It took me forever to get dressed for the gig that night. Just a little down home dance at the big church where all us good and not-so-good-but-hoping-to-be-better Catholics gathered for the requisite functions. By the time I got there, later than the band had wanted me there, the church hall was bustling with the good church ladies setting up for the coming festivities . I was filling in for an old friend who working a late shift and wouldn't be able to make it until the band's second set started.

Apologies all around and they were easily mollified. Frankly, they were just happy I'd shown. Without me, they would have had to ask Tete Boudreaux and that man was old enough that people were beginning to wonder how he still had the strength to hold the bow, much less move his fingers over the strings.

"Looking cute tonight," my cousin Boogie told me, winking in this way he had. "Quoi de neuf?"

They all thought they knew my business. When things like this happened, or when one of my tantes cornered me to find out just when exactly I was going to settle down and get married so I could have kids before I got too old, I knew just why Rory hated me moving back here.

"Why, merci, cher," I replied, using that term I knew he hated because he knew I used it when he felt anything but 'dear' to me. "You don't look so hot. Pourquoi? Lallie not coming to watch you shake it tonight?"

Waving his hand at me. I knew he'd stay off my back for the rest of the evening.

By the time people were coming in for the fais-do-do, we'd warmed up our instruments and we'd cooled down our throats. Hot work, playing in a Cajun band. And in no time, we had the crowd heating up along with us. Alternating every few songs to include some of the waltzes and then Boogie would let go with one of the traditional ballads. He always sang the real words, the ones that we had fewer opportunities to use and hear. Our language was dying out; seemed less and less kids in each generation were raised in homes where Cajun French was the main language spoken.

But Boogie and his band were purists. It's why I loved hearing them; they played it the right way. I also loved playing with them even though I was not their regular fiddler. Sometimes, it was so hard to stay still when we played some of the songs. This was one of those nights. Antsy for some reason to begin with, and then feet stomping in time to the music seemed to make me play better.

I was smiling out at some of the dancers spinning around the floor and picking out return smiles from friends in the crowd. That's why I was looking up when Marie pranced in the door with Terry so close behind her that I knew without seeing it that he had an arm around her waist. Then she was smiling and laughing with him, sharing some private joke, before she pointed up to where I was gawking at them from the stage.

Eyes down at my fingers and concentrating more on the music than I should have. Boogie glanced back at me when my timing sped too fast for him. Try as I might, it happened a few other times during the two hours I played with them. It seemed to occur whenever I would catch sight of Marie having such a good time with that man. Sometimes, I swear, he'd be looking hard at me over her shoulder as she snuggled up to him in a nasty version of the waltz. A few times, I thought I caught him giving me a special smile.

I saw Emile coming through the door and knew that after the break, he'd be taking over his regular spot as the band's fiddle player and back up singer. He was eager and we barely talked during the break. One peck from Boogie and one from Emile before they re-took the stage, and I was free.

Went to get something cold and wet. Yeah, I'd had some beer at the break but I needed another. Glancing through scattered knots of friends and then smiling big at Teej who was the volunteer bartender. He slapped a cold beer into my outstretched hand and I didn't have to utter a word.

Leaning against the wall near Teej's comforting presence, I scanned the room. No sight of Terry. Then shook my head and wondered why I even bothered.

"Would you care to dance?" A stranger's voice.

I looked up to find dark brown eyes coldly examining me while the mouth in the face was smiling at me. I'd heard people talk about this phenomenon - how a person's smile didn't reach up to the eyes and how that meant they weren't really smiling. He had longish light brown hair, almost a sandy blond, and he was tall and lanky. Tall enough that he towered over me. The hands he held out to me seemed so neat and clean.

Just on the verge of shaking my head 'no,' when out of the corner of my eye I saw Terry and Marie dance by us. Terry's eyes were watching me and I looked back at the stranger, smiled and took his hands.

It was a waltz but he was trying to make it a dignified version when he should have just gotten with the rougher beat of one of our waltzes. Still, I followed his lead. When the music switched into a two-step beat, he asked if I'd teach him. So I did. He was having fun and I thought I saw his eyes smile at me.

He was trying to talk with me, get to know me and all that, but it's hard when the band's jamming in a small place like that. So we stopped and went to grab another beer. Teej gave me that insider grin again and I giggled at him. He was as bad as my tantes but at least he wasn't obnoxious.

Excusing myself to visit the restroom, I promised my admiring stranger, named Doug, that I'd be right back. And I would have been except that Terry grabbed my arm and drew me right up against his chest as I was coming out of the ladies room.

"Do you know him?" he asked me, motioning with his head toward where I'd left Doug. "Marie says he's not from around here."

Surprised frown at him and narrowing my eyes to examine his concerned face. "What's it to you who I dance with?"

His eyebrows drew up and he stammered, "Nothing, nothing. It's just ... Marie was worried. Said she didn't like his looks."

"Yeah? That what Marie said? Putain." Looking around him to find her so I could nail her hide to the wall but she was nowhere to be found. Looking back at him. "Tell Marie to mind her own business."

"Love, just be careful, okay?"

"I'm not your love and I'll be whatever I want." Peeling his fingers from my arm, I went to find Doug.

Breathing out his name and even in what was happening between us, he heard me. "I've got you, Sarah," he whispered as I came hard around his thrusting cock. His arms gripped me tight and he turned us over so I was now on the bottom. His knees spread my legs and I could hear him struggling to find his own release.

Gasping to feel him draw my knees up toward my chest and then he spread them wide. I was watching his face and he was concentrating on screwing me. When he thrust in this new position, he drove in so far and I was so open to his invasion. Muttering in need at him, "Oh ... God ... Help ... Me."

And it was like he flipped a switch inside both of us. We were both struggling then. Me, so greedy for another orgasm that would shake me to my roots. Him, eager to come and hoping it would be as good as mine had been.

We were mumbling in each other's ears. A mix of heartfelt cursing wonder at what we were feeling.

I arched my back and one last huge thrust from him was sending spurts of his fluid deep within me. This grunting whimper and a "Fuck it all" from him sent me soaring into another release.

He almost collapsed on top of me. My fingers were playing in his hair and, every so often, his tongue was flicking out at one of my breasts. Then he slid down my body until his head was resting on my abdomen and he was leaning his weight on his elbows. I stared up at the cabin's rough ceiling and pictured the men nailing the boards up there. Ringing noise across the swamp was the thing that brought Terry out of his reverie.

My hands patted his head. "Shh. It's nothing, bebe. Just a gator trying to find his mate. C'est tout."

He chuckled and it felt good against my body. "Gators don't scare you at all, do they?"

"Long as you don't bother them, they'll leave you alone," I told him.

His head rose and he looked up at me, smiling in that way of his. "Fine. But if one comes at us, I'm tossing you overboard to deal with 'em."

"Best not, city boy. Who'd help you find Rory then?" His smile faded just the slightest bit and I ran my fingers across his light morning scruff. "Speaking of which, what did you mean earlier? About Rory killing you?"

"You don't fuck your mate's kid sister," he whispered. "He's going to be pissed."

The evening's gentle breeze licked at my sweat. I perched a hip on the bench railing in the moonlight and turned my face toward Doug. His hand reached out and played with a strand of my hair. It was a gesture that seemed almost too familiar for someone I'd just met.

We'd walked about a half a block from the church's rec hall and were standing along the wooden promenade fronting the bank of the Bayou Teche.

"This is the 'legend has it' place," I told him, trying to keep this encounter from turning into something he might have wanted but I doubted I did. "You familiar with the Longfellow poem about Evangeline and Gabriel? This is the oak tree they tell people is where they finally embraced when they were reunited after le Grand Dérangement."

"Right here? This is where they embraced?" he said, his voice a low, throbbing whisper and he drew in close to me.

Not at all what I had in mind. Not a come-on line. But even while I was trying to figure out how to change the conversation to drive any lustful thoughts from this man's mind, he was putting his arms around me and nestling in toward my body. I had a hand on his chest and I was trying to back him off, but his lips found mine and ... they tasted pretty good.

I let him kiss me. It was soft and sweet. His tongue edged across my lips and almost without realizing it, I was sending my own tongue inside him and exploring his mouth.

When his hand touched my breast, I sighed and went with it. Too into the kiss, too aware of how seldom I let myself drink enough to feel this wildness that I'd felt welling up in me ever since I'd peeled off Terry's grip outside the restroom.

Doug's hands moved up to surround my neck and I didn't so much as flinch. But then, those hands tightened slightly and he pulled his lips from mine. I opened my eyes slowly, still unaware, and looked up to find that I could barely recognize the face before me.

"What is it?" I whispered to him, my slowed-down brain not with the program yet. Not feeling the shift in what had begun as a necking session and was turning into a neck wrenching episode.

Now closing in on my throat enough that my own hands were trying to pry his off. "It's real simple, sweetheart. You tell me where Rory is and I'll consider letting you live," he grated out to me.

"Rory? I ... I don't know where he is right now," I stammered out of lips that felt too thick; my tongue suddenly felt sluggish as it tried to form words.

"Don't fucking play any games with us." His hands were so tight that my eyes began to draw closed and he bent me backwards until I felt the bench seat hit the back of my head. "Where's your brother, bitch?"

And finally I realized I was dying. He was choking me to death and I was going to go down without a fight. Like Hell. A flare of fury bubbled up from my gut and my hands dove for his eyes. Nails flailed across the skin of his face and he roared out at me. One hand released my neck and he slugged me open handed across my face.

"Fucking cunt," he ground out as I felt tears spring to my eyes as I was stunned from the slap. "I'll make you pay for that shit and then I'll take care of your fucking brother."

But, he thought I was more dazed than I was and his remaining hand on my throat relented in its grip; it gave me one hope. I sucked in a breath and let out a scream before he shoved his hand over my mouth. Biting down on his flesh inside my mouth and he yelped out at me. Earning me a backhand on the other side of my face and then both hands were clamping hard on my neck. He was dragging me by my neck off the bench and I couldn't figure out where he was trying to take me.

And then suddenly, his hands dropped me and I found myself plopping straight down on the ground. Sucking in great gulps of air and shocked eyes looking at a confusing scene above me.

Two men struggled, backlit in the lamplight and making it hard for me to see their faces. The one who'd been strangling me was now prying at his own throat and this strange gurgling sound was coming from him. The other man, standing behind him, gave a hard grunting noise and I thought I heard a snap. And then Doug simply stopped moving. His arms hung down from him and his head was at an angle that was wrong. Then the other man shoved Doug's body to the side and I watched him plop down near my feet.

Big hand reaching for me, cupping my cheek. "Sarah? Hon, you okay? C'mon now, talk to me."

Terry. I recognized the voice and when he knelt down by my side and bent low over my prostrate body, the lamplight flicked out to give definition to the side of his face.

Opened my mouth but no words came out. My throat seemed to be rebelling over the way it had been abused. Tears of pain were coming from my eyes as I suddenly realized that between my throat and my head, I was hurting from what Doug had just done to me. "Chien!" I sputtered out almost incoherently and kicked at where he lay, unmoving, near me.

I saw Terry look up away from me and I thought he was leaving me. My hands reached out and grasped at his arm that was nearest me. Whimpering at him and he slid his arms around my back and helped me to my feet. Making comforting noises to quiet my fear, holding me in his arms and petting my head gently.

"We have to get out of here, Sarah. You're in danger now that they're here. And when they find their man, they'll guess I'm here as well," he told me. "I can keep you safe if you trust me. Will you come with me?"

My hand grabbed at the front of his shirt and yanked hard. He leaned back and looked into my eyes. "Who are you?" I croaked out at him.

"Your brother works for me," he said. "My name's Terry Thorne. Recognize it?"

Trying to remember. It did sound familiar but I wasn't sure. My brother had started working for a different firm ... searching in my memory ... he'd switched jobs about three years earlier ... Luthan Risk. His boss ... he'd told me ... what had he told me?

"We work for Luthan Risk. Is that familiar?"

Nodding at him eagerly. Then suspicious. Lots of people probably knew who Rory worked for. He must have seen the way I was now regarding him.

"Rory's told me about you, Sarah," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's see if there's something I know about you that only Rory could have told me and that way you'll know I'm a friend. Hmm. Yeah, all right. He said he taught you a trick for calling gators in the swamp. Some way of patting the water and whistling like a wounded heron."

My eyes opened wide.

"He says you're real good at it," he said, taking my hand in his, chuckling low in his throat and tugging me behind him as he walked toward the street.

I went willingly with him, convinced in that one instant that he knew Rory pretty well. It amazed me that Rory had ever felt free enough to tell anyone about his home and the things we did here that outsiders thought were weird. He'd always seemed so ashamed of our roots while I felt such affection for them.

We were in his car and cruising out toward my house before I opened my mouth to talk again. "Where's Rory?" I asked him. Turning to watch his profile. "Is he dead?"

"Not dead. He's on the run and hiding," Terry replied, his jaw tightening. "Sarah, are you sure he hasn't called you or come to see you in the last week?"

"No. I haven't heard from him in a long time," I said. "That man ... the one back there? He wanted me to tell him where Rory is. What's going on?"

Silence as his eyes flicked first to the rear view mirror then glanced out the side window. Now staring resolutely at the dark road ahead of us and I saw we were nearing the old house I'd been living in ever since my grandfather had died. "I'll tell you, Sarah, I will. But you need to help me. Rory's in trouble. I'm convinced he's come back here because he's told me that if he was ever in danger, there was a place he knew here that no one else could find and that he could hole up there for a long time."

And, then I knew. Oh, indeed. I knew right where Rory had to be.

He pulled up in my driveway and turned his body toward me. His hand reached out and stroked along my arm. "Any ideas?"

"In the swamp."

"Yeah, that much I suspected. But where?"

I looked out into the night and listened to the cadence of the crickets. "A place we both know pretty well."

Terry only agreed to take the forward position in the pirogue because I told him I'd call a gator down on him if he didn't. Then smirked behind his back when he grumbled and held the pirogue steady for me to climb in.

I wouldn't load the boat with anything until we took a practice lap around the cabin. Good thing. First sharp turn around a cypress knee and he forgot the advice I'd given him about swiveling his hips when the pirogue shifted. He'd tried to lean away from the turn to paddle and lost his center of gravity because he didn't believe me about how wavery the pirogue would be in tilting back.

And over we both went. Me? I knew it was coming and went with it, accepting the dunking as being the price of his first lesson. Him? He fought it with everything he had and the resulting dunking was a lot harder on him than it needed to be.

He came up sputtering from the waist deep water and turned an instant glare on me. "One word outta you and it'll be the last thing you ever say," he growled out.

Together we righted the pirogue and I held it steady for him as he climbed back in. I hopped back in with the grace that comes from having lived in one of these crafts most of my childhood. Taking the back seat only because it gave me control of the direction we'd move in and because the more experienced person should be in that position anyway.

After we made the lap with no more spills, we pulled aboard the supplies from the cabin. And two hours of hard paddling later, we were close enough for me to suspect that Rory could feel me coming.

"Terry? Is there any possibility that Rory doesn't want to see you?" I asked him, my voice low and carried by the humidity up to his ears.

He caught the caution. Looking at me over his shoulder. "He's not going to be thrilled to see me at first. But, considering the alternatives, I think he'll be fine."

Thinking about this. Wondering if I still knew Rory. After what Terry had told me about him, I wasn't so sure. Telling Terry, "I need you to trust me for a minute."

When he nodded at me, I steered us over between a cypress knee and an oak. Before the pirogue settled to a rolling stop, I was sliding out into the water. Working my way up to the front, I looked up at Terry and told him to stay put. It took me ten minutes of slow, silent slogging and then I was climbing up into another oak tree. From the lower branches, I could see enough.

"He's running trot lines," I told Terry when I came back. At his raised eyebrows, I said, "He's not expecting company or he wouldn't be so obvious. We're about a half hour's paddle from the cabin. I'm going to move us closer and then you're getting out so I can go in alone. You'll be able to watch from where I'll leave you off and then you can come on in after we're inside. By the time you get there, I'll have him ready to see you."

Shaking his head hard at me. "Absolutely not, Sarah. I can't take the chance he'll run."

"Then I won't take you in. You won't be able to find it on your own, even this close."

He closed his eyes and his jaw tightened. Deep, pissed off expulsion of breath and he nodded agreement. I hopped back into the pirogue and giggled at how quickly Terry had become acclimated to the way to ride out the rocking motion. Slipping into my native cadence, joking with him, "Foutré, bebe, you must got some coon ass blood in those veins of yours."

"Let's just get this over with, Sarah," he said, grim voice.

Twenty minutes later, I hauled us over behind a large cypress tree trunk. Pointing off to the east. "See the slough between the two oaks? Watch me head in there and give me five minutes then follow me. Once you make it to the cut, keep going and you'll see the cabin's pier to the left."

"What if an alligator approaches," he asked as he struggled to get out of the boat without tipping it.

"Just don't slap the water," I replied and then stopped kidding when I saw his deep frown. "Terry, you have a gun. If you get scared of any wildlife out here, just shoot it. But you won't see a gator on the way."

Ten minutes later, I was paddling up to the cabin and Rory was furious to find me there. But at least he wasn't shooting at me, which is what I was afraid he'd be doing if he had seen Terry coming in at the front of the pirogue.

Inside Pawpaw's old house, I moved quickly to put into motion what Terry wanted. Perhaps even more than him, I was anxious to find Rory. But, more than anything, I was scared. Terry had told me that Doug was only one part of a group of men hunting Rory and he was convinced the others were nearby, probably waiting on Doug to report back in after choking the information from me.

"I don't know how much time we have before they'll look for him. When they do, they'll come here to find you so we need to get in and get out quick," he told me as we walked up the brick path that led to the old house's wide galerie.

Inside, I changed into old jeans and a cotton shirt. I grabbed a hat, sunglasses and my knife that slung in a case from my belt. Everything else we'd need to make the trip into the swamp I could get at Hank's. It's where we'd grab us a boat. I looked at my watch and knew I'd need to wait until about 4 a.m. to call Hank and let him know I'd be coming for the boat and supplies.

That meant we had about four hours to kill. When I was ready, we climbed back into Terry's rental car and took off into a pulsing darkness. He drove us to his hotel and parked just down the street, hiding the car from casual observation behind a neighboring strip mall.

He didn't seem nervous, just cautious, but the walk to the hotel was a series of stops and starts. He'd pull me up against him and then move us behind a car or building edge while he studied the scene. And then he'd yank me behind him as he'd cross whatever space he'd decided was safe.

One time, he shoved me almost too hard into a building's cement wall, his body in front of mine and his fingers on my lips to silence a protest. Headlights swept down the street next to us as a car made the turn and I barely breathed while we waited to see if it was danger come calling. When the car just kept going and it was obvious it was nothing, he looked down at me. We were right up against each other and I could feel his breath on my cheek.

His fingers on my lips dragged down my face and then to my neck. "He hurt you, didn't he?" he whispered to me. "You're bruising there."

Swallowing at the caressing feel of his fingers at my throat. "I'm okay. It's all right now."

"I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner," he said, still whispering, and now his eyes were studying my mouth.

I wanted him to kiss me and wasn't sure why. Maybe it was to wipe away the feel of the last kiss I'd received from a man. But just when I thought it might happen, he turned his head and peered out into the night. Then, we were off again and the moment was as if it never existed.

And as I followed him, his hand never letting mine go, I realized something. This man was amazingly affecting to a small-town girl like me. He was everything I had never seen in any man in this town. He was experienced in danger, he was unafraid of it, he was used to it, he handled it with style and skill.

It bought into every one of my escapist fantasies. Rescued by a strong, heroic, good-looking professional. I smiled at the realization and remembered that even before I knew who he was, he'd been able to make my knees weak with just a smile.

Inside his hotel room, we didn't turn on any lights in case the bad guys had figured out where he was staying. But the light peeking in from the parking lot around his curtains gave us enough light to see the objects in the room. He told me to close my eyes if I was easily offended by strange men stripping in front of me, but that he needed to change clothes.

I put my hands over my eyes because I didn't trust my eyes to stay shut on their own. When he was done, he sat next to me on the bed and pulled my hands down from my face. Smiling into me, saying, "Show's over now, love. You're safe to look again."

"Black's not a good color to wear in the swamp," I murmured, just to have something to say.

He looked at me and then at his shirt. Eyes back at me. "I'll be fine. I need the pockets in this one."

"Can I ask you, Terry? If Rory's hiding, and if people want to kill him, maybe we should let him stay out there where they can't find him."

He tilted his head at me and sighed. "Not that easy, love. And Rory should have thought about the fact that they'd come after you. He should have taken you with him or something."

"I imagine he never thought anyone would come here looking for him," I said. "He hates it here."

He leaned back on his arms. Not really looking at me. "Really? Surprises me. He talks about this place a lot. I always figured he idealized it; he made it sound like it was the perfect life here."

Shaking my head and scooting up to sit against the headboard. "He hated living here. Couldn't wait to get out. He's still mad at me for moving back home. Thinks I'm throwing my life away but he just doesn't get the attraction of this place. It's home."

"He adores you, you know? Tells us things about you that make you so real to us. I think I fell in love with you the first time he told me about watching the way you play the fiddle," Terry said, his voice so soft and mellow, his hand stroking warm along my shin. "I was glad I got to see you play tonight. He was right. There's something about the way you move in the music."

Something happened in that moment. Like I saw my brother differently and I was also aware of Terry looking at me in a different way. "He's in a lot of trouble, isn't he?" I asked him quietly.

"Yeah, love, he is. But that's why I'm here. To help him." He looked up at the ceiling. Sighed heavily. "Maybe we should get some sleep. Gonna be a long day. I'll set the alarm to wake us at 4."

I watched him move up to lay his head on the pillow next to me. On his back and settling in, closing his eyes and relaxing. Nothing else for me to do but slide down to lay next to him. I turned on my side away from him and huddled as close to the edge as I could. Eyes open and staring into the darkened room. Worrying about my brother. Worrying about myself.

"Did you kill that man back there?" I asked after a few minutes, soft words in the dark.

"Yes. Had to be done." Low voice but an edge was there.

I thought about this for a minute or so. How Doug's neck had been at that unnatural angle. About how it made me feel to have seen a man killed before my eyes. I turned over onto my other side and lay facing him. I watched his chest rise and lower as he breathed evenly. I looked at his profile and noticed he seemed to not be quite as relaxed as he might have wanted me to believe he was.

My fingers crept up to his arm and fingered the hem of his shirt's sleeve where it lay just above his elbow. He had these arms that would have felt good to have around a woman. "Terry?" Whispering to him. "I think he was going to kill me. I think he'd planned to all along."

His face turned toward me and his eyes opened to look at me. His far hand reached across his chest and stroked my jaw. Cooing out to me: "He won't bother you anymore. I'll do everything I can to keep you safe from now on. Okay?"

Lowered my eyes and tried hard to swallow the knot in my throat. A big ball of emotion that included fear for Rory, realization I'd almost died that night and concern about what the future would hold for us all.

I felt the bed shift and raised my eyes in time to see Terry leaning toward me. His lips were soft on mine and I welcomed them for their warmth. My lips parted and my tongue touched his mouth. Responding instantly, he swept his fingers into the hair at the back of my head and nudged me deeper into the kiss.

It was this gentle, reassuring caress of a kiss. We stopped at the same time, drawing apart and glancing at each other.  He put an arm around my shoulders and drew me up against his solid body. I rested there in the crook of his underarm, my head against his chest. Slowly, waiting to see if he'd object, I stretched my arm across his abdomen. He responded by putting his hand atop my arm and holding me there.

The next thing I knew, the alarm was blaring us awake.

As I started dialing Hank's number, I watched Terry lace up his boots. His shirt truly had more pockets than I would have believed. For some reason, I seemed fascinated at the sight of him putting ammunition and cigarettes and Lord knows what else inside some of the pockets. Over his black shirt, he put on a holster and a handgun went into it after he checked it out. He pulled out a rifle from a black case, looked it over and then stood there, waiting on me so we could leave.

Rory was beside himself. He had that deep russet tint to his cheeks that I knew meant he was upset. His skin was bronzed a deep and healthy nutty brown from his days in the sunny swamp, so I knew he'd been doing a fair share of fishing and trapping out there. His dark eyes snapped at me as his tongue snapped sharp words my way.

"Catin, I thought you had better sense. If I didn't tell you I was here, you couldn't figure out there was a reason why? That maybe I didn't want your coon ass out here?" he was saying.

I just smirked at him and hauled the pirogue up on the pier. Then lightly shoved on his chest and backed him up the stairs and inside the large cabin. Needed him inside where he wouldn't see Terry approaching before I got him ready.

After I told him what had happened, he marched out on the cabin's galerie and I followed quickly, hoping he didn't have a weapon. I saw Terry climbing up onto the short pier that fronted the cabin. At one time, the cabin had stood high above dry land. In those days, the pier had been the only thing that was over water. But, a lot of formerly dry marsh land was inundated in the swamp, thanks to years of failed water control efforts that kept the Mississippi River from meandering and flooding but also robbed the big old swamp of the natural sediment replacements that river flooding used to bring in to keep the swamp healthy.

Terry stood and peered up at us. His face was set and serious. And then he was on the move, walking solidly up the wooden planks and mounting the steps to come immediately in front of Rory. Without hardly a pause, he reared back and slugged Rory on the chin.

As my brother staggered back, I grabbed him around the waist to help him keep his feet. He put both hands out to Terry, saying, "I can explain ... And, Jesus, Thorne, you fucker. That hurt."

"Yeah? That hurt? Do you have any fucking idea what you've done?" Terry was almost growling at him as one of his hands wrapped itself into Rory's shirt front. "You left me holding the bag in London, trying to explain why we shouldn't just let you fry for what you did. And you put your sister's life in danger. You had to have known they'd come looking for you and that they'd come after her. If I hadn't come here to find you, she'd be dead now."

I stepped in front of Rory and put my hand on Terry's chest. His eyes slowly crept down to me and he didn't lose one iota of the furious scowl darkening his face. "Stop it, Terry. Whatever you have to say to Rory, you can do it without beating him."

"Get the fuck out of the way, Sarah," he told me, his teeth almost locked in his anger. "This is between me and Rory."

I would have stood there forever, except Rory picked me up around the waist and deposited me inside the cabin, closing the front door in my face. Of course, I could still hear them yelling at each other out there.

It's how I was able to put it together. Rory had been delivering ransom money in Mexico but when the kidnappers counted the amount they got, they were missing about $100,000. And Rory was also missing, of course, having spirited the kidnap victim out of the country and back to her home in Houston. The money? He'd used it to keep another Mexican gang from preventing his escape with the victim. The second gang had become aware that an insurance company was funding the executive's release and figured they could mess things up so they could get their own money. He swore to Terry that he had been double-crossed and assumed it was someone within Luthan Risk leaving him out to dry. That he'd told the main office about the new demand and they hadn't sent the new money. Biggest problem was, Rory told him, whoever had double-crossed him had also told the first Mexican gang, the ones who'd actually done the kidnapping, that Rory had stolen the money. They were notorious for killing anyone who double-crossed them, and apparently with the help of the Luthan Risk inside person, the gang knew Rory's itinerary.

There was no way, Terry told him, that he would have ever gotten away with it. Why, he asked, didn't Rory simply come to him and tell him what had happened? They could have arranged for delivery of the missing money to the kidnappers. Because he didn't know who to trust, Rory had replied, so he was heading back to Luthan Risk headquarters to find out what had happened. Besides, he said, by the time he realized he was about to be killed, he didn't want to take any more chances. He was on the run from the moment he was flying from Houston back to London. It was during the leg from Houston that Rory realized one of the kidnappers' agents was on the plane with him and Rory had managed to escape from him during the time he changed planes in Washington. And from there, he'd not stopped running.

I knew Rory well enough to know that he also hadn't expected Terry and the others at Luthan Risk to believe him. He thought he was on his own and didn't know whom he could trust. He'd snuck back to the cabin without anyone knowing. But the kidnappers put a contract out on him and I got caught up in the whole thing.

"They were probably planning on using her for bait," Terry told Rory. "But I think their man believed her when she said she didn't know where you were. That made her expendable. And it might have flushed you out for them."

Not needing to hear more and angry with Rory. Terry was right. He should have thought about me. He should have worried more about keeping me safe. I went into the cabin's kitchen and yanked open the fridge. Nothing hard to drink in there. I slammed it shut and started opening cabinets until I found the liquor supply. I was downing the dregs of my second shot glass of whiskey when I heard footsteps coming toward me.

A hand fell over my hand holding the bottle. "Go slow on that," Terry whispered right into my ear. His other arm slid easily around my waist and he snugged up behind me.

"Where's Rory?"

"Took off in the pirogue. Said he was checking trot lines," he said and I turned to look in his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. "He needs some time to get his head straight."

"Fils de putain. I feel like killing him." Said it bold and let it hang out there between us. Terry's arms hugged me in to him and he made these soothing sounds to me. I pushed him off me, looking right in his eyes as if I was challenging him, saying, "I want to get clean. Want to join me?"

Smirk at me and he nodded. "Fresh water or swamp water?"

"You're in for a surprise. This camp? We used to live here, Rory and me. And our parents. But it's been a project for Rory and me, making this place a lot more hospitable for us than it used to be. We've put in solar panels and water traps and generators and all kindsa crap. Runs the electricity, heats the water ... Hell, it's almost luxurious now."

Taking him by the hand and pulling him toward the bathroom. Filling the big old tub with warm water and watching him peel off his clothes. Shoving the door closed behind us and undressing quick. We were even grimier than the day before and I couldn't wait to see how he'd look once he was clean again. And how his skin would taste.

I climbed in the tub and slid under the water to get my hair wet. As I surfaced, Terry was stepping in to join me. As I went to shampoo my hair, he stopped me in mid motion. His big fingers massaged my scalp and worked the lather through the strands of my hair. When he was finished, I dipped my hair back beneath the water to rinse out the shampoo. He was waiting with a washcloth full of soapsuds when I opened my eyes. I let him wash me all over, standing when he instructed so he could wash my lower body.

He spent long moments washing between my thighs. The roughness of the washcloth on my suddenly interested clit felt invigorating. When he was finished and had rinsed the soap off me, he leaned in and kissed me there, sucking in my clit until I almost lost my footing in the tub. Chuckling deep in his throat, he helped me sink back down in the water.

I took his lead and washed his skin good, scrubbing intently along his chest, coming close to him to examine my handiwork. Kissing his face once it was clean. When he stood to let me finish washing him, I noticed his cock was standing at attention and I smiled evilly up into his eyes. After I cleaned all the way to his toes, I finally washed his hardness and then rinsed him off. My mouth kissed him there and I heard him groan.

"Comment tu crois? Tell me. That feel good?" I asked him and he groaned again, his hands on my head letting me know what he wanted. I kissed down the length of him before licking over his balls and then pulling each one into my mouth for long, tender caresses inside the warmth.

"Sarah, love, you've got such a sweet mouth ... unh ... talented, too," he moaned out as I began licking up his shaft. When I got to the tip, I let my mouth open slowly, flitting my tongue out to sweep across his slit and scoop up his pre-cum. "Unh ... Christ ... Yeah, love, do it."

My mouth took him in slowly, ever so slowly. Sucking lightly at first until I established a rhythm he seemed to really enjoy, if the swaying of his hips toward me were any indication. It seemed like I'd just really gotten down to business when he was pulling me off of him.

His hands under my arms forced me to stand and then he was prodding me out of the tub. I reached for a towel, but he pushed me down to my back on the floor. "Let me at you now," he murmured to me and I felt him pulling my knees apart even as he was pulling my hips toward him. The soft rug beneath me sheltered my body from the harshness of the wood floor. His tongue was exploring me with no warning and I shuddered against him.

I arched up into his mouth and it sounded like he was purring at me. His tongue slid up one side of my slit, circled my clit twice and then slid down the other side. Then he was probing inside me, his tongue diving in and feeling divine in there. Panting and crying out softly. Then sucking in a huge breath as he neared my clit with that tongue again. Circling, circling, circling. Revving me up and stringing me along. "Ah ... God ... Ça c'est bon, Terry ... More. Now ... Please."

Like I'd told him exactly what to do, he did it. Just right. He sucked in gently at first and I felt myself gush more wetness as my entire body seemed to go soft in his hands. His teeth touched either side of my bundle and then he let go only to suck in harder. And that was it. I was gone from him and coming in a breathless rush, choking back on a scream that wanted to be free.

Lying under him and feeling the inviting touch of his body as it crept up to cover mine. Moaning out softly to him and he kissed me tenderly along my neck until I reached up and nipped him on his shoulder.

His hands slipped under my hips and he pulled me onto his cock, thrusting in toward me until he was buried inside the part of me that was absolutely aching for him to fill me. And fill me he did. Murmuring approval to him and he was whispering in my ear in reply. Mindless ramblings from both of us. And then we were both in a hurry, wanting the deep release. Needing it. And getting it in a heated eruption of grinding, grunting bodies.

He held me afterwards, pulling me against him as he almost fell to his side next to me on the rug. We lay there, tangled limbs and heaving chests. I looked at him, watching him as he snuggled into me, his eyes closed and a smile playing on his lips. Long minutes passed and his eyes finally slid open to find me still watching him.

"We should get up and get dressed before Rory gets back," he muttered. But he didn't move. Like he knew what we should do, but he didn't want to leave the embrace.

"Okay. I'm getting up now." But I didn't move. Then we both giggled. And we settled more into each other. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of sex, man and swamp. Heady mixture but maybe you had to love the Atchafalaya like I did.

Hank didn't seem surprised when I called him shortly after 4 a.m. Told him to have a boat ready; that I'd be there in about a thirty minutes. Need to be supplied for a day-long trip, I told him. Gotcha covered, he replied.

Watched Terry check guns and ammo. He asked me if I knew how to fire a gun; I frowned at him. Yeah, I said, but I don't use guns. No accuracy, I explained. Knife's the only real weapon I'd ever been comfortable with but I'd shot rifles when needed.

"What kind of trouble are you expecting?" I asked him. "Not from Rory?"

Looking hard at me. "The man last night has some friends here. Five other men. We need to be prepared for them to come after us. Hopefully, we have a good enough head start that we can get to the camp, get Rory and then get the hell out of here without them picking up our trail. But we might not be that lucky."

When we pulled up to the old dock business, I felt the same lightness I always did when I came there. I loved this old place and I swear but it would have been heaven to have been able to take over my grandfather's guiding and fishing business. Hank was living in the old house that sat up on a natural bluff a short walk from the trailer office. Just beyond the trailer was the new metal dock that Hank had put in about a year earlier. Tied up in slips were the twelve motorboats and assorted skiffs that he rented. Another dock nearby held the four motorboats he used to take people out on trips in the swamp. He let a few of us use those motorboats if we were taking trips for him.

Between the two docks was the small store that carried all the supplies people needed. Ice. Beer. Bait. Hats. Sunscreen. Food. Soft drinks. You name it, you need it, he probably had it stocked. He also stocked the treats you wanted when you came back after a hard day on the water.

I knocked on the trailer door and Hank stepped out to greet me. A Hank hug and he was shaking hands with Terry. Could I have one of the good boats, I asked him and he smacked the top of my head.

"Would I give you any other, catin?" Then walking us down to show me the boat he'd let us use. Better horsepower, I grinned at Terry and I think I saw him start when Hank warned him not to let me go too fast in the swamp. "She loves to scare people by running all out up in there."

I took Hank with me into the store so Terry could grab his weapons unseen from the car and stow them in the boat. No sense alerting Hank that trouble might be brewing. Inside the store, we both called out to his wife Hermione, who ran the store from behind the short counter. No answer and we looked at each other. Odd.

Hank walked to the storeroom, saying he'd get the box of supplies he'd made up for us and then he disappeared inside. I walked around the store, looking out the big windows at the swamp's morning glory. Heard a step and turned to find a man I didn't know coming out of the storeroom. A gun in his hand and it was pointed at my head.

"You're Sarah?" he asked me in a hard voice. I nodded and he waved the gun at me. "Get over here. You alone?"

"Yes. I'm alone."

"She said you were taking someone out in the swamp today."

"He's not here yet. Meeting me here in about thirty minutes." Hoping to God Terry didn't just barge in at that particular moment.

When I got to where the man was, he looked me over carefully. I was sure he didn't miss the way my entire body was shaking. "She's alone," he said and another man came out of the storeroom. I caught his movement out of the corner of my eye.

The other man approached me and I turned my head to follow him. He had a gun but at least it wasn't pointed at me. "Where's your brother?"

I closed my eyes. "I don't know where he is. I haven't talked to him in months."

"But you're not surprised men with guns are here looking for him?"

Peered out at him. "Someone was around asking about him yesterday. Told him the same thing."

"Describe the person asking about him."

I described Doug. Didn't tell him what he'd looked like with that snapped neck, though. The men exchanged glances and I thought they might have already known he was dead.

"On your knees," the first man told me, his gun resting on my forehead and I dropped instantly. Kneeling before him and waiting to die. "What about the other man?"

My eyes flew up to meet his. "What other man?"

"The one who's meeting you here. The woman said he was a tourist with a funny accent. Describe him."

I didn't know what to do. I figured they knew it was Terry and I didn't know if it'd be better to confirm this or not. But before I could say anything, I heard Terry's voice behind me.

"He looks a lot like me," he said, his voice this throbbing current of menace. "Let me see your hands, gents. No fast moves. Oh, lookie what we have here. Those guns look like they might be a bit big for you boys."

Behind me, I could hear him moving closer to where I was kneeling and the men in front of me were glaring at him. Unafraid but knowing he had the draw on them.

"Sarah?" Terry's voice, softer, meant just for me. "I want you to crawl over here by me. C'mon, love, come over here."

On my hands and knees, I moved quickly over to him.

"Good girl. Now, go on outside and get the boat started. I'll be with you in a minute."

When I got past his legs, I stood and rushed to the door. As I got there, I paused and looked behind me. He was intent on the two men and I heard him tell them to drop their guns. One of them made a move and he fired at him. The man smashed into a rack of candy behind him, a loud clatter of noises. And then, before my eyes, Terry trained his gun on the second man and fired. When he turned back, his eyes looked so dark they could have been black.

"Get in the boat, Sarah. We need to get out of here. The others are close, you can count on it."

"Hank. Hermione." I said their names and couldn't explain. "They were ..." Waving toward the storage room door.

He stepped over one body and opened the door. I saw his shoulders sag and felt like my legs didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. By the time he reached me, he had to pick me up from where I was huddling on the floor, one hand gripping the doorknob so hard my knuckles were white.

"Come with me, Sarah. We need to move quickly," he whispered to me, pulling me up onto shaky legs. When I looked into his eyes, he said, "You can't help them. They're dead."