But though this storm was not a hurricane, I knew its power. I knew who my real enemy was—the enemy who would prevent anyone else from getting here in time to save a man who didn’t deserve to be saved. The whirling winds and stinging rains demanded I give in, flattening me against the 4Runner and threatening to toss me into the current.
My defeat, if it came, would be at Storm Carl’s hands, and for some strange reason, I found that thought comforting.
Clinging to my homemade lifeline, I set out again toward a floundering Steven.
But the makeshift rope wouldn’t reach.
“Come closer, Steven!” I hollered over the thundering water.
But fighting the flood had exhausted him. Only his head was visible now, his eyes glazed with fear. With each passing second the water kept up its punishing pursuit of us both. Carl would have his way.
I needed more line. Maybe twenty-four measly inches. I slipped out of my saturated T-shirt and added it to the other clothes.
I leaned forward, holding out my T-shirt so he could grab on. Once he did, I planned to follow the chain back to the 4Runner, hoping he had the sense to hang on for his life.
“Steven! Take this!” I screamed over the howl of rushing wind and water.
His head moved in the direction of my voice, but I didn’t think he saw me. The bug spray must have played havoc with his contacts.
“Here! I’m right here!” I shouted.
Finally I managed to find his hand, but his slick fingers slipped away, and I reached toward him again, straining. I was so focused, I didn’t even notice the pontoon boat making its way toward us.
But then I heard Jeff’s voice through the darkness. “Don’t tell me you’re rescuing murderers in your underwear?” he yelled above the motor’s drone.
As relief displaced terror, the feeling lifted my soul within a whisper of being tangible. Surely this was the most blessed emotion I had ever experienced.
A few minutes later, on our way to the Galveston police station, I promised Jeff I’d discuss my lingerie with him anytime, anywhere... which brought an amused guffaw from the man driving the rescue boat.
But I didn’t recall much else on that ride. I concentrated on pretending the quivering form in handcuffs at the other end of the boat was invisible.
30
Several hours later, I was huddled in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. Sometime earlier, an officer at the Galveston police station had wrapped me in a blanket, and I still had the scratchy green wool cloaked around me. I wasn’t certain whether the car’s air-conditioning or my brush with death had caused the shakes, but I couldn’t seem to stop trembling.
The rain had stopped, permitting the streets to drain, and the causeway was open to traffic. The threat of more flash floods was subsiding now that Carl had taken his nasty disposition north.
Before we had left to return to Houston, Jeff spent an hour negotiating with the Galveston police over the prisoner once known to me as my ex-husband. I had decided all possessive pronouns connecting Steven and me would be forever banished from my conversation. Even ex was too good for him.
The cops in Galveston wanted to hold Steven for Feldman’s murder, and Jeff wanted him transferred to Houston so he could be charged in Ben’s death. They worked it out, and I didn’t even care to know the resolution. As far as I was concerned, he no longer existed.
Now that we were safely on our way back home, I was suddenly exhausted. But there were still so many unanswered questions. Stifling a yawn, I asked, “How did you get here? Wasn’t the causeway backed up halfway to Houston?”
“Not southbound,” he said. “No one with any sense wanted on the island.”
“I heard you tell someone back there at the police station that you followed Steven. How did that happen?”
“Actually, I went looking for you after I called your cell phone. I couldn’t get through. Lots of emergency calls were being made on cell phones tonight. But when I arrived at Mr. Steven Bradley’s office, he was there. I tailed him.”
“But you started out looking for me?”
“When I called your house, Kate told me about the CD, and I knew that meant trouble, so—”
“What do you mean, you knew that meant trouble?”
“Despite what you think, I have been working this case, Abby. I’d already researched the financial status of all the suspects and—”
“All the suspects? Who are you talking about, besides Feldman?”
“If you keep interrupting, I’ll never finish. I distinctly remember telling you I’d handle this. You didn’t trust me.” He glanced my way, his face reflecting the green glow of the dashlights.
“I’m sorry. You did say that. I feel so stupid... so used.”
“You’re not stupid. Not by a long shot.”
“Minor consolation. Go on. You followed Steven. Then what?”
“Talk about feeling stupid. He had Feldman’s body in the truck bed the whole time I was tailing him. Course, I had enough to do to keep his taillights in sight in that storm, much less recognize that load in the rear was a corpse.”
“Why didn’t you follow him straight to P Street?” This time I couldn’t stop the yawn. I clutched the blanket closer.
“Steven had no problem with high water, since he was in a truck. But I needed a rudder and a sail, the way the streets were filling. I detoured to the police station, figuring since I knew where Steven was probably headed, I could catch up with him later. No one—including him—was leaving the island anytime soon.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And some of us really wanted to.”
“Be thankful for that sister of yours, is all I can say.”
“Thank goodness for Kate,” I said, smiling. Then I turned my head and leaned against the headrest. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Later, with Jeff helping me up the stairs, I told Kate, who was following behind, that I felt as cold as a brass commode in the shade of glacier.
I remember stripping off my wet clothes and falling on the bed. Then sleep took over.
The next morning, Diva was rubbing against my ankles as I sat at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee in both hands. Sun splashed through the windows and promised I wouldn’t have to look at another raindrop for a while.
I had awakened sometime in the night to find Kate and the cat curled together at the foot of my bed, with Webster stretched out on the floor next to us all.
I had considered getting up and showering, but the next time I opened my eyes it was morning, and all my visitors had deserted me.
Kate and Terry were currently arguing over the pancake recipe, and I was waiting for those fat pain pills to work their magic. Their main dispute was apparently whether whole-wheat flour would produce light enough results.
“You’ll never win, Terry,” I said. “If you marry Kate, reconcile yourself to brown rice at the wedding ceremony, too.”
There was a loud knock at the back door, and Webster growled in response.
“Aren’t you brave when the person has so clearly announced their presence?” I attempted to stand, but discovered my muscles had another idea. If I thought I was hurting yesterday before slamming a softballsize bruise onto my hip and wading through that monsoon, I had no idea what pain was about.
Kate took pity on me and answered the door.
It was Jeff.
Kate greeted him with a hug, saying, “We owe you so much.”
“I just mopped up. Abby did most of the dirty work.” He pulled out the chair next to mine. “You almost look human this morning.”
“Almost?” I said.
“Hey, that’s a compliment,” he said.
Kate and Terry, meanwhile, had resumed their squabble.
“Could we pass on the difficult decisions?” I asked. “Unless you’d like semi-whole-wheat griddle cakes, Jeff?”
“Those two doughnuts I ate an hour ago will carry me until dinner,” he said.
Kate said, “Do you realize the calorie count of one doughnut equals—”