Pine Lake. Amanda Stevens
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all around her.
He sat for a moment, awash in memories before he took out his phone and called Tommy Driscoll’s number.
The phone rang five times before Tommy finally answered. He sounded annoyed and winded. “Driscoll.”
“Tommy, it’s Jack King.”
“Jack? It’s a little late, isn’t it, buddy?”
“Not for this.”
“You heard from Nathan?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m calling about something else.”
A long silence. “Where are you?”
“Sitting in my uncle’s boat on Pine Lake. I’m about fifty yards south of the old bridge. You’d better get out here. There’s a body in the water.”
He heard the sharp intake of Tommy’s breath. “Do you know who it is?”
“Female Caucasian. Blonde, slim build from what I can tell. She’s young. Early twenties, I’m guessing. Looks like someone shot her in the back of the head and then dumped her body off the bridge.”
“No need for an ambulance, I take it.” Tommy’s voice seemed oddly hushed.
“No, but you’d better send for the coroner. I’ll stay with her until you get here.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing on Pine Lake?”
“I don’t think that much matters right now, does it?”
“It might,” Tommy said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes. We’ll talk then.”
Jack dropped the phone back in his pocket, his gaze still on the body. He cut the spotlight. The garish brilliance somehow seemed offensive. As darkness slid over him, he had the uncanny feeling that he wasn’t alone. He told himself it was just the situation. The similarities to Anna were bound to unnerve him. But he couldn’t shake the notion that someone was near. Someone watched him.
Turning on the spotlight, he raked the powerful beam all along the banks and then into the shadowy corners of the bridge. He almost expected to see someone at the guardrail staring down at him. No one was there. He was alone on the water with the dead woman.
He made one more sweep, this time slanting the beam up in the trees. As he shifted the light, he caught a glimpse of something white through the cypress branches. A barn owl, he thought, or a snowy egret. But as he focused the light, he realized the shimmer of white wasn’t in a tree, but at the very top of the bridge. For a moment he could have sworn someone was up in the rafters.
He shook his head and moved the light away. Crazy notion.
He sat in the gently rocking boat and let the night sounds settle over him. Then he angled the beam back to the truss. The white object was still up there.
Pushing off with the paddle he let the boat float back into the center of the channel before he started the motor. The outboard hummed throatily as he navigated toward the bridge. Backing off the throttle he aimed the light up through the Spanish moss. Whatever he expected to find was not what he saw. Never in a million years could he have imagined such a sight.
The floor of the bridge was a good fifteen feet above the water and from the deck, a series of braces and struts climbed another twenty feet to the iron beam that ran the length of the bridge.
On top of that narrow girder, a woman lay curled in the fetal position.
* * *
OLIVE’S EYES FLEW OPEN. She had been dreaming again about falling. Down, down, down into that misty abyss. The nightmare had been so real that she still had the smell of the swamp in her nostrils. She could even feel a breeze on her face.
She lay for a moment, breathing deeply as she tried to calm her racing heart.
What was that creaking sound? She couldn’t place it. The ceiling fan, maybe?
“Don’t move,” a male voice said nearby.
That brought her fully awake. She started to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder eased her back down and she realized another hand had clamped around her wrist. Panic exploded. Her instinct was to lash out at the intruder, to fight him off with every ounce of strength she could muster, but she was suddenly aware of her surroundings. That creak didn’t come from any ceiling fan. She wasn’t even in her bedroom. She was—
“Where am I?” she gasped, as her whole world tilted.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” The voice was deep and silky smooth. Olive found it at once soothing and terrifying.
“Got me...where?”
“You know the old bridge over Pine Lake?”
“Yes, I know it...” She trailed away as she tried to peer through the darkness. A light glimmered somewhere below her. She felt compelled to turn and stare into the beam, but the swaying sensation and the hand on her shoulder kept her immobile. “I’m on the bridge?”
“More or less,” the voice said.
Terror surged as she pictured the gaping holes in the rotting floorboards and the unstable framework towering over her. The image dizzied her and she had to suppress the urge to flail her arms, searching for a handhold.
Now she understood the creaking and swaying.
“You have to stay calm, okay? I’m not going to let you fall, but you need to do exactly as I say.”
“Fall?” She started to tremble.
“We’re going to get you down, but it’ll take some maneuvering.”
“Why can’t I just stand up and walk off the bridge?” she asked in a quivering voice.
“You’re not exactly on the bridge. You’re on top of it.”
“On top of it?”
“On top of the truss.”
“That’s impossible.” But even as she protested, she realized the feathery forms all around her were the tops of cypress trees. She could feel the night air on her face and the hardness of the support beneath her. The nightmarish sensation of falling gripped her again and she said in a terrified whisper, “Please don’t let go of me.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
Somehow she believed him. “How did I get up here?”
“You tell me.”
“Sometimes I sleepwalk. I have these falling dreams—”
“You’re not going to fall. If you go, I go and I’m not in the mood for a swim. So here’s what I need you to do. Right now, you’re lying on your left side facing out toward the water. Take a moment to get your bearings.”
“I can see cypress trees. There’s a light somewhere below us—”
“Don’t look down. Stay focused on the task at hand. Listen to me carefully. I need you to roll to your stomach, but there’s not a lot of space to operate. I’d say about a foot, give or take.”
She put out a hand and felt nothing but air. “I can’t. There isn’t enough room.”
“If there’s room enough for you to curl up and sleep, there’s enough room for you to roll over. Besides, you’re small. You don’t need much space.”
“I can’t. Please don’t make me.”
He was silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Olive Belmont.”
“Olive? As in Nathan Bolt’s cousin?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. You know Nathan?”
“We