But as he glanced in his rearview mirror, he saw a van behind him, a van a lot like the one the two thugs had used when they’d kidnapped him and Stephanie.
He cursed aloud, speeding up, wishing he knew the city better. He’d insisted that Stephanie stay at the B and B, and now he realized he’d given up the one advantage he’d had. Together he and Stephanie had psychic powers they could draw on. Alone, he was the way he’d been for all the years since Sam had died.
He drove across a bridge that spanned a bayou, then across another, surprised at how much water flowed through the city. The van stayed behind him as he turned down a side street, thencame to a screeching halt when the blacktop ended at the bank of a river.
There was nowhere to back up, no escape in his vehicle. Throwing open the door, he sprang out and started running along the edge of the bayou.
He heard running feet behind him and then the sound of a bullet whizzing past his head.
He ran down a short pier, then dove in, swimming underwater as bullets rained around him. His only option was to keep going, trying to put as much distance between himself and the men with the guns while he veered downstream to make it harder for them to figure out where he would surface.
Finally, when his lungs were bursting, he swam to the surface and dragged in air.
He heard a shout, and then bullets hit the water around him, but he was already diving.
He let the current carry him farther downstream. When he came up again, low-hanging branches shielded him from view.
Looking back, he saw the two men running along the bank, but it appeared that neither one of them was going to plunge into the water.
When he heard a splash, he looked to his right and saw an alligator slipping into the bayou.
Teeth gritted, he used a cypress root to pull himself out of the bayou, putting a tree trunk between himself and the men with the guns.
His clothing was dripping. His shoes were covered with mud, and he was in the back country. If he turned around, he would likely run into the men from the van.
His only option was to keep walking, his shoes sucking in the mud as he put space between himself and the two men. He had left civilization behind. There was only dense vegetation on both sides of the water, cypress, tupelo, and saw palmetto untilhe came to what looked like a deserted shack near the water. In front of it was a pier, and tied to the pier was a pirogue, one of the small boats that the residents used.
He looked behind him and across the water. He had lost the men in the swamp, and he thought it would be safe to cross the bayou again.
Turning toward the pier, he walked onto the weathered boards, heading for the boat.
Before he had gotten more than a few feet, a voice rang out behind him.
“You—hold up, or you’re a dead man.”
Stephanie faced the two men, determined not to give them anything Reynard could use against her. “Thank God you’re here.”
“Oh yeah? Looks like you were pretty cozy here with Craig Branson.”
“I thought his name was Craig Brady.”
“Craig Branson,” one of the men corrected.
“He was using a false name?” she answered like she was shocked.
“What were you doing here with him?” the shorter man asked.
“He was holding me captive.”
“What did he want with you?”
“I’ll talk to Mr. Reynard about that,” she said, hoping she could come up with a story he would believe.
The guy snorted, and Stephanie fought to project the impression that she was telling the truth.
“Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
“Going where?”
