Captive Kisses (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) (12 page)

Green Lake, like most in Louisiana, was a man-made lake. It
had been constructed through, the simple process of building a dam and spillway
across a natural stream. The catch basin thus formed filled quickly, inundating
thousands of acres, most of it woodland. Since the cost of clear-cutting the
proposed lake site of trees was much too steep, the bulldozers were brought in
beforehand to push out a main channel, usually along the deeper section of the
old water course, and perhaps one or two minor channels. The timber left
standing was gradually covered as the water rose. The pines and hardwoods died
quickly; their bases rotted, and they fell, sinking beneath the waves where the
process of disintegration continued. This along with constant dripping of sap
from the living trees both in the lake and along the shore gave the water its
customary dark and murky color. But the cypresses were trees of the swamplands;
they thrived in watery conditions. And if one of them died, its wood was
practically indestructible. After the passage of years, the cypress trees stood
like sentinels guarding the lake channels, providing perches for egrets,
cranes, herons, and water turkeys, while the mass of rotting timber beneath the
surface made an excellent spawning ground for fish where the hatchlings could
stay hidden for survival.

The judge had enjoyed pointing out such processes and their
ecological balances and benefits. Humans, he said, when they dammed streams and
rivers, were doing no more than another of Mother Nature’s creatures, the
beaver, would have done if he had gotten there first. In the meantime, a man
with a little luck and a good fishing rig could catch himself a mess of mighty
good eating.

There was no pretense to the judge, none at all. He had been
a farm boy before he became a lawyer, then a judge. He was open and honest,
with a healthy appreciation for his country heritage. That was another reason
why it was so difficult to connect him in any way with Charles and his
kidnapping of the senator. Frowning a little, Kelly shook her head.

They gathered still more speed as they reached the open
channel. Charles seemed to know exactly where he was going. He did not
hesitate, but here, away from the danger of underwater obstructions, opened the
throttle and sent the boat flying. After a few minutes, he swerved into the
side channel and cut the motor to a low rumble, decreasing their speed so as
not to disturb the water, or the fish, in the clearing ahead of them. A sunlit
area not much larger than a fair-sized house and ringed about with trees, Kelly
recognized it at once as one of the judge’s favorite bass holes.

Charles turned off the motor, and they drifted silently into
the opening. When the boat was where he wanted it, he let down the lead anchor
in the stern. He took out the rod and reel brought for her and attached a small
silver-colored artificial fish while she waited impatiently.

“Do you know how to use one of these things?” he asked as he
handed the fishing rig to her.

“I think so.” Kelly had to bite the side of her jaw to keep
from smiling. There had been several times when she had outfished Peter, Mark,
and the judge together.

He gave her a few brief instructions, then pointed out a
likely-looking spot at the edge of the trees across the width of the clear
space of water. Kelly measured the distance with her eye, drew back her rod,
and with a snap of her wrist sent the bait singing toward the exact spot he had
shown her.

“How was that?” she asked, her tone demurely innocent.

“Fine,” he answered, though the glance he directed at her
was dark with suspicion before he bent over his own rig.

They fished diligently. After a half-hour or so in one spot,
Charles pulled up the anchor and Kelly let down the small, battery-operated
trolling motor that was bolted to the front of the boat. It had a foot control
so that ideally it could be operated from the back chair, but it had not worked
right since the time Peter had caught his foot in the cable. Kelly had to
switch it on from the front seat and use the projecting handle to guide the
boat quietly to another vantage point.

By twelve o’clock the arms of the captain’s chairs and every
exposed surface of the boat were hot to the touch. The calendar might say that
fall was less than two weeks away, but there on the lake it was still deep
summer. None of the birds that flitted back and forth among the trees — the
sparrows, woodpeckers, blue jays, and cardinals — had thought of heading south;
most, in fact, would winter there. Every leaf on the trees was still as green
as when it had reached maturity in June. The sun sparkled on the water, a
breeze stirred through the trees, and Kelly could hear the humming of bees on a
floating mat of water plants.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Kelly said suddenly.

Charles glanced at her, his lips curving into a smile as he
nodded. “I’m glad you can see it. Things are never as bad as they seem.”

She stared at him, the breath suspended in her chest. Was he
trying to tell her something, or was it nothing more than an idle observation:
a comment on the storm of the night before as compared to this glorious
morning?

“I — I think I’ll get a little sun.”

“Just remember that you are getting twice as much as usual
because of the reflection on the water.”

She sent him a look of irritation. He had pulled off his own
life vest and tee-shirt hours ago, just after they had eaten their combination
breakfast and lunch. More than once the rays of the sun, catching on the gold
disk around his neck, had nearly blinded her.

She removed her own vest, stripped off her top and shorts,
and kicked out of her sandals. Propping her feet on the forward apron of the
boat, she leaned back in her chair and tilted her hat over her eyes.

“Tiring business, fishing.” he drawled.

She opened one eye. “What?”

“Pulling in all those bass must have been exhausting, still
it’s sweet of you to take a breather and give me time to catch up.”

“Are you behind?” she asked, her lips twitching as she
pulled her hat lower.

“You know very well I am,” he growled, “by about two to one.”

“Would you like to use my rod and reel?” she inquired.

As if to punctuate her words, the last striped bass she had
caught, weighing nearly three pounds, slapped the water with a loud splash as
it fought the wire-mesh holding basket let down on a line over the side of the
boat.

“No, thank you,” he answered, his voice dry.

Laughter bubbled up inside Kelly, then abruptly died away.
What good was it to best him in this one small thing when he held the
indisputable upper hand in everything that was important?

The sun beamed down. A hopeful mosquito whined around Kelly’s
face and she slapped at it. Silence hovered around them, broken only by the
soft slapping of waves against the boat and the whirring sound as Charles cast
his bait across the water again and again.

At a faint noise off to the left she opened her eyes to
slits. There was another boat drifting toward their fishing place. On the far
side of the clearing, it was a lightweight craft of green aluminum with two men
in it. One of them was expertly plying a paddle so that they weaved silently
through the trees.

She did not think Charles had noticed the new arrivals. He
seemed intent on his fishing. In a moment, the two men would bring out their
own fishing gear, attracting his attention. If she jumped up and began to yell,
would they understand her? Would she be able to make sense before Charles
stopped her? She could take a header out of the boat and swim toward the other
men, but Charles would be after her in a flash. What would happen, however, if
she first flicked on the trolling motor, and swung the handle to the left,
guiding the bass boat into the trees? It would take him precious seconds to
reach the front of the boat and turn it off, and that might be all the time she
would need.

Before the thought had finished unreeling across her mind,
she had surged to her feet, flicked the switch, turned the handle, and dived!

She swam underwater until her lungs were bursting, reaching,
stretching, kicking with hard, desperate fury. She came up, but did not pause,
drawing a long, rasping breath even as she settled into a strong, four-beat
crawl. There was not time to look where she was going, no time for anything
except the hard heart-straining effort. She could hear the beat of her own
pulse in her ears, though the splashing as she dove into the water drowned out
the sound of the trolling motor. It had been three years since she had swum
more than a lap or two up and down a municipal pool. The seconds ticked past,
each of them an eternity. Her arms were growing heavy, and there was a growing
ache between her shoulder blades.

She eased up enough to snatch a glance over her shoulder. It
was an instant before she could locate the boat. It was lodged against the
trees, floating free, empty.

Putting her head down, she redoubled her efforts.

Something touched the calf of her leg. She swerved, thinking
it was an underwater snag or tree trunk. Then her ankle was caught in a grip of
iron, and she was dragged under. She jackknifed, kicking free, but immediately
a hard arm was clamped about her waist. With her chest aching as the air was
driven from her lungs, she clawed for the surface.

She and Charles burst from the water together. Her eyes flew
open as she dragged air into her lungs. He was so close to her she could see
the flecks of rage in his eyes and the grim set to his mouth. His hold was
merciless, but she had the advantage; it was he who for that brief instant was
keeping them afloat. She brought her knee up. He twisted, catching it on his
thigh. With that leverage, she drove the sharp point of her elbow into his
chest, then with a catlike turn, drew back her fist, ready to drive it into his
face.

He saw the blow coming. He rolled with it, pulling her with
him. She caught her breath as her head went under the churning water once more,
and then she was pushing, twisting, flailing, freeing herself only to be seized
again. As she came up once, she opened her lips to scream for help, but his
hand was clapped none too gently across her nose and mouth. For an instant, she
could not breathe, and as a red haze rose before her eyes, the terrible fear
shafted into her brain that he meant to drown her then and there. Her struggles
became frenzied.

He released her, even supporting her for one fleeting
instant before she struck out at him with the heel of her hand. He caught her
wrist, jerking her against him, and they grappled once more, spinning,
wrenching, heaving back and forth with their bodies intertwined in an oddly
graceful water ballet that could not last. Kelly, her mind blank with despair,
recognized that fact as she felt her strength failing while his seemed as
steely and encompassing as when they had begun.

Abruptly his grasp loosened. She was free. It came so
unexpectedly that she nearly sank as she neglected to tread water. She looked
quickly at him, just barely within arm’s reach of her. The startled expression
on his face puzzled her, but she did not have time to think about it. Sweeping
away from him, she began to swim again, pulling hard for the other boat. In
that one moment of stillness, she had seen that it was leaving, had heard the
rough curses of the men as they floated across the water. The two fishermen
thought she and Charles were kids with no more sense than to stir up a good
fishing hole by swimming in it.

“Kelly, my love, aren’t you forgetting something?” Charles’s
voice as he called after her was provocative, with an undertone of warning that
sounded an alarm in her mind. As she turned her head for air on an overhand
stroke, she glanced back, then stopped as if she had struck the lake dam
itself.

In his hand Charles held aloft a scrap of material.
Aqua-blue, with trailing strings that dripped with water, it was the top to her
bikini.

At that moment, she heard the roar of a motor. Above its
ear-splitting racket she could never be heard. It was the small power motor on
the back of the aluminum boat. The men were scudding away under its noisy
power. The opportunity that had seemed so bright moments before was gone. With
dread in her eyes and her arms crossed over her breasts, Kelly swung to face
Charles.

“How dare you?” she said, the words charged with choked
fury.

“Easily, if I had thought of it, which, I am sorry to say, I
didn’t. It was an accident.”

“Throw it here!”

He shook his head slowly back and forth. The anger had
vanished from his face, and though its smooth planes were sternly solemn, the
look in his dark eyes was bright. “You come and get it.”

“I can’t,” she cried, her tone rising.

“Can’t you?” he inquired, looking at the article of clothing
he held as if he doubted its importance. Turning, he began to swim in the
direction of the bass boat with long, easy strokes.

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “Charles? Charles!”

“It will be at the boat You are coming, aren’t you?”

“No!”

He stopped, swung to face her. After a moment, he tilted his
head. “I would advise it. Any man who finds you clinging to a tree out here in
that condition, like a mermaid in distress, may act first and ask questions
later.”

She watched in disbelief as he rolled with a lithe grace and
began to swim once more. He was not going to give her top to her. He really
wasn’t. Her voice strangling in her throat, she yelled, “I’ll kill you!”

“You’re welcome to try — back at the boat.”

The ferocity of the wrath that washed over her had no
bounds. If she could have put her hands on him at that moment, she would have
slain him without compunction. She felt on fire with disappointed rage and
embarrassment. The blood boiled in her veins, and her skin was so red-hot it
was a wonder that the water around her wasn’t turned to steam. She tread water
in an agony of indecision, knowing with frenzied certainty that the choice had
already been made.