He laughed. “Research?” He shook his head. “I know enough about gators without that. I know when they mate, know that a mother gator is one of the fiercest creatures known to man. And I know about the jaws, and that’s what counts.”
He sat back easily, adjusting his hat. He was attentive and clearly glad to be with her. In fact, he really seemed like a nice guy.
And he knew nothing about research.
Or so he claimed.
But here they were, in the middle of nowhere, and if he had wanted to cause her any harm…
“Damn!” he said suddenly.
“What?” she asked.
He lifted his beer, indicating something west of them. She peered in that direction, squinting, trying to see what he was seeing.
She realized that there was an embankment, and that they were in a canal. Trees grew at the water’s edge, and it seemed that there was a small hummock in the direction he was pointing.
Limbs were down here and there, no doubt a result of the early summer rainstorms she had heard came frequently here.
“There…They really are amazing creatures. They blend perfectly with their environment,” Hugh said, his voice a whisper touched with awe. “See him?”
Suddenly she did. Just the eyes and a hint of the nose were visible above the water. And then, way behind the head, she could see the slight rise of the back.
“He’s huge!” Hugh continued softly. “I’ve never seen one that big. I’ve never even seen a croc that big.”
“How can you tell his size?” she asked, whispering, too, though she didn’t know why. Actually, she did, she realized. She didn’t want to attract the creature’s attention.
“Well,” Hugh said, if you look at the water—”
“The water looks black,” she protested.
He laughed softly. “It’s not the water, it’s the vegetation. But look closely. You can see the length of the body. We’re talking huge. Maybe twenty-something feet.”
“They don’t get that big here!” she heard herself protest.
As they watched, the alligator suddenly submerged. Lorena felt a sharp stab of fear, sudden and primitive. She was certain that the creature was coming for them.
The airboat was small and built for two, with both seats at the rear. The nose of the vehicle offered only a small bit of space for supplies. The boat was fairly flat-bottomed, and it would be hard to knock over, but…
How much could a creature like that weigh?
“Man, I would have liked to see him up close,” Hugh marveled.
Lorena couldn’t speak. She was certain that Hugh was going to get his wish, that the gator would be there, beneath them, in a matter of seconds.
Frowning, Hugh rose. Despite the rocking of the airboat, he moved easily and confidently. She was about to scream to him to sit down, that he needed his gun, that…
She heard it then. The motor of another airboat.
Just then something brushed by their boat. Just touching it. Nosing it.
Testing it?
Then the other airboat came into the picture, whipping over the water. It was a much larger vehicle, with the motor and giant fan far in the rear, and with more storage space and six seats in front of the helm. She noticed that it bore a tribal insignia.
Then she saw Jesse.
She released a long breath, aware that she wasn’t afraid anymore, that even his airboat seemed to shout of authority.
The creature had disappeared; it was no longer touching their airboat.
“Hey!” Jesse shouted, cutting his motor as his vehicle drew next to theirs.
“Hey, Jesse,” Hugh said dryly. It was apparent that his romantic plans had just been shattered.
“What are you two doing out here?” Jesse asked with a frown.
Hugh cocked his head, his hands on his hips. “I asked the lady out, and she agreed.”
Jesse looked impatient. “Hugh, I don’t know how you missed my notice. We’ve got a man-eater out here. We’re going to get a group of hunting guides out here and go after it. The medical examiner says that Billy Ray was bushwhacked by one big son of a bitch. We’re going after it. It’s not safe out here right now.”
Hugh snorted. “Jesse, I’ve been dealing with gators for half my life. I’m armed, and I can take care of Lorena. I carry more than one big gun.”
Jesse shook his head. “Hugh, you’re one of the best. But Billy Ray knew alligators, too. Take your airboat on back. Lorena, step over here.”
“Now, wait a minute!” Hugh protested. “Lorena is with me.”
“She’s coming in for questioning,” Jesse said.
“What?” she and Hugh asked simultaneously.
Those startling green eyes leveled upon her hard. “Lorena needs to answer some questions about an incident at the alligator farm the other day.”
“Jesse, you are crazy—” Lorena began.
“I can put the cuffs on you,” he assured her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hugh demanded.
Jesse leveled his eyes on Lorena as he answered Hugh’s question. “Something to do with a little kid getting a bite. I’m sure Harry wants it kept quiet. Therefore, I need a few answers.”
Hugh frowned, staring at Lorena. “You don’t have to go with him. What are you trying to pull here, Jesse Crane?” Hugh demanded.
“I think that Lorena wants to come with me,” Jesse said, staring at her meaningfully.
Her skin prickled. It wasn’t with the kind of panic she had felt when she believed that a monster gator was stalking her, but with an overwhelming sense of unease. He knew.
And maybe he was giving her a chance to talk to him before he blew the whistle on her.
She sighed, rising. The boat rocked.
“There was a bit of a problem with one of the children the other morning, Hugh. Easily taken care of. I’ll just go with Jesse now,” she said smoothly.
Panic seized her once again when she was ready to step from boat to boat. Where had the gator gone?”
Whatever ruffled male feathers had begun to fly, the situation was suddenly eased as Hugh, holding her arm as she moved to join Jesse, said, “I think we just saw your alligator.”
“Here?” Jesse asked.
There was about a foot and a half of empty space between the boats as they rocked gently in the water. Lorena looked down.
Her heart slammed into her throat.
There it was. Submerged, and moving in fluid silence, just beneath the surface.
She nearly threw herself into Jesse’s arms.
“There!” she said. “Underneath us.”
He frowned at her, dark brows drawn, eyes narrowed. He forced her into a seat and strode back to the edge of the airboat. “Where? Hugh, you see it?”
Hugh was also searching the water. He had a shotgun in the back of the airboat. He reached for it and stood still, watching.
Time passed.
It felt like an eternity to Lorena, who heard the drone of a mosquito but was afraid to move, too frozen even to swat at the creature.
At last Jesse sighed.
“It might have been here, but I don’t see it now,” he said. “But this might well be its territory, so we’ll start here tomorrow.”
“Sunset?” Hugh asked.
“Right before. You gonna join us?”
“Yeah,” Hugh said. “I travel around here all the time, though. I haven’t seen that gator before.”
“What was left of Billy Ray’s body was tangled in the trees not too far from here. You know, right around the bend, where he had his favorite fishing spot. Yes, this is its territory. I’ll pick you up at Harry’s, six o’clock sharp tomorrow evening.”
Jesse started up his motor.
The sound was like the sudden whirr of a thousand birds, rising from the swamp.
She gripped her chair, still feeling cold. Hugh waved.
She couldn’t wave back.
The wind lashed around her, whipping her hair around
her face. She closed her eyes.
She was startled when the motor died, along with the forward motion of the boat.
She opened her eyes. They still seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
There was a hummock where they had come to rest, land that wasn’t covered in the deceptive saw grass that grew where the water ran, making a person believe that there was terra firma beneath.
And yet in all directions, she still saw only wilderness.
There was no sound, except for the cries of birds, the rustle of foliage.
She swallowed, frowned, and stared at Jesse uneasily.
“Where are we?”
“My place,” he said. “And you can talk to me here, tell me the truth, or we’ll just head downtown, to the FBI office. Here’s your chance, Lorena. Truth or dare. What do you know, and what the hell are you really doing here?”
Chapter 7
Despite the fact that there was a well-maintained dock, Jesse could see that Lorena was more than a bit concerned about where they were going when he helped her out of the airboat.
His house had been built on a hummock and, he thought, combined the best of tradition and the modern world. There were still members of his tribe who made their homes in chickees, but for the most part, beyond the village and the other tourist stops, tribal members lived in normal houses, concrete block and stucco, sturdy structures that offered the same comforts as those enjoyed by everyone else.
He was lucky to own the land, which had been his father’s. And it was a good stretch of hummock, rich with trees and foliage, and high enough to keep it from flooding during hurricanes or the rainy season. As they came in from the rear, winding along the path from the canal, the first sight was a chickee. Chickees had first come into being when various tribes—once grouped together under the term “Seminoles”—had moved deep into the Everglades to escape persecution and the white determination to export every last Native American to the western reservations. High above the ground, the chickee offered protection from snakes and gators. The open sides allowed the breezes to pass through continually, keeping the inhabitants cool year round.
Lorena gave the chickee a nervous glance, and he saw the relief on her face when they rounded a bend and she saw the house.
There was a screened-in patio with a pool, and sliding glass doors that led from it into the house. He owned a fairly typical ranch-style dwelling, with the large rear, “Florida room” extending the width of the back. He had a good entertainment center and comfortable sofas and chairs, which often led to him being the one to host Sunday football get-togethers. His home probably differed from some in that it was filled with Indian artifacts: Miccosukee, Seminole and others, including South American and Inuit. He had totem poles, lances, spears, shields and buffalo skulls, all artistically—at least in his mind—arranged, and he had come to love the feeling that he was surrounded by both past and present, tradition and the need for all Americans to be aware of the modern world. He considered education the most necessary tool for any Native American, and finding the path between prosperity and ethnicity was not an easy one.
“Thank God for bingo,” he murmured aloud.
“What?”
Her eyes were wide; he could tell that she was decidedly uncomfortable, yet apparently relieved at the same time.
“Coffee? Tea? Soda? Beer or wine?” he asked. “Sorry, that’s all I keep around.” He left her standing in the Florida room and walked through the hall, hanging a quick left into the kitchen, where a bypass over the counter opened to allow him to keep an eye on her.
She shook her head uneasily. “I’m fine.”
“Then I’ll have coffee.”
He reached into the cupboards for the paraphernalia he needed, watching her as he did so.
Some of the trepidation in her face had eased. She was walking around, studying the various pieces on the walls. She turned suddenly, as if feeling him watching her.
“Have you always lived here?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“In the general area, yes. This house is new, though.”
“Ah.”
“And, let’s see…you were raised in Jacksonville. Attended the University of Florida. Where you did indeed earn a nursing degree.”
“Yes,” she murmured, looking away.
“And a law degree.”
Her eyes flew to his again. Belligerent, defensive.
“All right, so I’ve spent the last few years with a law firm. My nursing credentials are still good. You seem to know everything, so you must know that, too.”
“I do,” he assured her grimly. “Sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?”
“All right,” she murmured.
She walked around to join him in the kitchen. He wondered how she could have spent the late afternoon in an airboat in the swamp and still manage to retain such an alluring scent.
“Sugar…cream,” he said, indicating the containers.
She added a touch of cream to her cup, not looking at him. Her fingers were shaking as she stirred, but she quickly returned to the Florida room, taking a seat on one of the sofas that looked out over the pool.
“All right,” he said, taking a seat next to her. “We need to start communicating here. This is serious. Shall I continue, or do you just want to talk to me?”
“You’re going to try to get me out of here,” she said, not looking at him. Then her eyes shot to his. “And I’m not inept. Actually, I’m a crack shot.”
“Your life seems filled with accomplishments,” he said with obvious irony.
She blushed, looking away. “I thought I wanted to go into nursing…but then I wound up taking some legal courses related to medical ethics and I found out that I liked the law. I was able to work part-time in a hospital while I went back to college. I was lucky. My dad was associated with a firm that was known for going to bat for the underdog. They hired me right out of law school.”
“Which has nothing to do with why you’re here,” he said softly.
“Actually, in a way it does,” she murmured, staring down again. Then she looked up at him. “One thing about studying the law is that you learn you need proof to go to court.”
He shook his head, looking at her, then taking the cup from her and setting it on the coffee table. He took both her hands. “All right, here’s the rest of what I know. You’re going under the name Fortier because that was your mother’s maiden name. Your father was Dr. Eugene Duval, working for Eco-smart, a company that, among other facilities, ran an alligator farm. He died last year after a fall down a stairway. So why does that bring you here?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t fall.”
“Lorena, I’ve read the police reports. He was alone in the building at the time.”
“No. He did not just fall.”
Jesse sighed, squeezing her hands. “Lorena, I know what it’s like to desperately seek something behind the obvious. Your father fell down a stairway. He broke his neck.”
“No,” she said stubbornly.
“Why are you so convinced it wasn’t an accident?”
“Because he had something. Something that his killer wanted.”
“And that was?” Jesse persisted.
She hesitated, realizing that he didn’t know everything.
He squeezed her hands more tightly. The lingering scent of her cologne wafted around him, seemed to permeate his system. He realized that his own heart was pounding, that the blood was rushing in a hot wave through his system. He was torn between the desire to gently touch her face and the equally strong desire to draw her into his arms, shake her, tell her none of this was worth her life.
He desperately wanted to hold her. And more. The texture of her skin was suddenly so fascinating that he longed to explore it with the tips of his fingers. Her features were so delicate, elegant and determined that he was tempted to test them with the palm of his hand.
He fought the desire that had begun to build in his system the first time he had
seen her. She was angry, lost, determined…and trusting. He knew he should pull his hands away. He didn’t. He couldn’t. He had to get answers from her—now.
“Lorena, what did your father have?” he demanded.
She stared back at him, clenching her teeth; then she shook her head. “You mean you don’t know? It’s obvious. He had a formula.”
“A formula for what?”
“Well, basically, steroids,” she said flatly. “There were other ingredients, but the formula was based on steroids.” She inhaled, exhaled, looking away but not drawing away. “My father was a great man. He wanted to feed the world. He worked with all kinds of animals, trying to find a way to improve the amount and quality of their meat without creating the chemical dangers you so often find in farmed meats. He saw alligators as the wave of the future. A creature that had been endangered—nearly wiped off the face of the earth—then raised in captivity to return with a vengeance. In his mind, we were going to be looking to a number of basically new food sources, new to the American public, at least. Emu. Beefalo. Different fish. Eels. And alligators. He thought they were magnificent creatures, with hides that could be used for all kinds of things and meat that could be improved in taste, quality and quantity. So he began working on a formula. Now he’s dead and someone else has it—and I think Harry’s place may be involved.”
Jesse stared at her blankly, wondering why something like this hadn’t occurred to him. Because it was right out of a science fiction novel, that was why.
“Lots of people work with alligators,” he said, his tone sharper than he had intended. “Lots of scientists work with formulas to improve breeding and supply.”
“Maybe, but my father had found one that improved the creatures’ size to such an extent that…that he destroyed his own specimens.”
Jesse felt frozen for a moment. It was all beginning to make sense. Too much sense. He was accustomed to drug-related crimes in the Everglades, or illegal immigrants, and the big money and guns that came with both. He knew the tragedy of greed, gangs, and the jealousy and fury behind domestic violence, and the tribulations brought on by the abuse of alcohol. And now industrial espionage might well be exactly what they were looking for. A formula that was dangerous, but that could take a business to the top of the heap? It made way too much sense. A couple killed for what appeared to be nothing had probably seen something they shouldn’t see. A man who knew the Glades like the back of his hand, dead, killed by an alligator. But what kind of an alligator? Perhaps one scientifically induced to grow bigger—and more dangerous?