The Darkest Hour(64)

       
           



       

She was careful not to glance down, not to even twitch. No advance  warning when she made her move. She waited until she nearly jittered out  of her skin. There. The knife eased just a bit and no longer bit as  hard into her skin.

She rammed her knee into his balls and crashed her elbow down onto his  wrist. The knife clattered to the deck and she kicked it hard, sending  it spiraling across the boat.

He grabbed her by the neck, his fingers digging deep into her skin  despite the fact he was hunched over, holding his balls with his free  hand.

His hand squeezed mercilessly, cutting off her air supply.

She was going to die.

Here on a boat probably not far from where Sam lived. On the lake to  make the disposal of her body easier. At the hands of an asshole who  talked about murder like he would the weather.

Rage. Red-hot and searing. It splintered through her veins like volcanic fury.

Faking surrender, she let every muscle in her body go limp. Maybe it  caught him off guard, or maybe he expected her to fight because his grip  eased.

Harnessing her anger, she bolted forward, throwing herself against the  asshole. Forearms across his chest, she shoved, putting every ounce of  her strength behind her movements.

He staggered backward, his feet stumbling to catch up with the rest of him. His hands flew up, and he tried to grab the railing.

She jumped on him, and they both went over the side.

The cold water hit her like a ton of bricks.

Down she went into the darkness. She fought off panic and struck out,  swimming away from the boat. Several yards out, she broke the surface,  gasping for breath.

He was out there. Probably close. But it would take him precious time to  get back into the boat to look for her. Time she could use to her  advantage.

This time she took a deeper breath as she dove back under, and she  forced herself to stay under until shadows grew around her  consciousness. She broke the surface and kept her head down as she  hungrily sucked in air.

She glanced back to see the spotlight from the boat dancing across the water.

She inhaled quickly and ducked beneath the water again. Ignoring the  agonizing pain in her arm, she swam deep and hard. Eventually, her body  grew numb from the cold, and the pain receded. She gave a quick murmur  of thanks and pushed herself onward.

For how long she repeated the endless cycle of surfacing, taking a  breath and going back below, she didn't know. It felt like hours. She  wasn't cognizant of anything but the need to survive.

When her strength finally gave out and the adrenaline fled her system,  she broke the surface and looked back. To her immense relief, she didn't  see the boat. No lights, just murky darkness.

The lake water lapped gently at her chin as she treaded water. And  suddenly the pain came rushing back with the force of a car crash.

Barely conscious, she feebly struck out for shore, but it seemed to be a  mile away. The current tugged at her legs, sucking her back and down  the river channel instead of allowing her to move toward the bank.

Exhausted, she stopped fighting and turned on her back to float the best  she could. She had to get out of the water. He'd be looking for her.

Her head cracked against something hard, and she let out a startled cry.  She briefly fell underneath the water in panic. When she surfaced, she  jerked around to see a large log bobbing in front of her.

Grateful for something to hold on to, she hauled her body up and draped  herself over the trunk. The wet bark abraded her cheek, but she was too  exhausted to give a damn.

She reached with her good arm and placed her hand over her belly. Her  baby had to be okay. She had to be. She closed her eyes as she waited  for some response from within. Just a tiny kick. Even a bump just to let  Sophie know her baby was safe.

Nothing.

She ran her hand up her arm, feeling for how bad the bullet wound was.  In the water, it was impossible to tell. She whispered a fervent prayer  that the night's events hadn't harmed her baby.

Again she lowered her palm, feeling for movement.

She fought back the panic. It was common for a baby to be still after  Mama suffered a shock. She'd read that somewhere in one of those  pregnancy books.

She'd become an expert at self-treatment because she hadn't dared seek  medical help. Tomas would have found her instantly. So she devoured  every book she could lay her hands on. She took over-the-counter  vitamins, drank her milk and exercised so she'd remain on alert. For  just such an occasion as when her father's men caught up to her.

There was one star overhead. Just one, and it looked blurry and distant.  It bobbed up and down, and she didn't know if it was because she shook  so violently or if the lake was rough.

Her arm wrapped tighter around the log, and she pressed her cheek  against the wet bark. She could ride it for a while, and maybe it would  drift out of the faster current toward the calmer waters of the lake.                       
       
           



       

Her eyelids fluttered even as she fought to stay conscious. Something  warm and wet ran down her arm. Blood. It smelled like blood.

Sam.

His image rose vividly to mind. Her last coherent thought was that she had to get to Sam.