Lucy watched as the woman with the duffle threw it onto the raft tied to the rear of Fleming’s boat. The second woman stood back, keeping guard on the men in the cabin, a pistol in her hand. “We should leave now. That FBI agent—” she said. Chief Hayden.
Which made the other woman Shelly Fleming. “That FBI agent has nothing on us. Especially not after she finds Mateo Romero killed himself rather than go to jail for the rest of his life.” She shook her head. “Poor baby. So upset after accidentally killing the sweet, kindly Pastor Fleming when he took him hostage and didn’t get him his insulin. Leaving me a grieving but soon-to-be rich widow and you, big sis, still Chief of Police. Although I can’t for the life of me understand why that matters so much to you.”
They were still talking as they moved inside, out of hearing range. Lucy checked Megan’s phone. Still no cell signal and no Wi-Fi in range. She returned the phone to the vest’s watertight inside pocket where it would stay safe.
She needed both hands to make it over to the boat, so she left the Remington behind as she climbed onto the railing. The tree seemed farther away than she thought, but she’d learned as a kid that climbing trees was more about attitude than technique. She flung herself out over the mud and grabbed hold of the tree trunk. The bark wasn’t as brittle as the oaks back home, lots of small gnarled bits to dig in with her hands and feet. It scratched at her bare legs and arms, but soon, she was edging along a twisted limb, admiring the live oak’s structure. Definitely a good climbing tree.
Despite her messed-up ankle, which made her second guess every other step as she planted that foot, she made it across the branch, over the mudflat and to the Zodiac in only a few minutes. The night noises of the wildlife in the marsh covered her movements nicely. The boat rocked gently as small waves lapped against it. Tide coming in.
She swung down over the Zodiac, weight suspended by her hands, and dropped the few feet down into it. Her landing made a thudding noise like a rock thrown into a pond. She flattened herself against the bottom of the boat, waiting for a response but none came.
Okay, stage one complete. Now for the hard part. She had to assume both women were armed and she knew Hayden was also trained. Even if she surprised them inside the cabin, she’d still be outnumbered and all they had to do to negate Lucy’s efforts would be to threaten the hostages.
How to get them away from their captives?
She sat up and pulled the duffle bag toward her. Heavy. At least twenty pounds. She opened it. Wads of cash banded together. Close to a million, she guessed given the weight and dimensions.
A gator slid past the raft, its tail swishing the mud and water into a murky, silt-laden wake. Lucy thought for a moment. She didn’t have to get the hostages safe to shore; all she needed was to buy some time until the sheriff’s department arrived.
She untied the line anchoring the raft to the boat. With the tide coming in, the current pushed her inland, deeper into the lagoon and mud.
Once she was halfway between the boardwalk and the boat, she grabbed her Maglite and secured it to the side of the raft where it would shine out over the mud between her and the boat. Then she grabbed a few handfuls of cash.
“Mrs. Fleming?” she called out in a neighborly yoo-hoo shout. “Think I found something that belongs to you!”
Light flooded the boat deck as the cabin door banged open. Shelly ran to the railing, followed by Hayden.
“I’ll trade you,” Lucy said. She tossed a bunch of bills into the air. They fluttered on the night breeze then landed on the mud where the crabs skittered toward them, seeking food.
“Are you crazy?” Shelly screamed. “What the hell are you doing?” She raised a pistol and aimed it at Lucy.
“If I go down, so does your money,” Lucy called back. “Explain it to her, Chief. Simple hostage exchange. The money for Mateo and Fleming.” She hoped Fleming was still alive—given what Shelly said a few minutes ago, it might already be too late for the pastor.
“Shoot her, Norah,” Shelly urged her sister. “We’ll get the money back and leave her to the gators.”
“She’s wearing a bulletproof vest,” Hayden said, although she did raise her weapon and point it at Lucy. “No way can I make a head shot, not with that light in my eyes.”
“So shoot the light,” Shelly said.
“Or I could shoot you,” Lucy replied, aiming her Glock. “Now that you’ve threatened a federal agent, I’d be justified.”
“We haven’t done anything,” Shelly yelled back. “We’re the heroes here. We found all this, were moving that cash to keep it safe from my husband. He’s the bad guy here, not us.”