Page 67 of The 9th Man

Besides a few curious, strangers-in-town glances he saw nothing that suggested they’d been tailed. The woman’s map was spot-on and they had no trouble finding the dock. Beside it a black-on-yellow sign readSABINE NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE.

A fan boat bobbed beside the dock. Waiting for them was a really tall bearded man in a red T-shirt, gray cargo shorts, and calf-high rubber boots.

“You Elijah?” Luke called as they climbed from the car.

Half expecting the son to share his mama’s taciturnity, he was surprised when the man broke into a broad grin. “I’m him. Howdy, folks. Looking for a ride to Ray’s, I hear.”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“Not a bit. Did Mother talk to you about—”

He realized that Mother had taken him for a ride on the money train, milking an extra fifty out of him. That was okay. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure did open up your choices. “Will a hundred do for your time and gas?”

“Plenty generous. You two ever ride in a fan boat before?”

“Actually, I have,” Luke said.

“Never,” Jillian added.

“You’ll be fine. Just buckle up. The front seats get a little bumpy. And damp.”

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LUKE CLIMBED ABOARD LAST AND SETTLED NEXT TO JILLIAN IN ONEof the two pedestal seats at the bow. They buckled belts across their laps.

“We look to be alone,” he whispered to her.

“I agree. Nothing piqued my interest.”

They were both concerned about Talley.

With good reason.

Benji’s drawing and the other sheet rested safe in his pocket, sealed in plastic. For safety’s sake, back in Belgium he’d imaged both and texted them to Stephanie.

Elijah climbed up onto the elevated driver’s seat behind them. “It’s about six miles. Forty minutes or so. Gotta go slow on account of the gators. This time of year they spend a lot of time on the surface gettin’ warmed up. It was extra cold this winter. Don’t want to run over ’em.”

After a few coughs the engine turned over and the forty-eight-inch-wide fan started turning. Elijah eased away from the dock and began expertly picking his way through the inlet, tweaking the throttle on the straightaways and drifting into the curves until they reached open water. In the distance a cluster of pink, wide-winged birds banked over the surface and disappeared past the trees.

“Are those flamingos?” Jillian asked. “They’re beautiful.”

“Some kind of spoonbill, I think,” Luke said.

“Roseate spoonbill,” Elijah said. “Used to be endangered. Coming back strong now.”

“You’ve been doing this awhile?” Luke called out over his shoulder, trying to get the guy talking.

No reply.

He turned.

Elijah’s face had changed. Gone was the casual smile, replaced by hard-set eyes and a tense jawline, the fist on the rudder stick bone-white.

He leaned closer to Jillian and murmured, “Trouble.”

He lifted the tail of his shirt and tucked it behind the Beretta at his waist, ready for quicker access. Jillian did the same. They kept their backs to Elijah.

“What is it?” she asked.

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