Jeffery Deaver - The Empty Chair

She now rose from the bed and swung the weapon several times, pleased with the power the club gave her. A skittish sound registered in her hearing – the insects in the jars. It made her think of Garrett's disgusting habit of snapping his fingernails together. She shivered in rage and lifted the coup stick to bring it down on the jar closest to her.

But then she paused. She hated the insects, yes, but her anger wasn't really directed at them. It was Garrett she was furious with. She left the jars alone and walked to the door then slammed the stick into it several times – near the lock. The door didn't budge. Well, she hadn't expected it to. But the important thing was that she'd tied the rock to the head of the club very firmly. It hadn't slipped.

Of course if the Missionary and Tom returned with a gun, the club wouldn't do much good against them. But she decided that if they got inside she'd keep the stick hidden behind her and the first one who touched her would get a broken skull. The other might kill her but she'd take one of them with her. (She imagined that this was how Virginia Dare had died.)

Mary Beth sat down and looked out the window, at the low sun on the line of trees where she'd first seen the Missionary.

What was the feeling coursing through her? Fear, she supposed.

But then she decided that it wasn't fear at all. It was impatience. She wanted her enemies to return.

Mary Beth lifted the coup stick into her lap.

Get yourself ready , Tom had told her.

Well, that she had.

"There's a boat."

Lucy leaned forward through the leaves of a pungent bay tree on the shore near the Hobeth Bridge. Her hand was on her weapon.

"Where?" she asked Jesse Corn.

"There." Pointing upstream.

She could vaguely see a slight darkness on the water, a half-mile away. Moving in the current.

"What do you mean, boat?" she asked. "I don't see -"

"No, look. It's upside down."

"I can hardly see it," she said. "You've got good eyes."

"Is it them?" Trey asked.

"What happened? Did it capsize?"

But Jesse Corn said, "Naw, they're underneath it."

Lucy squinted. "How do you know?"

"Just have a feeling," he said.

"There's enough air under there?" Trey asked.

Jesse said, "Sure. It's high enough in the water. We used to do that with canoes on Bambert Lake. When we were kids. We'd play submarine."

Lucy said, "What do we do? We need a boat or something to get to them." She looked around.

Ned pulled his police utility belt off, handed it to Jesse Corn. "Hell, I'll just go out and kick it back into shore."

"You can swim that?" she asked.

The man took his boots off. "I swum this river a million times."

"We'll cover you," Lucy said.

"They're underwater," Jesse said. "I wouldn't worry too much about them shooting anybody."

Trey pointed out, "A little grease on the shells and they'll last for weeks underwater."

"Amelia's not gonna shoot," said Jesse Corn, Judas' defender.

"But we're not taking any chances," Lucy said. Then to Ned: "Don't flip it over. Just swim out and steer it over this way. Trey, you go over there, by the willow, with the scattergun. Jesse and I'll be over there on the shore. We'll have 'em in a crossfire if anything happens."

Ned, barefoot and shirtless, walked gingerly on the rocky embankment down to the mud beach. He looked around carefully – for snakes, Lucy supposed – and then eased into the water. Ned breast-stroked out toward the boat, swimming very quietly, keeping his head above water. Lucy pulled her Smith & Wesson from the holster. Cocked the hammer. Glanced at Jesse Corn, who looked at her weapon uneasily. Trey was standing beside a tree, holding the shotgun, muzzle-up. He noticed her cocked pistol and he racked a round into the chamber of the Remington. The boat was thirty feet from them, near midstream.

Ned was a strong swimmer and he was closing the distance quickly. He'd be there in -

The gunshot was loud and close. Lucy jumped as a spume of water shot into the air a few feet from Ned.

"Oh, no!" Lucy called, bringing up her weapon, looking for the shooter.

"Where, where?" Trey called, crouching and adjusting his grip on the shotgun.

Ned dove under the surface.

Another shot. Water flew into the air. Trey lowered the scattergun and started firing at the boat. Panic fire. The twelve-gauge didn't have a plugged tube; it was loaded with seven rounds. The deputy emptied it in seconds, hitting the boat squarely with every round, sending splinters of wood and water flying everywhere.

"No!" Jesse cried. "There're people under there!"

"Where're they shooting from?" Lucy called. "Under the boat? The other side of it? I can't tell. Where are they?"

"Where's Ned?" Trey asked. "Is he hit? Where's Ned?"

"I don't know," Lucy shouted, voice raw with panic. "I can't see him."

Trey reloaded and aimed at the boat once more.

"No!" Lucy ordered. "Don't fire. Cover me!"

She ran down the embankment and waded into the water. Suddenly, near the shore, she heard a choking gasp as Ned bobbed to the surface. "Help me!" He was terrified, looking behind him, scrabbling out of the water.

Jesse and Trey aimed their weapons at the far shore and stepped slowly down the incline to the river. Jesse's dismayed eyes were fixed on the riddled vessel – the terrible, ragged holes in the hull.

Charging into the water, Lucy holstered her gun and grabbed Ned's arm, dragged him to the shore. He'd stayed under as long as he dared and was pale and weak from lack of oxygen.

"Where are they?" he struggled to ask, choking.

"Don't know," she said, pulling him into a stand of bushes. He collapsed on his side, spitting and coughing. She looked him over carefully. He hadn't been hit.

They were joined by Trey and Jesse, both of them crouching, eyes gazing across the river, looking for their attackers.

Ned was still choking. "Fucking water. Tastes like shit."

The boat was slowly easing toward them, half submerged now.

"They're dead," whispered Jesse Corn, staring at the boat. "They have to be."

The boat floated closer. Jesse slipped his utility belt off and started forward.

"No," Lucy said, eyes on the far shore. "Let it come to us."

The capsized boat floated into an uprooted cedar, extending into the river, and stopped.

The deputies waited a few moments. There was no movement other than the rocking of the shattered vessel. The water was ruddy but Lucy couldn't tell if the color was due to blood or was from the fiery sunset.

Pale, troubled Jesse Corn glanced at Lucy, who nodded. All three of the other deputies kept their guns on the boat as Jesse waded out and flipped it over.

The remnants of several torn water jugs bobbed out and floated leisurely downstream. There was no one underneath.

"What happened?" Jesse asked. "I don't get it."

"Hell," Ned muttered bitterly. "They set us up. It was a goddamn ambush."

Lucy hadn't believed that her anger could get any more consuming. But it now seized her like raw electric current.

Ned was right; Amelia had used the boat like one of Nathan Groomer's decoys and ambushed them from the far shore.

"No," Jesse protested. "She wouldn't do that. If she shot it was just to scare us. Amelia knows her way 'round firearms. She could've hit Ned, she'd wanted to."

"Goddamnit, Jesse, open your eyes, will you?" Lucy snapped. "Firing from heavy cover like that? Doesn't matter how good a shot you are; she still could've missed. And on water? There could've been a ricochet. Or Ned might've panicked and swum into a bullet."

Jesse Corn had no response for that. He rubbed his face with his palms and stared out over the far shore.