Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 32

Under Oliver's watchful gaze, Nick's fingertips turned numb and his arms felt like lead from the strain of holding them high, pretending he was still cuffed. Based on Gracie's pained expression, he surmised she felt the same. When Oliver looked away for a few seconds, Nick motioned to her to flex her hands. She nodded her understanding, and wiggled her fingers.

God's Promise chugged along at a sedate pace. If he couldn't find a way to coax Marcia to accelerate, his brilliant plan was useless. He fought down the urge to launch a commando attack that stood little chance of success. Instead, he waited with thinning patience.

His restraint paid off. Marcia summoned Oliver to her side at the helm in the stern. Nick understood only the urgent tone and occasional word. After two minutes of arguing, Marcia raised her voice, clearly at the end of her patience. "Listen to me, and listen carefully. Take the cell phone. When I holler, call the drawbridge controller. Tell him we're at the Harbor Landing buoy and coming through."

Oliver's protest was audible over the motor's racket. "The bridge is closed this time of night. He won't be happy at being woken up."

"I don't give a flying fuck about his happiness. We paid enough for the privilege of calling him to raise the damned drawbridge any time, night and day."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Move forward where you can see our prisoners."

Nick bared his teeth in a grim smile. His plan was solidifying nicely.

As the boat chugged down the lagoon, rigging creaking in the light breeze, Oliver moved to the front of the cockpit until he faced the captives. To Nick's horror, the duct tape had lost its adhesion and fallen from Gracie's mouth. Oliver didn't notice. He pointed the gun at her chest, his hand shaking slightly.

Jesus Christ, if the bastard harms a hair on Gracie's head ... Nick couldn't finish the thought.

"Not so mouthy now, are we?" Oliver taunted from a safe distance.

Nick's heart contracted. He didn't like the way her brows pinched together. He reckoned she'd forgotten her promise to follow his lead. Unless he took charge, she'd snap. For his plan to work, he had to draw Oliver closer. And to do that, his role as tame consultant required resurrection.

He shot Gracie a quelling glance, hoping she'd understand his unspoken message and play along. He said, "Glory be, Reverend Oliver, but I admire your spunk, I surely do."

Gracie's eyes widened. If she had any contradictory thoughts, she kept them to herself.

Oliver's face twisted with mistrust. "Huh?"

"I couldn't help but overhear your little marital tiff. Now don't get me wrong, Reverend, but," Nick cast a doubtful glance at Marcia and lowered his voice, "I could swear your wife thinks she's the brains behind your operation."

Oliver went rigid, peeled his lips back in a snarl. "Without me, she'd be nothing." He scrambled from the cockpit and up onto the deck, moving closer.

Although the motor masked other sounds, Nick kept his voice low, confidential. "I'm with you," he murmured, forcing Oliver to take a step closer. "If it wasn't for your genius, she'd still be running a sleazy strip joint." Nick held his breath. Would Oliver take the bait?

He needn't have worried. Oliver's chest expanded. "You got that right. Kinki was my brainchild."

"You're obviously a strategic thinker, Reverend. A man of vision. If you ask me, you're helping your flock by deliberately and unselfishly immersing yourself in sin so's you can help counteract corruption. 'Know thine enemy,' as they say."