The Lost Girls of Johnson's Bayou (12 page)

She took a deep breath and blew it out. There was no reason to assume she was in any danger. She’d watched carefully all day and at dinner and hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Hadn’t had a single feeling that something was off. But her mother’s house was close to the swamp and a good ten acres from the nearest neighbor and all that was spooking her.

She walked back into the dining room and picked up the drill and the first picture bracket. By the time she finished hanging all the pictures, Paul would be there or her mother would be back. An hour at the most. And if she kept busy, it would fly by. Besides, Madelaine would be thrilled when she returned home and saw all the pictures hanging in perfect balance on her dining room wall.

Positioning the first screw on the mark, she placed the drill against it and began to screw it into the drywall. She finished the first screw, then started on the second, but when it was halfway in, she released the trigger on the drill and froze. There it was—the almost imperceptible sound of a foot stepping on dead leaves.

She placed the drill on the table and crept over to the window to peek outside. The front porch light reached only twenty feet or so into the yard, leaving the surrounding area black. She strained to make out movement, to hear the same noise again, but she couldn’t see a thing.

But she knew he was there.

Somewhere out in the darkness, someone was watching. She could feel his eyes on the house, on her—almost as if he could see straight through the walls. Her hands trembled as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and checked the display. Nothing. She pressed redial for Paul’s number and cursed when it went straight to voice mail again.

Think. You have to think.

She could call the sheriff, but what would she say—that she had a feeling someone was watching her? Given her past, anything she said that was remotely out of the ordinary would be subject to scrutiny. And even if the sheriff came, Ginny knew he wouldn’t find anything to support her suspicions.

Calling her mother wasn’t an option, because that would put her in the line of fire. She hurried down the hall into the kitchen and removed a butcher knife from the block on the counter. Edging the curtains on the kitchen window to the side, she estimated the distance between the back door and her car. Probably twenty feet, give or take. If she could make it to her car, she could drive to the sheriff’s office and sit with the dispatcher.

To hell with them if they thought she was crazy. At least she’d be alive.

She retrieved her purse and car keys from the kitchen counter and eased up to the back door. And that’s when she heard the crack of a single branch out back. She sucked in a breath so hard her chest ached. Her pulse quickened as she edged the curtain on the kitchen window to the side and tried to see outside. The back porch light illuminated a small area of the backyard, but someone could easily be hiding behind her car or the storage shed.

The only sound was the clock that ticked on the kitchen wall, seeming to mark every heartbeat. Squinting, she scanned back and forth from the house to the swamp behind it. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. But she knew he was there.

The floor creaked behind her and as she spun around, something hard slammed into the side of her head, knocking her back into the kitchen cabinet and down onto the floor. Her vision blurred for a moment as she scrambled up from the floor and saw a masked figure in front of her. During her fall, she’d dropped the knife, and it was on the floor between her and the intruder.

She lunged for the knife as the intruder sprang. Wrapping her hand around the hilt, she drove it into the intruder’s leg. He cried out as she skirted around him and ran out the back door. She pulled her car keys from her pocket and fumbled with them, dropping them onto the ground.

The kitchen door slammed behind her and she fought back complete panic as she scrambled to retrieve the keys and press the remote to open the door. She jumped into the car and tried to slam the door, but he grabbed it. She saw the flash of the butcher knife in his hand, the shiny metal marred with blood.

She pulled the door with one hand and shoved the intruder with the other, but he was too strong. Struggling to hold the door partially closed with one hand, she started the car with her other, put it in drive and floored the accelerator. The intruder clung to the door for a moment, trying to jump into the car, but the bumpy lawn was too much and he finally let go.

Ginny wheeled the car around in the backyard and headed for the road, scanning her mirrors for the intruder. Did he have a vehicle somewhere close? Was he going to come after her? She steered her car onto the road, spraying gravel as the car slid sideways. Clenching the steering wheel, she focused on the road and fought to maintain control of the car without lessening her speed.

A flash of light caught her eye and she glanced in the rearview mirror. Her heart fell when she saw the single headlight of an ATV about a hundred yards behind her and quickly closing the gap. Her cell phone rang and she gripped the steering wheel tighter with her left hand and pulled the cell phone out of her jeans pocket with her right.

Paul!

She pressed the answer button and shouted, “He’s after me, trying to kill me.”

“Where are you?”

“Landry Road—my mother’s house. He’s on an ATV—”

The bend in the road was in front of her before she could even register that she’d come that far. She dropped the phone as she slammed on the brakes and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, yanking it to the left to make the turn. The car lost traction on the loose gravel and began to slide. She released the brake and prayed that the car would regain some grip on the road, but a second later, it slid off the road and into the ditch, slamming against the embankment.

The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the single headlight of the ATV closing in behind her.

Chapter Ten

“Damn it!” Paul heard the crash through the cell phone before the call dropped completely.

The tires on Paul’s truck squealed as he made a hard turn from the paved road onto the gravel top of Landry Road. Thank goodness he’d researched everything on Ginny and knew exactly where her mother lived. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known where to go. Every second counted, and he was already afraid he was going to be too late.

He should never have left her alone. He could have waited until tomorrow to talk to the nurse. His impatience might have cost Ginny her life. Switching his headlights to bright, he drove as fast as he could maneuver on the pitch-black, winding road. The gravel made speed challenging, and the last thing he wanted to do was have a wreck.

He was almost on top of Ginny’s car before he saw it in the ditch. He slammed on his brakes and the truck slid a good fifty feet before finally coming to a halt. He jumped out of the truck and ran for the car just as a gunshot sounded. The bullet whizzed past his ear and he dove in the ditch, pulling out his pistol as he rolled.

He scrambled up and peered over the edge of the ditch, able to make out the outline of the ATV just beyond the reach of his truck’s headlights. Lowering his pistol over the embankment, he took aim at the ATV and squeezed off a couple of rounds. He heard the pinging of a bullet hitting metal and a couple of seconds later, the ATV engine roared to life. Gravel crunched as the ATV took off, and Paul wondered which direction the rider was going.

He held his position for a couple of seconds, but as the sound of the engine began to fade, he knew the killer was fleeing. Shoving his pistol in his waistband, he ran to the car, yanked the car door open and pushed the air bag to the side. Ginny was slumped over the steering wheel, and his heart pounded in his chest as he placed his finger on her neck. Relief coursed through him when he felt her pulse, clear and strong.

He gave Ginny a cursory inspection to make sure there were no compound fractures, then scooped her up and carried her to his truck, gently placing her on the front seat. He knew he shouldn’t move her, but calling for an ambulance gave the ATV driver time to return or worse, sneak up on them through the swamp as they waited.

He’d take his chances.

There was an emergency medical center just outside of Johnson’s Bayou that served several nearby towns. It wasn’t as good as a hospital in New Orleans, but she’d be safe, and if needed they could transport her to the city by helicopter. He pulled the phone from his pocket and called the center so that they’d be ready for his arrival.

Glancing down at Ginny’s pale expression and inert body, he said a silent prayer that she would be okay.

G
INNY LOOKED UP AT Sheriff Blackwell from her bed at the emergency clinic. He stared down at her, frowning as he finished taking notes on her story.

“Can you give me a description?” Sheriff Blackwell asked.

“No. He was wearing a mask, in navy knit. It looked homemade.”

“Eye color?”

“I didn’t get close enough to see,” Ginny said, frustrated that she could provide so little information.

“Did he touch anything besides the knife and the door?”

“I don’t think so, but it wouldn’t matter anyway. He was wearing leather gloves.”

“And you have no idea how he got into the house?”

“No. I heard the noise outside, but I had no idea he’d gotten inside until he was right behind me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered at the memory.

Sheriff Blackwell blew out a breath, clearly as frustrated with the situation as Ginny. “I am really sorry this happened to you. I imagine it took a couple years off your life and your mother’s. One of my deputies is working the house now for forensic evidence.”

The sheriff turned his attention to Paul. “How is it you came to rescue Ginny?”

“I was on my way back from New Orleans and called her as she was fleeing the house. She managed to tell me where she was and that she was being pursued before she crashed. I had just pulled into Johnson’s Bayou and was close to the turnoff for her mother’s place, so I drove as fast as I could over there.”

The sheriff studied Paul while he told his story and stared at him for a couple of seconds when he’d finished. He must have decided it sounded reasonable, because he finally nodded and continued questioning him. “You said the car was at the ninety-degree bend in the road, right? Where was the other guy?”

“He was up the road about forty feet, off to the north side. He shot at me as soon as I got out of the truck. I jumped into the ditch and fired back over the embankment.”

Sheriff Blackwell narrowed his eyes at Paul. “You always run around with a pistol in your waistband?”

“I do when I call someone and they tell me someone’s after them. Otherwise, it’s locked in my glove box. I have my permit.”

Sheriff Blackwell waved a hand in dismissal. “You’re not the one in question here. Besides, half the people in the parish carry guns.” The sheriff blew out a breath. “I gotta tell you, there’s not a lot to go on here. Unless the deputy comes up with something at your mom’s house, there’s not going to be a lot I can do by way of investigating.”

“One of my shots hit metal,” Paul said. “You can identify the ATV by the bullet hole. How many people in Johnson’s Bayou own ATVs?” Paul asked.

“Half the male population, maybe more, and a good portion of females. Besides, I’ve gotten four reports of stolen ATVs today alone. Happens once or twice a year all on the same day. A real professional job. The ATVs are all stolen within the same twenty-four-hour period, usually during the festival or something else that’s got the townsfolk distracted. By the time they realize the ATVs are gone, the guy who stole them is long gone.”

“If he was only stealing ATVs, why go to my mother’s house?” Ginny asked. “She doesn’t own an ATV.”

The sheriff shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he knew Madelaine owned the café and thought she kept cash in the house. He might have thought it was an easy score.”

“Mom would never keep cash from the café in her house. She drops it off at the bank lockbox every day.”

“You and I know that, but someone who doesn’t know Madelaine wouldn’t. Like I said, they may have just been looking for an easy score.”

“I stabbed him,” Ginny reminded the sheriff. “He took the knife, but there should be blood on the kitchen floor. You can check it, right?”

“I’m afraid not. He must have gone back to your mom’s house and cleaned up. My deputy said the kitchen smelled like bleach and the floor had been scrubbed with it.”

“If he wanted to clean up, why did he chase me? He could have just let me go, cleaned up the kitchen and waltzed right back out of town, if he’s really the professional you think he is.”

A bit of red crept up Sheriff Blackwell’s neck. “Now, look here—I’m not saying for certain what happened. I’m just telling you the most logical conclusion based on years of doing this job. Maybe he thought you’d be able to recognize him. Maybe he panicked. You’ve got it in your mind that he was trying to kill you, but I’m guessing a male criminal may have taken a good look at you and gotten another idea.”

Ginny sucked in a breath so hard her chest hurt. Her mind hadn’t even gone there, and she wished the sheriff hadn’t taken it there, either. Paul squeezed her hand and she glanced up at him. He gave her a barely imperceptible shake of his head and she knew he was telling her to let it go. This avenue with the sheriff was a dead end.

She was deliberating whether or not to lay everything out to Sheriff Blackwell regardless of Paul’s obvious reticence when Madelaine came back into the room, removing that option altogether. She wasn’t about to have her mother any more worried than she already was.

“They don’t think you need to go to the hospital in New Orleans,” Madelaine said, frowning, “but they want you to stay overnight for observation.”

“No,” Ginny said. “I’m fine except for a bit of a headache. I’ll stay for a couple of hours, but then I’m going home. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and don’t even start arguing with me about taking the day off. The café will be packed with everyone leaving town now that the festival’s over, and a couple of shop owners from New Orleans said they’re stopping by in the morning to talk to me about my jewelry.”