Rogue Page 8

  “What exactly were y’all doing out here?” Harvey asked from behind the craft’s steering column.

  “Fishing,” Nash said.

  “Sightseeing,” Maisey stupidly said over him.

  “Judging by your nightie,” Mildred said to Maisey with an exaggerated wink, “I figured you two were newlyweds, out for a day of hanky-panky.”

  “We tossed in a bit of that, too.” Nash finished his water, then started on his sandwich.

  Harvey fired up the engine with a chuckle. “I always say the worst day fishing is better than the best day working. Throw in some good, old-fashioned necking and you’ve got a fine morning indeed.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mildred lurched forward to give her man a good-natured swat. “Just because your mind lives in the gutter, doesn’t mean you have to share the filth that comes out.”

  The two bickered above the engine’s steady hum.

  Maisey leaned back, beyond thankful. Having Mildred and Harvey find them was nothing short of a heaven-sent miracle. Her mind struggled to switch gears from the rapid transition from depths of despair to rescue.

  Rehydrated, with food in her tummy, she rode out the latest contraction like a champ, breathing along with the rise and swell, reassuring herself that this nightmare would soon be over. As soon as she safely delivered her baby, she’d report Vicente to authorities, they’d pick him up and haul him off to a cell, and then she and Nash could be on their way to Jacksonville for a nice, long visit with their moms—not that they’d be together past then. He’d made his feelings for her—or rather, lack thereof—clear.

  And honestly? If she hadn’t been under constant attack by gun-toting bad guys, alligators, snakes or mosquitoes, she never would have blurted that nonsense about love.

  If the topic was ever again broached, she’d plead temporary insanity.

  A little under an hour later, Harvey pulled the boat into a charming, rustic wooden dock complete with a tin roof, screened fish-cleaning station, and flower boxes overflowing with sweet-smelling red-and-white petunias.

  Exhaustion clung to Maisey, bearing down on her shoulders and tight neck.

  The latest contraction had teeth, and she struggled to keep her cool.

  “Oh dear,” Mildred took one look at Maisey and frowned. “Looks like our little momma’s not doing so well. Harvey, as soon as the boat’s tied, let’s get our girl to the guest bed. I have a feeling her little one will be with us sooner as opposed to later.”

  “Agreed,” Harvey said. “She is looking a bit green around her gills.”

  “I’ll help.” The moment Harvey killed the engine, Nash sprung to action, tying off the boat while their host retrieved a four-wheeler.

  Mildred had already dashed for the house to call 9-1-1.

  Nash scooped Maisey into his arms, carrying her to the vehicle’s wagon-style trailer.

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder. Overriding the sweat and the swamp’s musk was the familiar scent of him. The closer her contractions grew, the more helpless Maisey felt and the more she realized how much she needed her old friend.

  “Hang in there.” He set her onto the cool metal trailer’s bed. His touch was so gentle, so kind, the concern in his gaze so genuine, that she knew no matter what he’d said about having no feelings for her, he’d lied. Or maybe he’d said he did have feelings for her, but they were strictly platonic? She couldn’t be sure. The closer and harder contractions struck, the more muddied her thoughts grew.

  Suddenly that sandwich and three deviled eggs didn’t seem like all that great of an idea. All at once Maisey was nauseous, yet struggling for air during the agonizing rise of her latest contraction.

  “I’m scared.” She grappled for Nash’s hand. “Please, don’t leave me.”

  “Never,” he assured with a tender kiss to her forehead.

  “Ready to get this little lady to a proper bed?” Harvey asked from behind the wheel.

  “Absolutely.”

  After the initial jolt of Harvey launching the vehicle into motion, he drove smoothly down a hard-packed sand lane lined with slash pines.

  When the next contraction hit, Maisey bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. The pain was beyond intense. Her baby was coming—soon.

  “Almost there,” Harvey said.

  Nash jogged alongside the cart. If he had lingering effects from the snake bite, he sure didn’t show it.

  Maisey closed her eyes, forcing deep breaths while riding out what now felt like constant pain-filled waves. “I-I need to push!”

  “Not yet, babe. Let’s get you in a bed, then you can push all you want, okay?”

  She nodded, or maybe rocked her head side-to-side. She couldn’t be sure of anything other than the fact that it wouldn’t be long until she held her son in her arms.

  Harvey parked the vehicle next to the screened back porch of an Airstream trailer that had been joined with a cabin. The structure may have been unconventional, but it beat the heck out of having her baby in the heart of the swamp. Maisey was beyond grateful that Harvey and Mildred had come along when they did.

  Nash stooped to heft her back into his arms.

  “This way,” Harvey held open the porch door. “Then through the kitchen and down the hall. The guest room is the third door on your right.”

  “Thanks.” He edged sideways to fit her through.

  Maisey caught flashes of her surroundings—a darling vintage tea cup collection and a shelf lined with antique Teddy bears. Plush Oriental rugs and shabby chic overstuffed furnishings with sherbet-toned slipcovers. The whole place smelled clean and fresh with a hint of lemon. She’d hit the jackpot in rescuers.

  “Right in here,” Mildred waved from the end of the hall. “I called for an ambulance, but as far out as we are, it could take over an hour.”

  Maisey gritted her teeth through her latest contraction. “I-I can’t wait that long.”

  “No worries, dear . . .” Mildred tossed back a pink floral quilt on a white-wrought iron bed, directing Nash to place Maisey atop pink sheets. The walls were painted a darker rose. Built-in bookshelves framed a window seat decked out in floral chintz curtains and pillows. Sunshine pooled at the foot of the bed and for whatever odd reason, Maisey’s emotions got the better of her. What a wondrous change of luck to have been transported from a nightmare to this feminine haven. “You go right ahead and have your baby now.”

  “I-I can’t!” Groaning through a particularly rough contraction, Maisey shook my head. “Not here.”

  “Whyever not?” The kindly innkeeper propped Maisey by planting four pillows behind her back.

  “It’s too nice. I don’t want to ruin your pretty room.”

  While Maisey cried, Mildred patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Sheets can be washed, but if it makes you feel better, I’ve got bed pads left from when Harvey had gallbladder surgery. How about I pop a few of those under you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Nash eased his fingers between hers. A concerned crease had taken up residence between his eyebrows.

  Maisey shook her head, struggling for her next breath as the pain rose into an even higher wave.

  A phone rang on the nightstand. A glance in that direction confused her, then struck terror in her soul. No. This couldn’t possibly be . . .

  The caller ID read: Rodriguez, Intl.

  Vicente’s sham import company name that he used for money laundering. Maisey’s pulse went berserk, hammering to a painful degree.

  How had her fake husband found these people? How could they have gone along with whatever bribe he’d offered? How could they live with themselves, knowing once they turned them over, Maisey’s ex wanted them killed?

  “Harvey, love,” Mildred coaxed another pillow beneath Maisey’s head. “Could you please be a dear and handle that call. I want our momma as comfy as possible.”

  Maisey wanted to rail at her to get away. As if childbirth wasn’
t enough on her plate, she now had to contend with psycho granny and her Santa sidekick.

  “Absolutely, dear.” He took the receiver from its charge stand. “I’ll answer in the other room, so as not to disturb you nesting hens. Nash, since the ladies have this under control, care to join me in a pre-celebration round of bourbon?”

  No! Don’t leave me. Maisey’s contraction was so strong, she could hardly think, let alone speak. How did she let Nash know he’d been right about these two?

  “Thanks for the kind offer, Harvey. It’s a little early to be drinking, but I could use a restroom.”

  Maisey waved to him, but he stood with his back to her, and couldn’t see. Arrrggghhh. She gritted her teeth through the crest of the latest wave.

  “I’ll bet you do, son. Follow me, and I’ll point you in the right direction.”

  “Nash, no!”

  “What’s wrong?” He turned to her. His tender smile meant the world, but all the smiles in the world wouldn’t save them from this latest mess of her making. “Besides the obvious?”

  “I-I . . .” It was a struggle to find the right words. She couldn’t hear over her haywire pulse and though she felt sticky from sweat, her body wouldn’t stop shivering. Was she in shock? “I need you.”

  “I’m here, babe—not going anywhere.”

  “I need to take this call.” Harvey wagged the phone. “Nash, come find me when you’re ready.”

  “Will do.”

  “Mildred,” Maisey said between ragged breaths, “please, could I have water?”

  “Of course, dear. Nash,” she patted his shoulder, “make sure our little momma doesn’t go anywhere.”

  The second she was out of earshot, Maisey whispered, “W-we have to go . . .”

  17

  “WHAT DO YOU mean? Maisey, you’re not in the condition to go to the bathroom, let alone outside.” Could pain be making her delirious?

  “Y-you were right. Mildred and Harvey—they’re bad.”

  “How? I know I had reservations at first, but they seem harmless enough.”

  “Nooo.” Teeth clenched, she thrashed her head side-to-side. “Vicente was on the phone. Saw it on the caller ID.”

  Shit. “Okay, I know you’re ready to push, but try keeping that baby in. I’m going to leave you for a minute—tops. But I will be back.” Nash smoothed the hair back from her fevered forehead. Why the hell couldn’t he keep his head in the game? He’d been so worried about Maisey safely delivering her baby that he’d forgotten his primary goal wasn’t to be her doctor, but her protector. “Can you stay tough for me?

  Tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she nodded.

  “Awesome. Sit tight.” Nash bolted into the hall, but then slowed, not wanting to tip Mildred and Harvey off to the fact that they were in on their twisted con.

  Nash was all manner of pissed—not only with himself, but them. How much was the bounty Vicente had placed on their heads?

  He didn’t have a long wait to find out. At the end of the hall, he overheard them softy talking.

  “Fifty. Thousand. Dollars.” Mildred giggled. The tone creeped Nash the hell out. “Can you imagine? Of course, we want to put in the pool, but do you think we could manage a new boat, too?”

  “I don’t see why not? At least one that’ll be new to us,” Harvey added with his usual chuckle.

  The greedy duo turned Nash’s stomach.

  As did the thought that while poor Maisey was in pain, they were counting the coins they stood to make from her suffering—not that they were responsible for her labor pains, but they sure as hell would be for whatever twisted scenario Vicente would subject her to.

  A right turn veered Nash toward a homey living room.

  Sofa. Two chairs. TV.

  Since he couldn’t pop off Santa and Mrs. Claus, he at least needed something to restrain the soon to be not-so-happy couple. Eyeing multiple electronics’ cords tangled behind the TV, Nash used his favorite knife to slice clean through from the backs of a VCR, DVD, sound bar, and the TV. Once they’d all been cut from the respective sources, he yanked them from a power strip.

  Hearing Maisey moan from the bedroom propelled Nash forward at an ever-increasing speed. If Mildred and Harvey’s road was anything like most of the others around here, there were dozens of isolated off-shoots where he could hide the truck he’d soon borrow from their hosts long enough for Maisey to have her baby, then rocket her to a Miami hospital. Honestly, he feared they’d need to go that far to escape Vicente’s apparently considerable influence.

  While Mildred and Harvey chatted about going on a nice, long Caribbean cruise, Nash shredded a pink-striped throw pillow into strips long enough to serve as excellent gags.

  He stowed his knife, then slipped the cords through belt loops and shoved the rags into his front pocket. He crept behind Harvey—still out of view from his wife—mentally preparing himself for taking down the senior citizen who probably had been a decent guy until being faced with a moral decision in which the prospect of easy, tax-free cash had won out over following the Golden Rule.

  Lightning fast, Nash reached his forearm around Harvey’s neck, squeezing him in a rear naked choke that in ten seconds temporarily cut off blood flow from the carotid arteries to the brain.

  While Harvey slumped lifeless in his chair, Mildred screamed.

  “You killed him!” she said on the heels of a wail. “After all we did for you and your hussy, you killed him!”

  “He’ll come out of this fine. You, on the other hand . . .” While restraining Harvey to his kitchen table chair, then gagging him, Nash gave her the special smile he usually reserved for Al Qaeda.

  “Oh, God . . .” She shrunk against the kitchen counter. “Please, don’t kill me! We have a daughter in Boca!”

  “Lady, you’ve got about three seconds to tell me how long it’ll be before Vicente or one of his men show up.”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gripped the yellow laminate counter so hard her knuckles turned white.

  “Lie.” Nash stepped toward her, holding out the cords.

  “He came by this morning—said a man kidnapped his poor, pregnant wife. Well, me and Harvey have heard enough gossip over the years to know Vicente’s no saint, but he gives a lot of money to the community and keeps mostly to himself and never did hurt anyone, so—”

  Nash snapped the cords. “Skip to the highlight reel. How long till he shows up?”

  She gulped, then darted her gaze to a digital clock built into the back of the stove. “I’m guessing fifteen minutes.”

  “Perfect.” Grasping her by her upper arms, he propelled her toward a slim door he hoped led to a utility closet. “Open it.”

  “Oh, God! You’re going to kill me by making me drink bleach!”

  Lord . . .

  When she opened the door, he gave her a light shove inside. “Lay off the CSI.”

  “Help! Help!” she shrieked once he’d closed the door behind her, and wedged a chair beneath the knob. If she shoved hard enough, she could easily break through, but hopefully this would at least buy him time to find the keys to the red Chevy pickup parked outside.

  Harvey started to wake from his nap and looked none too happy to see Nash pluck his keys from the rack mounted above the counter.

  “Don’t you worry,” Nash said with an acid smile. “You can use your fifty thousand to buy a nice, new model.”

  Harvey fought against his restraints, but experience had taught Nash they’d hold. Mildred would free herself long before Harvey.

  In the bedroom, Nash found Maisey even more miserable than before.

  “I-I heard a scream . . .”

  “If that’s your way of asking me if I killed her—no. She and Harvey will both live to con another day.” He jangled the truck keys. “Ready for a ride?”

  Not waiting for her answer, he scooped her from the bed, dragging along the comforter.

  Nash bumbled his way outside, got her settled in the truck t
hat was thankfully unlocked, then made one more trip into the house to grab towels, a T-shirt and jeans, a case of bottled water, and all the food and miscellaneous supplies he could cram into a canvas shopping bag. If all went well, they wouldn’t need any of this crap, but if he’d learned anything during his time with Maisey, it’s that luck typically was not on their side.

  Spying a cell phone next to a loaf of bread on the counter, he grabbed it and the bread.

  Behind the truck’s wheel, Nash gunned the engine and drove the truck hard down the sandy lane. He had no idea where Vicente and his men might be, or how soon they’d encounter them.

  Maisey looked scary pale.

  With every shred of his being, Nash wanted to hold her hand and reassure her everything would be okay, but he didn’t have that luxury. To maintain their current speed, he needed both hands on the wheel.

  She moaned, and he hated himself a little more.

  This stretch of road could be a quarter-mile or twenty. If Vicente or his men drove up on them here, they’d be screwed. Assuming they’d have them outgunned was a no-brainer. Their only hope was to make it to the main highway or a viable turn-off before they met.

  When their current path T-boned into a paved highway, assuming Vicente would approach from the west, Nash headed east.

  Maisey’s breathing had turned shallow and her complexion was gray.

  His stomach twisted.

  Gun play, wild animals—that kind of stuff he could handle. Well, mostly, if he didn’t count massive snakes.

  “I-I have to push,” Maisey said. Her weak voice barely carried over the engine as he pushed their speed to eighty.

  “Hold tight, babe. We should meet up with the ambulance soon.” Although considering Mildred’s comment about how beloved Vicente was in these parts, Nash wouldn’t be surprised if the local paramedics and cops were also on his payroll.

  “No . . .” She slumped in the seat, parting her legs. “I-I have to push. The baby’s coming!”

  He checked the rearview, and with the coast clear, slowed to veer onto a gated park road. Of course, the gate was padlocked, so he rammed it, promising to send an anonymous chunk of cash to the park system earmarked for repairs.