Page 74 of Beau

“Swede, the boat that rammed us and took Miss Anderson had a Louisiana registration. It was coming at me fast, but I think the numbers after LA were 5031. It’s all I got. It was a bass boat, if that helps.”

“Got it, running it through Louisiana’s DMV database. Hold on.”

Beau counted the seconds. The longer it took to find her, the greater the chance they wouldn’t get there in time.

Hurry, Swede.

“I have several hits on those numbers. They all belong to the same company. A marina located in a town called?—”

He knew before Swede said it. “Bayou Miste?”

“Yeah. That’s the one,” Swede said. “Thibodeaux Marina.”

Beau pulled his phone out of his pocket to call his cousin Ben. He started to punch the buttons when he remembered the phone was dead. He had no way of accessing his contacts. “Swede, give me the cell phone number of Benjamin Boyette.”

“I can do one better,” Swede said. “Setting up a three-way call with a Benjamin Boyette of Bayou Miste.”

“He might not answer if he doesn’t recognize the number,” Beau said.

“I have the caller ID set to Brotherhood Protectors,” Swede said.

The line rang once. “Ben Boyette speaking.”

“Ben, it’s Beau. I need your help.”

“Name it,” Ben said. “Whatever you need, I’m there for you.”

“The Cajun mafia have Auri. They’re transporting her on one of Thibodeaux’s new bass boats.”

“Bringing up the tracker app as we speak,” Ben said.

A message popped up on Remy’s phone, caller ID indicating it was Senator Anderson.

Beau shook his head. “We have an incoming call from Senator Anderson.”

“I’ll hold,” Ben said.

“Holding,” Swede said.

Beau pressed the button to hold current calls and answer the incoming one.

“What the hell happened?” Senator Anderson’s voice boomed in the night air. “I thought the Brotherhood Protectors had my daughter’s protection under control. Then I get a text message. If I don’t publicly withdraw my bid for reelection in the next hour, they’ll conveniently forget where they left her in the backwaters of the bayou. No one will get to her before alligators do. And if I call in law enforcement, they’ll weigh her down with cement and throw her in.” The senator sucked in a shaky breath. “At first, I thought it was a joke. Then they sent me a photo of my girl.” His voice choked.

Remy’s phone chirped in Beau’s hand as a text message came through.

Beau brought it up, his heart sinking to the bottom of the bayou.

Auri sat on the bank of the bayou, tied to a tree with a rope, her eyes closed as if she were unconscious or...dead.

Beau enlarged the image, studying her face.

Her cheeks still had a lot of color in them.

She was alive.

Beau clung to that little bit of hope.

“I’m drafting my withdrawal letter,” the senator said. “I have an emergency call out to a Baton Rouge news reporter, asking him to meet me in front of my house in thirty minutes. My daughter’s life is worth more to me than a political office. I just don’t think it will be enough. What if they don’t tell us where she is in time?”