on how he was limping, she wasn’t sure that would hold true for long.
His right leg seemed to be the one that he was favoring. From the rips in his pants, she assumed he’d been hurt during the crash and wasn’t just suffering from some kind of disability. Unfortunately, the smears of mud on his back and chest meant that he may have washed himself in one of the brackish pools of water near the plane. If he’d done the same to his injuries, he might have introduced some nasty bacteria into his system. People who got lost in the Glades tended to succumb to exposure or infection just as often as other causes. If he didn’t get medical attention soon, he might become one of those statistics.
So far he was heading in the right direction, toward Mystic Glades. As long as he continued that way, he’d reach town before nightfall. Her former townspeople might not exactly welcome strangers, but they would never turn away someone in need. Whoever was running The Moon these days would have some kind of medicine or potion to treat him. Or maybe Freddie would drive him to the nearest hospital in her ancient Cadillac, assuming the thing was still running. Either way, the pilot would get the help he needed. There was no reason for Amber to let him see her. All she had to do was keep following him, and somehow steer him if he went off course.
* * *
SOMEONE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.
Normally, Dex would have called out to whoever was hiding in the bushes, padding after him in the mud, keeping a good thirty or forty feet back, from what he could figure. But that was before he’d realized someone was trying to kill him. Knowing that had changed his perspective a hundred-eighty degrees.
He couldn’t imagine his nemesis—whoever that might be—calculating the exact location where he might be when the wires in his Cessna burned through. There were too many variables for that. But it hadn’t exactly been a secret at the office that he was flying to Naples, and that he was going to then drive up to Mystic Glades. Maybe whoever wanted him six feet under had planted someone near Mystic Glades to finish him off if their plan failed and he didn’t crash. Or, in this case, if he did crash and the impact didn’t kill him.
A faint crackling noise sounded behind him, like a twig breaking in half. He pretended not to notice and kept going. He needed to wait until he was near a larger clump of trees instead of just the small groupings he was passing now as he slogged through the marshy grasses. Then he’d catch his pursuer.
Just thinking about someone hiding out here like a coward to attack him was pissing him off. That and this awful heat. He wiped sweat from his brow, surprised to find his hand wet enough to shake off droplets. When had it gotten this hot? Yeah, it was probably around noon, but still, the cooling marsh breezes had been comfortable an hour ago when he’d started on this trek. Now it was as if someone had turned the sun up twenty degrees and was trying to cook him.
His shirt. That had to be it. Without his shirt to protect him from the sun, he was baking out here. Maybe he should sit in the shade for a few minutes and cool off. No, not with someone following him. He had to take care of that problem first. Then he’d sit and cool off.
A group of trees about thirty feet ahead looked like the perfect place to catch his follower unaware. The trees suddenly wavered and shifted. What the...? He stopped, wiped more sweat from his brow and shook his head. He blinked a few times until the trees stopped dancing around. The heat. It had to be the heat. He idly leaned down and rubbed the growing ache in his right leg, then wobbled forward.
He reached the trees and ducked behind the largest one and then crouched down to wait. He pulled out his cell phone, ready to snap a picture when his pursuer came into view, figuring that if he lost this upcoming battle at least there’d be a picture of his attacker for police to find later. It would be a small victory to hold on to as he breathed his last breath. For some reason, that seemed funny—in addition to being pathetic—and he almost laughed out loud, just barely keeping it together, reminding himself he couldn’t risk alerting his prey.
His prey? Right. When had he ever been a hunter? This time he couldn’t contain his laughter. He clamped his hand over his mouth but changed his mind when he started to lose his balance. He grabbed a low-hanging branch on the tree beside him and kept his phone in his right hand, poised to snap his all-important picture.
Good grief, it was hotter than Hades. His friend Jake was a fool to want to live here.
Half-dried mud crunched like sand beneath someone’s feet. Dex leaped out from behind the tree, snapping pictures.
No one was there.
He shifted and heard the crunching sound again. He looked down, wiggled his toes in his shoes. Crunch. Wiggle. Crunch. Wait. Was that him making that noise?
A shadow shifted beside him. He whirled around, snapping pictures as he fell to the ground. The shadow became a beautiful woman standing over him, her face mirroring concern. As she reached out a delicate-looking hand, he snapped another picture, then let his hands fall to his sides. All his strength had strangely drained away.
Her blessedly cool hand touched his brow. It felt so good he pushed his head against her palm.
“You’re burning up,” she said.
He blinked until he could focus on her face. His breath caught. “Canoe Girl! I waved at you.” He frowned and waggled his finger. “You didn’t wave back.”
“I...must not have seen you. Sorry.”
“No worries. I’m Dex. But you can just call me Dex.”
“O...kay. Dex. Let’s take a look at that leg of yours.”
He grinned up at her. “Honey, you can look at anything you want.”
She rolled her eyes and moved to his right leg. He lifted his head to watch, but it felt so heavy he dropped it back down.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his head, wondering why it suddenly hurt.
Cool air rushed against his heated skin as she pulled his pant leg up.
“Hey, Canoe Girl. What’s your name?”
“Canoe Girl works.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m guessing you didn’t have these red lines going up and down your calf before the crash.”
“Nope.” He dropped his phone and used both hands to lift his heavy head to look at her. “I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?”
She nodded. “Could be. If not treated right away.” She looked past him. “No one in Mystic Glades knows how to treat something like this, unless things have changed.”
“Unless things have changed? You don’t live there, Canoe Girl?”
“Um, no.” She pushed his pant leg down.
“But you’re familiar with it. You used to live there?”
She shot him a look. He should have known what that look meant, but her face went out of focus and he closed his eyes.
“Do you have any medicine in your plane?” she asked.
“Nope. Fresh out. Where do you live, beautiful?”
“That must be one bad fever.” She brushed her hands on her shorts and stood. “We’ve got to get you to Mystic Glades. Someone there will take you to the hospital. Come
