Carla Neggers - Night’s Landing

“Conroy wants the pardon so he can get his money and his recognition,” Sarah said. “He doesn’t want to kill me. That’s not what this is about.”

“Let the SWAT negotiators talk to him. They’re the experts. What if you find Fontaine and end up screwing it up?”

That caught her up short. She broke her stride. She was in the shade of a cedar tree growing precariously up out of the limestone, between the path and the river. For a split second, Nate thought she was going to back off. He heard the rustling noise above them.

A huge black snake dropped from the cedar and landed on Sarah, latching its fangs onto the right side of her neck, its thick body writhing and wriggling. It had to be five feet long.

Simultaneously Conroy Fontaine leaped from the tree, its branches halfway out over the river, and made a sprawling dive into the water. Sarah screamed in shock and tried to pry the snake off. “Don’t shoot it!”

The snake wrapped itself around her arms and was going for another bite. Fontaine had used it as a distraction. “I’ve got it,” she said. “Trust me. Please.”

Nate jumped to the edge of the path and pointed his gun at the water, saw Conroy swimming toward a boat anchored in a small, shallow cove just downriver from the bluff below the Poe house.

Making his escape.

“Stop him,” Sarah said. “Don’t worry about me.”

She staggered backward over the roots of the cedar tree and went feetfirst over the edge, wrestling with the damn snake all the way into the river.

Nate ran past the cedar and tore his way down an eroded section of riverbank, slipping on the wet rocks and dirt. He could see the snake scurrying away from Sarah in the water. She came up for air and waved Nate on as she swam toward shore. Her strokes were strong, determined.

She’d be all right.

Conroy was twenty yards downriver, climbing into his boat.

Nate had a shot. A difficult one, but he’d take it if he had to. He raised his weapon, feeling a jolt of pain from his injured arm. “Freeze, Fontaine.”

Fontaine flopped onto the pilot’s seat. “You won’t shoot me.” His voice was raspy, breathless, as he shouted across the water at Nate. “I know where the Dunnemores are.”

The guy was in bad shape. But he was right. Nate didn’t want to shoot. Keeping his gun pointed in the general direction of the boat, ignoring the pain in his arm, he ran up the short stretch of embankment to the shallow cove, positioning himself above Fontaine.

He had one chance.

Without hesitation, Nate jumped, landing on Conroy, knocking him down and sticking the HK in his face. “Don’t move.”

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

His words were slurred, his body fiery hot even after being in the cold river water. “Where are the Dunnemores?” Nate asked quietly.

“Fuck you.”

“Was it a bluff? Do you have them?”

Sarah was on shore, scrambling along the eroded bank, blood from her snakebite dripping down her neck. “My parents-”

“Get the pardon,” Conroy screamed at her, trying to jerk his head up against Nate’s hold. “It’s not too late. Call President Poe. I’m his brother. He’s never known his true family. I’ll tell him everything about us. I’ll share the money with you.”

Nate had heard enough. The guy’s condition was worsening from the snakebite. “You need a doctor.”

Conroy vomited, what looked like mostly river water spewing out over the boat. He was shivering violently, panting, sweating. Nate got him to his feet. “The parents,” he said. “Come on. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier for you if you tell us where they are.”

But he was unconscious, slumped against Nate.

Sarah splashed out into the river, water up to her waist. “John Wesley, don’t die.”

Juliet was behind her, looking as if the current would sweep her away. But her voice was steady, firm. “Ouch. God, you’re a mess. Look at that neck. What happened to the snake?”

“He’s okay. It was just scared.” Sarah was hardly aware of what she was saying. She squinted at Juliet. “Ethan?”

“He’s greeting the SWAT guys.”

Sarah shook her head. “Nicholas Janssen had Ethan’s wife killed. Ethan’ll go after him.” She reached into the boat and touched Conroy’s hand. “Please, don’t die.”

Nate wasn’t optimistic. He looked at Juliet. “You’ve got him?”

“No problem. I’m in rough shape, but I can handle someone unconscious.”

He helped her into the boat and turned his weapon over to her, then climbed out. Blood flowed freely from Sarah’s snakebite. He had no idea if that was good news or bad news. Above them on the bluff, he saw the first of the black-clad SWAT guys.

“Shit’s hitting the fan,” Juliet said unnecessarily.

Sarah clawed at him. “My parents. It’s been an hour.”

But one of the first wave of SWAT guys to reach them told her that they’d just got word from Joe Collins. The Dunnemores were safe. Dutch authorities had them in Amsterdam. One of Janssen’s bodyguards had grabbed them at Schiphol Airport-Conroy must have offered him part of the five million to work on his behalf.

No Janssen. He’d apparently slipped out of the country.

As Sarah had predicted, Ethan Brooker hadn’t stuck around to greet the SWAT guys.

He’d disappeared.

Sarah sat in Granny’s rocker on the front porch of the log house that had always been home, a safe haven, and tried to drink some of her sweet tea punch. Her snake, though angry and frightened, hadn’t released any venom, just left a single nasty bite on the side of her neck. She’d had it cleaned and bandaged in the E.R.

Conroy Fontaine-John Wesley Poe-wasn’t so lucky. By the time they reached the hospital, there was nothing doctors could do for him. He died fifteen minutes later.

He’d lied about so much, but not that John Wesley Poe was his real name.

When she was a teenager, his mother had heard about the Poe sisters and the baby they’d found on the doorstep. Pregnant, unmarried and broke, she created the fantasy that her baby and Leola and Violet Poe’s baby had the same father. She named hers John Wesley-why she’d given her child the same name as the man she would later tell him was his half brother remained a mystery-and changed her name legally to Poe.

Agents searching out Conroy Fontaine’s background in Memphis had dug up that story with little effort. Francine Poe was long dead. After Wes Poe was elected governor and then president, everyone who’d known her and her little boy remembered her crazy tale.

Nate came out onto the porch and sat on another rocker next to Sarah. His arm was freshly bandaged, and she’d overheard an E.R. doctor giving him a stern lecture about taking it easy for a few days. You’ve been shot, need I remind you?

Sarah sipped more of the tea punch, her snakebite aching, her mind fighting off the memory of going into the river with the fat, wriggling cottonmouth. Once it realized it was in the water, it released its grip on her neck and tore off to safety. “Conroy-it’s hard to think of him as John Wesley-would have had a better upbringing if his mother had left him on Leola and Violet’s doorstep, too.”

“They were up there in age when he was born, weren’t they?”

“They’d have seen to it he got to a good home.”

“Why didn’t they do that with the president? Not that there was anything wrong with their home, but two maiden sisters living alone out here on the river, World War Two raging-” He shrugged. “It can’t have been an easy decision to keep him.”

“They believed he belonged here.” And Sarah left it at that, angled a quick smile at him. “You’ll have to watch my documentary.”