Lethal

Doral barely made it out of his car before throwing up in the roadway.

Chapter 25

Honor was stunned to realize that Coburn seriously planned to move her father’s shrimp trawler.

Her protests fell on deaf ears.

Within minutes of hanging up on Hamilton, Coburn was in the wheelhouse, flinging back the tarp that had been placed over the control panel. “Do you know how to start the engine?” he asked impatiently, motioning to the controls.

“Yes, but we’d have to get it into the water first, and we can’t do that.”

“We’ve got to. We gotta relocate.”

Several times over the next hour she tried to convince him that it was an impossible project, but Coburn wouldn’t be deterred. He found a rusty machete in a toolbox on deck and was using it to whack at the fibrous vegetation that clung to the hull. It was backbreaking work. Once again she tried to dissuade him.

“Hamilton gave you his word. You don’t trust him to keep it?”

“No.”

“But he’s your boss. Overseer, supervisor? Whatever you call it in the FBI.”

“He’s all of that. And the only thing I trust him to do is to cover his own ass first. Remember, Lee Coburn no longer exists.”

“He gave us thirty-six hours.”

“He’ll renege.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I know how he thinks.”

“Doesn’t he know how you think, too?”

“Yeah, which is why we need to hurry. As we speak, he’s probably already trying to get a location on my cell number.”

“You didn’t give it to him. You said disposables were untraceable. You said-”

“Yeah, I said. But I don’t know everything,” he muttered.

Anxiously, she looked into the sky, where clouds were scuttling in off the Gulf. “Would he send a helicopter?”

“Unlikely. Hamilton would opt for something more covert, something that wouldn’t give us warning. Besides, there’s a storm coming. He won’t come by air.”

“Then why are you in such a hurry?”

He paused to wipe his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. “Because I could be wrong.”

But the harder they worked, the more hopeless it seemed. Honor suggested that they take their chances in the recently stolen pickup. “No one’s looking for that truck. You said so yourself.”

“Okay, and go where?”

“To my friend.”

“Friend.”

“A lifelong friend who’d give us a hiding place, no questions asked.”

“No. No friends. They’ll be watching your friends.”

“We could spend the night in the truck.”

“I could,” he said. “We couldn’t.”

Eventually she stopped wasting energy on trying to change his mind. She lacked his stamina and skills, but she applied herself to helping and did whatever he asked of her.

Emily awakened from her nap. She was chatty and excited by the activity. She got in the way, but Coburn worked around her with surprising patience. She stood on deck and called down encouragement to them as, together, they put their backs to the prow and pushed the unfettered craft off the bank into the water.

Coburn checked for leakage and, finding none, joined Honor at the controls. Her dad had taught her how to start the engine and to steer. But it had been years. Miraculously, she remembered the steps, and when the engine belched to life, she didn’t know who was the more astonished, her or Coburn.

He asked about fuel. She checked the gauge. “We’re okay. Dad was preparing for a hurricane. But the other gauges…” She looked at them dubiously. “I don’t know what all of them are for.”

He spread a yellowed nautical map over the control panel. “Do you know where we are?”

She pointed out their location. “Somewhere along here. If we head south toward the coast, we’ll become more exposed. On the other hand, one shrimp boat in a marina lined with them won’t be as obvious. Further inland, the bayous are narrower. There’s more tree coverage. Waters are also shallower.”

“Since we’ll probably have to bail out, I vote for shallow water. Just get us as far as you can.”

He traced their progress on the map. They chugged for about five miles through the winding waterways before the engine began to cough. The waters became thick with vegetation. Several times, Honor narrowly missed running over cypress knees that poked up through the opaque surface.

Coburn nudged her elbow. “Over there. It’s as good a place as any.”

Honor steered the boat closer to the marshy shore, where a dense cypress grove would provide partial concealment. Coburn dropped anchor. She cut the engine and looked at him for further instruction.

“Make yourselves comfortable.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

He folded the map and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans, then checked his pistol and set it on the control panel, well out of Emily’s reach. “I’ll take Hawkins’s.357. You keep this one. It’s ready to fire. All you have to do is point and pull the trigger.”

“What are you doing?”

Before she’d even finished asking, he was out of the wheelhouse. When she reached the deck, he was lowering himself over the side of the boat into the knee-deep water. “Coburn!”