Page 71 of Cursed
Reaching inside her knapsack, she slipped the revolver into her hand. The weapon gave her a sense of well-being as she started forward, following the trail of footprints from the log bridge.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she flicked her gaze from the ground to the foliage at shoulder level, making sure she wasn’t being stalked by someone lurking in the underbrush.
The island was long and thin. As she moved farther from the log, she was able to keep one bank or the other in sight.
After walking across to the far side, she started along the length. About a hundred paces from where she’d crossed over the log, she came to a spot that looked wrong. Leaves were strewn thickly on the ground, yet something about the arrangement didn’t seem natural.
Stooping down, she brushed them aside and found a camouflage tarpaulin. Excitement leaped inside her, but when she lifted it up, nothing was underneath.
Strange. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to hide—nothing.
She picked up a stick and poked in the dirt. But it seemed compressed, not like someone had buried anything.
Just then, thunder rumbled in the distance, and a few fat drops of rain splatted on the leaves above her, adding to her sense of uneasiness. She’d gotten caught in a flash flood once. She should have asked if it ever happened this close to the plantation house. Or, maybe a better question was: Did this island ever end up underwater?
She glanced over her shoulder—torn. She’d taken the risky move of going over here. But now she wasn’t so sure it was a great idea. And the only piece of evidence she’d found turned out to be a dud.
She wanted to keep searching. This might be her last chance to do any snooping around without the deputies breathing down her neck. But she wasn’t going to put herself in danger just because she was stubborn.
Retracing her steps, she started back toward the log bridge.
When she got there, she stopped short. She had lain the long pruning pole on the ground beside the bank. Now it was missing.
And as she stared at the new footprints on the ground, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stir.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gun in hand, Morgan stood and looked at the log and looked at the water. She didn’t see her friend the alligator, but that didn’t mean he had gone away. He could be lurking out of sight, waiting for something more substantial than a beef roast.
Before she could decide what to do, something leaped on her from behind, raking sharp claws down her back, tearing her jacket.
A scream tore from her throat as she tried to fight off her attacker, but something shot around her body, holding her in place. She blinked as she tried to interpret what she was seeing—a man’s arm covered by a camouflage shirt—a shirt that matched the tarp she’d found on the ground.
But the shirt wasn’t the important part. His hand was covered with a huge glove, and attached to the glove were long animal claws.
She tried to kick backwards, but he was ready for that.
His leg shot out, tripping her, then holding her upright against his body. The gun was still in her hand, but her arm was clamped to her side, making it impossible to shoot effectively anywhere but at the ground.
The claws of her attacker’s other hand raked through the fabric of her shirt. They would have torn through her skin. But now she thanked God that she’d been cautious enough to wear the bulletproof vest.
The analytical part of her mind was still struggling to work. She knew that the claw marks would look like they were made by a big cat. But this was no cat holding her with one hand and raking at her chest with the other. It was a man.
She tried to twist around, but he held her in place. She tried to butt her head back, but he conked her on the back of the skull with his chin, stunning her.
“What the hell are you wearing?” a voice growled in her ear. A voice she had heard before. But she couldn’t place him now.
As she fought for her life, she heard a loud roar and the sound of something heavy landing on solid ground—then coming at her with the force of a speeding train.
Whatever it was hit her and the assailant from behind.
A gurgling sound rose in the man’s throat as he tried to get away. But something held him in place. And now, with the side of her vision, she saw a blur of orange and black fur.
The jaguar had come leaping out of the bayou again. This time he hadn’t kept his distance.
Yet she knew on some instinctive level that he would never hurt her. He was risking everything to save her.
As she scrambled away, he rolled the man over twice. When the assailant came face up, she saw that it was Dwight Rivers, the head of the Chamber of Commerce.
