At five, Hannah was an angel. Sometimes, when Hannah was working with one of the animals Kate sometimes found out in the wild and nursed back to health, Kate would just sit and watch her daughter, wondering how anyone like Hannah could ever come into the world without some kind of special fanfare. She wore a beautiful dress that would have bankrupted Kate’s account nearly any day of the year. There was no doubt that she had more of them packed away in the suitcase Bryce had sent.
Steven looked bored and irritated. It was the same expression Kate remembered seeing on his father’s face far too often. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, then compared it to his watch. He shook his head and mumbled.
But Hannah was talking animatedly with the woman behind the help desk. She was young and black, her hair cut short and elegantly styled. She wasn’t old enough to have children of her own, Kate thought, but from the way she reacted to Hannah, the way she really listened to her, she must have had younger brothers and sisters.
“My mom does all kinds of things like that,” Hannah was saying. “Sometimes, when people get lost in the Everglades—in the swamps and stuff—she goes out and gets them. She fights snakes and wrestles alligators—”
“She doesn’t wrestle alligators,” Steven interrupted angrily.
“Does too,” Hannah said, putting her hands on her hips even though she was sitting down.
“She’s never wrestled alligators,” Steven said. “You’re confusing her with the guy on television.”
“Does too,” Hannah said. Whenever she got into an argument with Steven, she generally stayed with one tack because it drove her brother completely crazy.
Kate knocked on the door.
Steven and Hannah swiveled their heads toward her. The young receptionist looked up and said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m—” Kate began, but then Hannah was up out of her chair, dress flying as she ran across the room.
“Mommy!” Hannah called.
Kate knelt on one knee and caught her daughter, holding on to her tightly as she felt Hannah squeeze her. It had only been a few weeks since they’d seen each other this time, not months the way it usually was, but she was so glad to see Steven and Hannah that it felt the same.
Steven stood up stiffly and reached down for one of the bags beside his chair.
“Ms. Garrett, I presume?” the receptionist asked with a smile.
“Yes,” Kate said, “but I really don’t wrestle alligators.”
“Told you,” Steven said sullenly.
Hannah stuck her tongue out at her brother. “‘Told you,’” she parroted.
“You’re the same Kate Garrett that stopped for the prison bus? The one that saved that guard’s life?”
“I don’t think his life was ever in danger,” Kate said, standing and feeling a little embarrassed.
“What prison bus?” Steven asked.
“It’s been all over the news,” the receptionist said. She pointed at the small television set mounted on the wall.
Stock news footage of the overturned bus was showing, interspersed with footage of Raymond Jolly and the Desiree Martini kidnapping. She saw a clip of Clyde Burris talking about his exclusive with Kate. At least they’re not interviewing me, Kate thought.
“Your mom’s a hero,” the receptionist told Steven.
Looking at the television, Steven frowned. Evidently his dad hadn’t prepared him for his mom being a celebrity.
Temporary celebrity, Kate told herself.
“You stopped for a prison bus that had broken down?” Steven asked, looking displeased. “That sounds really stupid. You could have been hurt.”
Not as much as you just hurt me. Kate tried to let the worst of his insult pass over her, but it was hard. Steven didn’t approve of many things she did.
“If your mom hadn’t stopped,” the receptionist said, looking at Steven, “a lot of people could have gotten hurt. That bus was on fire. She saved a lot of lives.”
Steven looked away from her and at Kate. “Can we go? We’ve been sitting here a long time.”
“Not so long,” Hannah said. “Charlotte has been good company.”
“Why thank you, Hannah,” the receptionist said. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
Steven rolled his eyes.
Kate wanted to correct him, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Steven had his father’s backing. Anything she said to him about his manners—or lack of them—rolled right off him like water off a duck’s back.
“I do need to see some proof of ID, Ms. Garrett,” Charlotte said.
Kate held on to Hannah, shifting her to her hip, and dug her ID out of her jeans pocket.
“Why don’t you carry that in a purse?” Steven asked.
“I do,” Kate said, looking at him and making full eye contact. “When I need to.”
Steven dropped his eyes and didn’t say anything. His rudeness bothered Kate. When he was younger, it hadn’t been like that. He hadn’t been so judgmental. But he more than made up for it now.
“Thank you, Ms. Garrett.” Charlotte handed the ID back, then lifted the phone. “Let me get you a skycap to help with that luggage.”
“Thanks,” Kate said, looking at all the luggage. There was more of it than normal, and she wondered what that meant. And why Bryce had sent the kids to her so unexpectedly.
“Just put everything in the back,” Kate said, pointing to the pickup bed. There was no way the luggage was going to fit even in the truck’s extended cab.
The two skycaps quickly offloaded the luggage. Kate tipped them, then buttoned down the cargo tarp so none of the luggage would blow away during the trip. She loaded Hannah into the back and belted her in.
“You don’t have a safety seat for Hannah,” Steven said as he crawled in on the other side.
“You’re right,” Kate said. “I don’t.” She was determined not to let his father’s tone and recriminations touch her. She’d been given extra time with them—for whatever mysterious reason—and she was going to make the best of it. “Do you need help with your belt?”
“No. I can do it.” Steven sat in the other seat in the back and snugged the safety harness. “Where’s your Jeep?”
“It was stolen.”
“By the prisoners you helped?”
“By the ones that escaped, yes.” Kate slid in behind the wheel and started the engine. She was thankful for the air-conditioning. With Hurricane Genevieve fast approaching, the air was turning leaden and turgid. The sky to the southeast was turning black. The storm was only hours away, and even the meteorologists were starting to say it was gathering more strength than they’d thought it would.
“Big mistake, huh?”
Kate slid her sunglasses into place. Don’t react. It’s just a phase. He’ll grow out of it. But she was afraid that he wouldn’t. Bryce never had. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess it was.”
“I bet you won’t do that again.”
It’s not like there are opportunities to do that every day, Kate thought, but she didn’t say it.
Navigating the traffic, Kate pulled out through the airport exit ramp to follow the route out of the city. When she spotted the golden arches of McDonald’s only a little out of the way, she decided to stop.
“Anybody want a soda?” she asked.
“Can I have a McFlurry?” Hannah asked.
“Sure, baby girl.” Kate looked in the rearview mirror at Steven. “What about you? Want a McFlurry?”
“Dad says they’re not healthy.”
“Not everything has to be healthy. Sometimes it’s okay to splurge a little.”
Steven was reluctant, but she knew he liked ice cream. She didn’t like thinking that they didn’t get much of anything like that when they were with Bryce. There was excess, but they were kids too.
“All right,” Steven said.
As she changed lanes, Kate noticed that a black Lexus moved over at about the same time, cutting off the car behind them. Then she had to watch the entrance at McDonald’s.
She drove through the drive-thru and ordered the treats and three waters, telling Steven and Hannah that after the ice cream they could concentrate on being healthy.
Back on the street, she turned on to Dolphin Expressway, west on US-41, then north on Tamiami Trail for a straight shot to Everglades City. The trip was going to take about an hour and a half.
“Aren’t you going to miss school while you’re gone?” Kate asked.
“I’m going to miss school,” Hannah said, then spooned more ice cream into her mouth. “I like school. We’re getting to finger paint.”
“Very cool,” Kate said. “You should paint me a picture.”
“I will.”
“But that’s not exactly what I meant,” Kate said. “Won’t you get behind in your classes, Steven?”
He was looking out the window. “Not really. It’s a private school. The teachers do whatever Dad tells them to do.”
“Oh.” Kate sipped her water. She changed lanes again, watching the traffic closely. Although the truck handled a lot like the Jeep, it was different and she was conscious of the difference.
Glancing back through traffic, she thought she saw the same black Lexus again, then realized there were a lot of Lexuses on the road.
“You know,” she said as conversationally as possible, “your dad never did tell me why he wanted you to come stay with me for awhile. Or even how long you’re going to be here.” She smiled at the rearview mirror. “I guess with all the luggage back there, it could be for some time.” Please let it be for a long time.
But even as she hoped for that, she knew that it was a double-edged sword. The longer they stayed, the more she would miss them when they were gone.
“Dad just said it was business,” Steven said. “He didn’t say how long we were going to be down here.”
“Well,” Kate said, “your grandpa is excited to see you. I think he’s got some new video games to play.”
“Great!” Hannah cheered.
“He wins all the time,” Steven protested.
“Then beat him.”
“I can’t.”
“You can if you try hard enough.”
“He doesn’t have to play so hard.”
“One thing I learned from your grandpa,” Kate said. “He’s never going to give you anything you don’t work for. If you want it, you’re going to have to try to take it.”
Steven frowned but didn’t say anything.
Kate switched on the radio and concentrated on driving. Traffic was thicker than normal, what with everyone preparing to hunker down and wait out the storm or evacuate. There were only two kinds of people along the Florida coastline when it was storm season: those who stayed and those who left.
“The weatherman said a storm was coming,” Steven said.
“Her’cane Genevieve,” Hannah added.
“There is,” Kate said.
“I’ve never been here during a storm.”
Kate suddenly realized that was true. With them only coming down during the early summer, Steven and Hannah had never weathered a tropical storm. Maybe that’s what’s got Steven so irritable, she thought. He’s scared. She felt badly then about her own feelings.
“Don’t worry about it,” Kate told her son. “You’re going to be with me. Everything’s going to be all right. This’ll be cake.”
“What if we lose power?” Steven asked.
“I’ve got a generator,” Kate said. “We won’t lose power long.”
Kate’s house was a two-story farmhouse with a screened veranda on two sides. When she’d been small, she’d lived there with her dad and brother and sisters. After she’d returned to Everglades City—actually, outside Everglades City—she’d lived with her dad in his other house, one that was a little larger than this one with its small three bedrooms.
He’d kept the old house, though, as a rental property. After Kate started working for Epperson’s Contracting and Building, her dad had quietly closed out the rental agreement and given her the house. She’d tried to pay him for it, but he’d just pointed out all the work they’d done on it when they’d lived there while she was growing up. It wasn’t much of an investment, but it held so many memories.
The house sat back in clumps of cypress trees in a yard that flooded during the wet season and got overgrown in the dry season if she didn’t stay on top of the mowing. It had been painted white for years and needed a new coat now. But the roof kept the rain out and the screen doors and windows kept out the mosquitoes.
She pulled off Plantation Parkway and on to the shell-covered driveway that led to the house. The shells crunched under the tires. She parked under a copse of cypress and magnolia trees where the rope swing that Hannah loved hung. Steven’s tree house still occupied the lower branches, but he’d largely outgrown that these days.
While Hannah occupied herself with a favorite DVD and Steven took over the PlayStation 3 in one of the other rooms, Kate went around the house and made sure all the shutters were locked up tight. The storm warnings said there was going to be a lot of wind. Flying debris was always a problem.
As she walked around, a sleek black car drove by the front of the house. She was just coming up from the backyard when she saw the vehicle. It stood out at once in the neighborhood.
An unexplained fear ripped through Kate. The black car slowed just for a moment, the ruby taillights gleaming in the gathering darkness of the storm. Then it sped up again and disappeared around a corner.
For one insane moment, Kate felt certain whoever was driving the car was watching her. But that didn’t make any sense.
Unless it’s Bryce, she told herself. Her ex-husband was totally into playing sadistic little mind games with her. He’d proven that over the last few years.
Maybe the whole unexplained visit from the kids was some kind of test, designed solely so that she would fail somewhere along the way. Maybe he was even now plotting some way to take away the meager summer visitation she had with Steven and Hannah.
Panic tore through her and she leaned weakly against the side of the house. She hated feeling helpless, and that was all she was whenever Bryce started playing his games.
After a few minutes, she managed to force the crippling paranoia away and regulate her breathing, then she finished her inspection of the house. She was satisfied she was as prepared as she could be, but the best thing would be if the storm changed course and never came to Everglades City. Looking at the dark skies, she doubted that was an option. They’d just have to survive whatever it handed out.
Kate prepared spaghetti and garlic bread in the same tiny kitchen where her mother had prepared so many meals. They also had salad, which she pointed out to Steven, was a definite healthy choice.
Hannah had two servings of spaghetti.
“I guess you didn’t hurt your appetite today with the McFlurry, did you?” Kate asked.
“Nope,” Hannah agreed. “But you always make the best spaghetti. Not even Consuelo knows how to make spaghetti as good as you.”
Consuelo was the live-in cook.
“Well,” Kate said, “I take that as high praise indeed.” She took up her daughter’s plate as well as her own and put them in the two-compartment sink where she’d already washed, dried and put away the preparation dishes.
Steven added his own, then helped her quickly clear the table without being asked.
“Thank you,” Kate said.
“Sure,” Steven replied. “I knew I couldn’t play video games unless I helped.”
All right, Kate thought, go with it. At least that’s a step in the right direction. “Thank you anyway. It’s nice to have help cleaning up.”
“You should get a maid,” Steven said. “Like we have. Then there’s a lot of things you don’t have to do any more.”
Kate had to agree with that. When she’d been married to Bryce, she’d never had to lift a finger to do a household chore. Some days she missed that. “That may be true, but there’s a lot of things you need to learn to do for yourself.”
“Like clearing the table and washing the dishes?”
“Yeah.”
“Grandpa already knows how to do that. Why do you have him help you with the dishes when he eats with us?”
“Grandpa helps because he wants to help.” That was just one of the things Kate cherished about her dad.
“Why does he help? He already knows how to do all that.”
“Because there are some things you should never forget. Knowing how to take care of yourself is one of them.”
Steven shrugged. “I’d rather have a maid. Clearing the table and washing dishes is boring. Can I be excused?”
“Sure,” Kate said, and wondered again how wide the gulf was going to be between herself and her children as they grew.
Steven turned to go.
“Hey,” Kate said, “wait up.”
At the doorway, obviously in a hurry to get back to whatever game he was playing, Steven looked at her.
Kate turned the water on and let it fill the sink. Steam rose from the hot water. “I’ve got to go out later.”
“Why?”
“I have to make sure the camp sites are taken care of. With this storm coming, the people there are going to need plenty of water and food in case they get stuck out there for a few days. I’ve got Megan coming over.”
“Okay.”
With the storm coming on, Kate would have preferred to have her dad there, but he either wasn’t answering his phone or didn’t currently have service wherever he was. Megan was a seventeen-year-old who worked at one of the bait shops in town. During the summers when school was out, Kate hired her to help run supplies out to clients during heavy bookings.
“At least I can beat Megan,” Steven added, then drifted off back to the bedroom where he was playing.
Kate turned her attention to the dishes, shutting off the water and quickly washing them, putting them in the drainer to dry. Even though Steven looked down at the work, she took a certain sense of pride in it. Washing dishes was necessary and there was a lot of satisfaction in doing it right. With the storm closing in, simple tasks offered a safe emotional harbor.
Megan arrived a few minutes after seven, bundled up in a rain slicker that dripped water. “Wow,” she said. “It’s really getting bad out there. The meteorologists say we should expect some really bad wind, and maybe some flooding. There’s even talk that the storm is going to change directions and hit us now.”
“That’s what I’d heard.” Kate had been watching the news on the living-room television. The storm had already shut down the satellite hookups, but the local channels were still occasionally operational. When that failed, there was the radio. “They don’t know how bad it’s going to get.”
“They never do.”
Kate silently agreed. With the storm changing directions, leaving her clients out in the wilds hunkered down was no longer an option.
Storm season in Florida was always dangerous. Over the years, Everglades City had been flooded a number of times. The Okeechobee Hurricane of 1928 had caused storm surges of twenty feet and more, and had killed twenty-five hundred people. Hurricane Andrew had struck in 1992 and devastated the Everglades area. In 1999, Hurricane Harvey flooded a lot of coastal Florida and storm surges of two and a half feet were reported at Fort Myers. The county airport in Everglades City was closed when a portion of the runway was flooded. In 2005, Hurricane Rita became the fourth most powerful Atlantic storm in history, with sustained winds reaching one hundred and eight miles an hour. A month later, Hurricane Wilma caused serious flooding in Everglades City, with wind gusts up to ninety-five miles an hour, and killed seventeen people in the Caribbean before finally exhausting itself.
“Where are the kids?” Megan peered around the house. She was young and slim. Her brown hair reached her waist in the back. She had a few tattoos that her dad didn’t know about yet—she’d confided in Kate—but she was a good person. And good with Steven and Hannah, able to be firm as well as giving.
“Video game and DVD,” Kate said.
“Ah,” Megan replied, smiling. “The ‘stuff that rots their brains.’”
“According to my ex-husband, yes.”
“What he doesn’t know—” Megan said.
The comment made Kate remember the black car that had cruised by the front of her house. There probably isn’t much Bryce doesn’t know, she realized. And she wondered again why her ex would send the kids down with a tropical storm about to hit the coast.
“What about bedtimes?” Megan asked.
“Whatever you think,” Kate said. “Though with the plane flight today, you may find they both go down pretty quickly.” She gathered her storm slicker.
After she’d finished in the kitchen, she’d gone back to her bedroom, taken a quick shower, then she’d dressed in jeans, a black sleeveless T-shirt and her hiking boots, and she’d pulled her hair back through her baseball cap. She didn’t bother with makeup. The storm would only have smeared it anyway.
“Until the storm blows itself out,” Kate added, “keep them in here if they go to sleep or you have to switch over to the generator.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“No problem,” Megan said. “With the storm coming in so strong, my dad wanted me to spend the night here. If that’s okay with you.”
Kate smiled at her. “You’re always welcome here.” Then she called Steven and Hannah to her, telling them to mind Megan till she got back.
Steven acted put out, but Hannah hugged her mom and told her to hurry back.
“Be safe,” Kate told her kids.
“You always say that,” Steven grouched. “Why do you say that? ‘Be safe.’” His tone mocked her.
Kate felt the familiar mix of anger and frustration and hurt that came with her son’s attitude. “Because,” she said, “I want you to be safe. It’s what my dad always told me.”
Steven rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever,” then headed back to his room and the video game.
Not knowing what else to do to address the situation, Kate was out the door and into the rainstorm Hurricane Genevieve was offering as an hors d’oeuvre.
Tyler was waiting at the convenience store/bait shop when Kate arrived. He was dressed in a rain slicker and had gear rolled up in a sleeping bag slung over one shoulder. During storm season, it was better to be safe than sorry. Carrying gear back out if it wasn’t needed was much easier than needing gear and not having it.
Kate parked at the pump, topped off the gas tank, then went inside, struggling against the high winds. They had to be at least fifty miles an hour, and the storm hadn’t even reached them yet.
“The woman of the hour,” Marty Dillworth said. He was a big man with fuzzy black hair and a scruffy beard. He’d gone away to Florida State University for a computer degree or film degree. No one could ever settle on one story or the other when they were talking about Marty. He wore sweat pants and a superhero T-shirt.
“What’s that about?” Kate asked. They were the only ones in the store. Wind and the big plate-glass windows didn’t mix and no one wanted to be around them.
“The prison bus,” Tyler said. “I didn’t know about that.”
“And I didn’t know about the dentist you opened up a can of whup-ass on.”
“Anesthesiologist,” Kate corrected automatically.
Marty grinned and shrugged. “Whatever. We were just catching up on our favorite Kate Garrett stories.”
“You two,” Kate told them, “have way too much time on your hands if that’s how you’re spending it.”
“It gets more interesting,” Marty said. “Turns out the anesthesiologist had an arrest warrant out for his butt.”
“Why?”
“I heard improper conduct with a patient or two. Homer, over at the sheriff’s office, mentioned something about digital pictures of those patients in his possession.”
Kate felt a little better about the confrontation she’d had with Dr. Darrel Mathis. It was better to incapacitate by force a sleaze rather than a drunk.
“Tyler showed me the video footage of you kicking that guy’s ass.” Marty shoved out his thumbs. “Two thumbs up. Way up.”
“Not exactly the career choice I had in mind,” Kate said.
“And the prison-bus thing is adding a new wrinkle,” Tyler said, pointing to the small television set that kept fading in and out on the local channels. “Seems one of those prisoners turned up dead.”
Kate’s thoughts immediately turned to the blond man she’d seen with Jolly. The one who had taken her keys from her. “Which one?” She hoped it wasn’t the blond man. According to the news reports, Shane was the only one of the escapees who hadn’t been part of Desiree Martini’s kidnapping and disappearance.
“Some guy named Phil,” Tyler said.
Phil Lewis, Kate remembered. She didn’t remember much about him other than he’d been one of Jolly’s gang. “What happened to him?”
“The police aren’t releasing that information at this time.” Tyler grimaced. “They’re only confirming that he’s dead. Oh, and they found your Jeep.”
“Where?”
“Not far from the campsites we’re heading to tonight. Evidently those guys didn’t try to get too far. Or maybe they wrecked your Jeep during their getaway. Sheriff Bannock and the FBI aren’t saying.”
“The FBI is involved? Why?”
“They originally handled the kidnapping thing,” Tyler said. He shrugged. “Maybe they just want to take care of old business. Clean the slate. Something like that.” He paused. “Either way, we’re going to have to be careful out there.”
Kate silently agreed.
“Don’t know,” Marty said as he rang up Kate’s gas and the supplies she’d ordered from him. “With this storm coming, I’m not sure if I’d want to face the storm or those escaped cons.”
Neither, Kate thought, but she knew that was too much to hope for. But she wondered about the dead man. How and why had he died?
Chapter 4
The storm hit southern Florida’s coastline when Kate was only a few minutes away from the campsite. The black, roiling heavens opened up and poured forth a deluge of biblical proportions. The windshield wipers were hard-pressed to keep up with the torrent. Lightning seared the sky, followed by thunder that came closer and closer. The wind hit seventy and eighty miles an hour. The truck jumped viciously across the road, making driving hard.
Anyone with sense is at home, Kate thought. She fought the steering wheel again, pulling the truck back into a straight course when it wanted to go sideways.
“Damn!” Tyler swore after a particularly close lightning strike. “That one seemed to have our name on it.” He sat in the truck’s forward passenger seat and stared out at the storm.
Already, small waves of rain swept across the highway, propelled by the surging winds. Debris filled the ditches and channels on either side, surely no more than moments from pouring out across the highway and causing all kinds of hazards. Two emergency vehicles, a fire truck and an ambulance, had roared past them.
Kate had to concentrate on driving. Conditions had turned worse than she’d imagined. Even though she had four-wheel drive on the truck and good road beneath her, she knew she couldn’t trust the road.
She went east off Plantation Parkway, toward Everglades National Park. She turned back south on one of the dirt roads that led to a campsite she’d set up for two brothers from Missouri and their three teenaged sons. They were a good group, the kind of clients she wanted to keep. But they were inexperienced with Florida’s weather and the sudden, aggressive nature of tropical storms. She’d used Tyler’s cell phone in an effort to reach them but hadn’t been successful. She would have been in touch with them before if it hadn’t been for getting the kids, the bus wreck and the problem with Mathis.
The road had turned to soup under the driving rain. A firm foundation existed beneath the mud, but the tires had to chew through a few inches to reach it. Even then, the rain would soak down into those levels too. In years past, lumberjacks, hunters—of both game and rare orchids and other plants—and residents had used all the dirt roads in the area. The state and federal government didn’t provide for much more than grading, which didn’t even begin to solve the pothole and drainage problems.
Kate used the lower gears, slowing to a crawl. The headlights barely reached through the driving sheets of rain that looked silver-gray in the glare. Also, the innumerable potholes provided a deadly minefield of potential strut-busting bangs and bumps that could tear the truck’s front end out and leave them stranded to ride out the storm.
“—record high amounts of rain and wind,” the newscaster droned on over the radio. “The Coast Guard is already reporting thirty- and forty-foot swells in the Gulf of Mexico. Meteorologists are continuing to upgrade the storm as conditions worsen. People living in the low areas and in Everglades City are advised to seek out high ground as Hurricane Genevieve comes roaring into the coastal areas.”
Another white-hot dazzle of multi-veined lightning ripped across the sky, followed by a cannonade of thunder that vibrated the truck and caused Tyler to jump. He cursed as he shifted and tried to relax.
“Did I ever tell you that I don’t like storms?” he asked.
Kate looked at him, seeing the fear and nervousness in him. During the confrontation with Mathis, Tyler had been totally calm and collected, even with drunken men and weapons potentially in the mix. But the storm had him stressed. Kate knew it was like that for a lot of native and long-time residents who had survived the big ones.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I think you’ve mentioned it before.”
“Well,” Tyler said. “I really don’t like them. In case there was any confusion.”
A gust of wind slammed the truck and forced it off the road. Kate kept calm and guided the steering rather than fight it. The passenger-side tires dipped down, falling off the road entirely, picking up water and creating a jetstream against the truck’s side that sluiced the window with muddy water. Kate brought the truck back up on to the road through steady effort.
“Damn,” Tyler groaned. He looked pale in the darkness.
“Maybe you should have stayed home,” Kate suggested.
“It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?” Tyler asked.
“Don’t you throw up in my truck,” Kate warned, trying to lighten the moment.
“Ha, ha,” Tyler said dryly. “I’m not going to throw up. But I can’t guarantee that the seats are going to stay dry.”
Despite the tension of the moment, Kate laughed. Tyler joined her, but it sounded strained. “I appreciate you coming along,” she said a moment later.
He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “There’s nothin’ on television, and Dad has a fit when I use the generator to run the X-Box. I mean, what the hell else can you do when it gets like this?”
“What’s your dad doing?”
“Watchin’ the weather. Like all the old guys do. Keeps wanderin’ out to the front porch, standin’ there nursin’ a cup of coffee an’ a cigarette, shakin’ his head, an’ talkin’ about the big ones he’s seen in the past an’ how this ain’t gonna compare to them. Like all that’s gonna do something toward preventin’ what we got goin’ on here now.”
Another lightning strike hit a dwarf cypress tree ahead and on the left. For a moment, the tree’s crown ignited in flames and sparks, and the Spanish moss stood out stark and mysterious. The flames blazed for a moment, then the tree fell over into the deep slough on that side of the road and extinguished in the black, running water that cascaded deeper into Big Cypress Swamp.
“Damn,” Tyler sighed. “We’re gonna need a rowboat to get out of here.”
Nearly an hour later, they reached the campsite. The area was primitive, holding only four screened chickees. Tyler had referred to them as “chickees on steroids” because the original designs hadn’t included walls, which these had.
Kate had built the shelters, modeling them on the small, elevated cabins the Seminole people had lived in.
As a little girl, she’d seen them in the Seminole Camping Village on the Big Cypress Reservation near Fort Lauderdale and had fallen in love with them. She’d even built one in back of the house where she now lived. That one was more traditional, without walls and with a rush roof that sometimes leaked. Hannah loved going there for picnics with her mom and to “look for dinosaurs.”
A massive SUV sat under a bald cypress tree. Water and mud were already creeping up the tires. If it didn’t move soon, it was going to get mired where it was. Kate knew she didn’t have the room she needed to haul the men and their sons back to Everglades City. They needed to get moving now, while they still could.
Electric lanterns glowed inside two of the chickees, tearing holes in the darkness and offering shelter from the storm. The hiss of rain sluicing into the earth deafened Kate for the most part, but she still heard the chuckatapop-chuckatapop-chuckatop of the gasoline-powered generator she had there for emergencies.
Water already covered most of the land, several inches deep in places. Kate’s hiking boots kept her feet dry, but mud clumped up on the tread, adding weight. She pulled her poncho tightly around her but knew it was a situation she couldn’t win. No matter what, she was going to get wet tonight.
She pointed Tyler to one of the chickees and she took the other. Climbing up the slightly inclined ladder, Kate knocked on the door. “Mr. Iverson,” she yelled, hoping he could hear her over the rain.
Rock-and-roll music blared from inside the chickee. They were watertight. She’d made certain of that when she’d constructed them, and when she weather-stripped them right before each rainy season. Maintaining the cabins, chickees and campsites was a lot of work, but it was work she felt good about.
She banged on the door again. “Mr. Iverson!”
This time the door opened. Clarence Iverson, the older brother, peered out at her. He wore thick glasses and had ginger-colored hair. He was in his late forties and had the kind of relationship with his two boys that Kate wished she had with Steven and Hannah. It was, she’d reflected a few times since dealing with the brothers over the last three years on their annual guy-trips, the kind of relationship she had with her dad.
“Ms. Garrett,” Iverson greeted. Since the chickee was so low, he had to stay on his hands and knees.
Behind him, two young teenagers sat up in their sleeping bags. There was little room for anything else in the shelter. Luxury was never offered or even mentioned when renting the chickees out. Both boys looked slightly worried.
The gale winds slammed against the chickee, causing it to sway a few inches. Then thunder exploded again and Kate felt it vibrate through the wood beneath her hands.
“You know I’m not one to complain,” Iverson said, “but you’ve really got to do something about these noise levels. I mean, blaring rock-and-roll at this time of night?”
Both teens rolled their eyes and yelled, “Dad!”
Iverson grinned at them. “Told you that you’d get in trouble playing music that loud. Man, your mom’s going to hate it when I have to leave you here in prison.”
The mention of prison reminded Kate of her earlier encounter with the DOC bus. And the fact that the escaped prisoners, except for the dead one, were still in the area.
Despite the situation, Kate grinned. The Iverson brothers were firefighters from St. Louis. They were good men, solid men. Men like her dad. If Kate was still interested in pursuing—or better yet, being pursued by—a man, that was the kind of man she’d want. Unfortunately, all the ones she knew were taken.
And it wasn’t like she was looking. The last thing she needed was a man in her life breaking her stride. Steven and Hannah came first.
“Mr. Iverson,” Kate said, “you’re going to have to leave.”
Iverson looked at her then. Concern etched his face. “The storm?”
Kate nodded. “Hurricane Genevieve. It turned. We’re right in its path.”
Iverson shoved his head out into the rain. The chickee swayed threateningly again. “Looks worse than they were expecting.”
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