Harper screamed in terror as the water closed over her head. She instinctively tried to gulp in air but Bishop’s hand clamped down hard over her mouth. His fingers pinched her nose shut as he pulled her deeper into the murky void.
Her lungs burned. Dark spots clouded her vision. She twisted and kicked and fought his hold. She clawed and scratched at his hand on her face. But he held on with a grip so powerful she couldn’t break it. Her body jerked back and forth as he kicked the water, propelling them forward with her locked in his deadly embrace.
Bubbles created by the force of his kicks and her flailing limbs rose to the surface, tangling with the long strands of her hair that reached for the blue sky barely visible above them. She tried to lift her hands again to push him away, but she no longer had the energy. Her lungs didn’t even burn anymore. A strange calm settled over her. She stopped fighting. Her eyes drifted closed.
BISHOP LUNGED OUT of the water, gasping for breath as he sprinted into the cover of the trees with Harper’s limp body draped over his shoulder. As soon as they were out of sight of the boat circling on the water, searching for them, he dropped to his knees behind a fallen log and laid Harper out on the ground. He knew she hadn’t gotten any water in her lungs. He’d kept his hands over her mouth and nose. But she wasn’t breathing. She was as limp as a rag doll.
He frantically checked for a pulse. Nothing. He’d held her under too long, desperately trying to shield her from the bullets pinging into the water all around them as he’d kicked toward shore. She hadn’t taken a deep breath of air as he had when he’d pulled her over the side of the canoe.
He started CPR, performing chest compressions, desperately trying to start her heart again. “Come on, Harper,” he urged. “Come on. Fight.”
A shout sounded behind him. He jerked up his head, glancing back toward the water as he kept doing compressions. Sunlight glinted off the silver boat. It was crawling through the water, just past the shoreline as the men on board peered into the underbrush.
He ducked down, trying to stay hidden behind the log as he continued to pump Harper’s heart. He couldn’t stop now or she wouldn’t have any chance at all. And yet, if the gunmen found them here, they’d kill her for sure.
He blew several quick breaths into her lungs then felt for a pulse. Nothing. God help her. Please. More compressions. More shouts. He glanced over the top of the log. They were tying the boat to a tree less than thirty yards away. The leader motioned to the others, barking instructions.
“Fight, Harper,” he urged next to her ear as he pushed against her chest. “Fight. Fight for Shane. Fight for me. Come on. Breathe.”
He glanced over the top of the log again. The boat was secured. Two men were heading away from them, guns drawn as they searched the woods. Two more were headed in their general direction. He didn’t see the fifth man anywhere.
They’d be on them soon. It was now or never. He slammed his fist down over her heart as he’d seen someone do on a TV show once. She gasped, her eyes flying open.
Yes! He knew he was probably grinning like a fool.
She blinked up at him in bewilderment. Then a look of pain flashed in her eyes. She moaned and started coughing.
He clamped a hand over her mouth then immediately snatched back his hand. He couldn’t do that again. The very idea of cutting off her air had him nauseated. He rose, looking for the men. They weren’t there.
“Bish—”
He turned back, pressing his finger against his lips, signaling her to be quiet. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to reassure her, to hold her tight and thank God she was alive. But he couldn’t. He had to keep it together. They weren’t out of danger by any stretch.
She slowly nodded, letting him know she understood, even as she pressed her hand against her chest and winced.
Guilt rode him. Hard. He’d done that to her, bruised her, possibly cracked some ribs. But he couldn’t dwell on that right now. He had to focus. Figure out a way for one man with a pistol to defeat five men with assault rifles. Not exactly encouraging odds.
Glancing around, he pulled his gun from the holster. Still nothing, but that didn’t mean the men weren’t close by. He looked down at Harper and held up five fingers, then he pointed two fingers to their right, and two to their left. She held up one finger in question, obviously wondering where the fifth gunman was. He shrugged.
She looked past his shoulder, her eyes widening in alarm.
He whirled around, firing his pistol in that direction. The man behind him was dead before he even dropped to the ground.
Shouts sounded from either side of them. Bishop grabbed the dead man’s rifle. He threaded the strap over his shoulder and shoved his pistol into his holster. He lifted Harper and threw her onto his back, then took off running toward the only place there didn’t seem to be anyone crashing through the woods after them.
The creek.
When he reached the silver boat, he set Harper down and yanked out his knife. He cut the line tying the boat to a tree. Harper started to back away, staring at the water. He braced himself against the censure in her eyes and grabbed her, then lifted her over the side, shoving her down to shield her from sight. Then he hopped in and started the engine.
More shouts sounded from the trees. A bullet pinged into the water not far from the boat. Gage spun the wheel, bringing the boat around. Throttling up, he sent it racing toward the next bend in the river. Another bullet zinged past him, so close he could feel the puff of air beside his head.
He brought the rifle up and laid a line of fire into the woods even though he couldn’t see any of the men. A guttural scream let him know he’d hit at least one of his targets. He turned around to see a tree hanging out of the water directly in front of them. Slamming the throttle back, he jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding a collision.
“Bishop!”
He felt a tug against his side as he whirled around. Harper had snatched his pistol out of his holster and fired off two rounds toward a couple of men shooting at them from shore. He brought up the rifle and peppered the pair with gunfire. One of them fell forward, his body splashing into the water, floating facedown as the creek turned red around him.
“Go, go, go!” This time it was Harper yelling as she pulled the pistol’s trigger over and over, making the men duck for cover.
He opened the throttle all the way and sent the boat speeding in the direction of the mouth of the French Broad River. They’d just rounded the second curve past where the gunmen had attacked them when the engine coughed, sputtered and died.
Immediately the boat began to drift toward shore. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the side of the river where they needed to be.
Harper scrambled to him, clinging to seatbacks and railings so she wouldn’t lose her balance. “Why did you turn it off?”
“I didn’t.” He tried to start the engine. Nothing happened. He rushed past her, rocking the small boat as he bent over the end to take a look. An oily smear on the water told him the story even before he saw the bullet hole.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She surprised him by joining him at the back of the boat. She was clutching the side but wasn’t practically catatonic like she’d been in the canoe. She looked down at the water then surprised him yet again with some colorful curse words.
“My thoughts exactly.” He rushed to the front and looked at the fancy equipment on the console. The engine might be dead but the equipment ran on battery power. He could see the coordinates of where they were in relation to the rendezvous point. Not far. Much closer if they could have used the boat. But they still might have a chance.
The boat was still drifting toward shore but it was moving far too slowly. If they waited for it to get there on its own, the gunmen would catch up to them before then. He glanced at Harper, who was holding on to one of the seats by the railing.
“Harper, there are still three gunmen left. You can bet they’re booking it through the woods right now to catch up to us. And they will, if we stay on the boat. We’re sitting ducks out here.”
Her eyes widened. Then she shook her head. “No. I almost died! You can’t ask me to go into the water again.” She rubbed her chest as if it still hurt.
He steeled himself against the sympathy and guilt that nearly swamped him. “This time you’ll have a life vest on and I’ll tow you ashore. I can probably get us there in less than a minute and your head will never be under water.”
Great plan. Too bad there weren’t any life vests on board. He checked every single possible hiding place, with her watching him the whole time, her face turning paler every time he opened a storage bin and found it empty.
Finally, he sighed and took the pistol from her to secure it in his holster. After strapping the rifle over his shoulder, he held out his hand. “We don’t have a choice. We have to get in the water, vest or no vest. Come on.”
She held her hands out in front of her as if to stop him and backed up. “I’ll take my chances on the boat.”
“It’s not like last time. I won’t throw you in. I’ll get in the water first. Just climb over the side, hold on to my back and I’ll swim us both to shore.”
“I told you no.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I can’t.” She kept backing up, closer to the end of the boat.
He drew a sharp breath. “Harper, wait, you’re going to—”
Her legs slammed against the end of the boat. She screamed as she toppled into the water.
“Fall.” He hopped over the side after her.