Sweat dripped into his eyes, siphoning off the last of his energy reserves. His pulse thudded hard and added to the headache splitting his head in two.Think. He had to think. The evacuation order that’d gone out an hour ago thanks to his call for backup had cleared innocent bystanders from around the reservoir. But they hadn’t taken their boats.
Murray lunged for the nearest boat. Every second of searching for a forgotten engine key would cost him. The first boat didn’t produce anything but a couple spools of fishing line and a cooler of beers despite the park’s guidelines against alcohol. He dropped into the second boat, his blood pumping too hard for his heart to keep up with.
Nothing.
Damn it. He was running out of time. He couldn’t think about any of the reasons Aslen might have been taken. Fire management had already contained the aftermath of the RVexplosion and were working to douse the wildfire in the woods at his back. But Aslen was out there, alone, fighting for her life against a threat neither of them understood. He’d promised to protect her, and he was on the verge of failing her as equally as he’d failed his family.
And Aslen… She was getting farther out of reach. That invisible thread that’d tied them together since the first time he’d set eyes on her was close to breaking. He wouldn’t survive it. Losing her. It would be like ripping his heart straight from his chest with no hopes of recovery. The mere thought threatened to send him into a spiral he’d never surface from.
Murray dropped into an undersized fishing boat that looked as though it’d tip over with his weight, but the electric outboard didn’t require a key. The muscles along his rib cage and deep into his shoulder socket shrieked from where he’d hit the forest floor escaping the fire as he quickly unwound the ropes holding the boat to the dock. He started the engine, angling the boat straight ahead, but with so little power, there was no chance of catching up to the powerful speedboat. “I’m coming, Aslen. Just hold on.”
He could just make out the shape of the white outline ahead, two trails of water guiding him better than any radar on a clear day like this. The sun assaulted the back of his neck as he chased the speedboat north across the smooth surface of the reservoir. He could do this. He’d get her back. Because the alternative was too dark to deal with, a stain on his heart that would never wash out. Oily and thick and life-ending. Because if he didn’t have Aslen, he would be left with nothing.
Without any potential of…them. And that was what maybe scared him the most. That he’d cut himself off from feeling anything more for her out of fear of losing the last bright light in his life, and only ended up hurting and depriving himselfof something that could’ve made him happy. “Come on, Aslen. Keep fighting. Just a little while longer.”
The twin shoots of water disappeared in the distance, and Murray found himself straightening to get a better view over the water. The speedboat had pulled to a stop more than a half mile ahead. He didn’t dare let up on the small fishing boat’s speed as his brain sped through all the possibilities of the arsonist’s next move. This was Aslen’s arena. As much as he’d hated the idea of dragging her into this investigation, he’d relied on her insights into the arsonist’s motives to get them this far. Never once doubting herself or second-guessing their next move. That confidence was one of the few things that’d gotten him through the worst of his grief, her unwavering knowledge that no matter what happened, they would be there for each other.
Despite crossing several hundred more feet of calm blue water, Murray had no better understanding of why the boat ahead had stopped dead. Had Aslen somehow managed to fight back? That thread inside of him was still alive, pulsing for him to go faster, faster, faster. Alive. She was alive. He had to believe that, but even knowing she’d do whatever it took to survive didn’t release the phantom pain in his chest that came from potentially losing her. “What the hell are you doing?”
Then he knew. Ice punctured through his veins, and Murray gripped the outboard steering handle with everything he had. The plastic screeched in protest as he tried pushing the motor beyond its capabilities. He wasn’t going to make it in time—
A splash shot up from the port side of the speedboat. Then those two shoots of water were spraying out behind once again. Murray forced himself to keep his seat when every cell in his body screamed for him to get to her as fast as possible. The son of a bitch had thrown her overboard. Terror unlike anything he’d felt gripped him in a vise he couldn’t escape. “No!”
His roar bellowed over the reservoir’s surface, and he could’ve sworn the arsonist looked back to find the source. But his fishing boat couldn’t go any faster. Seconds ticked off. Maybe a minute. The speedboat was getting even farther away from that spot where she’d gone under, the surface of the lake smoothing over once again. How long until he lost sight of where she’d gone under altogether? How long could she hold her breath? How much longer to reach her? He tried keeping his gaze centered on where he believed she’d disappeared beneath the surface, but the ripping wind and the burn of afternoon sun blurred his vision.
“Swim, damn it! Fight!” Why couldn’t she break the surface? Had she been knocked unconscious? Was she drowning this very second? His mind tunneled deeper and deeper into panic with every gut-wrenching second the surface of the water remained unbroken. He was getting closer. He was almost there. She just had to hold on a bit longer. He’d get her out of this. Just like he’d gotten her out of everything else. A beating from Brittany Olsen behind a rusted, old dumpster. That reeking, alcohol-soaked foster home she’d lived in next door. Bouts of depression around her parents’ death anniversaries. He’d been there for her for twenty years, taught her how to defend herself, to shoot a gun, to hold her own in any confrontation, helped her with her homework and taught her her first swear words. He’d witnessed her transforming from a shy, barely-there girl into the woman who could knock him on his ass with one look. She was a survivor, through and through. No matter how many times she’d fallen, she’d always gotten back up. She could hold out for anything. She just had to do it again. “Come on!”
The distance between his boat and that unbothered spot where he calculated she’d been thrown closed. Murray was up and out of his seat in a split second after cutting the outboard motor. He couldn’t see past the first few inches of water, but hedidn’t care. Stripping off his boots and T-shirt, he tossed them to the bottom of the fishing boat and dove in.
Lukewarm water swallowed him whole, easing the pain in his blistered palms only a fraction before resurging with a vengeance. He stroked downward, putting everything he had—sore muscles, burned skin, unstable emotions—on hold as he dove deeper. Sunlight pierced through the surface but didn’t light his way the deeper he swam.
No sign of her.
Nothing to suggest he’d gotten the location right, but that thread—the one he’d tried to cut too many times to count—kept pulling at his chest. Pressure built in his lungs, bubbles escaping his nose and tickling at his sensitive skin. The temperature of the water gave him a false sense of security. Not too cold, not too hot. But still dangerous enough to drown. He didn’t know how deep he’d swam. Layers of disturbed sediment clouded the water in front of him along with sickly waves of plant life that reminded him of car-lot dancing tube men. One tangled around his foot, trying to pull him deeper. To keep him forever. But nothing would stop him from finding her.
Warning shot through his chest as the precious reserves of oxygen depleted with every stroke. The faster he swam, the faster he burned through his air supply. But he couldn’t leave her down here. Couldn’t let her die alone.
His eyes burned as he cut through a wall of disturbed sediment. Thicker here than anywhere else he’d seen. Aslen. She had to be here. The water cleared for the briefest of seconds, and if he hadn’t already been searching to his left, he might’ve missed her altogether.
There. A dark outline that had no business being here other than if it’d been dumped. He couldn’t make her out completely, but his gut was already urging him to get to whatever had sunk this deep. Murray kicked as hard as he could, denying thepressure screaming in his chest. His jeans tangled between his ankles, but he only pushed himself harder. Draining the last minute of air. Water, dirt and other debris clouded his eyesight, but a single brush of his hand against the shape confirmed everything he’d feared.
Aslen.
Fisting one hand around what he thought was her silky-smooth upper arm, Murray tried to drag her toward him. Except she wouldn’t budge. She was stuck. Darkness penetrated the edges of his vision as he tugged again. Still, her small frame refused to follow. She wasn’t struggling, didn’t even seem to know he was there, and a flood of true terror squeezed the last dregs of air from his chest.
He ran both hands down the length of her body, catching on the rope binding her wrists. She could’ve kept herself afloat with bound wrists, which meant the son of a bitch who’d abducted her hand most likely bound her ankles. Forcing himself deeper, he felt more than saw the rope tangled around what he assumed to be debris from a crashed boat that’d sunk in the reservoir. There was no current here, no way to use the motion to get her free as Murray pulled against the ropes at her feet with everything he had.
Grabbing for his jeans pocket, he drew the pocketknife Aslen had gifted him upon his entry into the police academy, and flipped the blade free. His forearms burned as he cut into the thick ropes, the water having made the strands swell almost double their size. Hold on, he wanted to tell her. He was here. He wasn’t going to leave her. The rope broke under the blade, and Murray unwound it as quickly as possible.
He secured his hand around her arm again and yanked her upward. The darkness drew to a circle in his vision, a tunnel he could barely identify which way was up. The outline of thattoo-small boat came into view, but he didn’t bother changing direction. She needed air. As soon as possible.
Murray broke through the surface first, gasping hard enough to make his lungs spasm, and dragged her up beside him. No response. Tipping her head back against his shoulder, he swam one-armed toward the boat swaying five feet from their location. “I’ve got you, Aslen. Don’t give up. I’m here.”
In less than a minute, he’d hauled her into the boat then followed after and pressed his mouth to hers. Pushing as much air into her lungs as she could afford, he fisted both hands over her sternum and started counting off compressions.
One. Two. Three. Four. He forced another round of air into her chest and started compressions all over again.
Water leaked from the corners of her mouth. Just before she coughed and took a lifesaving breath.
