Cajun Magic 01 - Voodoo on the Bayou (24 page)

“Neither have I.” Randall poked a finger into Gator’s chest. “And I don’t plan to. Littington still thinks Acme is a legitimate disposal company, I been feedin’ him the fake regulatory docs to keep him and the EPA happy, and as long as he keeps thinkin’ that, the money he pays Acme goes right in our pockets. I’m gonna keep that cash flowing. Don’t forget this has been the best money you or me ever made. Do you like that big truck you bought?”

“Yeah.”

Randall poked Gator’s chest again. “And that fancy house you got down in Gulf Shores?”

“Yeah, but—”

Another poke to Gator’s chest. “No buts. We keep our mouths shut and take care of the problem.” Randall jerked his head in the direction of the body on the deck.

Gator grabbed the finger still pushing against his chest. “All right, I’ll do it, but don’t poke me again.”

Randall’s eyes narrowed. But when Gator dropped his finger, he nodded and stepped off the boat. “Time’s a-wastin’.”

Craig hoped his videocam was picking up everything. As dark as it was, he doubted the visuals would be great. At the least, the voices should be discernible.

Once the boat had been loaded with as many of the heavy barrels as it could hold and remain afloat, Gator stashed the truck in the trees and hurried back to climb aboard. Randall started the engine and pulled slowly away from the ramp.

Damn.
How the heck could Craig follow without a boat? Familiar with the swamp in this area, he knew this tributary emptied out where several converged into a large lake area close to his uncle’s marina.

If he hurried, he might catch them before they disappeared in the maze of channels. Craig sprinted for his car, and sped along the country road back to Thibodeaux Marina, breaking every speed limit. At the parking lot, he leapt from the car and raced across the dock to a skiff.

One, two, three yanks on the motor’s pull start and he was on his way across the swamp. Thank goodness the channels merged close to the marina or he wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance of finding the thugs.

As he approached the central lake, he spied the boat headed toward Bayou Black. He followed, praying they wouldn’t hear or see him and start shooting.

Several miles out, the larger boat slowed and turned sharply into what Craig guessed was a dense outcropping of overhanging trees and brush.

Instinctively, he killed the engine on his skiff and grabbed a paddle. As he stroked toward the spot where the boat had disappeared, he heard the other engine shut down.

He dipped the oar into the water, silently propelling the small craft forward. A murmur of voices grew louder as he approached. When he drifted within a couple yards of the outcropping, he could see the entrance to a lagoon. He pushed the boat against the muddy banks of an island and stepped out onto land. The foliage was too dense to forge a path through without alerting Randall and Gator.

Keeping an uneasy eye out for alligators, Craig slipped into the inky water, holding the videocam well above the surface, and swam around the trees into the lagoon, hugging the shoreline to hide in deep shadows.

“Hey, watch where you’re going! You almost rolled that thing on my toe,” Randall complained.

“If you’d get your toes out of the way, I wouldn’t roll over them,” Gator responded, his voice terse. He grunted and shifted a barrel across the flat deck to the edge and shoved it overboard. The barrel landed with a huge
kerplunk
and sank straight to the bottom.

Craig stood on the silt bottom hidden by a tree branch not five yards from the boat, so far undetected. He held the camcorder up and aimed it at the two men maneuvering another fifty-five gallon barrel to the boat’s edge. With a quick flick of his thumb, he pressed the record button.

“Gator, you dumbass. You’re tipping it too far my direction. If you’re not careful it’ll—”

Wonk!
The barrel slammed sideways on the deck and rolled toward Randall, knocking him to his butt mere inches from the boat’s rim.

“Sorry, Randy, my hands slipped. This one’s a little oily.”

“I swear, if I didn’t need your help, I’d dump your ass over the side along with Littington’s barrels.”

Craig smiled grimly. He now had video proof of the two dumping barrels into the bayou and the audio was sure to give the police positive identification of the culprits. After the fifth barrel plopped into the water, they turned to the blanketed lump.

Gator nudged the blanket with his toe. “What do you want to do with her?”

Craig’s ears perked. Wait.

Her?

Gator had said “her”?

Craig’s heart pounded in his chest as the pair unwrapped the lump. When he saw the wild bush of frizzy hair lying against the deck, his heart stopped, lodging in his throat.

Elaine!

All this time he’d thought she was safely on her way to New Orleans. He should have known. The microscope was as clear a message as he could have gotten. She’d never leave without it.

He tossed the camcorder onto the shore, hoping it would stay dry, and swam for the boat, circling around the back to the ladder.

Please don’t be dead. Please
,
God, please.

With blood pounding in his ears, he pulled himself up the ladder, risking a peek over the edge. A loud ripping sound pierced the night. Elaine’s still form jerked and gasped as duct tape was torn from her mouth.

“Get up, girly.” Randall reached down and hauled her to her feet. “Cut it, Gator.”

Craig braced to leap forward when Gator pulled a long hunting knife from his boot and slipped it between Elaine’s wrists. With a quick upward thrust, he cut through the thick gray tape.

She staggered but remained on her feet, peeling the tape from her skin.

“So, what’er we gonna do with her?” Gator asked.

“Shoot ‘er and leave ‘er as alligator bait.” Randall jerked his head toward her.

“No!” Elaine cried out.

Gator and Randall stood sideways to Craig. He feared if he made a lunge for Gator, the big guy would fire the weapon and hit Elaine.

With every ounce of concentration, he willed her to look his way. He’d never believed in magic until Madame LeBieu had put the hex on him. Now he rallied every possible supernatural force in the mysterious swamp, praying for a little Voodoo hoodoo.

Look at me, Elaine.

She glanced up and looked right at him. He pressed a finger to his lips.

With an imperceptible nod, she turned her attention back to Randall and Gator.

“Whatcha waitin’ for? Shoot ‘er,” Randall ordered Gator.

Gator swung toward Randall, gun and all. “Why me? You’re always makin’ me do the dirty work.”

“That’s what you’re getting paid for. Now, shut up and shoot.”

“Don’t do it, Gator,” Elaine pleaded, backing away from Gator, Randall, and Craig.

The two bad guys turned toward her, their backs now fully to Craig.

Craig smiled, grimly.
Smart girl
. Exactly the reason he loved her.

“You can’t give me orders,” Gator said. “I’m the one with the gun, not you.”

“Yes, you’re the one with the gun.” she nodded and spoke in a slow, calming tone, but Craig could hear the tremble in her voice. “So far, you’ve only dumped chemicals in the bayou. Do you really want to go to jail for murder?”

“Don’t listen to her, Gator,” Randall admonished. “She don’t know what she’s talkin’ about. Besides, who’ll ever find her body after the alligators eat it?”

She pointed in Randall’s direction. “Don’t you see? He wants you to shoot me so
you’ll
be the one committing the murder, not him. You’ll be the one charged with it—
you’ll
be the one facing the death penalty when you’re convicted.”

Craig eased out of the water, thankful she had the culprits’ full attention.

“Here, give me the damn gun. I’ll shoot her.”

When Randall grabbed for the pistol, Craig lunged.

“What the—” Randall yelled.

Hunkering down like a football player about to sack the quarterback, Craig hit Gator at full throttle, knocking him off his feet.

“Craig, look out!” Elaine yelled.

A loud crack split the air. Sharp, fiery pain glanced off his temple, knocking him backward.
Damn it! Not again
…

Over the edge of the airboat he flew, hitting the bayou’s surface with a huge splash. Water covered his face as consciousness slipped away, and he sank into the cold, black abyss.

Chapter Twenty-three

Elaine screamed. Blind rage and fear for the man she loved turned her vision to scarlet. Acting on pure instinct, she crouched low, balled up her body and steamrolled into Randall’s midsection, knocking him sideways. A seat caught the back of his legs and he flipped upside down on the deck. The gun flew from his hand, landing a couple feet from Elaine.

If she went for the gun, she’d probably shoot herself, or Randall would get there first and use it to kill her. She spied a paddle next to her.

As Randall struggled to his feet, she grabbed the paddle and whacked the bastard in the stomach.

“
Oomph!
” He bent double and she whacked him on the back of the head as hard as she could.

He fell to the floor and lay still.

She glanced from one unconscious man to the other to ensure they weren’t going anywhere, then she scooped the gun off the floor and slung it as far as she could out into the swamp.

She peered over the boat’s edge, squelching the panic before it could rise up and incapacitate her. “Craig?”

No sign of him could be seen in the light from the half-moon. Only a couple of bubbles popped to the surface. The panic she’d held in check burst like a leaky dam.

“No!”

Without giving herself time to think, she threw herself overboard at the spot where she’d seen the bubbles.

Craig couldn’t die
.

So what if he’d lied, so what if he represented Jason Littington, so what if she couldn’t swim? She wasn’t going to let the man she loved die.

False bravado lasted as long as it took for her head to sink below the surface, then real fear set in. Just as the terror threatened to overwhelm her, she bumped into something solid with her foot.

Craig
.

Reaching below, she grabbed a handful of hair and yanked him up to the surface. The push to get him up sent her down. Her feet touched the silt on the bottom, but her head stayed three feet below the surface.

Her lungs burned for air. What good was she to Craig if she drowned trying to save him? She pushed hard against the bottom of the swamp and sprang to the surface, gulped air, and glanced around for the boat. Then, she sank again, pushing Craig up at the same time she went down.

Her knee bumped hard metal. By the shape of it, she’d found one the barrels Randall and Gator had worked so hard to dump into the swamp. Desperate, she gripped the edge and pulled herself to stand on the barrel, rising above the surface to gasp for breath.

Oh, thank God
.

She grabbed for Craig, tugging him toward her. Once she had his head positioned above water, she felt for a pulse. She found it, but he still wasn’t breathing. How could she push the water out of his lungs when he was still floating in the swamp? Her only solution was to wrap her arms around his middle from behind and hug with a sharp upward thrust to his diaphragm.

Craig coughed up water and spluttered. When he still didn’t start breathing, she hugged again.

This time, he coughed and then inhaled as if he would suck the trees into his lungs, followed by a round of more gut-wrenching coughs.

Thank God, oh, thank God!
She held him tight to keep him from going under again.

“Elaine?” he croaked after the worst coughing subsided.

“I’m here,” she said softly into his ear, squeezing tighter with her cheek against this back.

“I love it when you hug me,” he wheezed, “but could you loosen up a bit?”

Immediately, she let go and Craig sank into the water. She grabbed him before he gulped another gallon of the swamp into his lungs.

“I’m sleepy.” His head dropped forward, blood running down her face.

Hypothermia maybe? She had to get him on the boat and back to civilization and a doctor immediately.

“Craig.” She forced her voice to be strong and commanding.

His head lolled and then came up. “Huh?”

She scooted around the barrel to face him. “Craig, I need to get to the boat.”

“Can’t swim,” he mumbled.

“You don’t need to, you just need to stand here.”

“Too deep,” he said.

“Put your feet down.” Elaine quelled the urge to laugh hysterically at her words, an echo of Craig’s advice to her just days ago. She braced herself and helped him find his footing on the barrel. When he stood, weak but steady, she kissed him. “I’m going for the boat.”

“No, I’ll go.” He jerked his head as if to clear the haze.

“Don’t be silly. You can barely stand in the water.”

“You can’t swim.”

“I’ll manage.” She gripped his arms and kissed him full on the lips. “Just keep your head above the water.” Then she gulped a deep breath and stepped off the barrel in the direction of the boat.

Praying for calm, she sank to the bottom, pushed off the silt and bounced in what she hoped was the right direction. Jumping up, she surfaced to find the boat only two more bounces from her. Repeating the process put her within reasonable dog-paddle distance.

Minus the dignity of a dog, she paddled and kicked until she reached the ladder and clung until she had sufficient breath to climb aboard.

A quick glance behind her proved Craig still stood with his head above the water, but how long could he last before he passed out?

Once on board, she stepped over Randall who stirred and made as if to rise.

Elaine grabbed the paddle from the floor. “Get up and I’ll hit you again. Don’t piss me off!” Her voice rose, the pitch shrill and past any reasoning.

Randall slumped back to the floor and moaned, muttering, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

After several attempts at starting the boat, she finally met with success. She eased the lever forward, setting the boat in motion, executing a wide turn in the tiny lagoon. She aimed for Craig, and at the last minute, swerved to miss him, cutting the motor as he had done when they’d gone specimen hunting.

Unfortunately, she cut it too late and the boat propelled forward faster than she would have liked. They were sure to drift by too fast for Craig to grab on.

Elaine leaned over the edge, extending the paddle. “Grab hold!” she yelled.

Craig caught the paddle’s edge and hung on until the boat slowed to a stop.

With the paddle firmly in hand and her arms screaming from the strain, she walked it and Craig around the side of the boat to the ladder.

He tried to haul himself on board, but he fell backward into the water.

She leaned over, grabbed his shirt, and pulled while he pushed his way up onto the boat, and then collapsed in a chair.

She switched on a lamp and got her first look at his wound. Blood oozed from a wound slashing across his temple and into his thick, black hair.
So much blood
. “Oh geez, Craig.” She swayed, the boat’s light blurring around the edges.

“Don’t faint on me, now,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m not.” So it was a half-truth. She focused on the light in an attempt to clear her vision.

“Good, ‘cause I think I am…” His voice faded and he slid sideways, almost falling out of the chair before she could catch him. Blood seeped from the wound onto her hand at an alarming rate. His face glowed a pale sickly green in the light from the moon.

Without a thought for modesty, Elaine stripped her shirt from her back, ripped off a hunk, wadded it and pressed it against his head. “Don’t you die on me, Fish Boy,” she ordered, her voice low and tears streaming from her eyes.

He blinked and muttered, “Didn’t know you cared.”

“I do, damn it. I love you, you big stupid idiot, so dying is not an option! Hear me?”

His head fell back against the seat, a brief smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Love…”

“Don’t pass out, now. I don’t know my way out of this damn bayou.” She tied the wad of fabric around his head with the rest of her shirt. Gator stirred and moaned. Without backup, she couldn’t risk leaving them untied. A quick search of the boat produced a roll of fishing line and Gator’s knife. Working quickly, she tied the two men’s hands and feet. Praying they wouldn’t cause any more trouble, she started the engine and steered through the lagoon’s entrance.

She slowed the boat, leaned over, and shook Craig. “Honey, wake up. Please, Craig.”

“Am I dead?” His head lolled to the side and he opened one eye.

“No, Fish Boy.”

“But I see an angel.” He almost sounded drunk.

“You’re worse than I thought.” She smoothed the blood-soaked hair off his brow and pressed a kiss to his uninjured forehead. “You’re hallucinating. You probably have a concussion from loss of blood.”

“No, really, you’re my very own angel, sent by the Voodoo queen.”

She gave a nervous laugh. Geez. He really was losing it. “Craig, you’ve gotta stay with me long enough to get us back to the marina.”

“I’m with you,
mon cher
. Wild bullfrogs couldn’t drag me away.” He lifted his head, squinted in the moonlight and pointed with his good arm. “That way.”

…

After what seemed like an eternity, the boat glided up to the dock at Thibodeaux marina. Craig floated in and out of consciousness, with Elaine waking him at every fork in the bayou to beg the next round of directions. She’d remained patient with him when he couldn’t think straight. Actually, she was looking very tempting in her lacy white bra. Definitely good enough to eat. Too bad he didn’t have the energy to reach out and touch her, pull her close, and kiss the rest of her clothes off.

Yup, she was his very own guardian angel. He just hoped he could hold onto her and keep her from leaving him again. He didn’t even want to consider her walking away from Bayou Miste without him.

Was it part of his hallucinations, or had she really said she loved him?

Hope soared in his heart. And not just because of the curse.

If she was just trying to make him feel good, it had definitely worked. He wished she’d say it again, though, just to be sure. His heart beat faster when she leaned close enough for him to feel her breath on his ear. Would she tell him the three words he longed to hear?

She lifted his hand and wrapped his fingers around the boat paddle. “Hit them if they give you any problems.”

A quick kiss and she jumped out of the boat, like a confident sailor. How unlike the frightened waif of the first night he’d taken her out on the bayou.

Too weak to follow, he waited and watched her run across the dock in her jeans and lacy white bra.
Wow
. She could really get his blood running. Unfortunately, it was pumping right out of his body. And his head pounded like the drums the Voodoo queen had employed.

He couldn’t quite see up to the bait shop. But he heard a loud crash, the distinctive sound of shattered glass.
Whoa
. She didn’t just break a window in the bait shop, did she? Mild-mannered, microscope-junkie Elaine Smith?

He glanced down at the paddle in his hand and the two men bound up in fishing line, glad she was on his side.

He must have passed out again. When he opened his eyes, the dark wasn’t quite as dark, and bright lights flashed in the distance up by the bait shop. Someone was talking to him.

“Craig, they’re here to take you to the hospital.”

He looked up into beautiful green eyes. She wore a white T-shirt sporting a large-mouthed bass and the words “I’d Rather Be Fishing” across her breasts.

“Will you be there?” he asked.

She smiled. “Wild bullfrogs couldn’t keep me away.” She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.

Two men in Emergency Medical Service uniforms helped him out of the boat and onto a stretcher. His legs were no longer useful. He hated being so weak when he needed to be strong for Elaine.

She followed close behind until they reached the parking lot where the ambulance stood, lights flashing, and the entire town was out in force to watch.

When they moved him to the wheeled gurney and pushed him toward the open doors of the ambulance, he stirred enough to say, “Wait.”

He stared around at the familiar faces. Maurice was closest to him. “I heard all de commotion. Thought maybe T-Rex was causin’ trouble. Glad to see it wasn’t.” Mo nodded toward a sheriff’s car where a deputy was handcuffing Randall and Gator. “Dem’s bad ones, dey are. I should have been dere with you, man.”

He looked over at Elaine. “It’s okay. I had backup.”

Larry stepped up beside Mo. “She’s a keeper, all right.”

Craig’s gaze never left Elaine’s. “I know.”

“So, whatcha gonna do about it?” It was Miz Mozelle. She moved closer, towing Uncle Joe by the hand.

“What do you mean?” He knew what Miz Mozelle alluded to, but he didn’t want to declare himself in front of everyone.

Yes, he wanted to tell Elaine he loved her. But he wanted to present her with his declaration accompanied by all the bells and whistles of a romantic evening, planned and choreographed to elicit the desired response from her.

Or was he just scared?
He’d lived so long at arm’s length from real relationships, could he break old habits?

Uncle Joe stepped up beside him. His white hair stuck straight out, and his T-shirt was on backward. “She broke the window.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Craig said.

“I’m not worried about the damn window.” Uncle Joe leaned closer and whispered. “If she’d do that for your rotten carcass, you stand a good chance of breaking that spell.”

“I know that, Uncle Joe. I also know I don’t deserve her.”
Oh, what the hell.
“Elaine? Elaine?” He looked out over the sea of faces and almost panicked when he couldn’t find the one he sought.

“I’m here.” She slid between him and his circle of friends, and scooped up his hand.

“Did you mean what you said out there on the bayou?”

In the grayish light he could tell the color in her face deepened and she looked away. “Mean what?”

He understood her hesitation. “I worked out a deal with Littington to clean up the contamination.” That wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but he was warming up.

“I know. Uncle Joe told me.”

“I quit my job with the family firm.”