Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set (19 page)

* * *

She had collapsed on him like a soft rag doll, and Zach held
her tenderly, loving the sound of her uneven breathing, loving the warmth and
the smell of her. The swamp things still called and the thunder had gotten
closer. Dusk was coming and this dark place would soon get even darker.

"I hate to sound like the guy who won't spend the
night," he said softly, "but I don't think we should linger."

He dropped a kiss on her neck as she slowly lifted her head,
her golden eyes looking slightly glazed and she murmured, "hmm . . .
?"

"In case you've forgotten, we're still in the
swamp."

"Oh! Oh!" She shot up, still straddling him and
looked around. "We do pick our places, don't we?"

This time he kissed her mouth. "It was worth it. You
are . . . well, there aren't any words."

"I have some. About you, that is. You're incredible.
That was incredible."

"Yes. Yes, it was."

Reluctantly, he lifted her with a pat on the rump.
"Dress, woman," he said, searching the boat. "By the way, where
are my clothes?"

Liz stood up, feeling the pain of separation as she pointed
to the place where she'd stacked them. She was filled with the afterglow of
marvelous sex, and though the fear that he'd move into her life and expose her
deception niggled at her, she refused to let herself think about it.

Besides, Zach had given her something else to focus on. They
had to head out. The stirring of the sleepy swamp had escalated and the
discordant calls sent shivers down her spine. She hurried to dress.

By the time she was done, Zach was in the pilot's seat,
putting on his socks and shoes. She supposed he was still cold, as evidenced by
the way he buttoned his windbreaker to his neck.

Probably starving, too.

"You need to eat," she said. "You've burned
tons of carbohydrates."

He chuckled. "Sure did."

"Not that," she replied in mock exasperation.
"By pulling the boat."

His stomach growled as if on cue and they both laughed. Then
Zach turned on the key and pushed the ignition button. Liz turned to the
storage bins.

The rumble of engine beneath her feet soothed her jitters as
she searched for something that would go down quick. She settled on a hunk of
hard cheese and a bottle of spicy sausages, then grabbed a knife and some
plates and moved forward.

Zach had picked up his flask, which he put away as she
approached.

"Eat something," Liz instructed.

She handed him a plate, and though the sun still descended
and the sky still rumbled, they took that interlude to fill their bellies as
they'd just filled their bodies.

Finally, after they'd consumed all the cheese and half the
jar of sausages, Zach presented some wrapped, candy-striped mints from his
jacket pocket. Liz took one, remarking that it would abate the garlic from the
sausage, and Zach lit up, smoking the cigarette slowly and finding himself
unable to keep his mind on the present. There'd been another day when he and
Liz had shared cheese and sausage.

He'd been almost fourteen and in his first year of high
school. Liz had been ten, and they'd sat side by side on the bench of her pa's
boat, fishing poles hanging over the edge, eating as voraciously as they had
just now.

"You have the gift, Izzy, you know you do." He'd
been trying hard to convince her to tell him if he'd make the high school
varsity football team.

Liz leaned forward to pluck up a sausage, her catlike eyes
filled with excited anticipation. "I ain't in no hurry to use it.
Maman
say to take my sweet ol' time. Yesterday, she showed me the way to grind herbs
to make medicine. She give some of that stuff to Missy Martin and that baby
just pop out so easy like, no screamin' and hollerin'. It's a miracle, them
things she does. A miracle, for true. I want to be able to do them
someday."

"You will." He touched her arm, all berry brown
from the sun. "I know you will. But this is now, so tell me if I'll make
the team."

She laughed and playfully slapped his arm. "That's all
you want me for, I swear."

"Not true." He laughed, too. "Who else'd show
me the best fishing and frogging spots?"

She slapped him again. "One of these days!"

He leaned forward then, cupping her young face.
 
The other guys called him a cradle robber for
hanging out with her. But it wasn't like that between him and Izzy. She was his
buddy, she was part of him, and he knew with certainty where it would
eventually lead.

"One of these days,
cher
, you'll grow up, and
I'm gonna marry you."

"Pooh! Y'all'll grow up, too, and forget all about
me."

"That'll never happen. I promise."

"Cross your heart?"

Cross my heart and hope to die. That's what he'd answered.
And when he'd thought she'd died instead, he almost had. But that had been
years ago, so he turned toward Liz and said, "Let's navigate,
cher
."

Liz took her position on the left side of the boat while he
moved the craft forward.

"The knees seem thinner," she remarked.
"Isn't the power of imagination a mystery?"

"I agreed not to talk about it," he replied.
"But don't go on with that imagination stuff or I'll be tempted to break
that agreement."

She looked at him levelly for an instant, a flicker of fear
in her eyes, then said, "All clear on this side."

"Clear ahead, too. Looks like we're out of here!"

Liz whooped, leaning over to kiss Zach on the cheek.

"I like this side of you. Maybe we should get trapped
in a cypress swamp more often."

"Very funny." But she still beamed from ear to ear
as she perched on the copilot's chair. "Home, we go. I'll kill Papa if
he's already there after what we've been through."

"Better brew your poison. It's my guess he is."

The channel had opened onto a wide passage, and while the
sky above was still a curiously dark contrast to the blue horizon, the water
was free flowing and getting deeper, allowing Zach to increase the speed.
"We should arrive at your destination in approximately two hours,
miss," he said with comic formality, hoping to establish a light mood in
which to open his next subject. "You think you can spare some time to talk
about what happened?"

Her eyes widened. "In what regard?"

He restrained an urge to mimic her stiff response. "The
part where we got it on, bumped bodies, did it, fu—"

"I get your message, Zach."

"My message be damned. I have a question. Did you like
it?"

"Did I . . . like it?" she repeated incredulously.
"What do you think?"

"Enough to take up where we left off so long ago?"

She looked away, her cheeks flushing. He'd touched a nerve.
He'd known it, feared it.

Her shoulders squared slightly when she turned to face him.
"Part of me does, but I'm—"

"You remember the first time I asked you to marry me?
You recall that day?"

She gave him a slow nod, and Zach wasn't sure, but he
thought he saw a sheen on the surface of her eyes.

"I meant it, and have never changed my mind. I don't
want a one-night stand. I want love, commitment, marriage. I want it all, Liz.
With you . . . no one else, just you."

"No, not me." She shook her head and clenched her
hands into tight knots. "You want it with Izzy." She climbed to her
feet in agitation and stared down at him. "I'm not her, Zach, can't you
see that? You don't even know who I am! You're in love with a memory of a child
who doesn't exist anymore!"

Zach looked up, mildly shocked by her vehemence. With her
top stained from last night's gumbo, her hair a mass of untamed curls, her eyes
on fire with young Izzy's passion, as heartfelt words streamed from her mouth,
he thought she'd never looked more like her young self.

"Yes, she does,
cher
," he answered softly.
"She's standing in front of me. And she's a woman now."

Just then, Liz tilted. His view of her was suddenly cockeyed
and jerky. The wheel spun in his hands.

"Omigod!" she whispered.

Even as she said it, Zach realized he'd lost control of the
boat.

Zach jerked his attention back to the console. The wheel
vibrated crazily, and he strained to regain control, but it was like grabbing a
spinning gyroscope. Then the boat itself was spinning, dipping and rising, and
throwing him out of his seat.

Everything happened at once. Liz stumbled down the deck,
still on her feet. Zach's head hit the console, momentarily disorienting him.
The next thing he knew the boat was going over. Mother of God, they were going
to capsize! He dove for Liz's legs, determined they stay together at all cost,
but she'd been thrown too far away. Rising to his knees, he inched in her
direction. Each time he thought he had her, she slipped away. As the boat yawed
to one side, he made a last lunge that proved to be too late. She tumbled over
the railing and into the water.

"Liz! Liz!" he shouted, rolling as the boat
righted itself. "Liz!"

He grabbed for the rail, staring down into a dizzying
vortex. Her head bobbed in the water, rising, sinking, rising again.
"Zach!" she screamed, reaching for him. He turned to grab a life
preserver, but they were gone. The raccoons must have thrown them overboard. So
much had been lost, he'd never thought to check.

He whirled back to the rail and leaned over with
outstretched hands. "Liz! Grab hold!"

She was already too far away, her calls for help nearly lost
in the turbine roar of the spinning water. Unless he went after her, she'd
drown. A pirogue! A pirogue could stay afloat. He rushed to the forward cleat
of the one on her side and started untying the securing rope.

The boat dipped again. Staggering, he grabbed for safety,
but his hands came up empty. He flew over the rail, tumbling, tumbling,
tumbling toward the maelstrom and losing sight of Liz's bobbing head as the
murky waters raced to meet him.

He landed with a splash that instantly merged with the
churning water, Liz's safety foremost in his mind. Liz . . .

In seconds, water rushed into his mouth and washed up his
nose, choking him, while the pirouetting boat loomed above. Liquid fingers
snatched at his legs and arms with firm, insistent pressure. His soaked
windbreaker made it all the worse, but he didn't have the strength to slip out
of it.

The tour boat spun closer.

His eyes burned so much he could hardly see, and he had the
oddest feeling this was it. His life was over, and he'd spent it working too
hard, partying too hard, drinking too much, never really knowing his children,
never really loving his wives . . . never having the love of Liz Deveraux.

The boat was on him now. Soon the force of the whirlpool
would bring it down on his head, splitting his skull, knocking him helplessly
unconscious to sink below the waves. He numbly wondered if his body would drift
ashore like Jed's, nipped by fish and alligators, barely recognizable, but
still requiring identification from his poor, poor mother, who'd already
suffered so much.

Through his disjointed thoughts came a dim realization. His
flailing arm had struck something hard, something not of metal. Still battling
the vortex, he forced himself to open his stinging eyes.

The pirogue he'd half untied had broken loose and now
skipped beside him, overturned, but still floating. He plunged his hand in the
water, coming up to grab the under edge, then held tight and strained until he
had an arm over the hull. Next, a leg. The rough cypress surface scraped his
hand, and his muscles screamed, but he ignored them, and inch by painful inch
he managed to lever up until, panting and gasping for breath, he finally lay on
his stomach. The pirogue rose and fell, but he held tight.

Soon—unless he was kidding himself—he sensed an ebbing of
the whirlpool. He lifted his head to look for Liz, but didn't see her. His
shoulders slumped, along with his hopes. He dropped his head onto the canoe.
Give it up, he thought. Give it up.

No! He wouldn't lose her again, even if he had to bring her
back from the dead. He craned his aching neck. Just as he'd almost lost hope
again, he saw a thrashing arm. He slipped into the water, clinging once more to
the underside of the canoe and prayed the churning water wouldn't swoop him
away.

Mercifully, his assessment had been right. The power of the
whirlpool was weakening, and he was able to guide the craft in the direction
where he'd last seen Liz.

He called her name, though his voice was little more than a
croak. Called it again. Again. And once again, until he forced a final decibel
from his exhausted lungs.

"Zach? Help! I'm here!"

She repeated his name, then coughed.

Keep saying my name, keep coughing, he silently urged as he
headed for her, guided only by her feeble sounds and occasional appearance
above the waves. The water surged and dipped, and at times he lost sight of
her. Once she went under for so long he thought she'd drowned. But after an
endless moment, her black hair emerged above the surface. He narrowed the space
between them in fits and starts, until finally . . .

A tired, triumphant grin crossed his face.

He had her under an arm, pulling her from the watery grave.
He had her, alive, warm, breathing. He'd ripped her away from death, just as
he'd vowed, and he would have wept for joy if she weren't clawing at him so
fiercely he could barely inhale.

Liz scrambled to climb up Zach's body. Holding on, holding
tight. She coughed and gagged and let out terrified squeaking sounds. Every
cell in her body screamed to eject the brackish water in her stomach and lungs.

"Shh, shh,
cher
. I got you."