anyone’s life. The bad guys got away. They’d lost Pastor Fleming and Mateo.
If they were even still alive.
<><><>
MATEO WOKE TO darkness. And strange smells: gasoline and salt water and sweet, too sweet, lilacs. The world churned around him, bouncing up and down, side to side, but he couldn’t see why. Everything was black.
Nausea gripped him and he clenched his jaws to hold it back. He was lying—no, that wasn’t right—he was sitting on a rough floor. Scratchy like sandpaper against his jeans. If only it would stop moving.
A violent roll tossed him onto his side. He tried to brace himself but his hands were caught behind him. Handcuffs? How the hell… Why couldn’t he remember anything?
Panic dulled by a weird sense of lethargy made every thought a struggle, as if his mind were caught in the pluff mud that acted like quicksand in the island’s tidal marshes. When trapped in pluff, you couldn’t struggle. The only way out was to relax to try to float free or to have someone help pull you out.
Help. That’s what he needed. He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and only a cough emerged. Drugs. Someone must have drugged him. Was that why he was handcuffed? Was he under arrest?
Then why couldn’t he see? He rubbed his face against the rough wall beside him. Felt cloth. That’s where the sickly sweet lilac smell was coming from. Okay. Not blind. Just in the dark with a pillowcase or something over his head.
Cops didn’t do that. What happened?
He tried to stretch his body out to explore his prison but couldn’t. The walls weren’t far enough apart for him to roll over without banging his shoulders and the length barely allowed him to curl up or sit halfway up, legs bent. He couldn’t tell where the ceiling was.
Another sudden lurch, as if the entire vehicle—he was moving, moving fast and there was an engine roaring above the pounding in his head—had jumped a curb. Not a curb. Waves. Boat. Water.
That wasn’t right, was it? He remembered being on his bike. Had to hurry, he was meeting a girl. Pretty girl. Young but interesting.
Fear surged through the fog and he sat up. Was she here, too? “Megan,” he called, his voice muffled and barely carrying. “Anyone there?”
No answer, just the boat bouncing as it slowed. Think, he told himself. Remember. What happened?
Megan. He was going to meet Megan. But first… his mind sloughed through muck thicker than pluff… first… What had happened first?
A vicious roll, as the boat spun, sent him reeling, headfirst against the compartment wall. The pain flashed red against the black that smothered him.
Blood. That’s what happened. He couldn’t remember how or why or where or who but he remembered blood. Lots of blood.
Fear spiked through the drug-induced haze that held his mind captive. All that blood. Someone was dead.
He shuddered. And he might be next.
Chapter 11
LUCY KNEW SHE had many faults—leaping before looking being among the top ten—but an easily bruised ego wasn’t usually one of them. Of course that was before she’d let their subject get away with two hostages, at least one potentially gravely injured. Not to mention needing to be hauled out of the water and ferried to shore sopping wet.
She was surprised Officer Gant didn’t burst out laughing when she stepped back onto solid ground. But he was too busy grilling Megan.
“You couldn’t see anything? Freddy said you had his binoculars.”
Megan was shaking she was so upset. “I’m sorry. The sun was in my eyes and the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see his face. Only that it was a man.”
“Well, at least we can narrow things down. It was a man, not a little green monster from Mars.”
Lucy rushed forward to defend Megan. “She’s a minor. You’ve no right to question her without me present, Gant. Give her a second. She’ll tell you everything she knows.”
Megan gripped Lucy’s hand and took a breath. “I only saw one man.
If they were even still alive.
<><><>
MATEO WOKE TO darkness. And strange smells: gasoline and salt water and sweet, too sweet, lilacs. The world churned around him, bouncing up and down, side to side, but he couldn’t see why. Everything was black.
Nausea gripped him and he clenched his jaws to hold it back. He was lying—no, that wasn’t right—he was sitting on a rough floor. Scratchy like sandpaper against his jeans. If only it would stop moving.
A violent roll tossed him onto his side. He tried to brace himself but his hands were caught behind him. Handcuffs? How the hell… Why couldn’t he remember anything?
Panic dulled by a weird sense of lethargy made every thought a struggle, as if his mind were caught in the pluff mud that acted like quicksand in the island’s tidal marshes. When trapped in pluff, you couldn’t struggle. The only way out was to relax to try to float free or to have someone help pull you out.
Help. That’s what he needed. He tried to call out, but his mouth was dry and only a cough emerged. Drugs. Someone must have drugged him. Was that why he was handcuffed? Was he under arrest?
Then why couldn’t he see? He rubbed his face against the rough wall beside him. Felt cloth. That’s where the sickly sweet lilac smell was coming from. Okay. Not blind. Just in the dark with a pillowcase or something over his head.
Cops didn’t do that. What happened?
He tried to stretch his body out to explore his prison but couldn’t. The walls weren’t far enough apart for him to roll over without banging his shoulders and the length barely allowed him to curl up or sit halfway up, legs bent. He couldn’t tell where the ceiling was.
Another sudden lurch, as if the entire vehicle—he was moving, moving fast and there was an engine roaring above the pounding in his head—had jumped a curb. Not a curb. Waves. Boat. Water.
That wasn’t right, was it? He remembered being on his bike. Had to hurry, he was meeting a girl. Pretty girl. Young but interesting.
Fear surged through the fog and he sat up. Was she here, too? “Megan,” he called, his voice muffled and barely carrying. “Anyone there?”
No answer, just the boat bouncing as it slowed. Think, he told himself. Remember. What happened?
Megan. He was going to meet Megan. But first… his mind sloughed through muck thicker than pluff… first… What had happened first?
A vicious roll, as the boat spun, sent him reeling, headfirst against the compartment wall. The pain flashed red against the black that smothered him.
Blood. That’s what happened. He couldn’t remember how or why or where or who but he remembered blood. Lots of blood.
Fear spiked through the drug-induced haze that held his mind captive. All that blood. Someone was dead.
He shuddered. And he might be next.
Chapter 11
LUCY KNEW SHE had many faults—leaping before looking being among the top ten—but an easily bruised ego wasn’t usually one of them. Of course that was before she’d let their subject get away with two hostages, at least one potentially gravely injured. Not to mention needing to be hauled out of the water and ferried to shore sopping wet.
She was surprised Officer Gant didn’t burst out laughing when she stepped back onto solid ground. But he was too busy grilling Megan.
“You couldn’t see anything? Freddy said you had his binoculars.”
Megan was shaking she was so upset. “I’m sorry. The sun was in my eyes and the windows were tinted. I couldn’t see his face. Only that it was a man.”
“Well, at least we can narrow things down. It was a man, not a little green monster from Mars.”
Lucy rushed forward to defend Megan. “She’s a minor. You’ve no right to question her without me present, Gant. Give her a second. She’ll tell you everything she knows.”
Megan gripped Lucy’s hand and took a breath. “I only saw one man.
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