Mimosa Grove (24 page)

She nodded.

“Damn it. I don’t like this,” he said. “I think we need to call Harper.”

“Wait,” Laurel said, and pointed to the wall. “See if the bullet is in there.”

“Why on earth would—”

“Let me hold it. If it was DeLane who shot at me, I’ll know it.”

“Oh…yeah…all right. But don’t get up. Not yet, okay?”

“I’m gettin’ up,” Marie said. “And I’m goin’ to my room and take a hot bath before I seize up so bad I can’t walk tomorrow.”

“I’ll help you,” Laurel said. “Crawl over to me.”

“Not before I pull the drapes in the other rooms,” Justin said. “Sit tight.”

He took out his pocketknife, dug the slug from the old plaster wall, then dropped it into Laurel’s outstretched hand.

Even before her fingers closed over the lead, Laurel knew.

“It was DeLane.” She could see him running, feel the brush of limbs across his face, and knew he’d gone into the grove. “He’s in the trees,” she said, then let the bullet fall to the floor as if the mere touch had contaminated her skin.

“Damn it,” Justin muttered, then reached for the phone and dialed the number for the police. While he was waiting for an answer, he flipped off the light switch. Immediately the room went dark, lit only by a faint bit of light from the other rooms beyond the hall.

“Police department. How can I help you?”

“Harper there?”

“Who’s calling?”

“It’s Justin Bouvier. Get him on the phone now.”

A few moments later, he heard Harper pick up.

“Justin?”

“The man who kidnapped Laurel’s father just took a shot at her through the kitchen door.”

“Christ Almighty,” Harper said, then turned around and yelled into the dispatcher in the other room. “Get everyone on duty out to Mimosa Grove.” Then he put the phone back to his ear. “Everyone okay? Do I need to send an ambulance?”

“We’re good. Marie hurt her knee when I took her down, but I don’t think she needs an ambulance.”

“Lord, no,” Marie said. “Don’t think I’m goin’ off in one of those crazy contraptions. They drive too fast.”

“She says no,” Justin repeated. “Tell your men to hold their fire until we can get the hunters in from the grove.”

Harper sighed. “Why do I get the feeling I should have heard about them before I jumped the gun and sent out my men?”

“Laurel said it wasn’t them.”

Harper resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, she hasn’t been wrong yet, so no reason to doubt her. Right?”

“That’s the way I see it.”

“We’re on the way.”

“Thank you. We’ll be waiting.” He hung up the phone, then pointed to the two women still crouching on the floor.

“Wait here. I need to make sure the doors are locked and the other lights are out before you get up.”

“There’s a flashlight in the drawer by the sink,” Marie said.

Justin found it, then ran out of the room.

Laurel had heard the fear in Marie’s voice and was instantly filled with guilt.

“Mamárie, I’m so sorry this is happening. I would do anything for you not to have to endure this.”

“Just stop it,” Marie said, and clasped Laurel’s hand in her own. “It wasn’t your fault, and no one is hurt. That’s what we have to think on.”

Laurel leaned back against the wall, then clutched Marie’s hand. “Mamárie?”

“What, baby girl?”

“I’m scared for my father.”

“I know.”

“Even though we don’t often get along, he’s been the only parent I’ve had since I was ten. I want him to walk me down the aisle. I want him to play with my babies and spoil them the way he never did me.”

Marie sighed. She wasn’t going to mouth platitudes just to make someone momentarily happy. It wasn’t the way she was made.

“I pray to God that he lives, but you have to accept the fact that we don’t always get what we want. Sometimes life kicks you when you’re down.”

“So when that happens, what do you do?”

“Well…I suppose I’d cry for a while. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a good cry. Then I suppose I’d pick myself up and get on with my life, ’cause if I didn’t, then whoever or whatever got me down would have won.”

Laurel sighed, then gave Marie’s hand a soft squeeze.

“Do you think that if I live as long as you have, I’ll ever be as smart as you are?”

“Maybe,” Marie said, and then laughed.

Seconds later, Justin was back.

“Ladies,” he said, and held out his hands. “I think you’ll both be safer on the second floor, so follow me.”

When Marie tried to get up, she winced and then groaned.

“Oh, honey,” Laurel said. “You
are
hurt.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just old,” Marie said. “Wouldn’t matter whether I’d been tackled down or got down here on my own. I’d still be havin’ trouble gettin’ up.”

Justin chuckled. “Allow me,” he said gently, then handed Laurel the flashlight and picked Marie up in his arms. “Honey, will you lead the way?”

“Gladly,” Laurel said, and together, they went up the stairs.

J
ustin had carried Marie to Laurel’s room and then gone out to call in the hunters. But doing it without getting shot at again was going to be a trick. He thought for a few seconds, then remembered how his daddy had called him in from the creek below the house when he was a kid. He hurried to his truck, unlocked the door and began to honk his horn. After using three long, then three short, then three long honks again, to signal an SOS, he soon heard the hunters calling in their dogs. He ran to the back porch to wait, and when he saw their lights coming toward the house, he knew he’d accomplished his purpose.

Tula’s nephew, Manville, was a big, burly man nearing sixty, with a thick red beard and equally thick curly red hair. He had seven sons and two daughters, and a wife he loved so dearly that just the thought of her still made him weak in the knees.

He’d gotten the word from Marie LeFleur that there was a panther in the grove. And being the hunter that he was, he had gladly loaded up his dogs, four of his sons, enough lanterns to make sure they could see where they were going and headed into the trees.

They’d found sign almost immediately and turned the dogs loose, expecting to find the cat before midnight. Only it hadn’t happened as easily as he’d hoped. The dogs had lost the scent more than an hour ago and had yet to strike it again. Then they’d heard what sounded like a gunshot, then a distress signal from the old mansion. After that, Manville had called in the dogs. By the time they reached the grounds of Mimosa Grove, they were running. Less than a hundred yards from the back of the house, Justin Bouvier suddenly appeared out of the night.

Manville stopped abruptly, startled by the man’s appearance.

“Justin? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What’s happenin’ man? We heard a shot, then I guess that was you honkin’ your horn.”

“Yeah, it was me. We have trouble.”

Manville nodded. “Figured as much. What happened? Did our dogs scare the cat way up here?”

Justin shook his head, then put his hand on Manville’s shoulder and gave him a slight push.

“Keep moving toward your trucks as we talk. It’s not safe for you to be here right now.”

Manville frowned, but did as Justin asked.

“Let’s go, boys. Load up the dogs.”

His sons started toward their trucks at a jog, while Manville followed behind with Justin.

“What’s happening here? What was that shot?”

“It’s complicated, but the short of it is, someone kidnapped Laurel’s father, and now he’s come after her. He took a shot at her through the back door, then ran into the grove. It missed her, but Marie got hurt some when I took her down with me. So we needed to get you and your boys out of there before he took a shot at one of you…or decided to take someone else hostage.”

Manville froze. Even in the shadows, Justin could see the expression of shock on his face.

“Tryin’ to kill her for true?”

“Yes.”

“And you tellin’ me that son of a bitch is still around?”

Justin shrugged. “Can’t be sure, but since he missed her, and if I had to guess, I’d say, yes.”

Manville shifted his rifle from his right arm to his left and looked up toward the house. The only light visible was a very small glow from a second-story window.

“Where’s the law?” he asked.

“On their way…I hope.”

Manville glanced back toward the grove, then at Justin.

“I reckon we’ll be staying around a bit…at least until help gets here.”

Justin took a slow breath, understanding immediately what had just been offered. These men, who barely knew Laurel, had just put their lives on the line to make sure hers didn’t end.

He put a hand on Manville’s shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze.

“It won’t go unappreciated.”

Manville shrugged. “We take care of our own, is all.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’ll make sure Laurel knows, too.”

Manville turned toward the trucks.

“Boys…you got the dogs loaded?”

“Yes, Daddy,” one of them called.

“Then come on back here. We’re gonna stay here for a bit and take us a rest.”

All four of his sons, who were full-grown men, suddenly appeared out of the dark. They nodded their hellos at Justin, then fixed their gazes on Manville.

“What’s goin’ on, Daddy?” one of them asked.

“That shot we heard?”

They all nodded again.

“Well, someone’s tryin’ to kill Miz Marcella’s granddaughter. He missed. I thought we might stay around here awhile until the law arrives and make sure he don’t get a second chance.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. “Where you think we oughta be?”

Manville looked to Justin for orders.

Justin hated to ask but was secretly thankful that keeping the two women safe wouldn’t all be on his shoulders until the authorities arrived.

“Whatever you do, stay in the dark,” Justin said. “We don’t want you men becoming targets.”

They nodded.

“I need to make sure that all exits to the house are covered, and that no one gets close enough to take a second shot.”

“What kind of gun he usin’?” one of the men asked.

“Unless he’s saving it for hard times, he doesn’t have a rifle,” Justin said. “The shot was fired from a handgun. Not sure what kind.”

Manville grinned. “Then we got it made,” he said. “’Cause my boys can shoot a fly off a deer’s antlers at fifty feet.”

“Lord, Daddy, the older you get, the wilder your stories get. You know good and well it’s not more than thirty feet, and I’m a little rusty about doin’ it in the dark,” one son said.

Manville laughed at his son’s brag, and then they left. Justin watched them disperse, leaving a man at each corner of the house while Manville went to the back porch and took a seat next to the wall beside the door. With the lights out and the lack of a moon, no one would ever know they were there until it was too late.

Justin breathed a quick sigh of relief, then hurried back into the house. He raced up the stairs, then into Laurel’s room. When she saw him, she put a finger to her lips and pointed to Marie, who’d fallen asleep on the bed beside her.

Justin nodded, then lay down on Laurel’s bed and pulled her close against him. Their whispers were soft, audible enough for their ears alone.

“Is she okay?”

Laurel nodded. “Just tired. Did you find Manville and his sons?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I would hate to think they might come to some harm because of me.”

“They didn’t leave.”

Laurel grabbed Justin’s arm, urgently begging him to make them see sense.

“They have to,” she whispered.

“They won’t leave you unprotected. Said they’ll wait until Harper and his deputies get here.”

For a few moments, Laurel was silent. Then she swallowed.

Justin saw her lower lip tremble.

“It’s all right, baby,” he said softly.

“Oh, Justin.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. I will never forget this night, but not because someone tried to kill me. Instead, it will be the night when I learned what it meant to be accepted…to belong.”

Justin put his mouth against her ear. His words were soft—so soft, and warm, so warm—and what he said filled her heart with such joy that her eyes quickly teared.

“You belong to me, too, love. Since the first night when you slipped into my bed as quietly as you slipped into my mind. You are always in my thoughts and in my heart. I love you, Laurel. So much.”

She shuddered on a sob, then took his hand and pulled it to her lips.

Love you, too,
she mouthed, then closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

Trigger didn’t know when it first occurred to him that he might not get out of this mess as easily as he’d planned, but it was certainly his first thought upon seeing the armed men and their dogs coming toward him in the distance.

Even though it was dark, the lights from the lanterns they were carrying illuminated each of their faces enough for Trigger to believe he’d been found. He thought about shooting at them before they got any closer, then realized that, even if he killed every one of them, there would be no ammunition left for the dogs.

And Trigger was deathly afraid of the dogs.

Uncertain what to do or where to go, he froze, and it was the single thing that kept his presence unknown.

Downwind from the dogs, and too far back in the trees to be detected by the minimal beams of lantern light, he watched five armed men and four leashed dogs pass within twenty yards of his location.

Certain that they would hear his heart pounding or, at the least, his shattered breaths, he couldn’t believe it when they passed him by and then disappeared into the night. When he could no longer see them, he began to shake. His stomach knotted, and then suddenly he spun around and retched—over and over until there was nothing left in his belly to come up.

When he was through, he leaned against a tree trunk and wept. He cried for the life that he’d ruined, the innocence that he’d lost, and the man he’d left to die. There was a brief moment of lucidity when he knew what he had to do. To hell with McNamara. To hell with his father’s good name. He had money in the Cayman Islands under an assumed name—enough that he could live comfortably for the rest of his life. All he had to do was disappear. There was a moment of grief as he thought of never seeing his mother again, but then reality raised its ugly head. If they caught him and convicted him of treason and murder, he would either be put to death or die in prison, anyway. He would rather be lonely, rich and alive, than miserable, incarcerated and dead.

Having come to that decision, Trigger felt one-hundred-percent better. He had fake ID stashed in a locker in the Miami airport for just such a moment as this. Now all he had to do was get the hell out of this place and keep driving. He would be out of the country before McNamara even knew he was gone. Then it wouldn’t matter how much talking he did, they would never find him.

He glanced all around him, making certain that the armed men were not coming back, then dared to use his flashlight just long enough to check the compass on his watch. He knew where he’d parked the car. And he knew the direction he needed to go to get back to it. Even more to the point, he was fairly confident that he’d hidden it sufficiently so that it would be all but impossible for someone else to find it in the dark. When daylight came, he would be long gone.

So he’d shot at Laurel Scanlon. So what? He’d missed her, hadn’t he? She didn’t have all that much to complain about. As for her old man, he decided that he would give the authorities a call and let them know where Scanlon was, but only after he’d made it out of the state.

Turning himself until the compass on his watch indicated that he was facing true west, he started to walk. In the distance, he could hear the occasional bark from the hounds, and each time he did, he increased his stride. The farther away he moved from the old mansion, the faster he ran. But it wasn’t easygoing. The undergrowth was almost as thick as the trees, and more than once Trigger stumbled and fell. And each time he would stop and listen before he got up, making sure he was not being followed. No barking meant no dogs, and no dogs meant no one on his trail. Despite the rips in his pants and the scrapes and scratches on his face and hands, he moved on with a smile.

As he walked, he kept hearing the sound of running water off to his right and vaguely remembered studying a map of this part of the state and seeing a river somewhere near. Confident that he knew where he was, he let down his guard. He didn’t hear the shifting of dead leaves in the underbrush, or the low, guttural rumble of a big cat on the hunt. He didn’t even know it was there until it leapt into the path in front of him, and he saw the yellow glitter of its eyes.

Trigger gasped and then froze, unable to think. His heart began to pound, and he had a sudden and unavoidable need to pee.

“Shit…shit…oh, shit…” he groaned, and then remembered his gun.

Slowly, he slid his hand into his pocket. Even when he felt nothing but the inside of his pants, he didn’t believe it. The gun must have fallen out during one of the times when he’d fallen. In desperation, he looked around for something else to use as a weapon, but in the dark, it was hopeless.

The black cat crouched, its ears flat against its head.

Trigger shined his flashlight directly into the panther’s eyes, hoping to startle it enough that it would leave.

But the cat was already in a bad mood. Thanks to the hunters and their dogs, it had lost two different chances to feed. Now, with the dogs gone and no scent of the men with the guns, the cat lifted its head and let out a scream.

Trigger stared in disbelief. If he hadn’t been looking at the cat, he would have thought it was the desperate, heart-stopping scream of a woman in distress.

Again the cat growled, then bared its teeth in a snarl.

Trigger started to move backward.

The cat crept forward.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Trigger gasped, then picked up a rock and flung it toward the panther.

It missed by a good three feet and only served to antagonize the big cat further.

“Get!” Trigger shouted, and waved his arms in the air.

The cat snarled and then started toward him.

Trigger pivoted sharply and began to run, shouting and begging for help as he went.

The cat’s scream shattered what was left of his control. The warm surge of urine was already running down the inside of his leg when the cat leaped. The blow sent Trigger sprawling, and he was still screaming as he tried to get to his feet.

But the cat had downed its prey and had no intention of letting it get away.

The first bite went through the back of Trigger’s neck, crushing two vertebrae and rendering him helpless. He couldn’t feel his arms or his legs and it was becoming difficult to breathe, but he could still scream, and scream he did.

For help.

For mercy.

Then for God to let him die.

And, blessedly, He finally did.