Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

Jenna felt an almost overwhelming urge to turn away, to run, as if by doing so, she might wish away everything that had happened. It was, she knew, just another manifestation of the fight or flight response, a primal fear of the unknown, or in this case, of the possibility that this last desperate hope would end in a crushing disappointment.

No. I’m done running. And if this is a dead end, I’ll figure something else out.

She reached over the top of the gate and worked the release. It swung open without the slightest squeak of protest, and she stepped through. Mercy followed, but not before putting a hand into a tote bag. The canvas sack, emblazoned with a cartoon alligator, was just one of the souvenirs they’d acquired before leaving Gator Station. Mercy had filled it with first aid supplies and snacks. Jenna had consumed all of the latter. The sack also contained the night vision monocular and the pistol she had used to shoot Carlos Villegas. Jenna had a feeling that Mercy was reaching for the gun.

As they neared the front door, the porch light flashed on—presumably triggered by a motion sensor—but nothing else happened to indicate that the house was occupied. Jenna stabbed a finger at the doorbell button and heard a muffled two-tone ringing noise from within. Several seconds passed. Jenna was debating whether to ring again or walk away when she heard the soft click of a lock bolt disengaging.

She exchanged looks and shrugs with Mercy, then tried the door handle. Both the screen and front doors were unlocked. Jenna stood on the threshold, staring into the room beyond. In the diffuse illumination cast by the porch light, she could make out the front room, appointed with tasteful but generic furniture, and little else. There was no sign of the householder.

“This is like the start of a bad fairy tale.”

Mercy nodded. “I know what you mean.”

Jenna stayed there a moment longer, then turned around. While she had not really known what to expect from the mysterious Bill Cort, this was most definitely not even on the list of possibilities. “We should go.”

Mercy started to answer, but at that moment another sound issued from within the house: the distinctive trilling of a landline telephone.

Jenna’s breath caught with a gasp. “Forget fairy tales. This is more like a slasher flick.”

The phone rang without cease. Jenna expected that after three or four rings, voicemail or an answering machine would pick up. After eight cycles, she figured the caller would give up, but the ringing continued.

“I think someone knows we’re here,” Mercy finally said. “So we should either answer it or get the hell out of here.”

“I have to know,” Jenna said. “But hold the door open, okay?”

Mercy nodded.

Jenna stepped inside and followed the electronic chirps to their source, a rather quaint telephone set from the pre-digital age, sitting on a side table. Jenna laid a hand on the cool plastic receiver and picked it up.

She held the receiver at arm’s length, relishing the return of near total silence for a moment, then held it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Jenna?” The voice was masculine and not the least bit familiar. “Am I speaking to Jenna Flood?”

Jenna felt a chill shoot down her spine. “Who are you?”

“The name is Cort, and the fact that you’re talking to me right now tells me that your father sent you there. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Jenna looked around the room, searching for a hidden video camera, but she remembered that the ringing had started when she was still outside. The camera had been on the porch. Cort, wherever he was, had probably been watching them from the moment they opened the gate.

When she didn’t answer, Cort continued. “I’m on my way there right now. Five minutes, tops. Just get inside and sit tight. I know you probably won’t believe this, but you can trust me. I know what’s been happening to you. I can help.”

“You’re right, Mr. Cort. I don’t believe it.”

“Jenna, listen to me. I worked with your father. He trusts me. You know he does. That’s why he sent you my way.”

She felt her rage start to boil again. “You have no idea how little that means to me right now.”

There was a long silence on the line, then a sigh. “I guess you found out about…” He didn’t finish the sentence. “Look, I can explain everything to you when I get there, but you have to trust me.”

“People are trying to kill me, Mr. Cort. I’m not going to trust anyone.”

“I’m going to hang up and drive now, but Jenna I’m begging you to hear me out. The danger you’re in right now is just the tip of the iceberg. This is much bigger than you can possibly imagine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The only answer was the buzz of a dial tone in her ear.





35



6:29 a.m.