The Vanishing

“No. You paid us to find Anna. This is where the trail leads. As much as I’d prefer to have equipment and a better boat, I don’t want to waste time returning to New Orleans to get it. I think we should take a look around. If we haven’t found anything in a couple of hours, we’ll return the boat and come back tomorrow better equipped.”

She looked up, studying the tufts of dark clouds that littered the sky. “And if it storms?”

Max glanced up and shook his head. “We’ll just hope that it doesn’t.”

She watched the clouds swirl across the sun. A chill came over her, and she hurried down the muddy bank to climb into the boat. The temperature must have dropped as the shadow covered her body. That was why she felt a chill.

That’s what she told herself, anyway.

MAX PUSHED THE BOAT away from the bank and hopped inside. He started the engine and backed the boat away from the shoreline before turning it deeper into the bayou. The nagging feeling that he was missing something festered in the back of his mind, taunting him for his lack of clarity.

He’d ignored that feeling once before, and it had cost him his self-respect and almost his life.

This entire situation had been sketchy from the beginning, but his sexy sidekick had been the only bother he’d felt when he left New Orleans that morning. The further into the investigation he progressed, the more uneasy he became. He’d have rather Anna’s trail lead them to Alaska than the swamps of Mystere Parish.

He slowed the boat at the first corner and took a shot of the turn with his cell phone. Then he made a note to make a right turn when returning.

“That’s a smart idea,” Colette said. “As long as the battery holds.”

She tried to make the sentence light, as if she was making a joke, but the strained smile and the anxiety in her voice were a dead giveaway to Max. This had become much more than she’d bargained for when she’d strong-armed him into taking her along. But then, it had become more than he’d bargained for as well, so he couldn’t really blame her for her unease. As a nurse, she was trained to handle trauma, but not the kind of stress they were under now.

Still, most women would have already buckled under the pressure. None of the women he knew, except his sister-in-law, Alex, would be sitting in the boat with him, attempting to make a joke. Even his mother, for all her brass in the corporate boardroom, wouldn’t have managed five comfortable minutes in the swamp.

“It was fully charged this morning,” he said, hoping to reassure her, if only a tiny bit. “And I keep it plugged in while I’m driving. As long as it stays dry, we’re in good shape.”

“Then I’ll leave off praying for the cell-phone battery and just pray for no rain.”

He waved one hand out toward the bayou. “It’s going to be slow going. With all the water lilies, I can hardly see the surface at all. I’m afraid to move too fast in case something is submerged.”

“I understand.”

She faced straight forward on her seat, scanning the banks on each side of them. She was saying all the right things, but Max could see the tension in her back and neck as she looked for any sign of Anna or the village.

He’d been surprised that ‘Gator had given them information so easily. Granted, he’d held a gun on them long enough to form an opinion, but usually swampers were very protective of each other. Maybe seeing the girl was so odd that ‘Gator knew something was wrong, too.

Or maybe he was sending them right into a trap.

‘Gator had made it clear that no one left Cache, and Anna had told Colette that she’d been directed never to return. If Anna had dared to leave and now dared to return, the people of Cache wouldn’t be happy to see her. And that sentiment would extend to anyone looking for her.

He checked the picture of the map on his cell phone and steered the boat left into a tiny cut. The cypress trees were so thick with moss that they blocked all but the tiniest ray of light from entering. Max squinted in the dim light, trying to keep the boat in the middle of the narrow channel, where he’d be less likely to hit the knotty roots of the trees that grew underwater and claimed many propellers.

“Colette, check in that bench you’re sitting on and see if there’s a flashlight.”

She rose from the bench and lifted the lid. She dug around in it for a minute or so and emerged with a weather-beaten flashlight.

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