Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

T he freezing water of the Little Melvin closed over me and dragged me down momentarily, and the ruck on my back didn't help, keeping me off-balance. I fought my way to the surface, and my head slammed into a boulder and I saw stars. By the time I could think again, I was twenty feet downstream, bouncing off other big rocks. The water was very cold, but that was the least of my problems at the moment.

I remembered a survival swim instructor in the military, a little runt of a man who everyone had hated, strutting along the side of the pool, screaming mantras about what to do in various situations. It seems being a screaming asshole is good for remaining in long-term memory for ready retrieval in times of stress.

I relaxed and went with the water instead of fighting it. I adjusted so my feet were downstream and my boots took the brunt of rock strikes. Going with the flow of the water made them only glancing blows rather than deadly hits. I managed to pop my head out of the water as I went under the bridge and grabbed a breath of air mixed with enough water to induce coughing. I considered dumping the ruck, but things weren't that dire yet and everything inside was in waterproof bags so it actually gave me a little buoyancy, although it made maneuvering hard.

I angled toward the far bank. It took around ten seconds but finally I brushed up against it. Watching downstream, I reached up and grabbed an overhanging branch. Which, to the satisfaction of the all-powerful but sadistic entity controlling my life, promptly broke.

I went under and sucked in water, a broken branch in my hands. I let go of it. My training went out the window as I flailed about, tumbling downstream, trying to get my head above the surface. I reached out for another branch and something closed around my wrist, and I was abruptly jerked to a halt and then dragged to the bank and up, out of the water.

I lay on the riverbank, gasping for air. I blinked. There were two figures looming over me. I rolled to the side, my ruck still on my back, and threw up a mixture of bile and water.

I tried to shrug out of the arm straps. One of the figures helped me get the ruck off my back, popping the quick releases, which I'd forgotten about, and I finally recognized Marley, one of Pike's foster kids. The other, Reggie, was standing nearby. They were both seniors in high school so they had the muscle to drag my ass out of the river.

"You okay, man?" Marley asked.

My head was throbbing and I was sopping wet and freezing, but I was alive. Always be happy for the bottom line. "Yeah."

"What happened?" Marley held up a pair of belts buckled together with a loop on the end. "We saw you in the water and ran down the riverbank until we could hook you."

I realized they both had their school backpacks on their backs. We weren't that far from the bridge I'd just gone under, the one I'd crossed going into the woods.

"Rope bridge broke," I said, still not sure I'd seen anything before I'd fallen.

Reggie looked upset and headed upstream.

"What's with him?" I sat up a bit too abruptly and was dizzy for a couple of moments.

"He built the bridge," Marley said. "So he's gonna need to see what happened."

He spoke calmly, but then he would. He was the older of the two and the laid-back brother. Except now that I'd known him for a couple of weeks, I didn't think he was as dumb as he'd seemed when we'd first met. There was something sharp in him when he wasn't stoned that was making me think that he wasn't that laid-back. There was probably a story there, but I didn't want to hear it and I was positive he didn't want to tell it. Not a chatter, Marley, and I wasn't the world's best listener.

But he was damn good at rescuing old guys from the rapids without breaking a sweat.

I grabbed my ruck. It was intact, which was more than I could say about myself. I was, of course, thoroughly soaked. I opened it and unsealed the large waterproof bag inside. Waterproofing everything was a lesson you learned early on and never forgot. Because things like this happened. I quickly changed out of my wet clothes and socks—Marley politely turning his back—and then Reggie was there, looking even more upset and holding a piece of rope.

It had been cleanly sliced through.

Just great. Somebody trying to kill people. I hate that. Especially when the people was me.

"Who would do this?" Reggie asked. "We're the only ones who ever used that bridge. I mean the gang. Who'd want to hurt us? Who'd want to hurt you?"

He didn't sound as outraged on that last question, more confused. He was definitely more concerned about the bridge than me. He didn't have the fondest memories of me from that first time we'd met in their foster father's weed field.

"I don't know," I said, although I was mentally reviewing the possibilities.

A prank? Nope, too dangerous. I was pretty sure I was the only one hitting that bridge every day the past week, Marley and Reggie being occupied with other things like high school and their friends Darius and Poppy almost getting killed.

I remembered the flash of light on steel, which was a rather significant tell. So I was taking it personally. "I don't think it was a trap for you guys. Somebody cut it while I was on it; they were after me. Did you see anyone on this bank? Near the rope bridge?"

They exchanged a confused glance and then Reggie said, "No."

Marley added, "You can't see the bridge from here."

So who was out to get me now?

There was Junior Stafford; I'd shot and killed his newfound father, Norman, and helped my old boss take out his mother, Serena. He could have some issues with me, but I didn't see him coming back to Rocky Start any time soon. It was too hot for him here and he wasn't the toughest nut in the bowl. More like yogurt.

There were any number of people from my past gunning for me, but I didn't see any of them bothering to travel to a small town on the Tennessee/North Carolina border to cut a rope bridge; they'd just shoot me. We are professionals, after all.

I went down a list of possible people who might want me dead—the list was not short—but what it came down to was that it had to be somebody local. Maybe somebody who wanted Rose and the phantom millions that were supposed to be hidden in the building she'd inherited week before last. Somebody who thought I was standing in their way of marrying possible money in the shape of a very fine woman. That narrowed the field down to around twenty or thirty men. Damn it. There's courting and then there's killing. I frown upon the latter when it's directed at me.

I shivered and realized I was still wet and the weather was not warm.

The Weed Brothers exchanged a glance, perhaps concerned about my silence and the shivering.

"Thanks for the save," I told them. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Marley asked. "You're shaking and you got, like, a big lump on your forehead and your cheek is bloody. You don't look good, man."

I indicated my ruck. "I've got a first aid kit. Thanks. I'll be fine. I really appreciate you saving me. Really." I nodded. "Go to school. I'm okay. And thanks."

They headed toward town, late for school, leaving the cranky old man behind.

I stood up. My boots and coat were soaked through, and my hair was wet and freezing. Nothing I could do about that now.

I headed into town to find Rose and her homicidal suitors.