Jodi Thomas - Twisted Creek

I stepped on the porch, reached inside the door, and lifted the keys from the nail just above the light switch. As I pulled the keys away, my hand brushed the switch and twinkle lights blinked on.

He jumped at the sudden dots of light and I saw near insanity in his gaze.

Shoving the keys at him, I yelled, “Here, take the van.” All I wanted was him gone.

He stared at the key, then at the lights, and shook his head as if he thought I was trying to trap him. “No, you come, too.” He turned, shoving me off the porch and onto the steps. “If I leave you here, you’ll call the sheriff and he’ll be real mad at me.”

“No,” I said, deciding I’d rather be killed here than along the dark road somewhere. “I’m not going with you.” My words came out in frightened hiccups. “I’m staying right here.”

He pushed the knife until the point cut through my blouse. “You’re coming with me. You have to.”

I stumbled forward off the last step just as Nana barreled through the door.

“What do you think you’re doing, scaring my child?” She puffed up like a baby horned toad preparing to spit.

I took a step to block him from getting to her.

She grabbed his arm and the knife slid across my back as Nana twisted him to face her. This was the Nana of my childhood, strong and always willing to fight for me. For an instant I saw myself as a young girl, when Nana had been my only warrior, my only harbor no matter what the storm.

He swung wildly, the knife connecting with flesh.

Nana screamed but didn’t back down.

I jumped into action, grabbing one of the lawn chairs and slamming it into the stranger’s head as hard as I could.

He wavered as though deciding which way to fall. I hit him again.

The knife flew. The monster crumbled.

I dropped the chair and ran to Nana. Her arm, from wrist to elbow, had been cut deep.

“Stay still. I’ll get a towel.”

She nodded, pain showing in her wrinkled old face. “I’ll sit on him while you’re gone.”

Running to the office, I grabbed towels and duct tape from the catchall shelf. One of the file boxes tumbled and pictures scattered across the floor. The mess barely registered. Nothing mattered now but Nana.

Nana sat waiting for me, holding her arm tight against her. I wrapped towels around it as tight as I could and bound it with duct tape. “I’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

She looked down at the stranger. “What do we do with him? I don’t think he belongs here.”

I grabbed the duct tape. “We’ll leave him for Luke. He’ll know what to do with him.” In seconds, I’d wrapped his hands and feet.

By the time Nana walked to the van, I knew my attacker wasn’t going anywhere. One last round of tape secured him to the porch. I grabbed Nana’s shawl and ran for the car.

As I drove the van faster than I thought it would ever go, Nana sat beside me, hugging her arm.

“I’m cold,” she whispered.

“We’re almost there.”

The night passed by with blinking telephone poles flickering in the moonlight. I told myself that Nana would be fine. Stitches, that’s all she needed. In a few minutes it would all be over and Nana and I would have a story to tell around the coffeepot.

But a worry wormed its way into my thoughts. If the drug dealer had Luke’s canoe, where was Luke?

Something the drug dealer said kept picking at my brain like an embedded thorn.

He’d said he didn’t shoot anyone.

I shoved the gas pedal to the floor and tried to focus on one crisis at a time.

2300 hours

North Shore

By the time he reached the gate at the back of Mary Lynn’s old Mission home blood burned in Luke’s throat with each breath. He shoved the wrought-iron gate open, popping vines of dried morning glories as he charged.

A light spilled into the garden from the picture window that overlooked the dam road. Luke trudged across flowerbeds packed for winter, not caring what damage he did to sleeping bulbs.

“She’s home, Nathan. Just a few more steps now.” Luke pushed harder. “I see a light. We’ll have you on your way to the hospital in minutes.” Mary Lynn’s skills at first aid were far better than his. Luke had seen that firsthand the night Dillon had been hurt. She’d take good care of Nathan.

Luke felt responsible for him. None of the other agents had shown much interest, but Nathan was on board from the first. There should have been four or five seasoned men in the field tonight. Luke should have insisted. He had enough pull to make it happen, but for once he’d misjudged the situation.

That fact bothered him more than he wanted to think about. A supervisor once said that when you start making mistakes it’s time to get out. One way or the other, you will. The only question is, do you walk or ride?

Right now Luke needed to think about the three places he should be at once. First, with Nathan. Second, back rounding up the two drug dealers before the lowlives gnawed out of their chains like wild animals in traps. And third, he should be standing next to Allie in case Skidder made it across the lake. If the wiry little man had no plan when he stole the canoe, with his bug-sized brain he’d be drawn to the firelight. And Allie would be in his way.

Luke looked up and thought he saw movement on the balcony. “Paul! Mary Lynn!”

“Luke?” a male voice yelled back. “Luke, what’s wrong?” Paul ran down the circle of stairs as he shouted, “We thought we heard shots.”

“You did,” Luke answered, allowing himself to slow his pace for the first time since he’d lifted Nathan half a mile ago. “I’ve got a man hurt.”

Paul reached them and shouldered part of Nathan’s weight as they hurried into the open archway beneath the stairs.

Mary Lynn flipped on lights. “Who’s hurt?”

“Nathan, my partner. The drug dealers shot him.”

Rushing to Nathan, she rested her hand on his throat. “Get him to the couch.”

She checked for more wounds as they walked. She had the gentle touch of a healer.

Paul took most of the weight as they shifted Nathan onto the white couch. The half-mile run in sand with a hundred-fifty-pound man across his shoulders had sapped Luke’s energy. He sagged into a nearby chair, testing the capacity of his lungs with each breath.

Paul handed Mary Lynn a stack of kitchen towels. She pulled a first-aid kit from beneath the windowsill and began to clean wounds while Paul tugged off the vest.

Nathan, half-conscious, swore and tried to shove her away.

Mary Lynn calmed him with low, even words. “Roll with the pain, Nathan. It’ll be better before you know it. Conserve every drop of that energy. I’m going to help you get through this.”

Luke, as his breathing slowed to normal, told them what had happened in short, choppy sentences.

Neither interrupted with questions. When he finished, he leaned back in the chair, feeling his energy returning.

Paul handed him a glass of water, then walked to the deck that overlooked the lake and began flicking the light on and off.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked. “There’s no one on the lake this time of night. We’ve got to get him to the hospital.”

“Soon as Mary has him ready to travel, we’ll move,” Paul said. “Until then, I’ll send the signal. Willie told me he and the Landry brothers sometimes run a trotline after midnight. If they’re out on the water, they’ll come.”

“He never told me that.” Luke frowned. So much for thinking he knew what was going on at the lake. Speaking of knowing, it was pretty obvious what had been going on here. Paul didn’t have his shoes on. Mary Lynn’s hair looked like it had been put up hastily with one pin. A half bottle of wine. Two glasses. Luke frowned. Not likely. There must be some other explanation. He’d think about it when he had time. Right now he had calamity line-dancing in his brain.

“I’ve got the shoulder tied off better, so he won’t lose so much blood. He’s lost a lot and the cut on his neck will be infected soon if we don’t get it cleaned out. They can do that far better at the emergency room.” She looked up at Luke. “Let’s go.”

Luke stood and lifted Nathan. Mary Lynn grabbed the pillows from the couch. Paul grabbed his shoes. They followed Mary Lynn to the carport.

As Luke transferred Nathan to the back of her car, Mary Lynn braced the young agent with pillows.

Luke heard Willie’s boat docking and glanced behind the carport to see the old man jumping out with the ease of a man thirty years younger. The lake air must agree with him.

Paul laughed nervously as he handed Mary Lynn a blanket for Nathan. “I told you he’d be here. Sometimes I think Willie never sleeps.”

Luke put his hand on the banker’s shoulder. “Can you get Nathan to the hospital? I’ve got to find the drug dealer who got away.”

Paul nodded. “I can. We’ll take good care of him. You do what you have to.”

They’d shown no surprise when he’d told them he was an ATF agent and Luke couldn’t help but wonder if every Nester on the lake knew it. He wouldn’t be surprised. Keeping secrets around here was like storing wine in a colander.

“And be careful,” Mary Lynn said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”

Luke grinned, knowing the old maid believed saying the words would somehow keep him safe. “I will.” He watched them drive away, thinking that in some strange way they belonged together, the banker with his sad eyes and the old maid with her unused heart.

Willie reached the carport and pointed at the taillights with his thumb. “Where are they going this time of night?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. How fast can you get me over to Jefferson’s Place?”

“Fast as I can get the Landry brothers out of the way.” He jogged beside Luke down the steps to the lake. “They came to help and they’ll be disappointed if you don’t let them. I’ll be hearing their complaining for weeks.”