Page 72 of Cursed
“No,” he screamed as he tried to fight the jaguar. “Get off of me you son of a bitch.”
Then, from the edge of the swamp, she heard men shouting.
“Go,” she told the cat. “Go on. Get out of here before they start shooting. I have him covered.” As she spoke, she raised the gun that had been useless until now.
The jaguar could have ripped out Rivers’ throat. Instead it raised its huge head and looked her in the eye. Silent communication passed between them. Then it bounded off into a cane thicket. Again, she heard it scuffing through the foliage followed by the sound of a heavy body landing on the far shore.
“Don’t move,” she warned Rivers, struggling to sound in control of the situation as he cowered on the ground, his shirt covered with mud and his eyes wild.
“You won’t shoot me,” he said, pushing himself up, then starting for the log.
“Hold it,” Morgan shouted. In the background she could see men coming through the trees. If she shot at Rivers, she’d risk hitting them.
As she watched helplessly, her assailant sprang onto the makeshift bridge. But halfway across, he slipped on the greased surface and fell into the water.
His curse was followed by a scream as something powerful dragged him under.
The alligator.
She heard thrashing noises below the surface, saw the water roiling. His own guard dog had leaped on him.
Sheriff Jarvis and another man came pounding through the underbrush, arriving at the riverbank in time to see the bayou churning.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, eyeing her gun. “Put down your weapon.”
Her heart was still pounding as she laid the gun on the ground, then turned back to face the sheriff. “Dwight Rivers just tried to kill me. I got away from him, but he’s been giving snacks to an alligator under that log. When he slipped off trying to get away from me, it got him.”
The water was still boiling below the log. As they peered into the brown depths, a red stain rose to the surface.
“Rivers?” Jarvis wheezed.
“Yes, Rivers. I guess he’s the one who’s been feedingyouall those nasty stories about Andre.”
“Wait a minute. What are you trying to pull? Rivers left with the rest of us,” Jarvis muttered.
“That’s what he wanted you to think. When you find his body, you’ll see he’s got on leather gloves with big claws. He’s the one who’s been killing people out in the bayou—and making it look like a jaguar did it.”
Jarvis goggled at her as though he couldn’t wrap his head around that scenario.
Morgan stood up and held out her arms, then turned around, displaying the huge claw marks shredding her jacket and her shirt. “It wasn’t an animal that did this,” she said in a calm voice that belied the emotions roiling inside of her. “It was Rivers. He raked me pretty good. I’d be mauled to death by now if I weren’t wearing a bulletproof vest.”
“You expect me to take your word that it was him?”
“I expect you to find enough of him left to see the gloves and the claws. I imagine the alligator isn’t going to eat the leather gloves.”
Jarvis still regarded her with skepticism. “How did you get away?” he asked.
Morgan had a split second to decide on her answer. “He wasn’t expecting me to be wearing any kind of body protection. I was able to fight him, then get my gun into position.
“But you didn’t shoot him?”
“If I’d shot at him, I would have risked hitting you.”
The sheriff answered with a rough sound before speaking into the microphone attached to his collar, asking for a team from the morgue to find what was left of Rivers’ body.
“Can you help me back across. I had a long pole to lean on when I came over, but I think he threw it in the water.”
The man with Jarvis pulled down a dead branch and held it out to her. Grasping it tightly, she made her way back across, then breathed out a sigh as she stepped onto solid ground.
