Free Claw Back (Louis Kincaid) by P.J. Parrish Page A

come back. The Jeep was signed out for indefinite use.
                  Louis tugged at rope then laid h is head back against the post.
                  It was quiet. A terrible, empty quiet.
     
     
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    The darkness had crept over him – the rectangle of light that defined the open door turned from green to gray then disappeared – and he thought it was because he was losing consciousness. But then, out of the blackness, came sounds.
    The soft whir of a motor.
    The creak of a rusty hinge.
    Coughing.
    Had the men come back? He strained to see something, anything, in the pitch black.
    No, no... 
    Just crickets, frogs , and something else, a gator maybe.
    Louis leaned back against the bunk. How long had he been here? He couldn’t tell anymore. It was the thick of night now and any hope he had of someone finding him was fading fast. It hurt to take a breath and he had to piss. He twisted his hands but the rope held tight on his wrists.
    There was nothing to do but wait for the light. Maybe he could chew through the rope . Maybe if he yelled someone w ould be close enough to hear. Maybe...
    He would die here.
    He closed his eyes.
     
     
     
                  The rectangle of the door materialized out of the gloom. Dawn. His ribs and his lip throbbed . His parched throat felt like sandpaper and his whole body ached. Had he slept? He didn’t know because his mind felt as numb as his hands. The gnawing in his stomach wasn’t hunger anymore. It was fear.
                  He lay his head against the rough wood of the bunk, watching the details of the brush outside in the compound emerge in the frame of the doorway. He closed his eyes.
                  A sound. Close.
                  His eyes shot open. He jerked upright as far as the rope w ould allow.
                  An animal.
                  No! It was louder. And it was engine of some kind, he could tell now. It was getting louder. It was outside in the compound. Then, suddenly, it died and it was quiet.
                  Louis waited, his eyes riveted on the open door. A huge silhouette filled the doorframe.
                  “What the fuck?”
                  The voice was different from those of the two men who had left him here. Very deep, no accent. It took Louis a second to realize the man was holding a rifle. And it was aimed at Louis.
                  “Hey! Don’t shoot !” Louis yelled.
                  The rifle kept its bead on Louis’s chest.
                  “What the fuck are you doing here?”
                  “I’ve been here all night. Come on, untie me, man.”
                  “This is my camp, asshole. You broke into my camp.”
                  “I didn’t break in. Two guys jumped me.” No choice, he had to chance it. “I’m a cop, man. My ID is over there on the floor by the table.”
                  Slowly the rifle came down. The man scooped up the wallet, glanced at the ID inside and looked back to Louis. “What are you doing in my camp?”
                  “Untie me. I’ll explain.”
                  The man set the rifle by the door and pulled a large knife from his belt. He knelt by Louis.
                  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said as he began to saw at the rope .
                  “All I want to do is take a piss.”
                  The rope snapped free. The man stepped back and picked up his rifle. Louis rubbed his wrists and holding his ribs, got to his feet. He walked unsteadily out the open door and unzipped his fly. When he was done, he looked back at the man who had come out to stand on the porch. He was a burly six footer with dark hair, dressed in old jeans and a denim shirt bleached almost to white. He had his rifle tucked under