Stella Cameron - A Cold Day In Hell

Emma missed; she hit her shoulder and hip on cold metal. Sound hammered, louder and louder, in her ears. She was going down.

Her hands slammed into the gritty ground, then her belly. Tearing pressure under her diaphragm winded her so hard she couldn’t breathe. Then her knees gave out.

She skidded under the back of the pickup.

“You stay where you are, and keep still,” the man said. He kicked the sole of her shoe and acid rushed to her throat. “You move before I say and you and that kid are finished—if the kid isn’t done in already.”

“Don’t let his taillights get too far ahead of you.”

“I’m doing the driving,” Eileen said, without raising her voice. “You’re safe with me. I won’t lose Sonny.”

At least he hadn’t made the mistake of suggesting he take the wheel. He could only imagine what the response to that would have been. “I trust you, Eileen. You’re a good driver.” His face felt tight. Everything about this evening was wrong—or had gone wrong.

“Thanks,” she said and he could hear the sarcasm in her tone.

There were things Eileen didn’t know, like the true story behind Sonny being in Pointe Judah. Angel didn’t want her to find out. She had already carefully minced around whether or not Sonny was a good role model for Aaron. She hadn’t been so subtle that Angel missed the message, but at least she didn’t know how close she was to the truth.

Sonny was a kid with potential—and a lot of past baggage weighing him down. Angel’s job was to keep the boy alive until certain people forgot about him—if they ever did.

She stared sideways at Angel. “I think Sonny was telling us Aaron got shot but he didn’t like saying it right out.” Her voice shook.

“That could be. He didn’t sound completely sure.”

“Aaron will be okay, won’t he?”

She wanted him to say yes, because that’s what she needed to hear. “Of course he will,” he said. He’d better be, and there had better not be anything that suggested whatever had happened was anything other than an accident.

“Could have been a hunter who made a mistake,” Eileen said.

Angel wasn’t aware of hunters firing indiscriminately in the swamps. “Could have,” he said. “This rain makes it hard to see. Sonny’s getting farther away.”

“I don’t mind anything but the fog,” she said, leaning forward. “Look how thick it’s getting.” She rolled her window down an inch and succeeded only in letting cool, heavy vapor into the van. “Your headlights bounce back at you.”

She reached for the gearshift and her fingers closed on the thigh he’d hitched up instead. Eileen whipped her hand away. Angel felt singed. He got a backlash, a hot backlash all the way to the base of his spine. They had touched so little—mostly accidentally.

Tonight he’d planned to be alone with her, for as long as he could keep her with him. And he’d planned to point out the benefits of getting closer, much closer. Eileen had been the perfect, immaculate mother for long enough. Too long, from Angel’s point of view. When a woman’s accidental hold on his thigh gave him pre-orgasmic spasms, the waiting game had gone too far.

“I should have kept a closer eye on what Aaron’s been up to,” Eileen said.

Shit. “You’re not on your own with this. Not that I think there’s anything to worry about.” Unless someone had put out a hit on Sonny.

Angel gritted his teeth.

“This isn’t a road, it’s an overgrown, abandoned track,” Eileen said, and right on cue the van bumped up and over the buckled blacktop.

“You’re right, it’s not much of a road.” He turned in his seat to peer through the fog toward the trees. “The bayou can’t be so far away.” He had never explored out here.

“Farther than you think,” Eileen said. “It’s close back toward town but around here there’s a lot of swampland before you get to the water.”

“What’s in there?”

“In the swamp?” She glanced at him. “It’s not pretty unless you get-off on mud and standing water and sodden ground in every direction. And critters—the kind you’d rather not meet.”

Angel said. “And voodoo stuff, too, huh?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Are you afraid of that bull?” Angel asked. “Don’t waste fear on superstitious crap. Unless you fancy one of those little velvet spell bags filled with—grave dust, is it? That’s supposed to keep you safe, isn’t it?”

“I doubt it.”

“Make you wildly passionate then?” Angel said, deliberately trying to catch her off guard. “Mixed with snake droppings and skunk hair? A pinch of dried fire ants to make you hot, and puree of hundred-proof alcohol to make you helpless? Sounds good to me.”

He saw how she bit her lower lip and figured she hardly heard him babbling to fill up any silence. Just as well.

She surprised him when she said, “There are things in these parts that you don’t mess with. Ignorance can get you into big trouble.”

Angel bit back a retort. Eileen was the last person he would have expected to believe in the old arts.

The little red taillights on the Morgan glowed, then faded to pink as the fog thinned and thickened.

“Watch out! Will you look at that?” He grabbed the dashboard. “The kid slammed on the brakes with no warning.”

Eileen pumped the brakes on the van and came to a stop with inches to spare behind the Morgan

“I’m terrified for Aaron,” Eileen said. She found his hand and wound her fingers in his. “Call Matt Boudreaux now. We ought to have the police here. And our own doctor. We could get hold of Mitch Halpern. You know he’d come right out.”

“You heard what Sonny said. This Chuzah doesn’t want any official company.” He rubbed her hand between his. It wasn’t her way to reach for comfort.

“If it turns out we have to go to Matt about this, he’ll be steamed.”

Angel made sure he didn’t show how much he liked that idea. “Go with me on this. Matt would do the same if he was in our position.” Maybe he would; maybe he wouldn’t. Eileen didn’t need Matt Boudreaux around—for any reason.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and pushed out of the van. Sonny didn’t appear but Eileen walked toward the Morgan.

Angel said, “Sonny?”

Sonny didn’t answer. Angel reached Eileen and they saw that Sonny wasn’t in the sports car. He stood a few yards ahead at the very edge of the road. His back was rigid and he repeatedly looked around the area.

“Look,” Eileen said, backing into Angel. “Over there. What is it? Sonny!”

“Quiet,” Sonny said clearly. “Keep it down. He doesn’t like noises.”

“Chuzah?” Angel and Eileen asked in unison.

Angel peered into the darkness at the side of the overgrown road. Two small, pale lights blinked on and off. “Get back in the van and lock the doors,” he told Eileen.

“Forget it,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m going after Aaron. He’s my son.”

He reached for her; the backs of his fingers met the side of her face. “You’re burning up,” he said. “Are you sick?”

“No! It’s humid.”

It was humid. Rain fell hard enough to stick his shirt to his back. He had water inside his shoes. Eileen’s long, dark hair clung to her neck and shoulders and her face shone pale and wet in the near opaque darkness.

“Those lights,” Eileen said. “They’re not normal. They look like shiny stones. What are they?”

“Probably nothing. Just something picking up reflections.” He’d never seen anything like them before. And he didn’t like that one bit.

“Angel,” she said, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. “They’re moving. They go one way, then the other. I want Aaron.”