Chapter 14 #2
He heard a shout, and then bullets hit the water around him, but he was already diving.
He let the current carry him farther downstream. When he came up again, low-hanging branches shielded him from view.
Looking back, he saw the two men running along the bank, but it appeared that neither one of them was going to plunge into the water.
When he heard a splash, he looked to his right and saw an alligator slipping into the bayou.
Teeth gritted, he used a cypress root to pull himself out of the bayou, putting a tree trunk between himself and the men with the guns.
His clothing was dripping. His shoes were covered with mud, and he was in the back country. If he turned around, he would likely run into the men from the van.
His only option was to keep walking, his shoes sucking in the mud as he put space between himself and the two men.
He had left civilization behind. There was only dense vegetation on both sides of the water, cypress, tupelo, and saw palmetto until he came to what looked like a deserted shack near the water.
In front of it was a pier, and tied to the pier was a pirogue, one of the small boats that the residents used.
He looked behind him and across the water. He had lost the men in the swamp, and he thought it would be safe to cross the bayou again.
Turning toward the pier, he walked onto the weathered boards, heading for the boat.
Before he had gotten more than a few feet, a voice rang out behind him.
“You—hold up, or you’re a dead man.”
Stephanie faced the two men, determined not to give them anything Reynard could use against her. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Oh yeah? Looks like you were pretty cozy here with Craig Branson.”
“I thought his name was Craig Brady.”
“Craig Branson,” one of the men corrected.
“He was using a false name?” she answered like she was shocked.
“What were you doing here with him?” the shorter man asked.
“He was holding me captive.”
“What did he want with you?”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Reynard about that,” she said, hoping she could come up with a story he would believe.
The guy snorted, and Stephanie fought to project the impression that she was telling the truth.
“Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“Going where?”
“Mr. Reynard is waiting for you.”
“Let me get my stuff.”
He hesitated for a moment, and she struggled to project the idea that he had to give her a few more minutes here—time to leave a clue for Craig.
Craig turned to see a grizzled old man with a week’s growth of beard, wearing a camouflage shirt, torn blue jeans, and combat boots. He was holding a shotgun pointed at Craig’s chest. He raised his hands above his head.
“Don’t shoot. I need help,” he said.
The guy’s face turned a shade less hostile as he took in Craig’s appearance. “What happened to you?”
“Two guys with guns were chasing me.”
“Yeah, why?”
Craig took a chance and asked, “Have you heard of the Solomon Clinic?”
“You one of the bastards who was runnin’ that place?”
Craig shook his head. “I’m one of the children who was born because of Dr. Solomon’s treatments. Somebody knows about us and is going after us.”
The guy lowered the rifle. “Yeah. My nephew was one of them kids. He’s dead.”
Craig sucked in a sharp breath.
“He was one of the ones who got together with another kid from the clinic—and croaked in bed with her.”
“I think my . . . girlfriend and I lucked out on that part. But somebody’s been chasing us since we met.”
“Where is she?”
“I left her at a B and B outside of town and came here to talk to a police detective who said he had some information for me.”
“Don’t never trust the cops.”
Craig already had bad feelings about Broussard. “You may be right.”
His benefactor said, “You need dry clothes and a ride.”
“I’d surely appreciate it,” Craig allowed.
“I think I got something from my son that you can wear.” He turned and walked toward the shack.
Craig followed, sloshing as he went, then hesitated at the doorway.
“I’ll get your place wet.”
“The water will go through the cracks in the floor. Come on in.
Craig followed the man inside. The interior looked a lot more comfortable than the ramshackle facade suggested. A lantern sat on a wooden table, illuminating a narrow bed, several chairs, and a small kitchen area, all neatly arranged.
The old man opened a chest of drawers and pulled out a shirt like the one he was wearing and another pair of jeans.
Craig shucked off his wet clothing and put on the dry replacements.
The pants legs were an inch too short, but they were better than what he’d been wearing.
His shoes were still a muddy mess, but there was nothing he could do about that now.
His cell phone was ruined, and his wallet was soggy, but the money and credit cards inside would dry out.
“You got a way to get back to your place?” his benefactor asked.
“I left my car on the other side of the river,” Craig answered.
“I can take you across.”
They both walked down the dock where Craig climbed into the boat and the old man cast off, using a paddle to propel them across the water.
Craig looked back, seeing the dense swampy area where the shack was almost hidden from view.
“Thank you,” he said when they got to the other side. As he reached for his wallet, the old Cajun shook his head.
“No need.”
Craig climbed out and started along the shore, watching for the men who had chased him. It seemed they had given up pursuit for the moment, but what about Stephanie? He made it to his vehicle and climbed in, torn between caution and speeding as he headed back to the B and B.
He wanted to rush to the cottage, but instinct had him stopping down the block, and proceeding on foot, casting his thoughts before him, trying to contact Stephanie. He knew she had to be worried—and probably angry that he’d left her alone.
There was no mental sign from her as he approached the cottage, and he felt his chest tighten.
Then he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. It was Ike Broussard, climbing out of a car and heading for the cottage.
As far as Craig knew, the bastard hadn’t kept the appointment at the restaurant. What was he doing here now?
Craig speeded up, calling out a mental warning to Stephanie as he watched the man push the front door open.
He’d barely disappeared inside when a massive explosion shook the little building, throwing Craig to the ground.