Chapter 4
Four
Gideon lunged for Mackenzie. She had to have fallen, slipped. But his brain observed that her arms were neatly folded to her chest, her toes pointed as she entered the water.
Not slipped. Jumped.
Why? His brain reeled. It was absolutely nonsensical that she’d dive right back in when they just escaped drowning by inches.
Fury choked him. He should’ve let her carry on with whatever harebrained scheme she’d cooked up.
The moment she pretended to steal his wallet should have been the official end of his involvement.
The squad car on the bank had taken off in pursuit of the shooters, who were no longer in sight. That was something, anyway. He sucked in an enormous breath and yelled at the rescue boat as it tossed side to side like an old porch rocker. He finally got the cop’s attention.
Rodriquez pointed to his ear in a “can’t hear you” signal.
No kidding. Gideon used his entire body to try to convey where Mackenzie had gone in.
Rodriquez grabbed a pair of binoculars and began to scan the fray.
The rescue boat moved slowly, working against the rush of water.
Mackenzie, on the other hand, had already traveled ten yards from the pier where Gideon stood, and she was gaining speed.
Timing wasn’t in their favor.
The boat would arrive to rescue him, but she’d be long gone, drowned and swept away to be recovered after the waters receded.
There was no other likely outcome. How hadn’t she seen that?
The woman was obsessed but not suicidal.
She was her own worst enemy, and whatever she thought she was doing wasn’t going to bring Aaron back.
The cop was still scanning, the boat still churning, the current still yanking Mackenzie toward a watery death.
For an endless moment he breathed deep, prayed, and let his decision settle, his mind accept what the next action of his body would be.
He tightened the straps on his pack and locked his knees to stop them from shaking.
This is turning into an unbelievably bad day.
He dove into the water for the third time since breakfast.
Like the past two occasions, the temperature hit him like a physical blow. Only now he was weakened from exhaustion and racing toward hypothermia. It took him longer to break the surface after the shock of the plunge. The air he sucked in felt almost as cold as the water.
Mackenzie’s orange jumpsuit enabled him to spot her, swimming madly for the column of debris snagged in the roots of an oak tree on the bank. The collection of branches and other flotsam and jetsam was her target, he imagined. A rickety escape ladder.
It was his too. If they didn’t make it there, they’d die. If they did make it and the debris wouldn’t hold them or they were too tired to climb out, they’d die. If the black truck was stationed somewhere nearby and the driver had seen her stunt and was setting up a neat rifle shot, they’d die.
So where was the upside of this clever plan?
He swam his hardest, kicking with all his might to close the gap between them. He didn’t catch up until she’d reached the snag and heaved herself onto a broken two-by-four stuck amid the pile.
He helped himself to the other end, panting and shivering.
Her eyes went wide as she glanced at him. “Why did you follow me?”
“I can only chalk it up to temporary insanity,” he growled.
“You shouldn’t have.”
“One hundred percent agree. But how about we don’t talk now, huh? You know, since we’re close to freezing to death and all? We have to get out of here.”
“No one told you to butt in.” Even though she was half frozen, her eyes flashed at him.
A dozen retorts bottled up in his throat as he stared at the infuriating woman. “Just get moving before we can’t, okay?” They began to work, seizing slippery handholds and hauling themselves sideways toward the steep bank.
A branch snagged in her hair. She snapped off the offending twig and continued. He kept on, but he could not ignore the fact that the whole pile was vibrating with the shock of the water slamming away at it.
“Mackenzie.” He didn’t finish as the two-by-four and the branch that had held it steady pulled loose and were immediately sucked up by the current.
Faster. They had to go faster. He tried to say as much, but he couldn’t expend the energy.
Mackenzie was moving slower, as if the branch pile was working to hold her in place.
He grabbed her wrist and lugged her forward, figuring she’d give him a hostile elbow or at least a serrated glare. She did neither. They kept on.
He estimated they had fifteen feet left to traverse before they reached the muddy edge.
How they were going to climb up the steep slope was another problem, but if they could manage it, he might be able to go back for his Jeep.
Drive them out. Back to the station. A hospital.
Anywhere that wasn’t wet and freezing. His body yowled in complaint.
While he was still rolling ideas over, the branch he held was yanked from his grasp by a vicious wave. The whole pile ripped loose, and they were rushing and tumbling, right along with the debris.
Mackenzie’s expression was pure terror. Though this was her choice, her decision, and she’d delivered herself squarely into the mess, his heart lurched.
He grabbed the front of her coveralls and managed to pull her to his chest. The water hauled them under, dousing them until he thought they were finished, then rocketed them to the surface where they gasped and choked.
“Just hold steady for a minute,” he said into her ear. “We’re okay.” He wasn’t sure how exactly they were okay, but panic wouldn’t serve. With the network of branches gone, it was all he could do to stay afloat. A thick piece of foam rushed by, and he snagged it, then shoved it under her arms.
When God sends you a flotation device . . .
At least it got her head above the water.
He draped an arm around her shoulders and began to try to tow them both to the bank.
But as much as he kicked and struggled, they made no progress.
He treaded water, panted, searched for the rescue boat, though they were too far out of visual range.
Possibly they’d called in reinforcements and decided to get their retrieved victims to safety before returning.
He probably would have done the same, rather than risk three people dying of hypothermia while attempting to rescue two clowns who couldn’t seem to stay out of the river.
Come on, Gid. Power through.
But the water increased in volume and violence as his muscles began to shut down. The noises seemed farther away. His limbs weren’t moving smoothly anymore. Still, he fought on, Mackenzie helping kick.
It wasn’t enough.
Should he stop resisting? Let the river carry them where it would, hopefully to a place where they could escape? But it was full of debris and the bank was so impossibly far away.
He hung on to her, and she looked at him.
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t hear the words, but the regret in her expression was clear under the extreme discomfort.
You should be.
“Hey!”
Had he imagined the voice?
He whipped a look toward the bank. At first, he didn’t see anything. Mackenzie pointed one trembling finger. “There’s . . . a man,” she said as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
He didn’t dare let go of her as he blinked his vision into focus.
A heavyset man with a brimmed rain cap and a navy slicker stood on the bank, waving a yellow rope.
Not Hairy from the white truck. Possibly the driver of the black truck, but he didn’t think so. This looked like a well-meaning local, a guy who might possibly be able to save them. His frozen veins pulsed a tick faster.
The man cupped a hand around his mouth. “Gonna . . .”
Gideon didn’t catch the rest of the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The man tossed the coiled rope. It unfurled, ribboning down the cliff of mud and hitting the water twenty feet from their position.
“Tread water,” he commanded Mackenzie as he struck out hard for the rope that undulated frustratingly ahead of him. He pushed on with his last reserve of strength. This was undoubtedly their only remaining chance to survive.
His fingers touched the wet fibers, but his flesh was so cold he couldn’t grip.
The surge pulled it farther from him. He thought of the swimming contests he, his brothers, and their cousin had in the lake on their family farm.
Who could stay underwater the longest, reach the other side the fastest, make the biggest splash cannonballing off the dock.
His cousin Johnny would typically win, which only infuriated Cullen and Duncan.
Winning came easily to Johnny, his big size and natural physicality working to his advantage.
But all the losing taught Gideon an invaluable lesson that he passed on to his students.
Stay present.
It wasn’t about tomorrow, the next hour, or the finish line. It was about now, being focused, deliberate. That was how he’d learned to outlast Johnny and his brothers, to flat-out endure.
Three feet.
Do it. Now.
He concentrated on his arms and cleaved a yard past the trajectory of the rope so he’d be in a good position when their paths intersected. It took every bit of his reserve.
This time, when the rope came within reach, he clasped both hands around it and scooted it to his body, then clamped it under his armpit until he could loop it clumsily around his torso. Elated, he spun. For a moment, his heart almost stopped beating when he failed to spot Mackenzie.
But an instant later, he caught the flash of orange. In spite of her vigorous effort to hold on to the piece of foam, she was barely above water, her face ghastly pale. Nonetheless, at his thumbs-up, she strove to swim toward him, and he met her in the middle.