Page 68 of Landry

Holy hell.

Landry’s heart skipped several beats and then kicked into high speed as he broke into a run, heading back around the house and up the drive toward the place he’d parked the truck with Camille hiding inside.

He'd been a fool to leave her in the truck. He should have waited for backup before heading down to the house. Or at least waited for someone else to go to the house, while he did his job and protected Camille.

If the people who’d killed Sanders were still around, they might have found her.

The more he thought about it, the more his gut told him to hurry.

As he neared the stand of trees behind which he’d hidden the truck, the wail of a siren sounded in the distance. Moments later, the rumble of an engine firing up was quickly followed by the distinct roar of a giant fan on an airboat. Nothing sounded quite like it. It was impossible to mistake it for something else.

Landry’s heart sank into the pit of his belly. Even before he reached his truck, he knew.

She was gone.

The passenger door stood open, the light shining from the empty interior. It hadn’t been forced open. She had gotten out on her own.

Landry fished the flashlight out from beneath his seat and ran toward the bayou.

The roar of the airboat diminished. It was moving away, probably with Camille on it.

“Camille!” he called out, hoping she’d run into the woods to hide.

As he ran, he fished his cell phone from his pocket and called Remy.

“We’re almost there,” Remy said.

“Too late,” Landry said. “Camille’s gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s gone. I think they took her on an airboat.”

“Shelby just dropped off Jean-Luc with her sister. I’ll have her go straight to the marina for a boat. She should be there in less than ten minutes.”

“Sooner, if she can.”

“Got it. I’ll be there in two.”

Landry slowed as he neared the water. The airboat was nowhere to be seen. A dull ache throbbed in his chest where his heart had once been. He’d failed her.

Clinging to that last bit of hope, he shined the flashlight at the damp dirt near the water’s edge, looking for footprints, praying he didn’t see any small enough to be the shoes Camille had worn that evening. Flat slipper-like shoes.

His heart sank further when he located skid marks created by a boat’s hull in the mud. Nearby, he also found footprints that had to be Camille’s. Several larger sets of prints were smeared into the mud along with another smaller set of prints from what appeared to be running shoes with very little tread left on them.

Landry moved closer to the water and shined his light over the surface. In the shallows, he found one of the shoes that could have made the other small prints. It was a ragged, dirty shoe around the same size as Camille’s foot. The laces had been broken, forcing the wearer to tie them lower in the row of eyelets.

Could the owner of the abandoned shoe be Billy Ray?

In that case, the airboat that had just left had to have had both Billy Ray and Camille on it.

Landry ran back toward the road, coming to a sliding halt as the rumble of an engine and the crunch of wheels on gravel heralded the approach of a vehicle.

As soon as he recognized the oncoming truck as the one Remy drove, he stepped into the open and waved him down.

Remy slammed on his brakes, shifted into park and leaped to the ground. “I take it you didn’t find her?”

“No.” Landry held up the shoe. “I found this near the bank of the bayou, along with other footprints, including some I think were Camille’s. Looks like they have her and the runaway, Billy Ray.”

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