Page 43 of Over the Edge

Once stable, she repositioned her blades and gave the water a sweep, searching for a clue about what had happened.

Other than the ripples from her near-capsize, nothing marred the glassy surface.

Lindsey furrowed her brow.

Had she hit a submerged object? Run into a school of the Asian carp that had evaded capture during the 2018 attempt to vanquish the invasive species from the lake?

Whatever the cause of her strange upset, it had ruined her tranquil interlude. The calm that had settled over her was evaporating as quickly as the thin layer of early morning mist hovering above the surface of the water.

So much for extra laps. The prospect of a comforting cup of hot chocolate in the safety of her own condo was much more appealing and—

The scull rocked again, harder than the first time. And not because she’d hit anything. She wasn’t moving.

What in the world?

Before she could attempt to steady the scull, it tipped hard to the right, dumping her into the cold, numbing water.

Not good.

Adrenaline kicking in, she pushed back toward the surface, brain morphing into emergency mode.

While her cold-weather rowing attire offered more than sufficient protection in her scull, it provided none in water hovering in the low-fifties range. Hypothermia was a very real danger. At best, she had eight to ten minutes to get aboard and stroke to shore.

Not a problem, Lindsey.You’ve practiced getting back into an overturned scull ad nauseam, done it on many occasions during your rowing career.You’ve got this.

With that encouraging mantra looping through her mind, she crested the surface. All she had to do was step on the rigger, flip the scull back over, reset the handles, and—

A vise wrapped around her ankle and yanked, giving her no chance to do more than catch a quick gasp of air before the water closed over her again.

She kicked against the restraint, fighting to release her foot as she was tugged downward.

It held fast.

Heart racing, she tried again.

No luck.

Whatever had clamped onto her ankle continued to drag her deeper—and her small amount of reserve air wouldn’t last long.

Quashing the instinctive urge to keep struggling toward the surface, Lindsey forced herself to switch direction, pushing downward through the dark water, toward whatever had latched onto her foot. At this early hour, the sun was too lowto mitigate the always poor visibility in the lake water, meaning she’d have to work blind.

But she could feel.

And as she bumped into a solid object and tried to free her ankle from whatever was holding it, what she felt was ... hands?

How could that be?

Lindsey peered through the murky water, but only a bulky, shadowy outline registered as her lungs began to burn.

She had to breathe.

Now.

Unless she freed her ankle in a matter of seconds, she was going to drown. And after all she’d been through, that wasn’t how she wanted to die.

She reached down again, but all at once the hands clenched around her ankle released their hold.

Relief surging through her, she shot toward the surface, inhaling water as her lungs caved a millisecond before she broke through to fresh air.

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