Love Inspired Suspense December 2013 Bundle: Christmas Cover-Up\Force of Nature\Yuletide Jeopardy\Wilderness Peril (37 page)

NINETEEN

“R
euben,” she screamed, running to the edge of the creek. A flash of his arm, one tiny glimpse, and then he was gone, sucked under the roiling surface.

“Too bad,” Martin said, brushing off the soiled knees of his pants. “He shoulda stayed in the fields. Farmers almost never get themselves drowned.” He chuckled.

Antonia wanted to scream, to beat at his awful chest, but she was numb with horror as she stared at the spot where Reuben had been only a second before.
Reuben, Reuben,
her mind wailed. Martin grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly away from the creek. She tried to twist out of his grasp. Reuben could make it to shore, and she could help him climb out. Her feet turned back toward the rushing water, but Martin forced her away.

“He's gone. We'll go to Leland and see what he wants to do with you.” She could not form a coherent thought marching across the soggy ground. Everything was a numbing void.

She tripped over a broken slab of plaster and he jerked her up by the back of her shirt. She had to get away from him, to get back to the creek. The water would have carried Reuben downstream toward the lagoon. It was quieter there, tranquil. He could get out; she would help him. Her mind spun frantically.

“We called for help,” she lied to Martin. “The coast guard is on its way.”

He didn't answer at first. “Save your breath. You don't have a working phone. Not after both of you took your dip in the ocean.”

“We radioed.”

“With what?” he snorted.

“The radio on the skimmer.”

Martin grabbed her elbow and turned her around. He was breathing heavily, and she was happy to note one of her rock missiles had found its mark on his cheek. “Radio's busted. We disconnected it.”

“Reuben fixed it.” She held her gaze steady, willing him to believe her ruse.

His eyes narrowed. “I don't think so.”

“Well you'll believe it when they show up here.” She searched the sky. “Shouldn't be too much longer. You saw the helicopter they sent just before the storm surge.”

Breath held, she waited.

Martin considered. “All right, I'm game. We'll check the skimmer. If you're telling the truth, we'll radio again, tell them everything's fine. And if you're lying...” He smiled. “Then we can take our time and tie things up here properly.”

She tried to think of a secondary plan as they went along. Somewhere on the path to the lagoon, she'd get away from him and find Reuben. Hardly a plan, hardly a chance.

Her stomach squeezed again and something cold slithered through her. She prayed that Reuben was not gravely hurt. He could not be. There was so much left she had to say. Martin huffed along the path, never more than a few feet behind her.

“Why do you do this?” she asked.

“What?”

“Abduction, murder, whatever Leland wants.”

“Not Leland. Mr. Garza. He's my boss, and I do what he tells me.”

She noted the sullen note that crept into his voice and filed that away to use to her advantage. “Killing innocent people, though? And women?”

“Don't usually kill women. Don't usually kill at all anymore. Too messy and attracts too much attention. This whole thing got out of hand, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Mr. Garza doesn't want you to kill us, does he? This is Leland's idea.”

Martin's pace slowed for a moment. “Got no choice now. Mr. Garza will want things cleaned up.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What choice is there?” Martin huffed. “We got an island full of witnesses now. You're going to have to die and that's that. Just a matter of how's best to do it.”

“And you don't even have a qualm?” She shook her head. “No conscience that tells you what you're doing is wrong?”

“I don't get paid to have a conscience. Listen, honey, if you're looking for me to come to my senses and realize the error of my ways, it ain't gonna happen. Life's too short to worry about morals.”

Too short not to.
She sighed. “What a waste of a life.”

Martin gave her a shove, which nearly sent her sprawling. “Just get going. All this talk is making my head ache.”

They came to the deep pond of water, splashing in up to their knees and then down the muddy slope that led to the lagoon. “All these lagoons look the same to me,” she said. “Do you remember where you stowed the skimmer?”

“Sure I do,” he said, catching hold of her wrist. “Right down there, tied up safe.”

The water made her slow and clumsy. There was no way she would escape even if she did manage to break the tight grip he had on her wrist.

Wait, Antonia. The moment will come. Watch for it.
She wondered if Reuben had lost much blood from the stab wound. Was he still struggling against the rushing creek? The muscles in her chest knotted into a tight ball.

Martin did remember the pocket of lagoon where they had secured the skimmer. They made their ungainly way to the edge of the inlet, which was now showing signs of life again. Pushing aside the trailing Spanish moss, Martin peered into the little sanctuary. A pelican ruffled its feathers as if to shake off the remnants of the killer storm. Flickers in the surface indicated the fish, or perhaps it was the manatees, had begun to stir in the swollen circle of water. Martin had eyes for none of it. He thrashed forward, dragging her along until their feet sank in the muddy shore.

The skimmer was gone.

Perhaps it had blown loose in the surge. Martin must have considered that option, too, because he began to shove his way through the trees, heedless of the branches that slapped at them both.

They found the remnants of the rope, still knotted tightly around a sturdy tree trunk. Martin fingered the edge, which had been severed not by the power of the storm, but cut neatly with the aid of a knife.

Antonia stared at the cut rope. “Leland took the boat.”

“No, that ain't what happened.”

“Yes, it is,” she argued. “He sent you out to find Reuben and me, and he took the skimmer and left. Left you behind.”

“No,” Martin barked. “He wouldn't do that.”

“Oh, yes, he would,” she breathed. “He decided things were too out of control here and he took off.”

“It wasn't Leland,” he snapped.

“Who then?” she demanded. “Couldn't have been me and you.” She choked on the words. “You stabbed Reuben.”

“The old man, then, or the cop. Maybe Hector.”

“Silvio wouldn't leave his wife, and the cop has a bullet in his shoulder. He could hardly manage a boat by himself. Hector wouldn't leave his brother here to die.” She was not sure it was true, but Martin's agitation was growing.

“Shut up,” he said, grabbing her with both arms and shaking her until her head whipped back and forth. “He wouldn't leave me here to take the fall.”

“Oh, yes, he would and you know it.” She felt reckless, filled with a power she had no right to. “He could leave the country or go back to Garza and convince him it was all your idea to change the plan.”

“Leland ain't gonna go and do something like that.”

“Oh?” She spoke the next words softly, drilling them into him. “Why not? Life's too short to worry about morals.” She thought she'd gone too far as his hands went for her throat. Instead he seized her arm again in a crushing grip.

“We're going to the boathouse. He'll be there.”

And if he was? She knew she was playing a dangerous game, and if she lost, her life, and Reuben's, would be forfeit.

* * *

Reuben was thrashed by the water, bumped and banged along by the creek until he somehow got a grip on a gnarled tree that protruded from the bank. His ribs burned, but he could not devote any energy into inspecting the wound. It took all his strength to wrap his arms and one leg around the root.

The bark was slippery as he tried to tug himself onto the tree, the rumbling water threatening to detach him at any moment. Agony lanced through his side as he fought. Martin would kill Antonia, or Leland would. The thought drove him to clench his cold fingers into claws that gripped the rough wood. He managed to pull himself clear of the water and he hung there now, like a bear cub stranded in a tree, panting and dripping, breath heaving and muscles screaming their displeasure.

He wanted to shimmy along to the bank. His body demanded oxygen instead so he hung there, staring upside down into the water, which seemed to be waiting for him to drop. After a full minute devoted just to breathing, he continued his awkward shimmy along the root, feeling the wood give and bend under his weight.

Another couple of feet and he would be close enough to try to grapple his way to shore. He kept his mind on Antonia, picturing her face. Though he was neither a painter nor a poet, his memory could render every detail—the silky strands of hair that she was apt to twist between fingers most always stained with paint, the radiant smile, the eyes that saw so much more than he ever could. Quick wit, quick temper, fast to find joy and first to embrace it. He brought up a memory of her laughing, the big belly guffaw that seemed incongruent with her slender body.

As he moved hand over hand, he replayed the sweetest images he'd filed away in his memory. Antonia swimming through a crystal sea. Antonia laughing as she inhaled the heady scent of the orange blossoms in his orchard. And yes, the moment when she'd walked away from him for the last time. Then, she had held up her chin, strength shining in her face, her lips trembling slightly. She loved him, but she would not turn her back on her sister or her niece for anyone, not even him. Maybe it was that moment, he thought, as he watched the water spin crazily underneath him, that he learned what a truly fine woman she was.

He felt the ominous snap, but there was nowhere to grab as the tree gave way and he was plunged again into the water. Landing on his back drove the breath out of him, and he struggled to right himself, breaking the surface and sucking in a mouthful of water in the process. He was being spun in circles, thrown up and down as he whirled along, unable to manage even one handhold on anything solid.

As it raced to empty itself into the sea, the creek hurtled through the trees so fast his vision blurred. He was weakening, teeth chattering, chin barely above the waterline, legs struggling to kick, arms no longer able to seek rescue. Helplessly, he felt himself being swept toward the lagoon. Perhaps there, in the slower water, in the sheltering arms of the lagoon that was a cradle for myriad creatures, he would also find refuge and a place to regroup.

If he could make it that far.

Ahead a curve of debris had collected in the creek, broken beams from Isla, sodden heaps of plaster and even a plastic cooler that had blown in from somewhere. It had all congealed into an unsightly pile that jutted out into the water. His heart leaped as he tried to gut his way through the waves toward the mass. His side was on fire, and he raked the pounding water until he managed to crook an elbow around a protruding two-by-four.

Choking and sputtering, he eased over the shifting debris, praying it would not break apart and deliver him into the mercy of the creek once again. Pieces of plaster shook loose under his feet, but the lattice of junk held firm until he heaved himself halfway out of the water. Clutching at the mud and straining forward, he found himself lying face down on the bank.

Thank You.
It was all he could muster. He laid there heaving and coughing until he found the strength to roll over, the canopy of trees swimming in front of his eyes. Had he made it to the lagoon? Judging from the foliage he had not. The question became would he be able to manage it?

He reached a sitting position, though it cost him severe pain, and then rolled over onto his knees to try and lever himself into a stand. His gasping breaths were so noisy that he didn't hear anyone approach until a weathered hand was thrust into his face.

“Help ya up?” Silvio said.

Reuben goggled incredulously up at the man. “Silvio?”

“Who else would it be tramping around this place lookin' for you?” Silvio knelt next to Reuben and peered into his face, pale eyes scanning Reuben's shirtfront. “Someone got ya?”

“Martin. Didn't see the knife coming.”

Silvio grunted. “Too slow. That's why you were never a good boxer.”

“As I keep telling anyone who will listen, I'm a farmer, not a fighter.”

Silvio chuckled as he hooked an arm under Reuben's shoulder. “Maybe not. Pretty good fight to get yerself out of the water.”

Reuben could not hold in a groan of pain as Silvio raised him up.

“Come on,” Silvio said. “Over here.”

“Where's Paula?” Reuben grunted.

“You'll see soon enough. Be quiet and keep walkin'. I'm not too keen on having to carry you.”

Reuben focused on walking, step by painful step, along the riverbank. Several times he had to stop, leaning against Silvio and struggling to stem the dizziness in his head. It seemed like miles before they came to the place where the river dumped itself into one of the lagoon channels, but it was likely no more than fifteen minutes' distance.

They stopped there and Reuben bent over, gasping for breath. When his head cleared enough for him to straighten again, he blinked at the unbelievable vision before him. It was the skimmer, bobbing gently on the waves, Paula perched inside, Charley the cat on her lap.

She shot to her feet, nearly falling in her haste to get to him, and Silvio handed her out of the boat.

Paula stopped abruptly in her dash toward him when she saw the blood that stained his shirtfront. Putting the cat down, she approached more slowly. “Come sit in the skimmer. There's a first-aid kit there.”

With Silvio on one side and Paula on the other, Reuben was shuttled into the boat.

“How...?” he started.

Silvio shrugged. “Storm passed. We got tired of waiting for you or the bad guys to arrive. Went looking and found the skimmer. Decided we had better use for it than Leland.”