tumbled together over the railing into the river below.
Faith Ann knew two things: The boat was moving away, and she was sinking in the cold water like a coin.
96
The sight of Marta Ruiz dragging Faith Ann toward the stern railing horrified Winter. As he descended the final course of treads, he kept his SIG Sauer aimed at the killer. He didn't have to look back over his shoulder to know that the scrap man was dead, that too many years stood between the time when he was a prison guard and the present. Winter cursed himself for misjudging Marta's strength-her level of threat. Even now, the jack's weight had her listing dramatically, but still she held the struggling child up between herself and Winter's pistol like a shield. A shot would be impossible.
His mind was calculating the situation, figuring the odds. This was a hostage situation-a grab bag of conflicting, self-interest-driven realities, probabilities, and variables-but far, far more than a mathematics equation to be worked out, for a child's life was at stake.
Winter was capable of putting a bullet into a very small target at close range, but this target was in motion and he needed a central nervous system hit, because if he only wounded her she could and would break Faith Ann's neck.
Knowing she had lost, Marta would want to escape. She would assume her partner was incapacitated: wounded, captured, or killed. She had no reason to harm Faith Ann, because the child was her only means of escape.
He watched Marta back into the steel railing and, using only her legs, go straight up to the top and drop, catlike, to the section of open deck behind it, Faith Ann imprisoned in her grip. She passed by the emergency rescue boat-a twelve-foot-long aluminum flat bottom with a thirty-five horsepower outboard motor.
Okay, Winter, now you can't shoot without risking her going into the river. Arresting her isn't your job. She has the upper hand. Just make her believe the truth-in exchange for Faith Ann, you will let her walk away.
Winter held the gun straight out to his side, knelt, and set it down on the deck.
“Okay, Marta, let Faith Ann go and I'll give you a pass.” Faith Ann's frightened eyes were locked on his.
“What kind of trick will you use? What deception do you have in mind? Shooting me when the child is out of the way? I know what a famous shot you are, Deputy Massey.”
“I'm not here as a cop, and I won't shoot you. You have my word on it. I won't try to stop you. I'll give you the key to the cuffs, and you can take that lifeboat. Your freedom for the girl, no tricks.”
She laughed.
“What about Arturo?” she asked.
“Your friend didn't make it,” Winter answered.
Winter was surprised at the change in her expression as she assimilated the news. Her black eyes glowed like hot coals, and her nostrils flared.
“Friend? Turo isn't my friend,” she shrieked. “I don't have any friends! Now you people have killed all I had in this world. Arturo was my heart-my baby brother. My Turo was the last of my blood. It was her! This little demon bitch has ended my world. This little monster must pay!”
In his years as a cop, Winter had never seen such an instant switch from laughter to fury before, such an explosive display of hatred.
“Let her go,” Winter pleaded. “She didn't do anything to you. You people killed her mother. This had nothing to do with her. Please, Marta, let her live.”
Winter saw that Marta was thinking, so maybe he could get to her. “I can't bring back your brother, but I can give you your freedom. Your freedom for Faith Ann. You have my word on it.”
“Words? Freedom?” she screamed at him. “What the fuck good is freedom without my Turo? I cared for him since he was two. I was his mother, his sister, his only friend. What the fuck do you know about freedom? You want to see what freedom looks like, Massey? This is freedom!”
And then she and the child went over the railing and were gone.
97
Faith Ann couldn't believe what had happened. The chugging of the diesel engine dimmed. She kept struggling, trying to break away, but this woman had no intention of sparing her. She would outlive Faith Ann, and when she did relax her iron grip it would be meaningless.
As they sank, both the cold and the pressure grew. Her ears popped. Faith Ann tried to bring up an image of her mother. She expected to see her any moment now, floating in the blackness, reaching out to take her to a better place. They would be together again. Faith Ann's chest felt like it would explode, and another, deeper darkness was closing in.
Don't breathe, Faith Ann, her mama told her.
Something brushed her and then squeezed her shoulder hard. Behind her, Marta started writhing violently.
Faith Ann's eyes were wide open but she couldn't see anything. She was aware of the woman's steely grip. She felt something brush against her and she knew that she was moving, but whether it was up, down, or sideways, she could not tell. She felt as if she was being pulled upward by some force, but she could no longer hold her breath. Although she knew there was no air available-that inhaling so would kill her-she no longer had a choice.
I'm sorry, Mama…
98
Winter hit the water knowing instinctively that his only hope in the pitch-black cold water was to sharpen his angle of descent, increase his speed to close the distance between himself and the pair, and pray he would luck into them.
It seemed certain to Winter that he would miss. If he passed them by inches, he wouldn't know. Chained to the jack, the two had vanished from sight as if sucked under from below. His mind swarmed with doubts and self- incrimination as he kicked furiously and moved his hands before him. He had no way to know how deep he was when his hand brushed something; he clamped down on it and knew it was Faith Ann's wrist. The lack of movement in the appendage told him the child was unconscious. When he jerked the wrist, he felt Marta react to the grab- twist around to fight him, maybe just get a newer, deadlier grip. Marta was too late. Winter kicked away, heading for the surface.
Winter broke the surface first, let out a victorious yell, and jerked her wrist up hard to bring Faith Ann to the surface.
No!
It took his mind a second to digest the fact that the eyes he was looking at belonged to Marta Ruiz, as did the small wrist in his grip.
His mind filled with horror.
He released her wrist.
The police boat was bobbing beside them, a harsh spotlight illuminating her sneering face.
A cop beside Manseur aimed a shotgun down at the woman.
“Oops,” Marta said, taunting him. She raised her hands to show him that the handcuff and the jack were no longer there. “I think you forgot someone.”
