Depth Perception (40 page)

But the water and mud and decaying leaves crept steadily over her hips. Choking back sobs, she looked at Travis. Another layer of horror crashed over her when she realized he was enjoying himself.

"You sick bastard!" she cried.

He moved to the edge of the bog and squatted, his eyes alight with excitement. "Don't fight it, Nat. You can't beat death."

She threw her head back and screamed. The mud was up to her breasts now, pressing against her, as cold and black as death. She thought about Kyle. Wondered if he would be there when she crossed over. If she would be able to hold him in her arms. Hear his laughter. See his smile. Smell his little boy scent. Feel the goodness of his child's soul.

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture him. But it was Nick's face that came to her. It was Nick she wanted. Nick who represented life. And it was Nick who made her want to live with such utter desperation.

"Nick!" she cried.

"Nick!"

Chapter 30

Nick took the muddy road at a dangerous speed. Rain and hail pounded the windshield, but he didn't slow down. The tires plowed through water and mud and sand. The truck bounced wildly, veering dangerously close to the trees that grew along the narrow shoulder, but he wrestled it back onto the road. He was beyond the point of considering his own safety. Beyond logic or reason or sanity. The only thing that mattered was finding Nat.

The rain and condensation made it difficult to see through the windshield. Nick glanced away for an instant to flip on the defrosters. When he looked back at the road, a huge tree lay in his path. He stood on the brake, but the truck slid sideways and slammed into the massive trunk.

The force of the collision threw him hard against his safety belt. The motor died, and for several seconds the only sound carne from the hiss of steam from the engine and the pound of

rain on the hood. Knowing the truck wasn't going to do him any good, he stumbled from the vehicle. Within seconds he was soaked. He was in the process of stepping over the fallen tree when he heard the first scream.

"Nick!
Nick!
"

Everything inside him froze into a solid block of ice at the sound of Nat's voice. For several endless seconds he stood motionless, his heart pounding, trying to discern from which direction the screams were coming.

"
Help meeeee!
"

Nick left the trail and cut through heavy brush, following the sound of her screams. All the while his mind took him through the horrors of all the things Ratcliffe could be doing to her.

He fought through a hundred yards of heavy briar, mindless of the scratches on his face and arms. The brush opened to a large clearing that was part pond, part bog. Through the driving rain he saw a four-wheel drive SUV, the engine running, the vehicle's headlights on. Travis Ratcliffe was squatting at the edge of the bog, watching something that was partially submerged.

What the hell was he doing? Where was Nat?

Nick wiped the rain from his eyes and squinted, trying to make out the object in the bog. Realization struck him with the violence of a bullet slamming into his body and going deep.

The object in the bog was Nat. She was in quicksand up to her chest. And Travis was sitting on the bank, watching her sink.

Outrage and fury slashed him cleanly. No time to think this through or plan some elaborate rescue. If he didn't get her out of the quicksand swiftly, she would be sucked down to the most horrible death imaginable . . .

Nick left the cover of the brush. Staying low, he started to-ward Travis, his vision tunneled on the other man's back. Nat's voice had gone hoarse from screaming. The mud was nearly up to her shoulders. A few more minutes and the earth would swallow her whole.

Hang on, Nat. I'm coming for you.

He was ten feet away when Ratcliffe turned and spotted him. For an instant the other man's expression was utterly surprised. Then, as if realizing he wouldn't survive an encounter with Nick Bastille, Ratcliffe reached into his slicker and leveled an ugly-looking semiautomatic at Nick's chest.

"Stop right there, Bastille."

#   #   #

Nat could feel the mud consuming her. It encompassed her torso. She could feel its deadly weight against her chest. Mud creeping over her shoulders ...

She tried to scream, but the terror had sucked the last of the oxygen from her lungs. She could hear her pulse thundering in her ears. Her breaths tearing from her throat. Rain and tears wet on her face.

Movement to her left caught her eye. She squinted through the rain, spotted Nick's tall form striding toward Travis. At first she thought she was hallucinating. Then she heard him speak, and she knew the image was no hallucination. Against all odds, against all hope, he'd found her.

Relief and horror tugged her in different directions. At the rate she had been sinking, she didn't have much time left before she became fully submerged. Travis was armed with a pistol. Chances were, Nick was not.

"Nick!" she choked. "He's armed!"

Travis fired two shots in quick succession. An instant later, the two men became a single, tangled form. Nat stared in horror. She screamed at them, but the sounds tearing from her throat were little more than choking gasps.

All the while she continued to sink. Dried leaves scratched at the tender flesh of her neck. She struggled against the weight tugging her slowly down. but her efforts were fruitless.

"Nick! Oh, God, Nick! I'm sinking!"

Mud leaked into her ears, plunging her into utter silence, trapping a scream inside her head. She tilted her head back, praying for a miracle, one more breath. one more minute of life.

She opened her mouth to scream. Mud rushed past her lips. She tasted grit and the sour tang of her own terror. She spit, but the mud was in her mouth, cutting off her scream. She looked at the night sky above. The rain slashing down. Her final glimpse of life.

She took one last breath, and the mud closed over her nostrils like a giant, smothering hand.

#   #   #

The first bullet went wide. The second tore into his neck like a hot cane knife. But Nick didn't let the pain or the knowledge that he'd been shot stop him. The way he saw it he had two choices: Stop Travis Ratcliffe or let Nat die.

His own safety never entered the picture.

He went after Ratcliffe with everything he had. The two men hit the ground with hone-crunching force. Nick reached for the gun. Blue steel flashed. The ensuing gunshot deafened him. He felt the hot zing of a bullet open his cheek. He saw the bright red surge of blood. But the knowledge that Nat was seconds from suffering an unspeakable death numbed him to the pain.

Travis Ratcliffe had control of the gun, hut Nick was in better physical condition. He was faster and desperate and well schooled on fighting dirty. He used his knee. Bellowing a curse, Ratcliffe twisted, tried to bring up the gun for another shot. But Nick grasped the other man's wrist, slammed it against the ground. Once. Twice.

"Drop it. you son of a bitch."

The pistol flew from Ratcliffe's grip. Both men dove for the weapon. Nick's hand closed around the grip first. He was on his belly. He could hear Ratcliffe behind him and twisted onto his back. The other man charged. Raising the pistol, Nick pulled off a shot.

Ratcliffe's body jerked. The impact of the bullet sent him reeling backward. Blood bloomed vivid and red on his slicker. His arms flailed, and then he plunged into the bog ass first.

"Help me."

Ignoring him, Nick shoved the pistol into the waistband of his jeans and sprinted to Nat. Terror screamed through him when all he could see of her was the top of her head.

Oh dear God. No!

Panic screamed through him. The urge to go in after her was powerful. But he knew enough about quicksand to realize that would be a fatal mistake. Instead, he darted to Travis's SUV and began tearing the vehicle apart, looking for anything he could use to get her out.

In the rear of the vehicle, he came across a length of rope and what looked like a wooden shelf from a bookcase. Tossing the rope and shelf onto the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel and backed the vehicle to the bog, then put it in Park and got out.

"Bastille! I'm bleeding out. You can't leave me like this!"

Ratcliffe was in mud up to his hips. He was bleeding badly, the blood bright red against his yellow slicker. Nick barely spared him a glance.

Tying one end of the rope to the bumper, he picked up the shelf and carried both the rope and the shelf to the bog. He dropped belly down on the shelf and plunged his hands into the quicksand.

He found her submerged just a few inches beneath the surface. Fresh terror flooded him when he realized she wasn't moving. That her body was limp and cold to the touch. Shaking inside, terrified that he was too late, he quickly looped the rope around her torso. The shelf had begun to sink. He used it to get back to the bank, then began the agonizing process of pulling her from the bog.

Aware of the panic tearing at his control, he pulled long and hard and steady. Every second ticked by like a death knell. It took every bit of strength he possessed, but slowly the quicksand released her from its death grip. By the time Nick dragged her onto the bank, he was shaking so violently he could barely function.

He fell to his knees beside her and rolled her onto her back. Fresh horror cut him when he realized she wasn't breathing. Clearing her airway with his fingers, he set his mouth against hers and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He gave her six breaths, then switched over and gave her several chest compressions.

"Nat ... " Emotion constricted his throat so that her name came out as little more than a croak. "Jesus, come on. Don't do this to me."

She was covered with mud and as still and cold as death. Once more, Nick set his mouth against hers. Tilting her head back, he pinched her nose and breathed life into her lungs.

''I'm not going to let you go," he choked. ''Breathe. Damn it, breathe!”

An instant later, she coughed. Her arms and legs began to thrash.

"Easy, honey. Slow breaths. Not too deep." Gently, he helped her to a sitting position. Her body shuddered as she coughed up water and mud. Then her eyes fluttered open, and she focused on him.

"Nick ... "

"I'm here," he whispered. "You're going to be all right."

"He was going to ... Oh, God, Nick, I was drowning. The mud . . . it was in my mouth. I couldn't ... He was going to--"

"Shh. Don't try to talk." He brushed mud and wet hair from her face. "You're okay now,"

Nick wasn't sure who reached for whom, but in the next instant she was in his arms. She was shaking and sobbing, and he felt his own emotions rise dangerously to the surface. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said.

"You saved my life."

After a moment, he eased away from her. She was covered with mud and soaked to the skin, which made it difficult to assess her for any injuries. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?'

"My leg ... I think it's broken."

Outrage that Travis had hurt her made him grind his teeth. "Aw, honey, I'm sorry--"

Her gaze sharpened on his face. "You're bleeding ... "

"It's just a graze."

“Nick, you need an ambulance."

"I figure both of us could use one about now. Let me just sit here and hold you for a moment, okay?" As soon as he trusted his legs-as soon as he could make himself let go of her, he would walk over to Ratcliffe's SUV and use the phone he'd spotted in the console.

"What about Travis?" she asked.

Nick glanced over his shoulder toward the bog to see that the other man had sunk into the quicksand to his chest. He was slumped over, semiconscious. "He'll keep until the cops get here."

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I had a little help." He pulled away just enough to make eye contact with her. "Kyle," he said.

"Kyle?"

"He left a note at the house."

Nat put her hand over her mouth, but it wasn't enough to stifle the sob. "I don't remember writing anything."

"It was on the kitchen floor. Three words telling me where to find the map in Travis's office. If it hadn't been for Kyle, I wouldn't have found you because that map led me directly here."

"Such a brave little boy . . ."

"His mom's pretty brave, too." Putting his arms around her, he closed his eyes and held her tightly. "Do me a favor and thank him for me next time you talk to him, okay?"

"I will," she said and began to cry.

Chapter 31

Three Days Later

"You sure you want to sell this place?"

Nat leaned on her crutch and watched Joe Strickland of Strickland Real Estate drive the new For Sale sign into the ground with a nifty little hammer he'd pulled from his trunk.

"I'm sure.” she said.

"It's a buyer's market right now. You could hang on to the place for a while ... "

"I don't think so. I've hung on to it long enough. I think this house needs a family."

"Well, it certainly is perfect for a growing, young family. Nice big backyard. Good school system, too. With that new medical center going up in Covington and some new blood in town, it shouldn't be too long before someone snatches it right up." Finished with the sign, Joe straightened and stuck out his hand. "I'm sure glad everything worked out for you, Ms. Jennings. I saw the story in the newspaper the other day."

“Thank you."

"I'll let you know when we get that contract."

She watched Joe walk to his Cadillac and slide behind the wheel. With a wave, he turned the car around and pulled onto the parish road.

Nat stood in the front yard and drank in the sights and sounds and smells around her. She couldn't have conjured a more beautiful day, even in her imagination. An afternoon breeze rustled the leaves of the magnolia and live oak standing solid and tall. She was keenly aware of the cool breeze on her skin. The warmth of the sun on her back. The song of a mockingbird calling to a prospective mate. The earthy scent of the river behind the house.