Carolina Heat (17 page)

Jillian didn’t hesitate, or bother to check her calendar. “Bit of a back-handed invitation, but I’m not proud. Of course I’ll come. I haven’t seen you in months, and I want to hear about every little thing that kept you away for so long. Not to mention, your potato salad is legendary.”

Annabelle dropped her jaw in mock surprise. “You mean you can cook? Now I don’t know how I can possibly resist you.” She was only partially kidding. As she peeled back each layer, Mark was more and more intriguing. Desirable and yet a complete mistake, both in timing and locale. What was she doing spending more time with him, when every moment together sucked her inexorably closer to falling for him? She was already much too close to the edge of that particular cliff, and yet unable to back away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mark threw his arms wide. “Welcome to Charles Towne Landing.”

Annabelle spun in a slow circle in the middle of the clearing, a slight frown on her forehead. “You’re telling me this is the original Charleston? All I see are squares of what I’m guessing is a vegetable garden.”

“Good guess. Bet you don’t see many of those in New York.” Mark drew her forward to the edge of the clearing and pointed through the forest surrounding them. “A little band of English settlers dropped anchor out past those trees way back in 1670. Ten years later they moved to the other side of the river and created Charleston.”

“This is really more a spot for hard core history buffs, isn’t it? I mean, there isn’t anything very exciting to attract the average tourist.”

Yeah, he’d heard that before. But he hoped he could get Annabelle to see past the what was left today to the stamp of history embedded in the soil.

“It’s not an amusement park, for crying out loud. You have to feel it.” Mark crouched down and let a handful of dirt sift through his fingers. “Let the history and the amazing fortitude of the early settlers seep into your pores. Tiny settlements were the foundation of our country. The hardships they endured, the strength of their convictions, their bravery. Imagine standing on this spot in 1670, along with maybe thirty other people. The entire country, most of which you don’t even realize exists yet, stretches out before you. No other cities for hundreds of miles, and no real civilization at all on this side of the Atlantic. And yet they persevered.” He stood and dusted off his hands. No matter how many times he came here, it always gave him a thrill to stand on the echoes of history.

“I see your tour guide persona has popped to the surface again,” Annabelle said dryly.

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for history and I love Charleston. It’s a part of me I can’t turn off. Almost as if I’ve spent so many years in libraries researching that a valve has to open every now and again and let off a little intellectual steam.”

“I think it’s a charming habit.” Annabelle threw her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “As a matter of fact, I think
you
are quite charming, Mr. Dering.” She kissed him soundly, a deep kiss that left them both breathing heavily.

He nibbled his way over to her ear. “Maybe we should step back into the trees and give it another try.”

“Mark, this is a public place!” She laughed as she pulled away.

He swept her into his arms and spun her around. “Public is a relative term. We haven’t seen anyone else since we got here except Jillian and Ashby, and they’re inside. Hell, if Jillian’s master plan is working, they might be doing the same thing that we are right now.”

“I doubt it. But regardless, they could come back out at any minute. Put me down.”

He slowly slid her along the length of his body until her toes touched the ground. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. ‘While I breathe, I hope.’ ”

She looked at him blankly. “What?”

“State motto. Fits the moment. Last bit of tour guide wisdom I’ll share with you today, I promise.”

“Thank goodness.” She drew her hand across her forehead with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “I can only handle so much at one time.”

Mark took her hand and led her down a dirt path lined with scrub pines. If he took her deep enough into the forest, he was sure he could convince her to part with a few more kisses.

“Is there anything else here I should see? Or anything I should know for the article?”

He elbowed her in the ribs. “First you mock my knowledge, and then in the next breath you try to pick my brain?”

“I’m complex,” she sassed back. “Answer the question.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is. A really great replica of a seventeenth-century boat. I’m a little rusty on maritime lore, so Ashby will have to fill you in on the particulars. I told him we’d meet them there right about now. If it wasn’t for all these cypress trees, you could see it around the next bend.”

A piece of bark exploded off the nearest tree and left a nasty scrape down Annabelle’s right arm. Birds emerged from the branches overhead in a flurry of flapping wings, squawking their protest. Mark froze, his body not in sync with the dozens of panicked thoughts jostling through his mind. His eyes took in the blood dripping down Annabelle’s arm while his ears finally processed and identified the gunshot still reverberating through the trees. A moment later another piece of bark flew off right above her head.

“Mark,” she whispered, “I think that was a—”

“Don’t talk,” he ordered. “Run!” They took off down the path. Annabelle kicked off her sandals immediately. The dirt was rough and littered with twigs and pebbles. Mark knew they had to be cutting her feet, but she still matched his pace. Without any warning, one more bullet shot into a tree ten feet in front of them.

Mark didn’t bother to look for the shooter. He knew they were easy targets on the well-cleared path. Swearing, he grabbed her arm and jerked her off the path. Branches slapped at their faces, and the only sound was of their labored breathing.

“Do you have a plan?” Annabelle asked, panting.

“We head for the boat. It’s the nearest shelter, and the trees will give us some protection. They must have a high-powered scope on their rifle—I don’t hear anyone chasing us.”

“We should split up. I’m the one they want.” She tripped over a large tree root and nearly fell.

Mark put a hand under her elbow to steady her. “Just keep running, no matter what.” They zigzagged through knee high shrubs, scaring a flock of angry birds into the sky. There was no time to think of who was shooting at them, or from where. There was only blind instinct driving him forward, hopefully away from the shooter. He knew they had to be close to the river bank.

“Ashby!” Mark yelled at the top of his lungs. “Start the engines!” The river was in sight. They paused at the edge of the forest. Without the cover of trees, the last hundred yards to the boat would be extremely dangerous, but crossing that expanse was their only chance.

“Cast off now!” The boat edged downriver and came closer to Mark and Annabelle’s position. Mark signaled with a squeeze of her hand and they ran, hunched over, to the water’s edge. He grabbed her by the waist and literally threw her onto the boat. Ashby leaned over the edge and held out his hand to Mark, but the gulf between the shore and boat was too wide. If Mark tried to run alongside in the water the boat would outpace him. His feet pounded against the soft sand and he jumped with all his might.

It wasn’t enough, and his palms scraped down the outside of the hull. As his feet sank into the water, a thick rope slapped against his face. He grabbed on.

“Floor it, Ashby!” He felt an enormous tug at his shoulders as the boat took off down the river. Water poured over his head, the force pushing him deeper beneath the surface. No way was he going to escape getting shot only to drown. He heaved himself a few inches higher on the rope, his head barely above water. It took all his strength just to keep his hands around the rough twine and fight the pull of the river.

He tensed, waited for a bullet to slam into his body, but nothing happened. Mark looked up and saw Jillian and Annabelle reeling in the rope, hand over hand. It felt like forever before they pulled him up the side and onto the deck. He flopped onto his back and concentrated on breathing.

“Mark, are you okay? Are you hit?” Annabelle’s voice quivered as she ran her hands frantically over his body checking for blood.

“I’m fine. Got the wind knocked out of me when the engines revved and slammed me against the boat. Think I swallowed about a gallon of river water, too.”

“What the hell is going on?” Ashby yelled over his shoulder, holding tight to the wheel. “Kind of a dramatic entrance. Want to fill me in? Tell me where we’re headed? And why I’m apparently stealing this boat?”

It was Annabelle who answered. “Head to the harbor. This river does connect to the harbor, doesn’t it?”

Jillian nodded. “If we use the engine instead of raising the sails we should be there in about ten minutes.”

“I haven’t navigated this part of the river in a while. Not too familiar with the layout. Might be a good idea to cut the engine and take it a bit slower,” said Ashby.

“Don’t slow down!” Mark and Annabelle shouted as one.

“Why not?”

Mark pulled himself to his feet and tucked Annabelle securely against his side, still gasping greedily for air. “Because someone tried to kill us. We don’t want to wait around and give them a second chance.”

“I don’t understand why we can’t call the police.” Jillian nudged the screen door open with her hip. She carried a plate of deviled eggs in one hand and the other held a tray overflowing with hamburger fixings. She held the door for Annabelle, who deftly balanced an armful of beer bottles.

Annabelle was relieved to be in fresh clothes, even if they were baggy shorts and a T-shirt that proclaimed in neon orange and red
Geologists Rock
! By the time she finished checking Mark for injuries her clothes were almost as wet as his. While a South Carolina river probably wasn’t quite as toxic as the canals in Venice, she hadn’t wanted to take any chances with the deep cut on her arm. She jumped at the chance to shower away the muck from the river. While she and Mark cleaned up, Ashby and Jillian had started on dinner.

Now they were in Mark’s back yard, a cozy brick patio dominated by an enormous magnolia tree. Lush green ferns surrounded its trunk. A jaunty blue and white striped umbrella gave the big glass table an extra dose of shade. Matching blue cushions covered the chairs and two chaise lounges.

Jillian set the tray on the table and unloaded it. “A shooting in a public place is a crime. We need to let the police know what happened so they can find out who did it.”

Jillian had been arguing this point the entire ride to Mark’s house. As soon as Mark was safely on board, Annabelle had launched into a full recapitulation of the events both in the forest, and everything leading up to them. When people saved your life, they deserved the truth. Except now Jillian and Ashby wanted to throw in their two cents. A partner was one thing, but now she had the makings of a full team. It put her off kilter almost as much as the attempt on her life.

Annabelle dug deep, but knew her reserves of patience were running low. “We already know who did it. I mean, we don’t know their name, but we do know it has to be the same person that’s behind Vanessa and Tad’s disappearance.”

Jillian wagged a fork with an olive on the end. “Doesn’t help protect you, does it? Maybe the police can find evidence at the crime scene to lead you to that name. Pull the bullet fragments out of the trees and do some laboratory magic on them. Maybe even trace it to the shop where they were purchased.”

“Geez, Jilly, how much television do you watch?” asked Ashby.

“So what if I watch CSI every week? It’s better than all the reality crap you watch. The point is that the police have resources we don’t. Maybe enough to fix this mess.”

Annabelle knew it was time to shut down this argument. “It’s a pretty big
maybe
to risk. I told you the police haven’t bent over backwards to help so far. They refuse to connect Tad’s mauled corpse with Vanessa’s disappearance. I’ve no reason to believe they wouldn’t chalk this incident up to a random shooting, or even a high school prank. The media would get wind of it and my cover would be blown.” Annabelle poured a beer and sat down.

“People are shooting at you!” Jillian exclaimed. “I’d say your cover’s already blown.”

“Point taken. However, we have to be close to figuring the whole thing out, or they wouldn’t risk such a public attack. I know if I find a few more pieces, I can put the whole puzzle together.”

Ashby looked up from his precise poking at the coals. “Part of me agrees with Jillian. Someone—let’s call him Mr. X—is keeping close tabs on you. He’s proven he can follow your movements and can obviously get close enough to hurt you.” He shifted his gaze as Mark joined him at the grill. “You got lucky today, buddy. Any one of those bullets could’ve hit you. On top of that, you practically drowned. How long do you think your luck’s going to hold?”

“Lady Luck is a powerful ally. Don’t knock her just because you play the lottery every week and have yet to win a single dollar.” Mark gave Ashby a friendly jab on the shoulder.