Chapter Five
Missoula
The sound of the single shot nearly made Jackson’s heart stop.
Christina screamed as she stumbled backward against him, but she stayed on her feet. The boat swerved and he fought to keep it steady in the rough water.
She was hit. But how badly?
“Don’t stop!” she called out over the roar of the river. Her voice was shrill with pain. “He won’t kill me. Not yet. Not here.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do!” She groaned. “If that’s what he wanted, I’d already be dead. Keep going!”
“Where are you hit?” Jackson pushed the boat’s engine as hard as he could. The max on the Dory was twenty-six knots. “How bad is it?” Was it fatal?
Maybe Aguilar wanted her to hemorrhage slowly. There were stories about the cartel not granting their worst enemies a quick death.
Jackson had no idea what they would do to someone they had trusted, who had been embedded in their ranks, spying on them and sabotaging their efforts for years.
He was sure they wouldn’t want to make it quick. Or painless.
“Get down!” Jackson ordered.
“No,” she said, still stubborn as a mule.
He was desperate to force her to listen and reluctant to let go of the steering wheel.
Getting out of range of that weapon was the only solution, and crashing during the process would only compound their problems.
“Please. Take cover,” he begged.
“He’ll kill you if I do.”
For some reason, she was confident Alvaro Aguilar wouldn’t kill her, but he could still severely wound her.
Another gunshot, and a guttural cry tore from her. She staggered, grabbing onto him.
Every instinct to protect her thrummed alive beneath his skin.
With no other choice, he released the steering wheel, leaving the throttle at full speed—hoping they wouldn’t crash—and wrapped an arm around Christina, taking her down to the deck.
In the small space, she shifted her legs and hips with a groan, rolling on top of him and covering him once again, like a human shield, when he should’ve been the one protecting her.
Rapid gunfire split the air. A hail of bullets riddled the boat, knocking out the motor and piercing the hull. But not a single round struck them.
The river still carried them along, but icy liquid seeped into his clothes. They were taking on water.
She raised her head and looked around. “He’s gone from the railing. I think he’s getting back into the car.”
Jackson got up and sat her down. Grimacing, she let out a hiss of pain. He examined her.
Her coat sleeve was torn. She was hit in the arm and the leg.
“I’m okay,” she said with a wince.
He inspected her leg closer to see if he needed to tie off the wound. After twelve years apart, she’d stumbled back into his life, wanted for murder, and he’d fled the scene of a massacre with her. No way was he letting her bleed out in his custody, leaving him with more questions than answers.
The last time they’d parted, it was unexpected and terrible. History couldn’t repeat itself. He couldn’t bear it. There was so much unresolved and unspoken between them.
It was a clean shot. Just a graze. Enough to draw blood and cause pain, but nothing serious.
“You got lucky,” he said, almost in disbelief. “Take off your coat. Let me see your arm.”
“No time for that.” She pointed at the water filling up the boat.
Christina was right.
“We’re going to capsize,” he said, trying to prepare her. He took off his coat. Shed the forty-five-pound Kevlar vest that would weigh him down. Strapped on a life jacket. “We have to jump.”
Eyes wide, she shook her head. “I’ll drown.”
A rocky wave tossed the boat hard, as if to confirm her fears.
“I won’t let you.” Jackson took her hand. “Trust me.”
“I don’t trust Mother Nature. You can’t control the river, Jackson.”
“We’re going in the water whether we like it or not. But I’m right here with you. We’ll do it together.” Nodding, he got her to stand.
She winced as she put weight on her leg.
“Can you tread water?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so. It just hurts.”
“Ready?”
She hesitated, but after a moment nodded.
Holding hands, they jumped into the fast-moving river. A gasp escaped as the numbing cold jolted him, the shock sending a surge of adrenaline through his bloodstream. The current swept them away as the boat sank.
For several minutes, all they could do was struggle to stay afloat and tread water while the winding river carried them downstream.
The current was strong, the choppy water whipping them around, making it difficult for them to maintain their grip.
He held on to her tightly, his arms aching, determined not to let go.
The river was going to fork. When the split happened, they needed to be on the right side. The bifurcation held no significance in terms of the route he’d planned, but it would present their only opportunity to escape the relentless current and reach safety.
One chance. They couldn’t miss it.
“See the fork?” he shouted, over the sound of the rushing river.
“Yes.”
“Stay to the right!” They had to work together, using their legs and arms in tandem to steer themselves in the direction they needed.
“Okay!”
They were rapidly approaching the split.
Kicking as hard as he could and paddling with his free arm to guide them, he navigated through the current.
Their waterlogged weight dragged against them with each stroke.
He could barely keep his face above the surface and Christina wasn’t faring any better, but they reached the right branch of the river.
Scanning the shoreline, he searched for the spot where rocks protruded into the water. He wasn’t sure how far down it was, but on calmer days when he’d gone this way, he’d noticed it. A place where they had a chance to make it out of the water.
Where was it?
The wild current grew stronger, throttling them. They hit a choppy wave. His grip on her slipped.
“Jackson!” She took a mouthful of water.
He kicked with everything he had, struggling not to let fatigue get the best of him, not to let the cold or water win—not to lose her in the rapids. She splashed around near him, fighting against the raging river, but she was still out of his reach.
Where were the rocks?
The river curved once more, taking them around another bend. Then he spotted it. Maybe a quarter mile down. “Head for those rocks.”
“I can’t!” Christina sputtered. “The current.” She flailed, and he could tell it was getting harder for her to tread water and steer herself. “It’s too strong!”
They had to make it. Failure meant being swept farther downriver, into potentially more dangerous territory. He’d been counting on the boat’s engine to peel away from the river and take the stream that branched out in a different direction.
That outcrop of rocks was the one spot where they’d have the slim prospect of making it out of the river. They couldn’t miss their only chance of survival. But in order to do it, he had to reach her first.
Jackson kicked, swimming toward her, battling the heavy, churning force of the river.
Every muscle strained, every breath a desperate gasp.
His legs and arms burned, like wildfire running through his veins, while the icy water chilled him to the bone.
With each stroke, he inched closer and closer to her.
Pulling even with Christina, he caught the collar of her coat.
He dragged her with him, making his way to the river’s edge and the fast-approaching rocks.
Doing her best to help him, she fluttered her legs, but most importantly, she didn’t panic. On her own and wounded, she wouldn’t have made it. He was a strong swimmer, and it was a constant battle for him. For better or worse, they were in this together.
One more stroke. One more kick. He’d keep going until he couldn’t do it anymore.
They only had one shot. His focus narrowed to navigating the treacherous waters and reaching that tenuous lifeline.
They were so close to the shore. He had to gamble that the water wasn’t too deep there. Unbuckling his vest, he slipped one arm out.
“Here it comes!” No time to second-guess the decision. Now or never.
He hauled in a deep breath, dropped under the water, allowing himself to sink until his feet touched the rocky river bottom.
Grabbing Christina around the hips, he pushed up to the surface, using every bit of strength he had left, propelling her toward the rocks.
At the last minute, he barely snatched hold of a large branch hanging over the river from a fallen tree.
But the current caught his legs, threatening to haul him downstream.
Jackson held on for dear life, the river frothing and snarling around him.
The branch was slick with mud from the embankment where the tree had toppled but formed a slippery bridge to the shore.
Grinding his teeth, he managed to hook his other arm around the heavy tree limb.
Straining, he wrestled one leg from the relentless suction of the water and threw it over the branch.
Hauling his other leg free of the river took less effort.
Cautiously he stretched his body along the limb, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He was keenly aware of his precarious position.
One wrong move could send him slipping back into the water.
He slowly crept across the branch, the tree trunk shuddering as if the roots might be torn free from its anchor any second. Finally, he made it to the rocks.
He spotted Christina. A relieved breath punched from his mouth.
She was safe and had collapsed, gagging and spewing water.
Slowly, she got up on her hands and knees, crawling up the rocks farther onto the embankment.
Away from the water, she sat, her chest heaving, her head hanging like she was wiped out.
The feeling was mutual. They’d made it, both alive, though exhausted and drenched. But it wasn’t over.
They still had to make the trek the rest of the way to their destination.