Chapter 52 BREE

Chapter 52

brEE

I missed.

He's going after them.

Bree secured her weapon in its holster and dived into the water. She'd removed her boots but left on her body armor. It would hamper swimming, but Don had a gun. Know what else hindered swimming? Bullets.

The vest might also offer protection from debris in the water.

The momentum of her dive propelled her toward Don. She needed to intercept him before he reached Mercy and Paige. She opened her eyes under the water, but she didn't see him. The water was murky, and she could see only a few feet in front of her. She surfaced, spitting out water and taking in a huge gulp of air. The cold water chilled her hot skin. She turned her head. She treaded water, scanning the river all around as the current swept her downstream. Tiny waves lapped against her face. She shook water out of her eyes.

Where is he?

Ahead, the river narrowed, and the current increased. Boulders rose out of the river, patches of white water frothing between them. Mercy and Paige were about to pass through the small bottleneck.

A flash of movement caught her attention. She spun and spotted a disturbance on the surface of the water, almost a wake, as if something were moving below. She took a breath and ducked under, looking for Don. Hands grabbed her legs and pulled her deeper. She struck out at him, but the water slowed her movements and lessened the impact of her blows. She kicked, catching a part of him that felt soft, his midsection maybe. Her lungs burned. She needed oxygen. But so did he. His grip loosened, and she stroked toward the light. Her head broke the surface, and she inhaled, filling her lungs.

The current picked up, sweeping her toward the rocks. Don surfaced next to her, his eyes gleaming with hate and desperation. He reached for her. His fingers caught the vest at her shoulder. She kicked out at him, then jabbed a hand at his throat, her knuckles striking his Adam's apple. He choked and coughed, wheezing for a few seconds before a hand flailed out and snagged her uniform again.

He dragged her under. She thrashed at him, exhaustion weakening her blows. Her foot landed on his leg. She pushed up, getting her face above water long enough to suck in some air.

If she wasn't going to make it, damn it, she'd take him down with her and make sure that Paige and Mercy had a chance. A mental image of Kayla and Luke flashed into her eyes. Then Matt's face.

Matt would take care of the children. His family would help. She knew this without question, but sorrow burst through her before an equally strong surge of rage.

Fuck you, Don Dutton.

Mercy

"Get them off!" Paige begged.

"Hang on! We've got to get past this rough part first!" The river had narrowed as it sped toward a bottleneck between boulders, and Mercy had to pay attention to keep the two of them from smashing their heads on the huge rocks. She took a tight grip on Paige, and they both went underwater as they passed through the short passage. Mercy's rib cage and hip slammed against a boulder, and she saw stars. If her ribs hadn't been broken before, they were now.

On the other side of the passage, the river widened and calmed.

Now.

Mercy kicked hard to tread water with just her legs, took a deep breath, and thrust the blade between the girl's wrists and jerked up. The tie partially broke, and Mercy's head dropped below the surface. She kicked again, came back up, and then repeated the maneuver.

Got it.

Paige immediately flipped over and grabbed Mercy, clawing at her shoulders and hips, sinking her underwater. Mercy batted the girl's hands away and struggled until her head broke the surface. She gasped for air. "Don't grab me! Can you swim?"

"Yes." Paige was crying, her face wet with tears, snot, and river water.

She's exhausted and terrified.

So am I.

"I need you to turn over and float again. I'll pull you to the shore."

Still sobbing, the girl raised her feet and tipped her head back again, her arms making slow strokes at her sides. Mercy grabbed the back of Paige's tank top and settled into an awkward sidestroke toward the far side of the river, shocked at how weak her limbs were. She had a ways to go.

I've got to take off the vest.

One-handed, she tore at the strong Velcro. It took a half dozen pulls, and then she yanked on the front zipper and pulled each arm through. She let the vest sink.

Mercy exhaled, feeling fifty pounds lighter.

I'll buy the sheriff's department a new vest.

Looking back, she saw the cabin on fire. The blaze had burned all the trees and brush surrounding it, exposing it to the river. Beside it, Don's car was in flames. The fire had rushed down the riverbank and now licked at the first boards of the dock. The sky was invisible, smoke choking the air and rolling across the river.

She focused ahead, the opposite riverbank calling her, its fire-free shore a beacon of safety.

We can make it.

She paused to catch her breath and looked for Bree. And then continued to twist and look for what felt like forever, dread building in her chest. "Do you see Bree? Did she come through the rocks?" she asked Paige. Water filled Mercy's mouth and she spit. "Do you see her?"

The girl twisted her head to look but stayed on her back, maintaining her float. "I don't see anyone."

Where is Bree?

Bree

Bree's lungs screamed for air. The river had become choppy. Her back smashed into a rock. She was grateful that even with all its extra weight, the body armor vest absorbed some of the impact.

She tilted her head backward but still couldn't keep her face above water long enough to take a full breath without inhaling water. Dutton's face turned toward her. A stream of bubbles trailed from his nose and mouth. She thrust her fingers into his short hair, cupped his scalp like a basketball, and shoved his head under the water. He pulled away, took a breath, then wrapped his arms around her. His greater body weight dragged her under.

She fought for air again. Then the water swirled around them, and an eddy sucked them both down. Bree struck a boulder, pain surging through her arm and shoulder. She tumbled and smashed against a huge rock, her body rolling, helpless, like clothes in a washing machine.

Her hand caught between two rocks, the current yanked at her body, and pain exploded through her wrist as the bone snapped. Bubbles escaped her mouth, and her vision dimmed. Blackness tunneled her view. Agony crescendoed, radiating from her wrist through her whole arm. She thought of her family. I'm sorry.

No!

No giving up. If she died, she'd at least go fighting.

She planted a foot on the boulder and tried to pull in either direction. The pain turned white hot, threatening to render her unconscious. Confusion clouded her thoughts. She floated for a second, the current pulling her body away from her trapped hand. She could see brightness, the orange fire reflecting on the surface of the river.

A hand tapped her shoulder. She turned. Mercy!

Mercy grabbed Bree's vest. With both feet planted against the boulders, she pulled at Bree's arm in the opposite direction. Bree's hand, and some skin, scraped free. Blood plumed in the water.

Mercy stomped on the rock again. This time her effort sent them upward. Toward the brightness. Toward air.

Their heads broke the surface. Water spewed from Bree's mouth at the same time air flooded in. She couldn't tell which she was inhaling. But her lungs worked like bellows. Sucking in more and more. Four breaths later, her lungs ached with fresh air. She coughed. Her vision cleared.

Her feet found the bottom. The water became shallow. She fell to her knees and crawled. Mercy stumbled beside her. They were both alive. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Cradling her broken wrist, Bree sat back on her haunches, still coughing. River water poured from her nose. She wheezed out two words. "Where's. Paige?"

Mercy, also coughing and wheezing, rose onto her knees like a meerkat. "No!"

Bree's head turned.

Twenty feet away in the shallows, Don held Paige's head underwater.

Mercy

Mercy pushed to her feet, stumbling toward Don. Her legs were weak, and the exertion made her choke and spit, water still in her lungs. He screamed at Paige as she thrashed in the water, his back to Mercy. She reached for her weapon.

My gun is gone.

Somehow in the struggle with Paige or when she took off her vest, something had tripped both levels of her holster's weapon retention. Her gun was at the bottom of the river.

Doesn't matter.

She stalked toward the man, bending to grab the biggest rock she could carry with one hand, never taking her gaze off him.

I won't let him kill Paige.

He was on his knees in two feet of water, leaning his weight on Paige's head and neck. He looked back as Mercy approached and then let go of Paige and lunged at Mercy's legs, knocking her to one side. She landed hard in the water, slamming her head into a boulder and dropping the rock in her hand, her breath gone at the pain in her ribs. He threw himself on top of her stomach, trying to turn her face into the shallow water.

No!

She shoved to push him off, her legs splashing, but he was too heavy. His face was close to hers, his eyes crazy, and he shouted things she couldn't process. Her brain was overloaded, struggling to keep her alive. She took a breath and lowered her hands. He immediately twisted her neck, forcing her face underwater, leaning his weight on her neck and head like he had with Paige. Mercy ran her hands along the gritty river bottom, failing not to panic at the water covering her face.

Where'd it go?

Her fingertips grazed her rock, and she wrapped her hand around it. Focusing all her waning strength, she swung her arm out of the water and crashed the rock against Don's temple. His hands let go of her head, and he collapsed on top of her, his body limp. Her head burst through the water's surface, and she sucked in a sputtering breath as she shoved him aside. She rolled over and crawled out of the water, her head down, her waterlogged body and clothing impossibly heavy.

"Mercy!"

She looked to the side and saw Bree attempting to pull Paige to shore one-handed, her other hand limp at her chest. "She's not breathing!"

Mercy flung herself to her feet and stumbled to the women. She grabbed Paige's other arm and hauled her to dry ground. "Is your hand OK?" she asked Bree as she tipped Paige's head back, put her ear by the girl's mouth, and watched for her chest to rise. She pressed her fingers into the girl's cold neck, hoping for a pulse.

Come on, Paige!

"I think my wrist is broken," said Bree.

Her heart pounding, Mercy heard no breaths and saw no rise of Paige's chest. She immediately pinched the girl's nose and gave her two rescue breaths. "You can't do chest compressions with a broken wrist," she told Bree. "Take over breaths." Bree nodded and knelt on the other side at the girl's head. Mercy stacked the heels of her palms on Paige's chest and started compressions. After counting out thirty, she nodded for Bree to give breaths.

There was still no pulse.

Exhaustion swamped Mercy, but she started more compressions.

I won't stop until someone comes.

Bree gasped, her eyes wide, staring past Mercy.

Mercy looked back. A few yards away, Don pointed a gun at Mercy. His gaze locked with hers.

I can't move.

Bree

On her knees, Bree fumbled for her weapon with her left hand. She trained in shooting with her off hand, but these were hardly firing-range conditions. Pain, exhaustion, her soaked uniform, her slippery hand—they all worked against her.

Please work. Please work. Please work.

In her head, she knew her Glock should fire wet.

Should.

But sometimes, they didn't.

One-handed, she leveled the gun at Don's chest and pulled the trigger. The gun bucked, the shot ringing out.

Thank you.

She adjusted her aim and fired again. Dutton's body jerked. Blood bloomed on his chest. Bree pulled the trigger again and again, not stopping until he ass-planted and collapsed into the water. Even then, she kept the gun trained on him. She still had a couple of bullets left. Right? Actually, she had no idea how many times she'd fired. Her brain had simply reverted to her training. Shoot until the threat is neutralized.

She spared a glance at Mercy. "Did he shoot you?"

Returning to her compressions, Mercy shook her head. A moment later Paige coughed, and her body arched. Mercy rolled the girl onto her side, and Paige vomited river water and then started to cry.

Exhausted, Mercy collapsed next to the girl, one hand on Paige's side.

"I've never been so happy to hear someone cry," said Mercy, wiping her own eyes.

Bree lurched and stumbled to her feet. With her handgun still pointed at Don, she approached him, using a foot to roll him to his back. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. He looked dead, but she handcuffed him anyway—awkwardly, with one hand—before pressing two fingers to his throat.

Yep. Dead.

She turned to check on Mercy and Paige.

Both alive.

She looked over them, toward the river. On the other side, the fire raged. But it hadn't crossed the water. Bree's knees folded with relief and her butt hit the ground. It was almost too hard to believe they were safe.