Final Breath

Chloe ducked behind a bush and watched them walking hand in hand toward her pier. Maybe they would just keep walking along the shore, and then she'd have this beach to herself again. Was that too much to hope for?

Apparently so, because the twosome turned and walked down to the end of the pier. They embraced and kissed.

Chloe felt tears stinging her eyes. Why couldn't that be her? Just once?

The woman giggled again. Chloe realized her boyfriend had unzipped the back of the red dress. She started to peel down the top part of the dress while he kissed her neck. Chloe could see the woman's breasts in the moonlight. The man's mouth moved down from her neck to one breast. After a moment, he stepped back.

'Good God,' Chloe whispered. She realized the man--like her--carried at least one stone in his pocket. Suddenly, he pulled the rock from his blazer pocket and bashed it over the blonde's head. The woman let out a shriek and then a strange warbled groan that was like gibberish. A hand on her forehead, she staggered back from him. Blood was already dripping through her fingers down to her elbow.

With a forceful shove, the man pushed her off the pier. She plunged into the water.

A hand over her heart, Chloe watched them from the edge of the thicket.

The man stood at the end of the pier, gazing down at the lake for only a moment. He threw the stone into the drink. Then he turned and hurried toward the path they'd taken down together.

Chloe recoiled behind the shrubs as he strode past her. She tried to keep perfectly still. He pulled the small flashlight from his other blazer pocket. She could hear him breathing hard, and then his footsteps on the stone path, and bushes rustling.

Chloe's shook horribly as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. She shucked off the heavy raincoat and started to hobble toward the pier. The operator finally answered.

'Yes, hello,' Chloe said, out of breath. 'I'm at--at Alder Hill Road Beach. It's a private beach, and I just saw this guy hit a woman over the head and throw her into the lake. I think he might have killed her...'

'All right, ma'am,' the operator said. 'Could you give me your name and the address you're calling from?'

Glancing over her shoulder, Chloe saw the lone pinpoint of light moving back up the dark hillside forest. 'My name is Chloe Finch, and I told you, I'm at a private beach on Alder Hill Road. Listen, the guy's getting away. You need to send someone here as soon as possible. This woman's going to need an ambulance...'

She raced to the end of the pier, and spotted the woman a few yards away, floating facedown in the silvery water. Her naked back looked so white. The wet red dress--bunched around her waist--seemed to be pulling her down. 'Oh, God, I see her,' Chloe gasped into the phone. 'Please...please, hurry!'

Tossing aside the cell phone, she dove off the end of the pier and furiously swam out to the unconscious woman. Flipping her over, Chloe cupped her hand under her chin and started paddling toward shore. She couldn't tell if the woman was still breathing. Her eyes remained closed; her lids didn't even flutter. The lake water splashed away blood from the gash in her forehead--but only temporarily. It didn't look like the bleeding would stop.

Once she reached the shallow water, Chloe grabbed the lifeless woman under the arms and then dragged her to the sandy shore. Her wet, limp body was heavy. Frazzled, Chloe could hardly get a breath.

She rolled the woman onto her stomach, and repeatedly pushed at her lower back. 'C'mon, c'mon...' Chloe whispered. 'Please...'

At last, she heard a choking sound, and the woman stirred. She started to cough up water. Chloe was still shaking as she turned the woman over. Her wet blond hair was swept across her face, mingling with sand and blood. She gasped for air and coughed again.

Chloe held her head in her lap. The woman was shivering, and Chloe pulled the top of her dress up to cover her. Then she quickly unbuttoned her own wet short-sleeve shirt. She wrung it out and applied it to the gash on the woman's forehead.

Catching her breath, she could hear a siren in the distance. 'It's okay,' she said to the woman. 'There's an ambulance on the way...'

Chloe didn't realize it then, but she'd been right about that man and this woman. Together, they'd thrown a cog in her grand exit plan.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

'I don't get it,' Eli said from the backseat of Aidan's rental car. 'Why can't I go to Chicago with you?'

Sydney glanced over her shoulder at him from the front passenger seat. 'I told you, honey. I'm coming right back tomorrow night. This is not a leisure trip. I did all I could to wiggle out of this, but they need me to cover this story. I'm going directly from the airport to meet with the crew, and tonight, I'm meeting this Chloe person. I won't have time to take you around anyplace.'

'This woman must be a real fan of your Movers and Shakers stories,' Aidan said, his hands on the steering wheel. He smiled at her. 'She won't talk to any other reporter but you?'

Sydney nodded. 'So they tell me. Only I think she's more a fan from my figure-skating days.' She noticed Aidan's smile wane, and realized he indeed still felt responsible for the abrupt end of her career on the ice. She reached over and patted his arm. 'You're really sweet to chauffeur us around like this--with all you have going on today. Thanks, Aidan.'

'So why can't I stay with Dad while you're working?' Eli piped up.

'Because I have to catch a 10:22 flight, which the network booked for me,' she replied. 'And your dear mother doesn't have the thousand bucks they'll charge for your last-minute overnight trip to Chicago, sweetie.'

It had been a crazy morning with the phone ringing at 6:20. Sydney hadn't caught much sleep at all. She'd had another bout of Internet browsing and going through her Movers & Shakers files again. Of the twenty-eight video shorts she'd filmed last year, eight had focused on someone who had saved another person's life. Four of those people had met gruesome deaths within the last two weeks. Of the four others, she could discount her profile on an army private, Justin O'Rourke. He'd already been dead for a week when she'd put together the story about Justin throwing himself on top of a grenade to save his buddies during an insurgent assault in Iraq.

That left three people. Sydney scribbled down a list:

--Eric Ryan, 11, saved friend's younger brother, Eddie Kelly, when he fell down a well. Clinton, Iowa: Contact: Susan Ryan (mom): 563-555-0505

[email protected].

--Beth Costello, 34, stopped to help stroke victim lying on downtown Chicago sidewalk--moved to Paris for work 2 months ago (& how could you inflict a stroke on someone anyway?).

E-mail just in case: [email protected].

--Roseann Fann, 72, returning from swing shift @ rest home @ 4 AM, saw wrecked burning car, called 911, and then pulled man from car, did CPR & saved life.

Milwaukee, WI: Rosie: 414-555-3641

[email protected].

Sydney e-mailed the three of them individually. She didn't want to frighten them, but she also didn't want to hear tomorrow that Eric broke his neck falling down a well or that Roseann died in a fiery car crash. She figured Beth was probably safe, since she was out of the country. But why take any chances? 'Recently, I've received some death threats,' she wrote in her note to each one. 'A few of my Movers & Shakers subjects were mentioned by name in these alarming e-mails. Your name wasn't among them. But I just want to alert you about this situation and advise you to be on your guard for the next few days. I hope I'm overreacting here, but I'd rather err on the side of caution...'

While rifling through the scores of Movers & Shakers files and pouring over her notes, Sydney resisted the temptation to have another glass of merlot and stuck to sparkling water instead. She