She grabbed her Remington and left the car. On the other side of the parking lot, there was movement in the tall grass leading out to the marsh. She aimed her flashlight just in time to spot an alligator slipping through the grass.
Great. One more thing to worry about. But she was more concerned about the human predators than the reptilian ones. A map at the end of the parking lot revealed several trails braided through the preserve. One of them twisted around the inlet where Fleming’s boat was anchored. She’d have to go cross-country for the final approach, but it would get her close.
She swapped her flashlight for her thermal night vision monocular, scouting the trail ahead. It was amazing how much more detail the monocular could pick up than her own vision even aided by a flashlight. The trail she’d chosen was narrow, maybe four feet wide, with thick foliage on either side, including knee-high, sharp-leafed palmettos that sliced at her bare legs. Crowded pine trees and gnarled live oaks, Spanish moss dangling from their limbs, created a claustrophobic atmosphere. It didn’t help that the sulfur smell of decay overrode the more pleasant scent of the pine needles that cushioned the hard-packed surface of the trail.
The forest wasn’t quiet; instead, it was filled with random noises ambushing her from every side. Squawks of birds or maybe frogs, deep-throated notes that came from frogs or maybe insects, splashes that Lucy hoped were fish or birds and not alligators.
She was using her monocular when sudden movement sparked through the thermal sensors. Something darted from the brush and stopped on the path. It was a strangely shaped image—too short to be a gator. It turned to face her. An armadillo, complete with prehistoric armor, blinked at her. Then it scurried away, the plants rustling behind it.
She kept moving. The trail twisted around a lagoon that gave a hint of the wider stretch of water beyond, then a boardwalk appeared. According to the map at the trailhead, the boardwalk headed in the direction she wanted to go, so she moved across it. The stench grew worse as she walked above the marsh. The clicking noises of crabs scurrying across the mud below made her wonder if the tide was low enough for her to cross through the mud, sneak up on the boat. When she turned to scan the area between the boardwalk and the sound, she could make out several birds walking over the mud and caught sight of another alligator as it slinked along the bank.
One more curve and the tree branches thinned enough for her to see the boat. It was at anchor in an inlet surrounded by trees and mud on three sides. A few tiny slits of light were all that made it through the cabin windows—black-out curtains, she guessed. Thick grass rippled in the night breeze, making it appear as if the boat were moored in the middle of a hay field. She was tempted to climb over the boardwalk’s railing and simply walk up to the boat.
No way it would be that easy. Movement caught her eye as an alligator she hadn’t spotted before glided past, following an unseen current through what had appeared to be solid ground. Swamp. That’s what this was.
Okay, so how did Hayden and Shelly Fleming get to the boat? Lucy continued on the boardwalk, moving slower and bending low to keep out of sight. A cluster of trees got in the way, but then the boat came into view once more, only twenty feet or so away from the boardwalk.
A Zodiac type of motorized raft was lashed to the railing at the stern. Question answered. She judged her options. The boardwalk continued on but turned inland, away from the boat. She made out several heat signatures in the boat’s cabin but they were so close together it was difficult to be certain how many there were. Four, she hoped, because that would mean Mateo was still alive.
Several sprawling limbs from a live oak reached out toward the boat, one stretched over the raft. She eyed the tree. Its trunk emerged from the mud a good three feet from the boardwalk. Lucy mapped it out in her mind: climb the railing, leap onto the trunk, shimmy up to the branch, then over the branch to the raft, lower herself down… No sweat if she were ten years younger and didn’t have a bum ankle to worry about.
The boat began to rock. Light speared the night as the cabin door opened. Two figures emerged, one carrying a large duffle. Lucy couldn’t make out their faces, not at this distance, but they definitely were both women.
She focused her monocular on the cabin. Now the two heat sources left behind were easier to make out. Both were low, on the deck, but not spread out like they were lying down, rather balled up and not moving. Restrained? Perhaps shoved into a compartment? She hadn’t had a chance to view any plans for Fleming’s cabin cruiser, but the ransom video made it look a lot like the inside of a RV or camper.
If the two heat sources were Fleming and Mateo, why would they both be restrained? Why wasn’t Fleming up and about if he was the mastermind?
Had Lucy gotten this all wrong?
Chapter 21