Spirit Lake (30 page)

When he whispered his idea into the baby rabbit's ear, it nuzzled in reply against his own whiskery cheek.

Cole chuckled. “So you like that notion, huh? Let's hope she'll be pleased."

Soon after, Cole tiptoed past a sleeping Laurel. Picking up the portable phone, he went into the bedroom to quietly ask the sheriff to send someone out to park in her driveway as guard while he went on an errand.

* * * *

COLE SWUNG Gary's maroon pickup into Laurel's long driveway, mindful that the box of yellow roses didn't slide off the benchseat and onto the floor. Laurel said she preferred wildflowers, but he'd seen the roses in the shop window and they made him think of velvet sunshine. Whenever he thought of Laurel, sunshine came to mind.

But bone-chilling fright took over when Cole soon found himself reaching in around the deputy's body, grabbing the receiver, punching 911. The operator sent the call on through to Sheriff John Petski.

“The son-of-a-bitch is here!” he yelled at the sheriff.

“Where?"

“At Laurel's! Your Hayward buddy fell asleep on the job. Send an ambulance. Damnit, John, where is everybody? The woods are supposed to be crawling with feds."

“Shit. Something's wrong. What about Laurel?"

“I'm heading for the cabin now. Just get the backup."

“You got anything on you?"

“Yeah.” Cole spotted the pistol still in the deputy's hand. It would come in handier than the knife sheathed inside his jeans.

He tossed the mouthpiece down beside the comatose deputy, snatched the pistol, then began a crooked canter along the shadowy side of the gravel driveway. His leg hurt bad, but paled to the cutting grief splicing open his heart right now.

Oh, my Laurel Lee. Please be alive
.

* * * *

LYING TRUSSED IN the bottom of a small runabout boat, Laurel fought against the terror strangling her. The boat weaved and bobbed. On the floor behind the driver's seat, she could only glimpse the back of the dark-haired man's head. The hair struck a memory chord. It was the man from behind the menu at the restaurant. Was he Rojas?

“Why?” she spat out, glancing down at her bonds, “why kidnap me? What do you want from me?"

Too easily this stranger had broken through her breezeway and trussed her like a turkey while she struggled to wake from a deep sleep. Where had Cole been? Did this man have him too? Or ... was Cole dead already? Chills sprinted across her body. She needed to believe he was alive, or she wouldn't have the strength to survive herself. She refused to become fish bait.

She stared at miles of rope looped around her body. Her hands ached from the extra knots tightened at her wrists. Fear mounted.

Flopping one arm down behind him, he grazed her cheekbone with a gloved hand. Like a vulture, the man cackled from his perch, “My red-haired mermaid, you're all I want."

Laurel wanted to wretch. “You're Marco Rojas?"

“That common thief?” he scoffed.

So this was the hired gun of Cole's boss.

“Where're you taking me?"

“Sweet love, we're going on a nice, long ride so we don't have to worry about your nasty boyfriends."

“Like who?"

“Damn Wescott,” the man growled, “Rojas plans to catch up with him."

So Cole must be alive. But how could she save herself? What would Cole do in this predicament? How did he survive being shot at before? He stayed focused! She suddenly rued the first time she condemned him for that. Staying alive was worth focusing on.

“You said Rojas was a thief,” she ventured, wriggling at her bonds. She winced at the numbness crawling into her hands. “What did Rojas steal?"

“Everything. Every piece of junk brought up on the dives ended up with black marketers. Even women. He got rich, and I never saw a dime he promised. Neither did the fool Wescott boys."

Laurel shuddered. “What about the women? What do you mean?” Keep him talking.

“My little mermaid, if you only knew how lucky you are to have me rescue you. Wescott would never keep you from the likes of my boss."

“What would Rojas do with women?"

“Not treat them with respect. Not like me. I'd never sell you to any foreigner."

“Sell?” A frigid sheen of fear enveloped her.

The boat sputtered along. “See, I told you Wescott was dumb. He never knew all the years he worked for Rojas that blondes and redheads like you brought more than pleasure to the boss. You'd bring six figures on the international market, sweetie."

She wanted to wretch again, but raised her voice above the engine noise. “What if Cole's brother did find out? What if that's why he was killed? If you can help us get Rojas, you'll be free."

The man laughed louder. “Wescott was too damn cocky for his own good. He never tumbled to anything Rojas was doing. He always wanted to make a name for himself, kept saying his son would be proud of him for the next dive and the next, for the next race."

Laurel's heart ached for Cole.

Trying to sound sweet, she asked, “What's your name?"

“Broderick. Just Broderick."

“You have any children, Broderick?"

His gloved hand reached back to stroke her temple. “You gettin’ ideas for us already? I knew we'd be good for each other."

The cool wind did nothing to bust through the fear flushing down her body. “Where's this nice place you're taking me?"

“I was thinking of Canada."

“By boat?” Hope flickered. They'd have to leave Spirit Lake and the transfer to land could give her a chance to be rescued.

“Not by boat, silly mermaid. I'm taking us across Spirit Lake. Got a hidden spot to land all picked out. Then we'll hike over to Deer Creek Gorge. We'll catch the train and head west into the mountains. You ever see the mountains?"

“No.” She wasn't getting on any train. She bulged every piece of her fiber against the bonds but they wouldn't give. If only she had Cole's knife. “How can I hop on when I'm tied like this?” She imagined running like a deer as soon as the bonds came off.

From around the edge of the seat, a pistol barrel appeared. “You will do whatever I say."

Like a fog, a chill blanketed her. “Hopping a train is dangerous. I'll need help."

He swiveled to look down on her with his swarthy face. The gleam in his eyes tortured her. Then, he showed her his other wrist. She saw the rope knotting it. He'd tethered himself to her!

“I hop on first,” he cackled, “and you either get on with me, or the train's wheels suck you under, splicing both you and the rope, setting me free in that unfortunate event. I have no problem with the plan. Do you?"

Laurel shook her head, hope draining away.

Chapter 16

AT THE CABIN, Cole raced like a madman looking for Laurel. Not finding her, he flung himself back out the front door, where he saw Buzz trundling down the driveway. An ambulance and second squad car pulled in behind him in the distance.

From the other direction, Sheriff Petski hurried up from Laurel's dock after racing over in one of his patrol boats.

Cole demanded, “You see her out on Spirit Lake?"

“No, but there's so many tourists out there fishing and water-skiing that I might have missed her."

“What route did you take?"

“I followed the north shore, since that's where we thought the body came from. Most criminals tend to go back to their hideouts for something."

“Like he'd go pack for a honeymoon with her?” Cole spun, raking his hair in anger. “He had to be here only moments ago. That deputy's wound is fresh. Do your job, sheriff!"

“Get a grip, son. You haven't cornered the market on fear."

“Sorry,” Cole gasped. “I checked the cabin and shed. A broken window in the breezeway. Looks like he plucked her up out of her nap, where I put her.” A lump rose in his throat. “I never should have left her alone."

John's big hand squeezed his shoulder. “The guy probably has a weapon. If he's the kind to plant bombs on your boat to kill your brother, there's no telling what he showed up with here."

“Bombs.” Cole's heartbeat thudded into his stomach. “Don't let anybody back in that place until it's checked out. If anything happens to her animals—"

Another squeeze to his shoulders and John said, “Nothing's going to happen. The FBI should be here any minute."

“I thought you said they were supposed to be planted in the woods before this?"

“They're still not sure this guy is Rojas. They think we've only got a nut case on our hands."

“Like a woman being kidnapped isn't important?” Cole's insides burned with anger.

“Until she crosses state lines, the FBI boys don't think it's their jurisdiction."

“Then you and I better saddle up."

He propelled himself down the lawn's slope toward the sheriff's boat.

John hurried after him. “They're sending a chopper. It'll be here any minute. You can't do much chasin’ with that leg anyway."

Cole was already unwinding the nylon rope from the post at the dock. “I don't care if my leg drops off if it means Laurel comes back alive."

“Don't go out there alone. Wait for the chopper."

He blinked at the sheriff's stricken face under the hot sun. “Damn it all, John, Laurel was the mother of my son. Do you really believe I can wait around for a helicopter ride? And for what? What if we spot her being dragged into the trees by Rojas and we can't land? That would be hell for me to watch if I thought I could have prevented it."

Cole climbed into the boat.

John stepped back. “I'll check the old church and get somebody around to Flora's mansion ASAP."

“Thanks.” With a nod, Cole backed the patrol boat against the currents of the bay, despising its sluggish surge. He longed for his hydroboat back in The Keys. To get to Laurel faster.

* * * *

CRACK!

Laurel's blood froze at the rifle retort. Broderick floored the small runabout. She pitched against the seatback, smashing her nose. Blood stained the vinyl.

She hoped the rifle shot meant Cole and the sheriff were closing in.

“Who is it?” she yelled up at Broderick.

“Like I care, sweet thing? Came from that old three-story butt ugly house, but we've left him for good."

The mansion! Cole? The sheriff? But the shot had missed, and she was the new “girlfriend” of a maniac.

But they weren't off Spirit Lake yet! There were people out here who could help her. If they could see her. She pushed harder against the ropes, ignoring the blood.

* * * *

WHEN COLE spotted a zigzagging runabout, his heart leapt. The crazy driver had to be Laurel's kidnapper. Nobody would speed on this crowded lake unless they needed to. Other boaters, fishers and canoeists scattered like bowling pins in the renegade's wake.

With his guts grinding, Cole pushed the patrol boat to a faster speed. Plumes of lakewater shadowed him.

The kidnapper's runabout ripped an ugly U-turn, almost flipping the boat. Cole wished it had overturned because he could have scooped up Laurel, just as he'd done with fellow racers a thousand times when a boat hydroplaned to disaster. Just as he'd done for Mike. He shouldn't have been in the boat that exploded. They shouldn't have argued. Now, the parallel to Laurel tore at Cole. She shouldn't be out here. The memory of the fiery explosion burst inside Cole's brain, driving him in a fever of terror.

The renegade boat used a line of sleek boats anchored off shore as a shield, turning to head back toward the abandoned mansion. Cole hoped the boat would ride directly into the gun of the waiting sheriff.

Just as he pressed the patrol boat into a clear straight-away, a ski boat darted out from behind the lip of a cove and Cole had to abort his speed and swerve. He lost sight of his quarry.

He circled away from the boaters and into the middle of the lake, losing valuable time.

An angry hunger slammed about inside him, a hunger like that of a hawk spying someone raiding his nest and harming his mate. He had no future without Laurel. His fingers coiled like sharp talons. Wild instinct to pounce jetted through his veins.

He drove for the clear, more treacherous and shallower water near the shoreline. On a sharp turn, water sprayed across his face. Narrowing his gaze, he scoped the lake and land everywhere at once. Where was she? The hawk spotted nothing.

Faster, go faster. The boat's engine grunted. Cole zipped in and out of coves, narrowly dodging rocks and submerged logs.

Just around a finger of land crowded with trees, his boat suddenly snapped up, flung into the air by a powerful jolt.

Clinging to the wheel, Cole flew with the boat as it sailed at a crazy angle before coming back down with a smack!

The boat rumbled, its motor complaining. Then a thin geyser sprayed the back of Cole's neck. Whatever he hit had gouged a small hole through the fiberglass behind the seats.

Where was the sheriff? The helicopter? He saw nothing in the sky but sunshine and birds.

Savage instinct drove him.

Save my Laurel Lee
.

With the lakewater spraying in, he glanced around for another option. He spotted three boats about a hundred yards away, tethered together for a party in the middle of the lake. He slammed the gas pedal, but the engine protested again. He hurried for a quick look at the prop, but the engine wouldn't tip up from the damage. Through the frothy water, he saw branches, weeds, twine—all sorts of lake junk trailing off the prop.

With no time to clean it, he sloshed back to the front of the boat and gunned the engine on and off, reverse and forward, to see if he could dislodge the junk.

Laurel needs you!

On the fourth try, the boat moved forward, but at a slow, deliberate speed. Somehow, Cole reached the partiers before the patrol boat became too waterlogged. He jumped onto the deck of a glittery new boat, calling out, “Get off! I'm taking this!"

When a muscle man holding a beer objected, Cole ripped the pistol out and pointed it at him.

Everyone screamed. Cole ordered, “Get your tanned asses off the boat! Now!"

They scattered onto the two other boats, and Cole commandeered the new tri-hull.

Skimming the top of the water, Cole whipped in and out, dodging debris, looking for the runabout.