Justine tapped her notebook with a gold pen. “If the brothers had found evidence of the corpse-running scheme during the break-in, McGovern would be eager to pay them off to keep them quiet.”

  “With drugs and booze from Cole Hadley,” Donovan added. “McGovern was one of Hadley’s customers.”

  “That doesn’t explain why they went missing,” Martin argued. “McGovern would have had to know the Keneally brothers were in the swamp that weekend to kill them.”

  “Cole did,” Riley said, finally seeing the pieces fit together. “He told Beck’s girlfriend he knew where they were going. Maybe he told McGovern.”

  “So . . . the undertaker kills the two boys, but can’t find Denver because he’s asleep in the boat. Or McGovern doesn’t know he’s on the trip. Either way, it still works in McGovern’s favor as there’s someone to take the blame,” the sheriff said.

  “But why shoot the drug dealer?” Simon asked.

  “Cole saw him in Beck’s truck the night Denver went missing so he tried to blackmail McGovern,” Donovan replied. “Cole didn’t plan on an undertaker pulling a gun on him.”

  There was quiet for a time as each of them digested the news.

  Riley closed her eyes. “So how do we find him? Can the park rangers help us?”

  “The feds won’t authorize a chopper until four days have passed. We’ll do it ourselves,” the sheriff said. “There’ll be three teams. One will go in the east entrance, just in case he’s down there, and the other two at Kingfisher Landing. Of those two teams. one will take the canal to the west and the other to the south.”

  Finally, the time for waiting was over. Now they’d be able to do something, even if it was nothing more than bringing Beck’s body home for burial.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  The fever and body-wracking chills struck Beck with a ferocity he’d not anticipated. There’d been numerous demon wounds over the years, and after the first they’d been mildly annoying. This time was different. He had no Holy Water to neutralize the toxin, and his body was running on empty, the lack of food and abundant clean water taking their toll.

  When he opened his eyes there was someone watching him. It was a young Indian, a Seminole, indistinct in the night air. Donovan had said the ghosts of the swamp’s dead would sometimes appear. The brave inclined his head and then walked away into nothingness.

  I’m dyin’. There was no panic involved in that realization, because it was the truth. He’d been there before, after that roadside bombing in Afghanistan. Somehow, he’d survived.

  But this time . . . The chain wasn’t going to magically break, or a buffet appear at his elbow, so that left two options: Continue on to the grave or accept Hell’s bargain.

  Another chill rolled through his body, clouding his sight. Beck curled up in a ball, shivering so intensely his muscles ached and his teeth chattered. In his fevered mind he saw Riley in the coffee shop in Atlanta, laughing with Ori. She wasn’t looking for him. She’d left him behind.

  “Riley will come for me,” he whispered. “She won’t leave me here.”

  “She doesn’t care, trapper,” the demon whispered in his mind. “Don’t die because of your pride. Accept Hell’s mark and live. You can take your revenge against all those who hurt you.”

  “No.”

  “Paul Blackthorne gave us his soul. So can you. There is no shame in it. Your life is precious,” the demon said.

  “Paul . . . isn’t in Hell now. He out . . . witted y’all.” Beck issued a dry chuckle at the thought.

  “You’re mine, trapper. You will raise my stature in Hell, and I will find favor with the Prince again. You will give me your soul.”

  “Go screw yerself, demon.”

  The fiend laughed, a sharp biting sound. “You mortals always say that, until the very end.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  It was nearly eight in the morning when Riley arrived at Kingfisher Landing, still aching from the night before. Her guide, a guy named Ray, was hurrying as much as possible, but it took time to do things right. Still, what little patience she’d had was history—she wanted to be actively looking for Beck rather than cooling her heels at the dock.

  Ray was in his early fifties and said he’d been conducting tours of the swamp for over a decade. That was reassuring. Donovan had warned her the journey would be at least five hours long, then it’d take that much time to get back to civilization. If Beck was in bad shape he’d need food, water, and first-aid supplies, and Holy Water if he’d tangled with a demon.

  An early morning trip to the convenience store and to the local priest had netted those supplies. They were packed into Beck’s duffel bag and Riley’s backpack. Everything was ready, but they were missing someone, a guy named Erik.

  “What about the other teams?” she asked.

  “They went out half an hour ago.”

  Like we should have.

  Simon was on one of them and, to Riley’s surprise Justine was on another. The reporter had refused to stay in town, saying she’d always wanted to see what a swamp was like.

  Maybe an alligator will carry her off.

  Ray called a number, then spoke with someone. His brow creased in frustration, then he ended the call. “Erik has backed out of the trip. It’s just us unless I can find someone else.”

  Surprise. “No, let’s hit the water,” Riley replied. “Beck’s running out of time. We need to go now.”

  Ray didn’t argue, but helped her into the boat and then pointed out the blankets underneath her seat. “It’ll get cold when we start moving.”

  Riley unearthed one of the heavier ones, draping it over her knees. She’d planned ahead by adding a few layers under her jacket. She’d even bought a stocking cap.

  As Ray did something with the motor, she studied the area around her. The water was a perfect mirror reflecting the tall trees and brown grasses along its edges. Birdsong reached her ears, and every now and then something would flit from treetop to treetop. There was a unique smell in the air, part decay, part fresh earth overlaid by abundant moisture.

  “I’ll use the outboard for a while, then switch to the electric motor,” her guide explained. “That way we’ll be able to hear Beck if he calls to us.”

  “Why not use it right now?” she asked, concerned they might go right past him if he was injured.

  “It’s slower. As I see it, if I was going to get rid of someone in the swamp, I sure wouldn’t leave him close to the dock.”

  Ray had a point. “What about the demons? Have you ever seen them?”

  “Yes, off and on over the years, but the swamp can play tricks on you when it wants to. If you’re out here on your own, I’ve heard they can be dangerous. Usually, I’m guiding a group so I’ve not had much trouble.”

  Riley readjusted the thick blanket around her to stave off the chilly breeze blowing across the water. What would it be like for Beck? They really had no clue where to look and McGovern had refused to help them by narrowing the search area. They were on their own.

  Maybe we’re not. She dug out the strange, polished rock the woman had given her and held it tightly. At this point she’d do anything to find her missing guy.

  “Keep an eye on either side as we move along,” Ray advised. “If you see broken branches or signs someone might have been hauled onto the bank, call out. I’ll try to do the same, but with the water level being lower than normal I’ll need to watch for submerged logs.”

  He started the motor and then they began to move down the canal. As Riley scanned the banks only one word seemed to apply: primordial.

  Okefenokee tolerated humans, at least for brief periods of time. Someone had dug the canal they were using—it was too straight for nature’s efforts—but those same people had failed to tame the swamp. Just the opposite—the land of the trembling earth had tamed them.

  Riley couldn’t quite understand how something so beautiful could be so alien. Thick cypresses grew on either side of the forty-foot-wide canal, massive giants with the roots buried deep in the water. Cypress knees, bizarre knobby monoliths, had formed around the base of the trees like small children. Even the water itself was strange, tea-colored, and reflective. She stared down at it, unable to see much under the surface.

  Ray called out over the sound of the motor. “The water has tannic acid in it from the rotting vegetation. It’s perfect for the alligators. They can hover just beneath the surface and wait for the right moment to grab a meal.”

  Riley immediately leaned back, away from the edge of the boat. She didn’t see any gators, but that didn’t mean one of them wasn’t scoping her out.

  Sometime later the guide cut the throttle and switched over to the electric motor and sudden stillness enveloped them like a shroud. As he studied the water in front of him, he gave her more of Okefenokee’s history, how a canal system had been dug in the late 1800s to try to drain the swamp and that the project was eventually abandoned. Then came the loggers who cut massive amounts of timber. The canal they were floating in was constructed in the 1950s to dredge peat. Now the place was federal parkland.

  In the distance Riley spied a huge bird sailing over the water to land in a pine tree. “Wow. Look at him! What is he?”

  “That’s a great blue heron.”

  As they drew closer, the bird took to the air again, swooping a short distance and then landed along the bank. She guessed its wingspan to be at least six feet wide and its faint blue coloring seemed to blend in with the gray Spanish moss. Once again, it took flight moving farther down the canal, as if it was guiding them. A harsh croak floated across the air, the bird announcing its territory.

  Near the bank an alligator surfaced like a living submarine, then pulled itself onto solid ground with its stubby front legs. It was at least ten feet long, big enough to take down a man.

  Ray pointed out another lounging on the far bank. “As the temperature warms up they’ll haul themselves out of the water onto the bank to sun,” he said. “This time of year they’re still sluggish. They’ll get livelier as the temperature rises. In the summer they’re really active.”

  Riley’s hope began to fade. What chance did they have of finding one guy in the middle of this vast wilderness? What if Beck was injured and nowhere near the canal; would he even know they were searching for him?

  She called out his name and there was no reply. “Do you think he can hear me?”

  “Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. If you see anything odd, let me know and we’ll check it out.”

  It all looked odd to her, but she tried her best. As they moved deeper into the swamp there were more basking alligators and the occasional turtle on a log. The trees appeared to be in mourning with heavy veils of Spanish moss. It would have been eerily captivating if the guy she loved wasn’t out here somewhere.

  Time passed and so did long stretches of swamp. Ray pulled up to the bank a few times, checking for signs that someone had exited a boat. He shook his head each time. They glided by a fork in the canal that led north. Riley would call out every now and then, but other than the occasional response from a bird, there was no sign of Beck. As the hours moved by them like the slow water, her heart grew heavier.

  Where are you?

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  At five and a half hours into the search Riley’s throat was raw and there had been no sign of Beck. When Ray broached the subject of turning around, she nearly cried. Instead, she reluctantly agreed as dark would come soon. Behind her, she heard Ray calling the sheriff to give him a report. When he finished, she asked if the other teams had had any luck.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “They didn’t find him.”

  The last time she’d seen Beck he’d had been sitting on the back of the truck, beer bottle in hand, grieving for his mother. She’d never told him she loved him. She’d never told him a lot of things that she had sheltered inside her heart, believing they still had time to be together.

  Oh, God, please, no. It can’t end this way.

  While they floated back down the canal another heron kept them company, flying ahead a short distance, landing, and then waiting as they caught up. Riley would have enjoyed it if she didn’t feel like it was mocking them.

  As they passed it, the heron squawked. Where the creature stood the bank had looked different. She blinked, her eyes so tired she was sure they were playing tricks on her.

  It’s nothing. There’s been nothing for the last five hours.

  The bird squawked again. It was refusing to move on.

  Her instincts took over. “Ray, we need to check something out.”

  He must have heard the urgency in her voice. “Okay. Show me where.”

  When she pointed, he turned the boat around in a lazy arc and returned to where the heron still roosted. When they drew near, it flew off after one final loud squawk.

  As the boat moved toward the bank, Riley held her breath.

  Please let us find him. He wants to come home to me.

  NINETEEN

  Ray cut the motor and they drifted. He gave her a quizzical look. “What did you find?”

  “There . . . see that?” she said, pointing at a break in the brush. “It looks different.”

  The area she pointed at appeared as if something had been dragged across it, bulldozing small branches and leaves out of its way.

  “Could have been an alligator, but we’ll make sure.” Ray rose, using a long pole to maneuver the boat slowly toward the spot.

  “Looks clear. I’ll tie us up.” He crawled out and after securing the boat he examined the stretch of bank she’d indicated. “There’s no gator tracks here.” He knelt and then pointed. “But that’s a boot mark and it’s pretty fresh. We need to check this out.”

  Riley felt a thrill course through her body.

  Something made her uneasy, as if someone were watching them. Was it a demon? Ray had mentioned seeing them in the swamp on previous trips. Ill at ease, she extracted a bottle of Holy Water from her pack. Maybe she was being paranoid, but most times that was the best way when dealing with Hellspawn.

  Riley handed out the heavy backpack, then Beck’s duffel bag. It was just as heavy, fully loaded with bottles of water and food.

  “We could leave these here,” Ray tactfully suggested.

  “I have this feeling we’ll need them.”

  “Okay,” he said, hefting Beck’s duffel on his back. “Follow right behind me and watch where you step. I’m searching for more footprints, scraps of fabric, anything. If you see something, tell me, but don’t go after it on your own. I’ll do that.”

  She filed all that away as they began the painstakingly slow hike through the swamp. The ground was uneven: Tree roots and broken branches were everywhere. Critters moved in the brush around them. Riley didn’t want to know what they were, but she figured they were all keen to nosh on trapper. Something above them began to make an unholy hammering noise.

  “What is that?” she asked, scanning the trees.

  “Pileated woodpecker.” Ray halted and then pointed at something. “What does that look like to you?”

  She peered around him. In the dirt was a footprint, but it wasn’t human.

  “It’s a demon. See the claws?” she said. “It looks like it was dragging something.”

  “Maybe it was our missing trapper,” Ray replied.

  The farther they walked, the more Riley could hear the clock ticking. Dusk would be coming soon. They had to find Beck tonight. She called out every now and then but other than the sounds of the swamp, there was no reply.

  Ray put up a hand for her to halt and then he pointed again. Sitting near a log was a snake, a big one, though any reptile seemed huge in the middle of the wilderness. It began a dry, ominous rattle.

  Riley gulped. “Is it poisonous?”

  “Yes. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  She had to admit it was kind of cool all coiled up like that, gray with sort of black chevrons. “What kind is it?”

  “Canebrake rattler. We’ll just wait until it wanders off. They’re not aggressive unless we get stupid.”

  Hope the snake knows that. After letting them know it wasn’t amused at being interrupted, the creature slithered away, five feet of reptilian beauty. As Riley waited for her heart rate to drop, something came across the wind, faint and distant.

  “Wait,” she said, touching Ray’s arm. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to separate the sound from everything else around them. Then she smiled. “It’s Beck. He’s singing. Can you hear him?”

  Ray shook his head. The voice stopped. Had it all been an illusion? Was she so desperate she was hearing something that wasn’t real? Or was it a demon luring them deeper into the swamp?

  The singing started up again and this time she knew she wasn’t hallucinating.

  “It’s him!” she cried. “It’s a Carrie Underwood song. He plays it in the truck all the time.”

  They moved forward faster now, but still with that caution that came with not knowing what might be underfoot. The voice faded in and out. Finally, it stopped.

  “Beck?” she called out. “Beck!”

  They kept going forward hoping to hear the song again, until they entered a broad clearing, an open space with a few massive cypress trees. It took her a moment to find the missing trapper, his brown jacket serving not only as a cover, but as camouflage. He was propped up against a massive tree, his bearded face crimson and sweaty, his hair matted down and eyes distant. He stared up at her in bewilderment.

  “Get away from me, demon!” he croaked, flailing his arms at her.

  That wasn’t good news.

  “Ya can’t have my soul,” he said, then began coughing so hard it was difficult for him to breathe. “Yer not Riley. She’s not here.”

  “Oh, yes I am,” She hurried forward, not caring if there was any kind of creature in her path. The moment she dropped to her knees next to him, Beck swung at her.