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“Someone woke me up,” she said, “and for once it wasn’t the baby.” Her lips twitched as she dropped her short robe and stood naked in front of him.
“Oh, yeah? So what’re you going to do about it?”
“Hmmm. Punish him, I think.” She was nodding, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do. Punish him. Hard.”
“Oh, right.” He scooped her off her feet and she let out a little squeal of delight as he carried her back to the bedroom, her warm body tight against his, her head in the well between his neck and shoulder. “I’ll show you who’s going to punish whom.”
Angling her head upward, she managed to nip at his ear and whisper, “Oh, Detective. Promises, promises . . .”
* * *
Stacey opened a bleary eye and saw a white smile gleaming above her. Panic screamed through her body, but she couldn’t move, just lay in the cool, shifting water . . . wait, what?
An engine growled loudly, roaring, water undulating in waves, and then went suddenly silent.
Startled, she shifted, felt something hard against the back of her neck. Blinking, trying to focus, she realized it wasn’t a faraway smile she was seeing, but a crescent moon riding high overhead, a blanket of stars, and yes, she was in water, cool, lazy water that reeked and smelled of—
Oh, Lord, she was in theswamp?
How the hell had she ended up here? And why couldn’t she move? And, God, why couldn’t she remember anything? She tried to sit up, but whatever was behind her neck, tangled in her hair.... She reached up, her mind clearing, the sounds of a bullfrog croaking cutting through the hum of insects.
And the roar had been . . . a boat?
She blinked, tried to piece it all together, but her mind was a jumble.
“Look! Over there! Holy shit, Bobby-Dean! Do you see that?” a deep male voice intoned.
“I see it for sure!” A higher nasal voice, more excited. “Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s a girl! Man, oh, man, is she dead?”
“Hope not!”
“What happened to the guy? There was a guy with her. Right?” the higher voice asked. He sounded nervous.
“Yeeeahh.” It was a question. And as she blinked, she saw the beam of a flashlight cutting across the still water thick with duckweed and spider lilies.
Panic shot through her.
She tried to move, to get away, but she was tangled against the rotting wood of some pier, her hair and some fishing wire holding her fast, choking her.
“Hey, there, now . . . don’t you move . . . we gotcha,” the deep voice said, as if she could trust him. Her memory was hazy, clouded, but she had to get away, couldn’t trust these faceless men. Couldn’t trust anyone. She jerked upward and whatever was caught in her hair held her fast.
No, no, no!
Her heart was a drum, beating a wild tattoo.
Again, she tried to remember how she’d gotten here. Why she was in the swamp as the boat came closer, the sound of oars dipping in water drawing near. She reached up to wrench her hair and throat free of the noose and saw the prow of a boat reach the rotting dock and two men climb onto the slippery boards.
“You’ll be okay, now,” the huge man said. “We gotcha. We’ll take you to a doctor.”
His companion, older and hunched over, a wiry man, was a step behind. “Careful, Clive, this here dock’s ’bout rotted clean through.”
Could she trust them?
No!
Even in her foggy state, she knew she couldn’t trust anyone. She tried to get away but whatever was holding her fast wouldn’t budge. She kicked and yanked at the thing around her neck.
“Hey, hey there. Don’t struggle. Oh, Jesus-God, what the hell’s she got around her neck?”
