Blackwaters: A Kate Reid Novel (The Kate Reid Series Book 4)

BLACKWATERS 

A Kate Reid Novel

By Robin Mahle

Published by HARP House Publishing

December, 2015 (1
st
edition)

Copyright ©2015 by Robin Mahle

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover design: LLPix Photography,
www.llpix.com
Laura Wright LaRoche

Editor: Hercules Editing and Consulting Services
www.bzhercules.com

ONE

T
he hollow slab
of wood that was Braydon’s bedroom door felt cold on his skin as he pressed his ear against it. Muffled voices sounded in the distance and then he heard the front door close. It wasn’t until the smooth purr of a car engine rumbling to life could be heard that he breathed a sigh of relief. Stepping out into the hall, he looked left, then right, confirming that his parents had cleared out of the house for work. “Connor.” His voice easily carried down the short and narrow hallway. “They’re gone!” Braydon, the eldest of the Rucker boys, had coerced his younger brother Connor to ditch school this day in favor of dropping a line into the calm waters of the river.

At fourteen, Braydon considered himself a highly skilled fisherman and took the task of ensuring his brother, two years younger, would turn out to be the same. Since their mother remarried, the boys were the only Ruckers in the household. She took on their stepfather’s name of Sykes. It wasn’t often the boys got to see their dad. He lived further south, near Tampa. It was about a three-hour drive, depending on traffic, and because their mother worked such odd hours at the distribution center, Braydon counted himself lucky to see his dad once a month.

McLeary was about as small town as you could get in northern Florida. In fact, it was only a few miles from the Florida-Georgia border near the Saint Marys River that formed the boundary between the states in this particular area. And Braydon had a great little spot near the popular cove of this river in which to hook his spotted seatrout. “You ready to go or what?” he asked Connor who had just emerged from his tiny bedroom.

The younger and, much to his own dismay, shorter boy pushed the hair from his face. “Yeah, I’m ready. What happens when the school calls Mom?”

“I’m gonna send her a text in a few minutes saying you weren’t feeling good all of a sudden and I was gonna stay home with you.”

“Me?” Connor’s incredulity appeared in the form of widened eyes and a hand thrust upon his chest.

“That’s right—you. I can’t be the one who’s sick ‘cause she’ll still get a call about you.” Braydon took the boy by his scrawny shoulders. “Don’t worry. She’s not gonna leave work and check.” He nodded. “Now come on. Fish won’t be biting once it heats up and we got a ways to ride.”

Braydon was always the one to take charge and today was no exception. He led the way to the small shed out back to get the fishing gear and bikes. Trampling through the overgrown lawn that was littered with rusted machine parts, he made it to the side of the house and inserted the key to open the padlock on the shed. Movement in the grass caught his attention and he jumped back until he realized it was only coming from a scarlet king snake. Other, more menacing cold-blooded reptiles like coral snakes were often found in this part of Florida. Although similar in appearance, a bite from a coral snake would make a visit to the hospital entirely necessary. That was not part of Braydon’s plans.

The boys put what gear they could inside their backpacks, along with plenty of water and some snacks to tide them over. It was a six-mile ride to the cove and they would work up an appetite for sure. Locking up the house, Braydon hopped on his bike and waited for Connor to do the same. It was 6:30 in the morning and the rising sun was heating up the air, making it good and sticky on this late fall day.

The aged manufactured home, painted a shade of mustard yellow that bore a horrifying resemblance to baby shit, was starting to shrink in the distance as the boys rode along the blacktop.
Freedom
, Braydon thought. No one telling him what to do—not his teachers, not his mom or the stepfather with the oversized beer belly and loud booming voice. All he wanted to do was fish, just like he used to do with his dad. Connor was probably too young to remember all the times the three of them went out for a day’s fishing on the Hillsborough River. Braydon smiled and began to peddle faster. “Come on, now. Keep up.” He looked back at his weighed-down brother as he struggled to pick up speed.

They were starting to tire out, but Braydon could see the entrance about a quarter-mile ahead. Without all the gear, they probably would have made it in twenty minutes or so; instead, it had been nearly thirty-five. No matter. It was still early enough to get to his spot and drop a line.

  “Wait up, Bray!” Connor noticed his brother getting a second wind as they approached, clearly excited to get down to the business of fishing.

“This is it.” Braydon laid down his bike with care. It was his only mode of transportation since his mother was generally too busy to take him anywhere, so he treated it with kid gloves. “Looks like no one’s even here.” He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the calm waters. The cove was mainly popular with the teenagers and twenty-somethings. Its white, sandy beach was perfect for hosting bonfire parties on a clear summer’s night.

The Saint Marys River was born out of the Okefenokee Swamp that lies primarily in the southernmost part of Georgia, but straddles the two states. It flows from there further south and then east to dump into the Atlantic. The cove was tucked along the part of the river that dipped south.

“Let’s start heading this way.” Braydon pointed his finger east and the boys took to walking along the banks. Connor was never more than five feet behind his brother.

Braydon stopped after walking about fifty yards. The spot where fallen tree limbs scattered the grounds, shallow sand bars were just visible in the water and tall shady trees hovered. “Right here.” He dropped his gear and nodded at Connor to do the same.

They perched atop a fallen bald cypress tree that had burned in the wildfire back in 2007. Its thick stump offered better stability and leverage for fishing than sitting on the ground.

“You hungry?” Braydon unzipped the outer pocket of his backpack that contained a few granola bars and pulled one out. Not his favorite, but his mom rarely let them eat candy bars.

“Yeah, sure.” Connor ripped open the wrapper and shoved the bar into his mouth. His bobber dipped beneath the water’s surface just for a moment. With a mouth full of food, Connor tried to speak. “Did you see that?” He gripped his pole with both hands and waited with eyes peeled for any further evidence that a fish was nibbling on the line. Moments passed, but nothing. No more bobbing, no more tugging.

“I bet it got your bait,” Braydon said. “Better reel it in.”

A sound in the near distance followed by a rush of wind caught the boys’ attention. It was the flapping wings of an osprey as it came in for a landing. Although it was a good twenty feet away, the giant bird of prey made his presence known. Notorious for having keen vision and ripping its meal straight from the river, the bird landed and began to peck at the waters.

“Must be a snake caught up in that branch.” Braydon’s stare took in the enormity of the bird. Its yellow eyes flicked for just a moment in his direction, then back to its prey. He knew it was an osprey because of its white head, almost like an eagle.

Connor jumped when the bird whipped its wings out, seemingly to pull the snake out of the water, only it wasn’t budging. “Holy shit! Did you see the size of those wings?”

“Those are some big birds,” Braydon replied. At two feet tall and a wingspan of nearly six feet, that was no lie.

“You sure he’s not trying to go after some gator?” Connor still peered at the bird.

“Nah, you kidding? Ain’t no way that bird would be messing around with a gator. Besides, we’d see the gator’s tale or something. No, that bird’s after something small. Gotta be a snake, maybe a trapped fish. I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s go see.” Connor quickly reeled in his line and set his pole down in front of him.

“All right, all right. We get much closer and it’ll just flap on away, but we’ll go see what he’s after if you want.” Braydon laid his pole down, line still in the water, but feeling confident he wouldn’t be getting any bites, especially with the commotion that bird was starting to make. “Damn thing’s gonna scare the fish anyway. Best to shoo him on out of here.”

The boys stood up and Braydon started walking toward the animal kingdom show up ahead. They were already on the outskirts of the cove and, the deeper they walked, the less shoreline they had. In fact, it was turning downright swampy up ahead, but Braydon had been here plenty of times. He knew how to handle himself and keep his brother safe. They continued along the tapered path, balancing one foot in front of the other.

The osprey whipped its head toward them and began to make a dreadful sound—a high-pitched whistle, like a kettle boiling on a stove. It flapped its vast wings again as they drew nearer.

Braydon held out his arm to stop Connor in his tracks. “Wait.” But it was too late. The bird must have felt threatened by their proximity, now only a few feet away, and took flight. “Come on; let’s see what it was after.”

They made their way over the rock outcrops and tall grasses to the downed log that was half in and half out of the water against the shoreline. Braydon stood on a boulder and peered over the log to see what was trapped. A rush of panic bolted through his body and he began to lose his footing on the moss-covered stone. His arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, but when he looked at Connor, they both knew what was about to happen.

Braydon plunged into the shallow waters right next to the very thing that sent him off-balance in the first place. “Holy shit!” He scrambled to get away from it and back onto the shore.

“Grab my hand!” Connor yelled, until he saw what his brother had seen. The boy screamed almost as high-pitched as the bird had. “Get out, Bray! Get out of the water!”

Braydon looked again at the hand that was stuck between two branches just at the water’s surface. Below, an attached arm led down into the darkness of the river, but Braydon didn’t need to see any more to know what lay beneath in the depths. It was all he could do not to scream like his little brother. Finally, he pulled himself up and onto the shore, kicking his feet to get him out of the water as quickly as he could. “What the hell was that?” He returned to his feet, trembling, but not from the water’s temperature. It must’ve been in the low seventies. No, he was trembling because he’d never seen a dead body in real life before, even if it was just a hand—a horrible, bloated, purple hand.

“We gotta call the police, Bray.” Connor wiped the tears that had pooled in his eyes as he watched his brother thrashing in the water.

“Calm down, Connor. It’s all right now. I’m okay.” These were just words to soothe the younger boy. Braydon was anything but okay. He didn’t know what to do. No one else was out there. They were alone. He had his cell phone, but instantly recalled that it had been in his jeans pocket when he went into the water. “Son of a bitch.” His mother would have slapped his butt if she heard him say that. Of course, she never hurt him. He was too big now and stood taller than she did, but it was the principle. She would’ve tried to inflict at least a little sting through his thick jeans, just to prove the point.

None of that mattered right now. There was a dead body in the water and Braydon’s phone was wrecked. “We’ll have to ride to the sheriff’s office. It’s closer than going back home.”

Connor looked into the water again. “Who do you think that is, Bray?”

“Turn around now. You don’t need to be seeing that kind of stuff.”

“Well, neither do you.” Connor was right about that.

“Let’s just get the hell out of here.” Braydon took his brother’s hand and led him out on the treacherous path, back to their fishing spot. Connor began to pick up their belongings. “Forget it. We gotta go now.”

The boys reached their bikes and headed straight for the Baker County Sheriff’s office.

» » »

Agent Dwight Jameson was a man of thick stature, square-shaped and hair to match. He approached Kate’s desk and reached out for her shoulders, placing his ham hands gently upon her.

She glanced up at him, half-knowing why he was there.

“They’re ready for you.” His voice conveyed a softer side of him that was reserved for fateful times such as this.

Kate rolled her chair away from her desk and took in a deep breath. The past six weeks had indeed been arduous. As if being a brand new FBI agent wasn’t enough of a challenge, her future was still up in the air too. Although the time for resolution had arrived.

“You lead.” She followed Dwight to ASAC Campbell’s office and began to recall the conversation she’d had with Agent Nick Scarborough this morning. They both knew word was going to come down today and he tried to prepare her, forgoing the fact that his own fate remained to be seen. He’d been on administrative leave since the day she graduated.

So now the time had come. Dwight held Campbell’s office door open and he waited for her to walk inside. He’d been there that night with Nick but hadn’t seen what happened. Everyone else had his back, except for Agent Hughes. Well, no one could fault Hughes, not really. He was doing his job, but then so was Nick.

“Agent Reid,” Campbell began with a pleasant handshake. “Please, have a seat.”

Kate lowered herself onto the chair across from Campbell and next to Dwight. Behind her boss stood a man she knew to be the Assistant Director of the Academy. He was in charge of the field office assignments.