Page 29 of Rescuing You

Because suddenly, he couldn’t continue. By his watch—a waterproof diving watch he’d had for years—he’d been at it for almost sixty minutes, but that was nothing. He should’ve been able to swim hours more.

He was weakening. Why?

He poked his head up, heard nothing. Behind him, only quiet meandering river.

Scanning the riverbanks, he searched for a place to shelter. He needed to tuck up until he felt safe enough to get out. In the cold rivers of Maine, there’d be rocky banks, tall trees with webs of roots, brush, branches.

Maine rivers were beautiful.

He could see vegetation, dark trunks and bright green leaves, the occasional white birch breaking up the forest. He could hear the water gurgling over rocks.

He blinked, and the image disappeared.

Focus, Wright. This isn’t Maine.

What was wrong with him?

He spotted a place where the bank lifted a foot, maybe sixteen inches, above the surface. It would do. He swam there, not rising again until he was close enough to blend into the dirty rise of land.

He leaned against it and gazed downstream, looking for any sign of his pursuers.

Far away, on the opposite side of the river, the compound’s lights glowed, probably two miles distant. There was nobody between here and there.

A long look at the river proved that, unless someone was also swimming beneath the surface, nobody had followed him. At least not this far.

He kept his body in the warm water, head barely poking out, and watched.

His eyes were heavy. Too heavy. He needed to assess his injuries. As soon as he knew he was safe, he would.

At home, summer nights that at first seemed quiet proved to be the opposite. Crickets and frogs sang from dusk till dawn in the summertime.

But winter, with the critters quiet, snow muffling everything… The silence was soft and comforting, tinged with the scent of wood smoke, the promise of home.

This silence was different.

This wasn’t the silence of rest. It felt more like the silence of death.

A quiet splash had Michael’s eyes popping open. When had he closed them?

Was something there? Someone?

He blinked, stared at the dark, dark water, glowing green and black in his NVGs. And then saw…

A man’s foot broke the surface of the water, just yards away.

Michael dove to the side, head ducking below the surface. His gun would work, even underwater. But a gunshot would reveal his location.

The guard grabbed his foot, yanked him back.

Michael kicked, connected with something hard. Managed to get free.

He yanked his knife from its sheath at his ankle.

His attacker had gone up for air.

Thank God for years competing with his brothers. And his training. He didn’t need air yet.

He swam around to the guard’s back. The guard’s torso twisted this way and that. He didn’t know where Michael was.