Page 65 of Cursed
Resolve firmed his jaw. No, not the best. If he died—then whoever had framed him for the murders in the swamp would win. And he couldn’t bear that thought. He had to take a chance on getting away.
He scanned the flat marshes on either side of the road. He knew this patch of Louisiana as well as he knew the contours of his own body. He knew where there was dry land. Knew where a man might suddenly break through the surface of what seemedlike solid ground into thick muck. Knew where trails led into the bayou.
The car slowed as the sheriff came to the highway leading into town. Andre tensed. It was now or never.
He glanced at the bristled hairs on the back of the sheriff’s neck, thinking that was part of why he’d called the guy Old Razorback. Putting that stray thought out of his mind, Andre made a strangled exclamation and fell sideways, drumming his feet against the seat in front of him as he went down so that the sheriff wouldn’t miss the performance.
Jarvis hit the brake, then glanced around. “What’s wrong?”
Andre answered with a gurgling sound in his throat. “Can’t breathe .... need …” He stopped talking as though his breath had suddenly been cut off—while he thrashed around on the seat.
Alarm colored the sheriff’s voice. “Gascon?”
Andre moaned. The grillwork obscured his line of sight, but he could feel the man’s gaze on him, evaluating the situation.
He lay on the seat, eyes slitted, pretending to gasp for breath, wondering on the level of gullibility he could count on from a small-town sheriff. Hopefully, the handcuffs gave him that extra edge. Or maybe this wouldn’t work at all. Maybe Jarvis would simply keep driving into town and tell the nice folks in St. Germaine that they’d gotten rid of a nasty problem, because it looked like the prisoner had died in the back of the patrol car. What a pity.
Andre felt every cell in his body sizzle as Jarvis pulled to the side of the road. When he jumped out, Andre slowly released the breath he’d been holding.
It was a struggle to lie there, limp and still as Jarvis flung the back door open.
When the sheriff leaned into the back seat, Andre jackknifed his legs, striking the lawman square in the stomach. Jarvis flew backwards, coming down on his butt on the muddy shoulder.
Andre sprang out of the cruiser, ducking low as he jumped into the ditch. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he almost lost his balance. But he righted himself, scrambled up the sides of the ditch and started running.
Behind him, he could hear scuffling noises. And worse, he saw a pickup truck pulling to a stop.
Merde! The Brevard brothers were in back of the patrol car.
Andre didn’t wait to find out what was happening behind him. But he could hear feet pounding on the blacktop.
“Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Andre kept running. Into the tangle of bayou country that he had known all his life. He swerved to the right to avoid a patch of marshy ground where the mud would slow him down.
Just as he changed directions, the unmistakable whistle of a bullet went flying over his head.
“Stop, damn you,” Jarvis shouted. “Don’t make this worse than it already is.”
Another voice drowned out the sheriff. “Stop, you bastard.” That was one of the Brevards. Andre didn’t know which one, and he didn’t care.
He had no choice about what he was doing. No choice at all. He kept going, almost falling as he crossed a patch of slick ground, then righting himself as he made for the safety of the low branches of a small holly tree.
The first bullet had been a warning. The next one was meant to bring down the fugitive. It whistled past his shoulder and plowed into a nearby tree trunk. But Andre kept going, running awkwardly with his hands behind his back, knowing that no man would dare follow him into the snake and alligator infested swamp.
He stumbled, then got his balance and kept going, splashing through a trough of water and almost losing his balance. Thevegetation closed around him, and he breathed out a sigh. He was safe—for the moment.
Safe from being locked in a cell. Because there was no way he could let the sheriff lock him in a cell. But he might as well have declared his guilt, as far as the sheriff was concerned. And his hands were still cuffed. What the hell was he going to do about that, out in the wilderness where a man needed a fighting chance against the dangers lurking on all sides?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morgan went back to her room and put on a clean shirt, thinking that she could go into town and make it clear that she was supporting Andre—even if that wouldn’t do her much good until Dan Cassidy arrived.
She had just reached the front hall, when the sound of cars roaring up the driveway made her whole body go rigid. The sheriff and the angry men had left ten minutes ago. Now what was happening?
Quickly she threw open the front door.
She goggled when she saw the police car was back, then allowed herself to feel a spurt of hope. Maybe Sheriff Jarvis was finally admitting that he’d made mistake, and he was bringing Andre home.
