Lethal

Chapter 20

Following the directions Honor gave him, Coburn drove the stolen car down the narrow dirt lane. It was overgrown with weeds and saplings that knocked against the car’s underside. Forty yards from their destination, he rolled to a stop and stared in dismay at the derelict shrimp boat, then turned his head and looked pointedly at Honor.

Defensively she asked, “Do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah. We don’t launch it.”

He took his foot off the brake and continued on, approaching with caution, although it was virtually impossible that anyone would be lying in wait to ambush them on the hulk. A person would have to be crazy to board the vessel, which seemed about to collapse in on itself at any second.

“Who does it belong to?” he asked.

“To me. I inherited it when my dad died.”

Coburn knew virtually nothing about marine craft of any size, but he’d been in coastal Louisiana long enough to recognize an inshore shrimp trawler. “He shrimped in that thing?”

“He lived on it.”

The craft looked about as seaworthy as a broken matchstick. It sat half in, half out of a sluggish channel that Honor claimed eventually fed into the Gulf. But from this vantage point, the waterway looked like a stagnant creek.

Coburn guessed that the boat hadn’t been afloat for years. Vines had overtaken the hull. The wheelhouse paint, what was left of it, was curled and peeling. Windowpanes that weren’t missing altogether were cracked and so coated with grime they barely resembled glass. The metal frame supporting the butterfly net on the port side was bent practically at a forty-five-degree angle, making it look like the broken wing of a great bird.

But for all those reasons, it had been abandoned, probably forgotten, and that worked in their favor.

“Who knows it’s here?” he asked.

“No one. Dad brought it here to ride out Katrina, then decided to stay. He lived here till he got sick and went downhill fast. I moved him into a hospice house. He was there less than a week when he died.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Only a few months before Eddie’s accident. Which made Eddie’s dying all the more difficult for me.” She smiled ruefully. “But I was glad Dad didn’t live to see me widowed. That would have been very upsetting to him.”

“Your mother?”

“Died years before that. That’s when Dad sold the house, moved onto the boat.”

“Does your father-in-law know it’s here?”

She shook her head. “Stan didn’t exactly approve of my dad’s way of life, which was rather… bohemian. Stan discouraged visits with him. He especially didn’t like Emily being exposed to him.”

“Exposed? Bohemianism is contagious?”

“Stan seemed to think so.”

“You know,” he said, “the more I hear about this father-in-law of yours, the less I like him.”

“He’s probably thinking the same of you.”

“I won’t lose sleep over it.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” She pushed back her hair and, after a moment of staring at the boat, said, “Stan means well.”

“Does he?”

That touched a sore spot. She came around to him quickly. “What business is it of yours?”

“Right now, it’s my business to know if he’ll look for us on this damn heap.”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

He opened his door and got out. A snake slithered past his boot. He swore under his breath. He wasn’t especially afraid of snakes, but he’d just as soon avoid them.

He opened the door to the backseat and reached in for Emily, who’d already unbuckled her seat belt and was holding her arms up to him. He lifted her out, then carried her around to the other side and passed her to Honor.

“Don’t set her down. I saw a…” He stopped himself, then spelled out the word.

Honor’s eyes went wide with fear as she inspected the ground. “A water moccasin?”

“I didn’t ask.”

He slipped the pistol from his waistband, but palmed it quickly when Emily turned to him. “Coburn?”

“What?”

“Are we still on a ’venture?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Mommy said.”

“Then, yeah, we’re on an adventure.”

“Can we be on it for a long time?” she chirped. “It’s fun.”

Oh, yeah, this is a blast, he thought as he went ahead of them, cautiously picking his way to the boat. The name of it was barely legible because of the peeling paint, but he could make it out. He gave Honor a significant look from over his shoulder. A look she ignored.

By design, the sides of the hull were shallow. He stepped aboard easily, but his boot settled into a nest of Spanish moss and other natural debris. His trained eyes looked around for signs that someone had been there recently, but cobwebs and forest detritus were evidence that the deck hadn’t been disturbed for some time, probably not since the day that Honor’s dad had been moved to a hospice house to die.

Satisfied that they were alone, he kicked aside the clump of moss to clear a spot for Emily when Honor passed her up to him. He set her down on the deck. “Don’t move.”

“Okay, Coburn, I won’t.”

Once she’d broken the barrier of using his name, it seemed she welcomed every opportunity to do so.

He leaned down, extended his hand to Honor, and helped her up and over. Once aboard, she surveyed the littered deck. Coburn noticed a sadness in her expression before she shook it off and said briskly, “This way.”

She took Emily’s hand and told her to be careful where she stepped, then led them around the wheelhouse to the door, where she halted and looked back at Coburn. “Maybe you should go first.”

He stepped around her and pushed open the door, which resisted until he put his shoulder to it. The interior of the wheelhouse was in no better condition than the deck. The control panel was covered with a littered tarp that had collected small lakes of scummy rainwater. A tree branch had broken through one of the windows so long ago that a good crop of lichen had had time to grow on its bark.

Honor surveyed it with evident despondency. But all she said was, “Below,” and pointed to a narrow passage with steps leading down.

He descended carefully, and had to duck to keep from hitting his head when he squeezed through an oval opening into a low-ceilinged cabin. It smelled of mildew and rot, brine and dead fish, motor oil and marijuana.

Coburn looked behind him at Honor who was poised on the steps. “He smoked weed?”

She admitted it with a small shrug.

“Do you know where he kept his stash?”

She glared, and he gave her a grin, then turned his attention back to the compact chamber. It had a two-burner propane stove that was ghosted over with cobwebs. The door of the small refrigerator stood open. Empty.

“Electricity?” Coburn asked.

“There’s a generator. I don’t know if it still works.”

Doubtful, Coburn thought. He opened two pantry doors that revealed mouse droppings but otherwise bare shelves. There were two bunks separated by an aisle no more than a foot wide. He pointed to a door at the back of the cabin. “The head?”

“I don’t recommend it. I didn’t even when Dad lived here.”

In fact, there was nothing to recommend the boat except that it seemed watertight. The floor was a mess, but it was dry.

“Can we stay here?” she asked.

“Hopefully we won’t have to for more than a few hours.”

“Then what?”

“I’m working on it.”

He went to one of the bunks and peeled back the bare mattress, checking beneath it for varmints. Finding none, he turned to Honor and held his hands out for Emily. Honor handed her over. He deposited her on the mattress.

She wrinkled her nose. “It smells bad.”

“Tough,” Coburn said. “Sit there and don’t get down.”

“Is this gonna be our house?”

“No, sweetheart,” Honor said with forced gaiety as she squeezed into the cabin behind Coburn. “We’re just visiting. Remember when Grandpa lived here?”

The child shook her head. “Grandpa lives in a house.”

“Not Grandpa Stan. Your other grandpa. He lived on this boat. You used to love coming here to see him.”

Emily looked at her blankly.

Coburn could tell that Emily’s lost memory of her grandfather caused Honor heartache, but she put up a brave front. “This is part of our adventure.”

The kid was perceptive enough to recognize a lie when she heard one, but she was also smart enough to stay quiet when her mother was on the verge of losing it. Seeing through Honor’s false enthusiasm, she held her bankie close and turned on Elmo, who broke into cheerful song.

Honor spoke in a whisper. “Coburn, we’ve got to get some food and water at least.”

“By we you mean me.”

She had the grace to look chagrined. “I did, yes. I’m sorry.” She raised her hands at her sides. “I haven’t been here since I buried Dad. I didn’t realize…” She ran out of things to say and looked at him with helplessness. “Please let me call Stan.”

Rather than go through that tired routine, Coburn opened a narrow closet and found a broom, which he handed to her. “Do your best. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

When two hours had passed and he still hadn’t returned, Honor began pacing the deck of the trawler, her eyes searching the end of the road that had got them here, willing him to reappear, listening above the call of birds for the welcome sound of an approaching car.

She tried not to convey her concern to Emily, who had become increasingly cantankerous and whiny. She was hot, hungry, thirsty. Where did Coburn go? and When’s he coming back? were questions repeated about every five minutes, until Honor lost what little patience she had remaining and snapped at her. “Stop asking me that.”

She didn’t know the answers to Emily’s nagging questions, but the possible answers terrified her. Her overriding fear was that Coburn had abandoned them.

Her father had chosen to dock his boat here specifically because the surrounding forest was swampy, virtually impenetrable, and would provide some shelter from hurricanes. He’d chosen to “retire” here because he liked the isolation of the place. It was off the beaten path and hard to get to. Moreover, he didn’t have to pay rent for a slip at a marina, and here he could avoid other pesky interferences with his freedom, things like rules and regulations, laws and ordinances, fines, and taxes.

He became a virtual hermit, avoiding contact with the outside world as much as possible. To her knowledge, she and Emily were the only other persons ever to come here. Not even Eddie had visited with her.

Coburn had asked her if she knew of a good place to hide. This was an excellent choice, but now she wished she had kept it to herself. The qualities that made it a good hiding place were the same ones that might do her in. The closest connection to civilization was a two-lane state road, and it was more than five miles from here. She couldn’t walk that, not with Emily in tow, and not without water.

She was stuck here until Coburn returned or…

She didn’t allow herself to think of the or. When the sun set and it grew dark, how would she keep Emily from being afraid? How would she maintain her own courage? She was completely without resources or means of communication.

Coburn had refused to leave a cell phone with her.

“I swear I won’t use it.”

“Then why do you want me to leave it?”

“We could have an emergency. A snakebite.”

“Stay out of their way, and they won’t hurt you.”

“I’m sure there are alligators.”

“They’re not Jaws. They won’t jump into the boat.”

“You can’t just leave us here like this!”

“No, I could tie you up.”

That had silenced her. She had wanted to fly at him, but didn’t want to do so in front of Emily. A fight between them would frighten her, and Honor knew it would be futile anyway, resulting in nothing except sorer muscles and more bruises.

She absently rubbed at one on her elbow, growing even more resentful of Coburn’s desertion and her own fear. She wasn’t helpless. She’d been a single parent, living alone, in a remote place, for more than two years. She had confronted every problem bravely because she’d had no choice. Sure, Stan, the twins, other friends had been there to lend support. If she got in a pinch and asked for help, they came running.

This time was different. She was entirely alone.

But, by God, she wasn’t helpless. She—

“Coburn!” Emily cried.

She launched herself from the crate on which she’d been sitting and skipped across the deck, throwing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his knees. “Did you bring me something? Mommy said you were going to bring me some lunch.”

Honor’s heart was in her throat. He was standing on the deck only yards away from her, but she hadn’t heard a sound to signal his approach. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, which he now removed, hooking one stem on the neck of his T-shirt. Eddie’s T-shirt, she reminded herself. His boots and pants legs from midcalf down were wet, dripping water onto the filthy deck.

Seeing that she noticed, he said, “I came around along the creek bank.”

Emily was bouncing up and down on her toes. Without taking his eyes off Honor, he fished a Tootsie Pop from the pocket of his jeans and handed it down to her. She didn’t even ask Honor’s permission before ripping off the purple wrapper.

“What do you say, Emily?”

“Thank you, Coburn. I love grape. Grape’s my favorite.”

Sourly, Honor thought that any flavor Coburn had brought her would have instantly become her favorite. She didn’t even ask permission to have the candy before lunch, but stuck the lollipop into her mouth.

Honor let it pass. “Why did you come by way of the creek? Where’s the car?”

“I left it back a piece. Someone could have found you. I didn’t want to drive into a trap.” He looked at her knowingly. “You thought I’d ditched you here, didn’t you?” Without saying more, he stepped off the boat and began walking toward the road.

Emily pulled the Tootsie Pop from her mouth and wailed, “Where’s he going?”

“Good grief, Emily, he’ll be right back.” Her daughter’s blind admiration for him was beginning to grate.

In only a few minutes he returned, driving a pickup truck, whose black paint job had been scoured gray by the salty Gulf air. It was several years old and boasted an LSU Tigers bumper sticker. It looked to Honor like hundreds of other black pickups that had suffered the effects of the corrosive coastal climate, boasting an LSU Tigers bumper sticker. Which she was sure was the very reason he’d stolen it.

He brought it to a stop near the boat, got out, and lifted several bags from the bed. “Give me a hand.” He passed the bags up to Honor and went back for more. After handing them up to her, he said, “I’m gonna hide the truck.”

“Why?”

“Somebody could shoot out the tires.”

She didn’t ask how he thought the three of them could make it to the truck on foot in the event of a shootout. Obviously he was more experienced than she in these matters.

By the time he came aboard and clumped down the steps, she’d made three peanut butter and banana sandwiches. She and Emily sat on one bunk, he on the other. Happily Emily asked, “Is this a picnic?”

“Sort of.” Honor leaned down to kiss her forehead, feeling apologetic for snapping at her earlier.

The sacks Coburn had carried in contained foods that were ready to eat and didn’t require refrigeration. He’d also brought a pack of bottled water, a battery-operated lantern, an aerosol can of insect repellent, wet wipes, and a squeeze bottle of hand sanitizer.

Once she’d been fed, Emily yawned. She protested when Honor suggested that she lie down and rest, but she was soon asleep.

Coburn helped himself to a package of cookies. “You worked wonders on the place.”

Honor looked across at him from where she sat fanning Emily with an outdated magazine she’d found in a drawer. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No.”

After he’d left, she’d put the broom to use, sweeping trash from off the floor and cobwebs from every surface. She’d found a couple of sheets folded up in the storage box that formed the platform for one of the bunks. She’d taken them on deck to shake them out, then had spread them over the bunks. The sheets no longer had bugs or larvae in them, although they still smelled of mildew. They were, however, less objectionable than the stained bare mattresses.

“I didn’t venture into the head,” she admitted.

“Probably wise. I saw a couple of buckets on deck. I’ll fill them with creek water. You and Emily can use those.”

She was glad that troublesome subject had been addressed, but she moved away from discussing it further. “Now that we’ve got water, I can wipe down some of the surfaces we’re forced to touch.”

“Be stingy with the water.”

“I will.” Then she asked him the questions that had been plaguing her. “Were you able to reach your man? Hamilton?”

“I tried. Same woman answered. I demanded she put him on. She insisted that I was dead.”

“What do you make of that?”

He shrugged and bit into a cookie. “Hamilton doesn’t want to talk to me yet.”

“What do you make of that?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not worried?”

“I don’t panic unless I have to. Wastes energy.”

She stored that for later rumination or discussion. “Did you check Fred’s cell phone for stored numbers?”

“There were none, which is what I expected. And only one call in his log, that last one to his brother. This phone was a throw-down.”

“A burner,” she said, remembering the term he’d used before.

“No records. Disposable. Virtually untraceable.”

“Like yours.”

“Saved for a rainy day. Anyway, my guess is that he used this phone to stay in contact with his brother and The Bookkeeper, and that he immediately erased numbers from the call log. If I ever get it into the hands of techies, they can tear into it and see if possibly there’s any intel to be had. But for right now, Fred’s phone isn’t of much help to us. All the same, I’ll keep the battery out of it.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t kept up with the technology, but I think there are experts who can locate a phone even if it’s turned off. All they need is the phone number. As long as there’s a battery in the phone, it’s transmitting a signal.”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged. “I’ve picked up buzz.”

“How long would it take? To locate a phone, I mean.”

“No idea. That’s not my area of expertise, but I’m not going to take any chances.”

Forty-eight hours ago, she wouldn’t have imagined herself having a conversation about intel and burners and such things. Nor would she have imagined a man like Coburn, who could eat Chips Ahoy at the same time he was discussing a man he’d killed only a few hours earlier.

She didn’t know quite what to make of Lee Coburn, and it was disturbing that she wanted to make anything of him at all.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Where’d you get the truck?”

“I got lucky. I spotted a rural mailbox with lots of mail in it, a dead giveaway that the residents are away. House sits way back off the road. The truck keys were hanging on a peg inside the back door. Just like at your house. I helped myself. Hopefully the owners will stay gone for at least a few more days and the truck won’t be reported stolen.”

“I assume you switched the license plates with another vehicle.”

“S.O.P.” Reading her blank look, he said, “Standard operating procedure. Remember that if you decide to pursue a life of crime.”

“I doubt that will happen.”

“So do I.”

“I don’t think I’m cut out for living on the edge.”

He gave her a slow once-over. “You may surprise yourself.” When his gaze reconnected with hers, it was hot and intense.

Uncomfortably, she looked away from it. “Did you buy or steal the groceries?”

“Bought.”

She remembered the money he’d been carrying in the pocket of the jeans. “You weren’t afraid of being identified?”

“The cap and sunglasses were in the console of the truck.”

“I recognized you in them.”

He chuckled. “They weren’t looking at me.”

“They?”

“I stopped at a bait shop out in the middle of nowhere. Slow day. No other customers in the place. Only the bottled-water delivery truck in the parking lot.”

She cast a glance at the twenty-four bottles encased in plastic. “You stole that off the truck?”

“Piece of cake. When I went into the store, the deliveryman was behind the counter with the cashier. His hand was inside her pants and his mouth was on her nipple. They had eyes only for each other. I grabbed my stuff, paid, and got out quick. They won’t remember me at all, only the interruption.”

Honor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment over the images he’d conjured. She wondered if the story was true, and even if it was, why had he painted such a vivid picture? To fluster her? Well, she was flustered, but if Coburn cared or noticed, he gave no indication of it as he checked his wristwatch.

“I’ll try Hamilton again.”

Using his own phone, he redialed the number, and this time Honor heard a man answer. “Hamilton.”

“You son of a bitch. Why are you fucking me over?”

He replied blandly, “A man in my position can’t be too careful, Coburn. If the caller ID is blocked, I don’t answer.”

“I identified myself.”

“After I heard the news, I would have known it was you anyway. You’re in a world of hurt. Or should I say a vat of gumbo?”

“Oh, that’s real funny.”

“Not so much. Mass murder. Kidnapping. You’ve outdone yourself, Coburn.”

“Like I need you to tell me that. If I wasn’t in trouble, I wouldn’t be calling.”

Switching to a more serious tone, the man on the other end said, “Is speculation correct? Do you have the woman?”

“And her kid.”

“Are they all right?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. We’ve been picnicking.” After a weighty, sustained silence, Coburn said again, “They’re fine. You want to talk to her yourself?”

Without waiting for an answer, he passed the phone to Honor. Her hands were trembling as she raised it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Gillette?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Clint Hamilton. I want you to listen carefully. Please, for your child’s sake as well as your own, don’t underestimate the importance of what I’m about to tell you.”

“All right.”

“You, Mrs. Gillette, are in the company of a very dangerous man.”