Hidden in the Everglades

She rushed out onto the small deck at the side of the house and scoured the area for any sign of an accomplice or the witness, then followed the assailant into the tangle of vegetation.

Dr. Michael Hunt scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to keep awake after pulling an all-nighter with a patient, a mother who finally delivered her baby boy at 5:13 a.m. this morning. Pouring his third mug of coffee, he wandered toward his bedroom to change, so he could turn around and go back to the clinic for today’s appointments. At least his partner would be back from vacation to help take some of the load off.

The blare of a siren halted Michael’s progress. He glanced toward the front of his house. The sound grew closer. Curiosity led him toward the entryway. He opened his door as two police cars passed his home on Pelican Lane and came to a stop five houses down from his place.

The old Patterson house? Was someone hurt? No one lived there. Hadn’t for the past six months, according to his kid sister, Amy.

He heard the click of the back door and swiveled around, catching a glimpse of his youngest sister hurrying down the hallway. What was Amy doing up so early? She wasn’t a morning person. He started forward to find out where she’d been when the shrill ring of his phone sliced through the silence.

Not far from the table in the entryway where it sat, he snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”

“Dr. Hunt, this is Officer Wilson with Flamingo Cay Police. A man is injured at the Pattersons’ place. He was shot. An ambulance won’t get here for at least fifteen more minutes from Clear Springs. Since you only live—”

“I’ll be there.” Michael grabbed his black bag from a chair nearby and headed out the front door.

The urgency in the officer’s voice prodded him to quicken his pace. As he neared the vacant house, Levi Wilson came around from the side, a frown on his face.

He waved Michael toward him. “There’s a dead man on the beach, but there’s one in the bedroom alive. Barely.”

“Shot where?”

“In the gut.”

Michael rushed up the steps to the small deck on the side of the house. Just inside the sliding glass door lay a young man, faceup. He’d seen his fair share of fatal gunshot wounds. This one looked bad.

Michael knelt on the tile floor next to the injured young man who moaned, fixing his eyes on Michael. The young man’s eyes fluttered right before his head lolled to the side and the breath went out of him.

In seconds, Kyra plunged into the wooded area and found herself ankle-deep in muddy water, a tangle of green vegetation hemming her in. Up ahead, she spotted movement and pressed ahead, branches clawing at her. Sweat coated her face. The realization that she didn’t know which way the young girl had gone hastened her pace, even though the soggy ground weighed each step down. She couldn’t let the killer add another victim to his list.

As she progressed, she spied the trampled bushes and vines where the assailant had run through. Then suddenly she came out onto a path with boot prints, about size eleven, which headed toward the canal. If she could remember correctly, the old pier people in the neighborhood used was in that direction—at least it had when she’d been growing up in Flamingo Cay.

Quickening her pace, she kept combing the area for any sign the killer had deviated from the trail. In the background she heard sirens coming closer but decided to keep going after the assailant. Deep into the green jungle of plants, her old fear began to encroach in her mind, robbing her of her full concentration. She nearly tripped over a half-buried log, managing at the last second to steady herself.

A muzzled pop sounded, followed immediately by a bullet whistling by her ear. She ducked behind a cypress not far from the path. With the loud beating of her heart vying with the drone of the insects, she peeked around the tree. Another pop echoed through the swamp. Splinters of bark flew off the cypress. She waited a minute, inching toward the other side of the large tree. Aiming high in case the girl was nearby, Kyra squeezed off several shots.

The noise of a motor revving came from the canal. Kyra peered in that direction. Through the foliage she saw a motorboat pull away. She hurried toward the old pier about twenty yards away. By the time she got to the bank of the water, the craft had disappeared around a bend going south.

Breathing hard, she bent over and tried to fill her lungs with oxygen. From behind her sloshing footsteps announced she had company. She straightened, bringing her gun up, and whirled to face any new threat.

TWO

Kyra lowered her Glock when she saw Gabe Stanford, the Flamingo Cay police chief, and another officer hurrying down the path toward her. For the first time since she’d heard the muffled noise of the first gunshot she relaxed her tense muscles, rolling her head to work the aches out of her neck and shoulders.

Gabe stopped in front of her, a little out of breath. “This isn’t the way I envisioned us meeting when your aunt told me you were finally coming home for a visit.”

Smiling at the man who had been her inspiration to become a law-enforcement officer, she went to him and gave him a hug. “Me neither. I came back for my first vacation in six years and got caught up in a murder.”

Gabe frowned, peered back at the officer and said, “I’ve got this, Connors. You can go back and help Wilson.”

The large thirtysomething man nodded and retraced his steps toward Pelican Lane.

“What happened here? I was checking the yard by the swamp and heard gunshots.” Gabe glanced down at the Glock.

“I returned the killer’s fire. He ran out of the Pattersons’, and I went after him. He shot twice at me then got into a motorboat and went that way.” Kyra pointed to the south.

“Did you get a good look at him?” He holstered his gun.

“No. He was too far away and his head was turned from me. He was wearing camouflage pants and shirt, boots and a ball cap, pulled down low on his forehead. He was about six feet, slender build. That’s all I got. Sorry.” As a police officer for twelve years before founding Guardians, Inc., she knew the importance of a detailed and correct description of an assailant.

“It’s better than a lot I’ve gotten. Did you see the man kill either victim back at the Pattersons’?”

She shook her head. “I did see him shoot at a girl who fled the scene. I don’t think he hit her. I thought he might be going after her so I took off after him.”

“What’s the girl look like?”

“Sixteen, maybe seventeen. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Black hair.”

“Do you think the killer had her in the boat?”

Kyra shook her head. “Not from what I saw. Is the guy in the bedroom still alive?”

“No, he didn’t have a chance.”

“I didn’t think he would even with immediate medical help. I’ve seen nasty gunshot wounds like he had, and they usually don’t end well.” Remembering the young man on the tile floor by the sliding glass door only reinforced why she left the police force. Six years ago she’d seen too much death and had needed to do something different. She’d still wanted to help make this world a safer place, but she couldn’t continue investigating one murder after another. The Lord had something else in mind for her. Guardians, Inc. gave her the sense she was helping others without being personally involved in so much death.

Gabe began walking back toward the crime scene. “That’s what I thought, but we called the local doctor who lives down the street to help. The victim died before Dr. Hunt could do anything.”

“Michael Hunt, Ginny’s little brother?”

“Yep, he’s all grown up and has returned to Flamingo Cay to run the medical clinic. We’ve needed another doctor in town for quite some time.”

The Michael Hunt she remembered used to follow her and Ginny, her best friend in high school, around generally making life difficult for them. She’d known from Ginny her little brother had gone on to be a doctor, but she hadn’t seen him in years. The last time she’d heard about him, he’d been practicing in Chicago, so she hadn’t thought she would see him in Flamingo Cay.

“Michael came back about four months ago.”

As they neared the edge of the swamp, Kyra’s tension returned, gripping her neck and fanning out along her shoulders. “I thought you were retiring.”

“This is my last year.”

She tilted her head. “Promise? When I was home for Dad’s funeral, didn’t you say that to me? I thought you meant it that time.”

“Two years ago there wasn’t anyone I felt could take over for me, but Wilson is a good man. He should do fine when I retire.”

Kyra emerged from the heavy foliage that marked the beginning of the swamp that made up the Everglades. Flamingo Cay, not too far from Naples, was between the Glades and the Gulf of Mexico with its many islands off Florida’s western coast.

She caught sight of a large man over six feet tall carrying a black bag, standing on the side deck off the bedroom talking to an officer. At that moment Michael glanced over his shoulder at her. For a few seconds their gazes linked across the yard. Then recognition dawned on his face, and he smiled at her, two dimples appearing and bringing back more memories of her childhood. Even as a kid he’d had a great smile—one that drew people to him.

“Tell me what happened here.” Gabe paused in the side yard, returning her attention to the problem at hand.