Hill Country Holdup. Angi Morgan
his stomach. He just couldn’t pinpoint what Jane was lying about and the whole scenario of her son’s kidnapping made no sense.
He was blown away. Jane had a kid. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts on track. They needed to leave. Now. Steve had driven around the barricades to get to the house so they could use his rental to get back out.
Heeding his sense of urgency, he walked back into the house and straight to his mother’s workroom. Straight into a table with his mother’s scrapbook junk that he knocked to the floor. Crap. He knelt to pick up the pictures scattered on the carpet.
Baseball. First grade. Bobby Joe Hill.
Big as day, there was his friend with his arm around Steve’s shoulder and two teeth missing.
The fear and confusion from that summer slammed his body, forcing its way into his mind. Shutting him down to hear his breathing echoing in his head.
If he hadn’t thought he’d done the right thing by calling George, his memories confirmed his actions. Bobby Joe had disappeared without a trace. That wasn’t going to happen to Jane’s son.
He slammed the picture on the table, got a sweat suit and T-shirt from the back of the closet and left it on the bed in the guest room. Opening the bathroom door a crack, he said, “I’ve left some of Mom’s clothes here. We need to head out.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“The Colorado is already out of its banks. It’s sure to cause problems and detours on the way to San Antonio.”
The water cut off. He quickly pulled the door closed. No matter how much he wanted to be close to Jane, missing the kidnapper’s deadline wasn’t an option. He rubbed his aching head and found aspirin in the kitchen cabinet. He tossed back two tablets and half a can of soda.
A muffled thump had him reaching for his weapon—that was in his pack.
A couple of sporadic whacks outside got louder as he approached the mudroom and opened the door. The water covered the road leading to the driveway. He yanked his boots from his feet and let the door slam behind him.
JANE SEARCHED THE UNFAMILIAR room for a clock and confirmed she’d been in the shower less than ten minutes. She never should have let him convince her to clean up, but getting the filth off her skin helped regain control of her thoughts.
Loud thunder rumbled through the house as she pulled Amanda’s sweats around her waist. Her feet tangled in the long pants, slowing her progress as she vaulted from the bed toward the window. Another strange thudding outside along with a string of colorful curses carried through the storm. Water lapped at the base of the porch. Steve’s rental car floated in the flooded driveway, bumping into the sides of the detached garage.
There wasn’t any way to get back to her rental which had probably washed away, too.
They’d lost their transportation, but couldn’t wait around for rescue workers to get to them. She had to be in San Antonio ready to get Rory back tomorrow. Pulling the drawstring around her waist tighter, she ran down the stairs and pulled the porch door open just as Steve dove off the dock.
The downpour drenched her in a matter of seconds. The sky was dark and menacing. It was hard to see even though it was nine-fifteen in the morning.
They had another six or seven feet before the water would reach the first floor. But the contents from the garage—level with the lake—joined the rest of the flotsam.
Debris, trash, beach toys, a foam cooler and lots of tree limbs made it not only disgusting but very dangerous to swim through.
“Steve!” Was he crazy?
Then she saw the rope tied to the corner post of the porch. Her heart slowed just a bit from its rapid beat. With her eyes, she followed the rope toward the floating boat dock and prayed Steve had enough sense to tie the other end around himself.
“Steve!”
“I’m okay, Jane.” He waved and swam farther away. He was crazy. “Wait there.”
Another lightning flash, with an almost immediate crack of thunder, helped enough with the horrible visibility to see Steve swimming back with a Jet Ski in tow. Jane went to the rope and pulled the loose end from the water, tossing it to him when he got close.
“Grab my pack and shove my boots inside,” he shouted through the rain. “They’re in the laundry.”
She should let him have a piece of her mind for scaring her half to death, but she didn’t argue. She ran through the house and found his boots, shoving one worn shoe inside the bag, but something prevented the other from fitting. Rearranging things, she jumped when her hand connected with the cold metal of Steve’s gun handle.
Calm down. He’s FBI. He wouldn’t go anywhere without this thing. Shoving the second boot inside, she tugged the too-big sweatpants up as she ran back to the porch.
Steve finished a couple of hitches around a post and turned his back on the Jet Ski. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“So am I.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” he shouted sternly, placing his fists on his hips. “You’re staying here.”
“This is our only way out.”
“It’s too dangerous. I couldn’t get to the life vests. The rain’s coming down so hard I can’t see twenty feet in front of me. The evacuation point will have rescue boats. I’ll come back for you after I’ve gotten across to the south side.”
“No.” She shook her head, running a hand across her eyes only to have the rain replace the water as fast as she’d removed it. “We go together.”
“Don’t be so dang stubborn.” Creases between his eyes emphasized how much he believed he was right.
“Me?” All the fright she’d experienced in the past three days surfaced faster than she could control. Words tumbled from her heart that she’d wanted to say for over four years. “You are the biggest, most stubborn, hardheaded, jackass of a man I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, yeah? This Jet Ski is twelve years old. This hard head of mine might just survive getting across ten miles of lake on my own. The seat might just be big enough for my stubborn ass, but there’s no way two of us can make it in this weather. Shoot, it’s probably going to run out of gas anyway.”
“You can’t leave me behind.”
“Yes, I can. It’s too dangerous to take you with me. Now hand over my pack.”
Although she’d experienced it only once, Jane knew that tough look he threw her way. He’d used the same one when he’d told her she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work for Johns Hopkins. But she wouldn’t let him make decisions for her.
Not again.
Never taking her eyes from Steve’s, she slipped one arm through a strap, then the other.
“Aw, hell,” he moaned as lightning splintered across the sky. The storm wasn’t backing off. It was getting worse. He stomped barefoot across the porch and angrily grabbed her shoulders. “You aren’t a strong enough swimmer for this, Jane. No one’s a strong enough swimmer for this.”
“I’m going. Rory’s depending on me.” Stubborn? He only thought he’d seen stubborn before. Jutting her chin out, she gritted her teeth and prepared to fight him if necessary. He could stay here. She’d take the Jet Ski. Her mind raced to the self-defense book she’d read once.
Pictures flooded her mind. Steve’s tall lanky frame would topple if she had the right move, but she didn’t want to hurt him on the slick porch.
Then he freed her, pushed his hair out of his eyes and released a long sigh. “Get on.”
Not waiting for a second invitation, she grabbed the sweatpants around her waist, inching the material from under her feet, then carefully walked