it had become more than he’d bargained for as well, so he couldn’t really blame her for her unease. As a nurse, she was trained to handle trauma, but not the kind of stress they were under now.
Still, most women would have already buckled under the pressure. None of the women he knew, except his sister-in-law, Alex, would be sitting in the boat with him, attempting to make a joke. Even his mother, for all her brass in the corporate boardroom, wouldn’t have managed five comfortable minutes in the swamp.
“It was fully charged this morning,” he said, hoping to reassure her, if only a tiny bit. “And I keep it plugged in while I’m driving. As long as it stays dry, we’re in good shape.”
“Then I’ll leave off praying for the cell-phone battery and just pray for no rain.”
He waved one hand out toward the bayou. “It’s going to be slow going. With all the water lilies, I can hardly see the surface at all. I’m afraid to move too fast in case something is submerged.”
“I understand.”
She faced straight forward on her seat, scanning the banks on each side of them. She was saying all the right things, but Max could see the tension in her back and neck as she looked for any sign of Anna or the village.
He’d been surprised that ‘Gator had given them information so easily. Granted, he’d held a gun on them long enough to form an opinion, but usually swampers were very protective of each other. Maybe seeing the girl was so odd that ‘Gator knew something was wrong, too.
Or maybe he was sending them right into a trap.
‘Gator had made it clear that no one left Cache, and Anna had told Colette that she’d been directed never to return. If Anna had dared to leave and now dared to return, the people of Cache wouldn’t be happy to see her. And that sentiment would extend to anyone looking for her.
He checked the picture of the map on his cell phone and steered the boat left into a tiny cut. The cypress trees were so thick with moss that they blocked all but the tiniest ray of light from entering. Max squinted in the dim light, trying to keep the boat in the middle of the narrow channel, where he’d be less likely to hit the knotty roots of the trees that grew underwater and claimed many propellers.
“Colette, check in that bench you’re sitting on and see if there’s a flashlight.”
She rose from the bench and lifted the lid. She dug around in it for a minute or so and emerged with a weather-beaten flashlight.
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