Envy the Night

infrared illuminator that could be engaged for such conditions, but today the standard image tube was all Ezra would need. It gathered the natural light and enhanced it, and in this storm that would work fine. He slid the rifle left a few inches to bring the boat into view, tweaked the scope to clarify the scene.

The shouting man had not lied. There were two people in the boat, Nora Stafford and a big son of a bitch with a gun in his right hand. Nora had tape over her mouth, and the guy with the gun was—hold on a second, he had just lifted the gun.

The shot rang out loud and clear even in the wind and rain, and for a second Ezra was absolutely baffled, because the guy was turned away from Ezra and firing across the lake. What the hell? Ezra thought, and then he got it: Renee. The tall man had spotted Renee and opened fire without bothering to see who the hell he was shooting at.

“Shit,” he whispered and brought the crosshairs down quick, sighted along the big man’s chest, his finger tight on the trigger. It was a hell of a long shot, even with the scope, at least a hundred and sixty yards. Tougher still because the guy was standing sideways from Ezra’s position, offering only his profile. All these details ran through Ezra’s mind fast and then were pushed aside because the son of a bitch had fired again and Ezra couldn’t let him continue. He clenched his teeth together, steadied his breathing, and pulled the trigger.

It was maybe the best shot he’d ever made. Certainly the best he’d made so quickly. The bullet hit the guy in the neck, blew a cloud of blood into the air, and then he was falling forward, collapsing against the side of the boat. Shit, he’d fallen right on Nora. As Ezra watched through the scope, the boat tipped dangerously to the left. For a moment he thought the body would slide into the water and the boat would right itself, but somehow the guy hung up on the side. The boat rocked back to the right, but then Nora struggled beneath the body and her motion made it roll to the left again. There was a half-second pause where equilibrium was still possible, but she kept thrashing and the little boat overbalanced and tipped, spilling them both into the water.

“Damn!” Ezra lowered the gun and peered out, as if that would somehow help him see, then lifted it again and looked back through the scope. He hadn’t meant to send them both into the water like that, but it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. He’d seen the bullet’s impact, knew that it had missed Nora, hitting at least three feet above her. She could swim, surely, or at least hang on to the upside-down boat until Ezra could get out there.

He kept the scope to his eye and watched the water and saw nothing. Nobody moving, nobody splashing. What the hell was she doing? Surely she hadn’t been knocked out in the fall.

Then he remembered the tape.

35

__________

Nora didn’t know what had happened. One second King was standing above her and firing at the figure on the island, and the next drops of blood showered across the boat and he collapsed on top of her. Her first thought was that lightning had hit him; her second was that the person on the island had returned fire. Then she felt the boat begin to tip, and the source of King’s demise was no longer a concern.

They rolled backward until her hair was almost in the water, and she thrashed against him, trying to push forward, send them the other way. He was too heavy, though, and the tape kept her from using her arms or legs to push him off. She rocked back and threw herself forward again, a desperate heave, and still he was on top of her, his blood dripping through her hair and down her cheek. The wind gusted again, shook the boat just enough to worsen the lopsided weight, and they slid back toward the water. She had a fraction of a second to suck air in through her nose and brace for the cold, and then they were over the side and she was sinking.

She fell fast and soundlessly, dropped through the frigid water with a sense of terror and helplessness she’d never felt and couldn’t have imagined before, strong and healthy and uninjured and dying all the same.

Bunched up the way she was, unable to kick with her feet or pull with her arms, she sank quickly, dropped all the way to the bottom. Her eyes were open, and she could see the shimmer of light that was the surface, knew that she would die staring up at it.

Then she bounced. She’d landed on her ass, but a final violent twist got her feet under her, and she realized that the tape had taken every important motion away from her except one: She could bend her knees.

She pressed her feet into the lake bottom and bent at the knees and pushed off as hard as she could, shot upward again. The lake wasn’t deep here, maybe ten feet, and that one massive push was enough get her to the surface. Enough for one gasping inhalation through her nose. Then she sank again.

This time she was equally sure she’d die on the bottom. The little bit of air she’d gotten didn’t feel like nearly enough, but she also didn’t need to wait for the bounce this time, knew what she had to do, and so she landed with her feet out, almost upright. One more bend and push, one more rise, but she knew it was futile even as she headed toward the surface. She wasn’t getting enough air with these brief appearances above the water, and the adrenaline-fueled strength was fading fast. She could manage another rise or two, maybe, but eventually she wouldn’t come up fast enough and she’d frantically try for a breath and take in water instead, drown, and sink back to the bottom, this time for good.

She hit the surface, got a little more air this time, then sank again without ever seeing anything but angry dark clouds. Her feet hit the bottom and she went through that hopeless routine one more time, probably the last repetition she could manage, bend and push. This time she came up under the boat.

Her first reaction to breaking the surface beneath the upside-down boat was panic, but it saved her life. Instead of simply sinking again, she instinctively jerked her head backward, as if to clear herself out from under the boat. She didn’t clear it, of course, but instead drilled the back of her skull against the aluminum frame, wedged between one of the seat brackets and the side of the boat.

She stuck. Only temporarily, for a few seconds, but it was enough to hold her head out of the water so she could get a breath and realize what had happened. Then she felt herself sliding away from the bracket, ready to sink again, and responded by arching her back. The motion forced her head back against the bracket and lifted her legs, and her body slid into an awkward floating position, as close to a survival float as you could possibly achieve with no arms to balance you. It wouldn’t have been possible without the bracket there under her head, but it worked now.

Breathe. That was all she had to do, all she needed to worry about for this moment, just sucking air in through her nose, trying to get as much oxygen into her lungs as possible before she slipped out of this position and sank again. She hauled the air in, her chest rising and falling, got in at least five breaths before she began to slide away from the bracket again.

She tried to repeat the motion that had worked before, arching her back and lifting her legs, but this time she couldn’t find the bracket, and her head kept sliding away.

No, no, no. Come back, I can stay alive here, I can stay alive . . .

The water was over her face and she was sinking again when she realized that it hadn’t been her head sliding away from the bracket, but the other way around. The boat was moving, pushed aside. She watched it move as she dropped, was three feet deep and still going when legs bumped against her back and then an arm encircled her, wrapped around her neck and hooked under her chin and lifted.

A second later she broke the surface, blinked water out of her eyes, and stared at Renee, unable to utter a single word of thanks because of that damn tape.

Ezra dropped the rifle and got to his feet, hardly conscious of the assailant who still lingered in the woods behind him, and looked around his boat for some way to help.

The key was gone, and he didn’t have time to hotwire the ignition. That left no power source but the electric trolling motor, and though it would surely be too slow it was the only chance he had. Ezra couldn’t make a swim like that, not anymore.

A swim. The thought triggered a memory of Renee and the initial source of the shooting. She was so much closer to the overturned boat, and she could swim. Had she seen what happened? Did she know Nora was in the water?

He turned back to search the lake for her, but then something moved onshore behind him, and he whirled