"Oh, foutré," I whispered when I heard the screen door slap closed. "Rory's back."

We scrambled to our feet and I threw him a wet washcloth as I used one to run over my body again, removing the evidence of the love we'd just made. My eyes latched onto the piles of dirty clothes near the door and I knew there was no way either of us was wearing those again without washing them first.

Handing Terry a bath towel, I said bravely, "You go out first. Take him in the kitchen and drink a beer. Tell him I'm going to run a load of laundry once I'm finished with my bath. I have some other clothes I keep here; I'll get dressed and join you."

"Fuck. I do not want him to know I'm ... He's going to guess."

"No, he won't. Not if we don't act weird about this. Just act casual and he'll just assume you took a bath before me." 

I listened through the cracked door and heard no suspicious remarks from Rory. When they were in the kitchen, I ran water in the tub and rinsed myself one more time. Then I scooted out of the bathroom, down to the bedroom that held my stuff and closed the door. Inside, I rustled up fresh underwear, shorts and a t-shirt. Dressed, I stood before the mirror and brushed out my hair. Examining my reflection and looking deep within my eyes. Another woman peered out at me. She had some fear about what was to come, about the warning Terry had given me about the men hunting Rory. Now hunting all of us. Knowing the danger was still out there. But confident it wasn't anywhere near us because there was no one they could have hired other than Hank to bring them out there who would have really been able to find the cut off to this place. Even Hank might not have been able to do it.

Shut my eyes and tried not to picture Hank. Or Hermione. When I had told Rory about what had happened to them, he couldn't meet my eyes. I figured he understood that his coming home had placed all of us in danger.

By the time I rejoined them, Rory had loaned Terry some of his clothes so I didn't have to control myself when looking at his mostly nude body. And I decided that I'd just burn the clothes we'd been wearing. Easier.

Rory had brought us back redfish for dinner. It made me smile, remembering other times. Then it made me sad because I remembered that the last time I'd been to a fish fry featuring redfish, it had been at Hank's place. And while I cooked our meal, I listened to them talk with half a mind. The other half was staring out the kitchen window into my past.

Night fell in on us and they were making plans to return to civilization the next day. We were so much safer out in the swamp, I protested. But they knew they had to return. The men hunting them wouldn't give up and no telling who they were now going after in an attempt to get information on Rory's hiding place.

I thought about Teej and Marie. Hoped they were okay. Thought about my tantes and wondered if they knew Hank and Hermione were dead. When I asked Rory, he'd looked away from me and told me that almost surely someone had found the bodies by then. And that would mean the cops were looking for an explanation for four dead bodies. Five if you counted Doug, and I was sure they'd found him already.

Needing an escape from their harsh reality of figuring out where to head for so they'd have the best chance of leaving this area and getting Rory someplace safe, I went onto the front galerie and breathed in my beloved land.

My birthright. My salvation. My sanctuary. My time capsule.

I slid down onto my back and stared straight up at a black night sky and the millions of pin pricks of glittering lights. You just never saw the stars like this in town.

Boards creaking beneath his feet alerted me to Terry's arrival. I glanced at him as he sat next to me. "Rory's turning in. He says you should do the same."

"What about you?" I asked him, the issue of where he'd sleep flitting through my mind. If I'd had my druthers, he'd be sleeping with me that night. But, what would Rory say?

"I'll keep watch for a while." His hand reached toward me but all he did was play with a strand of my hair.  We heard more boards creaking and knew Rory was moving toward the front of the cabin. He took his hand back like it had been scalded.

"Don't you two look cozy," Rory drawled out as he stepped out onto the galerie. I was still flat on my back and stretched before I stood to walk off down to the pier. I knew Rory would follow me; I knew he felt he had something else to say to me. "Sarah? There's nothing going on that I should know about, is there?"

Looking off into the ink of the night. "With me, you mean? Nah. My life's pretty much as it has been. I was pretty happy until your little escapade intruded into my peace."

His arm on my shoulder and the brother I had clung to for so long wanted back in my life. "I can't help it if I wanted more for you, catin. I'm afraid you're settling instead of searching."

"I don't need to search, Rory. I'm not you. I'm happy here. Always have been. It's you who hated it here," I told him. "Laisse-moi tranquille. When will you accept that I don't need anything more than what I've got?"

"Never. Because you deserve more. You've got more going for you than this town will ever let you show. They've got you pegged as some stupid swamp rat and you don't help matters when you spend so much of your time roaming out here."

"You know what? It's you that hated being a swamp rat. Not me. It's you that had to start high school in town and hated the names they called you. People accepted me a lot easier cause I was a lot younger when we moved to town with Pawpaw. I've never been ashamed of my roots like you have been, Rory."

"You just never heard them talking behind your back, Sarah. They talked. Oh, my, yes indeedy, they talked about you. Like you were white trash," he said, his voice all shot through with pent up anger at past injustices. "And you can say I'm sticking my nose in your business, but I believe in you, Sarah. I'm the only one around here who does. I don't want to see you end up like all the other girls in this town. Married to an oil rig worker and feeling like you're older than dirt by the time you're 40 and got six kids hanging on you."

"Some of us would like to have that kind of life, Rory."

Facing him and not able to see the look on his face but knowing that his silence meant I'd really pissed him off with that. He turned and stomped into the cabin, leaving me in the vacuum of his absence. Why do I say things like that to him, I wondered. It wasn't true. I wanted a different kind of life than what I saw going on around me but I didn't want his kind of life, either.

Terry's hands around my waist chased thoughts of Rory's disapproval away from me. I leaned back against him and let him hold me. His lips sought my neck and I closed my eyes at how well he did that with his mouth. One hand on a breast and he was back to making me wet. I turned in his arms and let him kiss me. Hard. Harder. Probing in this way that celebrated the intimacy of our relationship.

Neither of us were paying attention to anything but the kiss and the movement of our bodies against each other. Rory's wounded voice broke us apart but Terry never let go of me; he shoved me behind him and kept a hand on my hip, as if he thought he had to protect me from my own brother.

"Thorne, you fucker. Tell me you haven't touched my sister." Grating the words out from a clenched jaw.

"Rory, you need to calm down, mate. It wasn't ..." Trying to placate a raging Cajun and I could have told him that would be a real challenge.

"Oh, man. No. You fucked her? Man, I outta ... I shoulda known, right? Haven't I heard enough from Dino about you and women? I cannot believe even you would stoop this low. She's a baby, man. She's not like your other women. She doesn't have any experience." And I heard it then. This catch in his voice, this realization that I was never going to be someone he understood but nonetheless he wanted to protect me. "She's my little sister, Thorne."

"She's a woman," Terry said softly. "I'm sorry, Rory. It just ... You've told me so much about her and I just ... I'm sorry."

"I'm not," I said, low voice but it carried to them both. Rory wouldn't even look at me. He turned and went back into the cabin. Terry followed behind him and I heard the muffled threads of their conversation but I didn't want to hear the words. Because I knew what was happening. Rory was trying to believe I'd been forced or coerced into something and Terry was promising it wouldn't happen again. Like it was really up to either of them.

When the cabin grew quiet, I went in and walked past where Terry lay sprawled on the couch, dragging on a cigarette and probably waiting on me to look at him. Instead, I made it to my room and once inside, I stripped and dove under the sheet. It was a good night's sleep. Exhausted beyond reason, overwhelmed by the rudeness of the long hours since the fais-do-do and absent any desire to plan ahead.

In the morning, the three of us barely spoke at the table as we ate a hurried breakfast. The men talked to each other later. Short-handed sentences centering only on what we'd do that day to make a run for the town of Breaux Bridge. Figuring that was a better place to head for than St. Martinville. It was also where Rory had started his journey into the swamp so they figured we could get in his car and take off for New Orleans where we'd hole up until they got the money they owed delivered to the Mexican gang. That, they hoped, would remove the incentive to kill Rory. And then they'd have to figure out who at Luthan Risk had gone bad.

While they plotted and left me out of it, I escaped in the pirogue for a short plunge back into the land of my childhood. When I'd lived there as a child, there was land for us to run and play on, but so much of that land had subsided beneath the swamp's waters. I had had a magical childhood. Free from most societal expectations of what a girl should be. Raised by parents who didn't trust our education to the regular schools. Going into town so rarely that the idea of cars and electricity seemed so odd.

The Atchafalaya Swamp. It was where I'd learned about snakes and nutria and crawfish. It was where Rory had taught me to call gators. It was where I'd lived with sun and rain and storms and peace. It was wild irises and great blue herons. Folklore and wisdom of the ages. Cajun French and the patois of the fiddle. Music with a washboard and scrubbing clothes in the basin. Hard scrabble life and richness of belonging. Loss and gain, rebirth and memories, some sweet and some bitter.

I was paddling so smoothly that morning. Snuck up on an egret and then it took to wing, showing me the only snow I ever saw in the swamp as it dusted the sky with its frosty whiteness. My eyes back down and through the hanging moss, I glimpsed the boat in the channel.

They were still searching for us. They hadn't given up. And somehow they'd found their way much too close to us. So close and I couldn't figure out how either Rory or I hadn't felt them nearby. They were going slowly, their motor idling softly. Faint noise that felt like a roaring thunder.

The pirogue pivoted on my paddle and I was silently gliding back up the bayou to the cabin. On the pier and bounding up the steps. Inside, taking Terry and Rory by surprise with the unwelcome news. They sped through the rest of their packing, slinging guns in holsters and rifles around their neck. Chasing me out onto the pier with directions to watch for the boat's arrival. Out on the pier, pacing up and down, eyes peeled for danger. Long minutes passed and my ears tried to pick up sounds of their motor.

Terry raced out toward me, not chancing raising his voice, telling me that Rory was out back retrieving the motor boat he'd hidden away from the cabin in a clump of long-leaf pines. And, before long, hearing its throaty roar kick to life.

But we weren't the only ones to hear the noise and before it seemed possible, there were two boats heading for the pier. Rory was rounding the back pilings that supported the cabin and the men pursuing him were full out charging up the bayou toward the pier from the other side.

Terry's hand on my wrist pulled me behind him and we were running. Then shots busted into the morning's air. Terry turned to watch the approach and then tackled me full bore as more shots rang out. We were falling into the swamp on the other side of the pier. Hitting the water hard and then struggling back above the bayou's surface.

"Swim," Terry grunted at me. "Get to Rory."

I looked up and saw Rory nearing us. Looked back at Terry and he shoved me in Rory's direction so I started swimming toward him. When I reached the boat, I had my hands up on the side and was trying to draw myself over. I felt Terry's hands shoving up on my ass and the next thing I knew, I was sprawling on the boat's aft deck. Scrambling to my feet and reaching over the side to help Terry aboard even as Rory was throttling up. The boat leapt in the water and Terry and I crashed against each other, sliding clumsily on the now wet deck.

Rory screaming at us to stay down and Terry trying to get his rifle loose. More shots from the other boat and I was afraid to peek over to see where they were. From the angle of the boat, I knew Rory was running us full out. As I felt him take the turn into the channel, I prayed to whatever God might have been watching over his foolhardy children that Rory was still up to running this fast in the swamp. Quick novena that his nerves were better than mine of the day before and that he didn't make a mistake like mine.

Glancing over to see what Terry was doing and caught a wince as he shifted onto his knees. Something caught my eye and I took in the deck. It was wet but the fluid had a pink tinge that got darker the closer it got to Terry. Caught a red drip falling from his arm and knew he'd been shot.

Tugging on his arm and trying to figure out where he was hurt. He shoved me away but wouldn't meet my eyes. I tried yelling at him but all I got was a fast glare that told me to shut up. And all I could do was watch the pink on the deck get darker and redder.

Rory yelling at me to crawl up to him. Needing my knowledge of the swamp even when he knew how miserably I'd failed under these circumstances the day before. When I reached him, he yanked me up and made me take a look at where we were. "Left to the river?" he asked me. Gut instinct and knowing I knew. Nodding at him hard and telling him the S-cut was coming. Then pointing it out and letting him push me down while he made the tight loop. Second tight loop and then he had us running full out again. From there, the river was so easy to find.

I tugged on Rory's belt and called up to him that Terry had been shot. We both turned to watch him, firing his rifle at the pursuers and drops of red were falling steadier from his arm. Nothing we can do about it now, Rory told me. Then he handed me his rifle, raised his eyebrows and I nodded. I crawled back to Terry and wondered if I was brave enough to help him shoot.

When I leaned over the back edge and sighted the target, it felt strange. Squeezing off the rounds and it was like riding a bike. Never a good shot but sometimes, like then, it didn't matter. It just made the pursuing bad guys aware a second gun was firing at them and they backed off slightly.

Terry heard the siren first. His head swiveled to find the source and I looked back finally to find Rory grinning at us over his shoulders. When I looked back at the pursuing boat, it was slowing and turning away. And then the blue lights, white sides with red stripes blazed past us and I knew the sheriff's water cops were saving our asses.

They were out looking for Hank's missing boats. Knowing they must have had something to do with the murders investigation. And hearing the commotion we'd been making, they'd high tailed it to investigate. When had I ever been happier to see the water cops?

Another sheriff's boat pulled up alongside us as Rory eased the boat to a stop. I was looking at Terry and saw the moment he let go. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head and he groaned this tiny groan. I reached for him and he let me pull him down toward me; he ended up sprawled out across my lap. Rory was there so fast and he was yelling at the deputies for bandages.

Forever passed in a few minutes and they stopped the bleeding by binding his shoulder with white gauze pads tied down with an ace bandage. He came back to us and cursed about the rough treatment. Arm immobilized in a sling and he was ready to go in the sheriff's boat. I was climbing in with him and Rory stayed behind to bring in his boat. One deputy stayed behind with Rory, to get his story. The other one charged us through the swamp, calling for an ambulance to meet us at the main dock in St. Martinsville.

It had been a grazing gunshot wound at his shoulder and Terry was being released from the ER after they cleaned him up and patched the damage with a few stitches. I waited for two hours before Rory showed up at the hospital and we waited another hour for them to discharge Terry.

By then, our stories had been written down by the cops. They weren't quite sure what to make of the entire mess, but they seemed content with our versions. On the one hand, they had me and Rory, two locals who'd never been in trouble. Plus, they had Rory and Terry, credentialed out the ying-yang with various law enforcement agencies. On the other hand, they had guys chasing us with guns who had no local ties and who came up with some nasty priors on their records.

Oh, maybe I forgot to mention, that my father's cousin, Nonc Octave, was the sheriff. That probably helped the most in clearing up the whole mess. With him at the helm, Rory and I took comfort in the fact that Hank and Hermione's deaths wouldn't go unavenged.

We were free to go by the time Terry was ready to leave the ER.

We'd made it to the boat with no problems. I started the motor, its throaty rumble cutting into the quiet of the dawning morning. Terry tossed the mooring lines and stepped into the aft, helping me shove us away as I backed the boat out of the slip.

So far, I was controlling the shaking that kept wanting to take over my hands and my heart. I was responding rotely to Terry's urgings to get us out in the swamp. Away from the carnage. Away from whatever other bad men were coming. Away from where my cousin and his wife had just died.

And then I heard Terry shout a warning. Something whizzed past my head and he was yanking me down to the floor of the boat. We heard men's loud voices and more shots. Feet were running down the dock and coming close to where we hadn't yet cleared the slip. In some strange world, I stood, grabbed the controls, braced myself, whipped the steering wheel sharp to the left and gave nearly full throttle to move us out.

And just like that, the wind was whipping at my hair and I had us running full out into the blueness of the swamp in the morning. Before me, the water stretched in smoothness across the wide bayou. A sheen of midnight-blue glass that we'd cut into it and it would rustle away from the boat in wakes of rippling fury after we roared passed.

Terry was yelling in my ear. Telling me to cut into another channel to lose the men who he knew would be following us. Not the best idea, I knew. I didn't bother telling him that they'd be able to follow our wake with no problem no matter where we went so the best thing we could do was just try to flat outrun them. I just kept going where I knew we needed to be. To an area of the swamp where I could get us lost in vastness.

When he yelled at me again, ordering me to take evasive turns, I tried to yell back so he'd know I knew what I was doing. But something about the look on his face told me I'd have to follow his instructions in this. At the next channel, I throttled back only enough to loop the turn and then we were back to full run speed.

From there, I began turning us into off channels and bayous that I knew would lead back and forth, criss-crossing the swamp and never boxing us in. But one cut too many and we came out just ahead of another boat. I knew the boat. It was Hank's fastest.

"Foutré!" I yelled and looped into another cut. Too late I realized it was leading us the wrong way, away from the open area I needed us to be at.

"They're gaining on us. Faster," he screamed at me.

"No good," I replied. Tossing a look over my shoulder and judging the length of time before they over took us. Then looking ahead and seeing a break we could make into a slough that I felt pretty sure led to a bayou I knew. And if we could make it there, we could chase out to the big Atchafalaya River and then to Bayou Teche to try to outrun them up to Beaux Bridge. Into the break and they overshot the turn. It gave us maybe ten seconds of open run in an area where I should have known you didn't run wide open. We smacked hard over a cypress knee just below the surface and the entire boat shuddered hard.

Ahead of us, I saw the sanctuary of a familiar bayou. But the boat was shuddering too hard and it started limping. I turned us hard into a short run down a shallow offshoot of the channel and then edged us into another offshoot before winding us ever further up away from the bayou but into the natural cuts in the ciprière.

Going much too slow and hoping we'd confused them in the wilderness. Hoping they weren't able to track our wake too easy since at the slower speed, the wake wasn't going to be as impressive.

Terry at my ear. "We need to get the fuck away from here. Don't try hiding from them. It won't work."

My head whipped around to face him. "Give me a fucking break. The boat won't go fast enough. We have to lose them up in here. It's the only chance we have." Then turning away to mutter under my breath in frustration, "Je fais le mieux que je peux."

Terry in my ear. "If they find us, we don't stand a chance. Get us the fuck out of here."

But before I could reply, we both heard the other boat. It raced fast and kept going up the bayou that was somewhere behind us. I smiled at Terry and said, "See? Comment tu crois? They're gone. They'll never find us in here."

And then we heard them circle back. They knew. They knew we had run to ground and we heard them making test runs. Wide eyes at Terry. Low voice because we needed to be quiet. "Terry, something happened when we ran over the knee. We can't outrun them. Maybe we should ..."

And then my eyes caught glimpses of them moving, seeing their colors through the trees and sure they could see us. "Jump," he told me. I hopped overboard so fast I never even thought to bring anything with me. I watched as the boat I'd been in jerked to a faster speed and then Terry jumped into the water and swam toward me. When he reached me, he shoved me behind a large cypress and then turned to watch our boat. I peered around him in time to watch it slam into an oak and burst into flames with a roaring explosion.

Then our pursuers chugged past us, their eyes glued to the flaming wreckage. I felt Terry yank on my shoulder and turned to follow him, wading with him deeper into the swamp's crowded interior and away from the open channel. We reached the other side of the area we were in and studied the slough before us.

"Which way?" he asked me.

I turned panicked eyes at him. "Quoi? You must be joking. How the fuck do I know which way we need to go? We can't go back to the dock and I am not even sure I could figure out which way to go if that's where we needed to go."

"Calm down and think. We need to get to Rory. Fuck the dock. How do we get to the cabin?"

"I'm not sure," I said, my voice calmer and my mind trying to reason this out. Looking up at the sun and down at shadows. Studying where we were and trying to find a familiar landmark. "I think ... maybe this way."

Setting off against the tide pushing softly in the slough and swimming surely across its short breadth. Not even bothering to look behind me to see if he was coming. Knowing he was right with me. On the other side, I climbed up into a small oak and studied the land around us.

Pretty sure I knew where we were, I felt more confident and set off heading northeast, where I was expecting us to reach another bayou I'd recognize and from there, it should have been easy. But hours later and I was fighting a rising sick feeling in the pit of my gut. Every time he'd ask me about how we were doing, I'd lie and tell him we were doing fine.

After we cut through another shallower area and reached still another bayou, things didn't look any more familiar. I climbed another oak and searched the area. I didn't like what I saw because it didn't look right.

Back down to where he waited, breathing tight in the harsh humidity. Piercing eyes cutting into me. I motioned with my head and he followed me as I waded up the channel's sides until we reached a fork. I stood looking around and for the first time in my life, I was truly scared to be in the swamp. Fighting the day's horror and praying I'd calm down enough not to be leading us further away from certainty.

"Problem?" he asked me in this annoyed voice as he came next to me.

"We're lost," I said, in a small voice that screamed my fear. "I got us lost. I don't even know ... I don't know what to do."

"Take your time, love," he said, sarcasm dripping from that mouth. "We're just talking our lives. And Rory's. But if you'd rather just give up and die ..."

"Shut up, fils de putain. You're not helping." Rounding on him and yelling into his pissed off face. "And with you around, yeah, I'd rather take my chances with the other men. At least they'd just shoot me and put me out of my misery."

"Yeah? You want to give up? That's it? Fuck, Rory was lying about you all along. Shoulda known."

"You chien. Just shut up and leave me alone. Laisse-moi tranquille!" And from nowhere, I was sobbing and he was trying to hold me. I slugged him hard in his chest and he flipped over backwards into the shallow water. Rising with a dark glare on me and I just couldn't stop crying. "I don't want to die out here."

"Stop being such a baby. Take a deep breath and get your bearings. Now." His sharp words and he was chopping each syllable off crisply in his anger.

My own anger flared again in response. "Who can think when people are trying to kill you? I think I've done pretty good until now, fils de putain. So get off my back."

His face was right in front of mine and his fury lashed out at me. "You're useless, you know that? Why I thought Rory ever told the truth, fuck if I know. He said that if you put Sarah down in the middle of any part of this swamp, she'd know instantly how to get out. You're his last hope and you'd fucking rather quit than try, wouldn't you? I was depending on you, Sarah, and about all you've proven good at is cussing at me in another language. You let me down."

I swallowed hard and leaned away from him. My head dropped down and I knew he was right. I was useless. I had let him and Rory down. But I just couldn't think anymore. Nothing was right, everything was horrible. It just felt so hopeless and I had given up hours earlier.

Hearing him moving away, I looked up just in time for him to glance at me over his shoulder. If I wouldn't take the lead, then he might as well, he told me. At least he wasn't going to go down without a fight, he said.

I trudged behind him, my body giving in to where my mind was at just then. Didn't even realize he'd stopped until I bumped into him. "Still crying?" he asked me in a snide voice.

"Fuck you," I muttered.

His finger under my chin forced me to look up at him. Amused glint in his eyes. "Yeah? Fuck me? Nice comment since I seem to be the only one of us interested in saving your cute little ass."

We'd been walking for so long, slugging through water and only having occasional short stretches of dry land beneath our feet. I was wet, I was disheartened, I wanted to just stop. I glared at him. "City boy, you know what? You're gonna be singing a different tune when night comes in a few hours. You'll be with me up in one of these trees and you'll be seeing I'm right. We're fucked unless someone finds us and no one will find us because I've got us so fucking lost and ..."

"Finished being a wimp? Then suck it up and think about what you're saying. Night's coming and I don't intend to spend it out here in the water. We need to find one of the old cabins you keep telling me are out here."

"Brilliant, Terry. Gee, I never thought of that," I said, turning sarcastic in my fatigue and bad mental state.

"Fine, love. Tell ya what, let's make a bet on it, shall we? I don't think you could find your way out of a paper bag much less this crap we're wading in. But I have faith in myself. Let's say that whichever of us finds a cabin or some other safe, dry place to sleep tonight can name their prize."

"Prize? What, like you're gonna let me borrow your gun so I can put myself out of my misery?"

Smirking at me but he looked more mean than playful. "No, Sarah. Choose something you want me to do for you. If you find the place for us first, I'll do it for you."

I looked at him and thought about how tired I was of being wet. "Fine. I'll find us a place to stay. But when I do, then you have to carry me tomorrow whenever I get tired of walking. How's that?"

"Lovely. Very mature," he said, grinning at me and it suddenly made me hear what I'd just said. What I'd been saying for a while. How juvenile I'd been sounding.

Hiding a chuckle at myself, I said, "Your turn. What do I have to do for you if you find a place? Knowing, of course, there isn't a chance you'll find it before me."

His eyes swept over me and he got this evil light in his eyes before he said, "Let me see. I certainly want to make sure it's not quite so childish as yours." Leaning into me and saying real low, "Okay, if I find a place for us to stay, then you have to fuck me tonight."

I stepped away from him, my head swiveling up to look at him full on, and my mouth dropped open in shock. He grinned from ear to ear, thrilled at having such fun at my expense. "Chien. Stop being such a jerk. Pick something real."

"I've picked," he said, and his giggle turned to a full out laugh as I glared at him.

Now totally pissed, I shoved him hard to clear him out of my way and I took off walking. Somehow, it was like this challenge just invigorated me but truly, I think it was the anger coursing fast throughout my body. And I was determined to find the way out of this mess we were in.

But an hour later, I hadn't spotted any likely looking sloughs or bayous within the swamp's watery spaces where I thought we might turn to look for a cabin. I stopped and perched on a cypress knee, waiting for him to catch up. When he did, I looked above us at the darkening sky. We should call it quits and look for a good tree to climb up into, I told him.

"Quit if you want, Sarah. I'm not," he gritted out and took off in the direction we'd been heading.

I went to follow him but I wasn't keeping up. Too busy looking for a good tree and too involved in giving in to the misery. His hand around my wrist caught me by surprise. No words, just the look and he was dragging me behind him. Resolutely plowing on and intent on keeping me with him in the growing darkness when all I wanted to do was stop.

When he started laughing, my instant thought was that he had finally gone off the deep end himself. But then he dropped my wrist and stomped through mucky goo toward a bit of dry land. When I reached him, he was grinning at me full out. "Ready to pay off the bet?" he chortled and then pulled me in front of him, pointing through the ciprière. I couldn't believe he'd found one of the cabins. It fronted a slough that I knew must connect to a bayou and it looked like heaven to me.

We reached it just as the evening's deep red-violets were turning blue. In no time, night clamped in around us and he called the bet.

They were leaving in the morning. They had enough breathing space since the immediate threats were safely behind bars. And they were plotting their arrival in London and determining who the inside person was at Luthan Risk. But they were also leaving so Rory could face the music.

No one was talking about whether or not he'd keep his job at the end of this. I suspected Terry wanted to strangle him but that he still wanted him to stay with the firm.

We'd dropped Terry off at his hotel room; Rory insisted. Back at Pawpaw's old place and now my home, he told me to stay away from that man. Terry Thorne, he told me, had never met a woman he couldn't have and he never failed to take advantage of whatever local talent he found.

I hadn't said a thing. Not one word. He had never understood me and he wasn't about to start trying that night. When he finally went to sleep, I slipped out of the house and got in my car. I was knocking on the hotel room door within ten minutes of my escape.

Terry answered the door wearing nothing but sweat pants. Bare chest and bare feet. Arm in a sling and stubble on his face. Fresh enough from a shower that his hair was still damp. He shut his eyes and shook his head when he saw me. Groaning out to me, "Sarah, you have to leave. I promised Rory."

"What did you promise him?" I asked him.

Those eyes looked at me, deep blue-green and troubled. "That I wouldn't touch you again."

Moving into him, fingers light on his chest, tracing the hairline down to his navel and then eyes up at him to find him licking his lips nervously. "I certainly don't want you breaking your promise. But, I didn't make any such promises to my brother."

He backed up as I came closer, letting me back him right into his room as he watched me. "What are you saying?" he asked.

"You don't have to touch me. I'll do all the touching tonight," I whispered right in his ear and felt his stomach shudder as my fingers on his hips slid just under the elastic waist of his sweat pants. "Besides, 'tit bebe, it just isn't smart that we leave you alone tonight after you've been wounded and all. What if something happened and you needed help? Who'd be here to look out for you?"

By then, I had him backed up against a wall and he was breathing harder. His eyes a darker hue and they were intent on me. His voice trying so hard to retain that professional huskiness. "So, as long as I don't touch you, you figure I haven't gone back on my word?"

Smiling at him, glad he was seeing the logic in this. "That's right. Exactement. You've only got one working hand right now anyway, so how hard can it be?" Touching his hardness under the thin material covering him and watching him swallow as he focused on the ceiling. "Oh, my. You're happier to see me than you pretend."

He slid his good hand behind his back and leaned on it. Hoping to control it, I knew. I leaned in against him and kissed his throat, then let my tongue glide down until I circled each of his nipples. He seemed to grow even harder and I felt him push his hips against me so I could feel him even better. My fingers edged under the waist of his sweats, and I grabbed handfuls of his ass cheeks and kneaded until he moaned that I had to stop teasing him.

Down went those sweats and when they hit the floor, he kicked them to the other side of the room. Our eyes locked and I was smiling at him because, in his intensity, I could read his needs. Kneeling in front of him and I began to pay avid attention to his cock.

In no time, telling him how good he tasted and hearing him struggle not to be more fully involved. Happened to look up and noticed his hand was out from behind his back. His fingers reached for my head and I sat back out of reach. Smiling up at him and saying, "If you touch me, you won't be able to look Rory in the eye in the morning."

Looking around the room and my eyes gave my mind a dirty thought. When I stood and turned to crook a finger at him, he groaned out to me, "What? You found another way to torture me?"

"No, 'tit bebe. Not torture. Just pleasure. Why don't you take a seat?" Dragging out one of the armless chairs at the small table in his room. "Regarde. There's a nice bar on the back of the chair you can hang on to once you're seated. It'll help you control that good hand of yours so it doesn't touch me."

Without another look at me, he strode to the chair, and sat. Now staring boldly at me, he slowly wound his good arm around the back and grabbed onto the horizontal bar that helped make the seatback.

"So what did you have in mind, love?" he purred out to me, for the first time getting that evil grin of his that turned me on.

Coming close to his knees and noting how eager his cock was for me. But wanting to make this something he might remember on other nights when he was far away from me. Low, husky whisper, asking him, "Terry? If you could use both hands on me right now, what would you be doing with them?"

Nervous flick of his tongue out on his lips. Eyes darting around on my body as I undressed before him. "I'd start with your breasts," he told me in a firm voice. "I'd start out soft but once I had your nipples hard, I'd give in to what I really wanted. To really feel them."

No clothes on and free to play this game out. "Like this?" I asked him, my hands caressing my breasts just as I'd felt him do to me. Looking at myself and watching my nipples turn into hard little pebbles that ached for him. "Is this how you'd touch me, Terry? It feels good, doesn't it?"

Sharp breath in, he released it, saying, "Oh, yeah. Like that. It feels good. Your breasts are so nice. And when I was finished with them, do you know what I'd want to touch next?"

"I know your hands would be working their way down my body. You'd press them in over my ribs and then stroke into my abdomen. Ça c'est bon, 'tit bebe," I told him, demonstrating how well I'd learned his technique. "Probably tonight, you'd take my ass with those big hands of yours and really squeeze them because you're just the least bit frustrated."

His eyes were following my hands, which were doing what his hands had done for me. His cock was quivering each time his hips shifted in response to watching me play with myself. Deep, smoky voice saying to me, "I want to touch your pussy now, love. Do it for me."

Spreading my legs, taking my time, working up to it. Just like he had done to drive me mad. Not able to look at him anymore, only able to watch what I was doing to myself. Fingers sweeping across my clit as they traveled down to my opening. My own breathing more ragged.

He became my cheering section. "You're so wet, aren't you, love? Put a finger in, Sarah. And when you loosen, add another one. Feel the way you almost tighten up around my fingers? Now, rub against your clit. Go on, love, feel the way you get even wetter, hotter."

This was so different from all those times of playing with myself. On the edge of reality, living out a fantasy lover's advances. With my eyes closed, I could almost imagine it was him touching me there ... except his hands were so much bigger and warmer on me.

My eyes snapped open and I dragged my hand away. "T'es paré? Ready for me?" I asked him and he nodded to me. Walking right up against him, straddling his knees, leaning down hard into an instantly open-mouthed kiss. Careful in all the heat I was building between us not to simply fall against his wounded shoulder or jostle that arm.

But when he moaned loud into my mouth and sucked in hard on my tongue, I couldn't stop myself from holding his cock up for me to plunge down over. Halfway down and this huge gasp flew out of me as I released his mouth. Eyes locked to his and I ground myself all the way down until I felt him hilt inside me.

He swiveled his hips and thrust lightly into me. "Fuck me hard, Sarah. Go on. Do it to me."

Like he'd calculated it even while I thought it had all been my idea. Hands on his hips and I was grinding hard, rough movements but he was enjoying it. As was I. Harder, faster. And I was coming with a surprised shout of his name. Feeling my muscles contract and the way it blasted through me, leaving me tingling below.

"I haven't come yet, love. Help me out here," he moaned at me.

I picked the rhythm back up but this time, he was thrusting hard up into me, seeking his release and struggling so much that it worried me. Because I was coming again and knew I'd have a hard time continuing to do my part if I kept flipping into an orgasm every time I got him close. Just on the edge of it, and he let out a slow string of cursing and then I felt his good arm grab around my hips and he was shoving me up and down on him even as his thrusting was picking up speed. He came, growling out my name and cursing his promise not to touch me. I came right after and babbled loudly about his fucking talents.

When it was over, I was sitting on his lap and our fluids were leaking out of me. We were both breathing heavily. I took his good hand and pulled it off me, placing it back around the chair back. Whispering hoarsely in his ear, "That'll be our little secret, 'tit bebe."

Making him giggle as he told me to get off of him. When I did, he rose slowly from the chair, grabbed my wrist and shoved me toward the bed. Sliding in under the covers next to me and holding me against him with his good arm.

Teetering quickly toward sleep, reveling in the feel of his strong chest against my cheek and breathing in the essence of this man. "Thank you for everything, Terry. Thanks for not letting me give up out there. Thanks for saving my life and saving my brother's life. And thanks for ... well, everything. Just ... Merci."

His hand drew lazy patterns along my spine and I nestled in tightly against him. "I hear the fishing's better in the spring in the swamp," he said softly. "Maybe I should come back and try my luck then. Who knows? Maybe I'll even find a guide who won't get lost."

I would have hit him in retaliation for that remark, but I was too busy smiling at the prospect of Terry with me out in the Atchafalaya during the springtime.