Page 49 of Light My Fire

“We have to get down there!” Stevie shouted.

But Tucker couldn’t move his glasses off the spectacle of watching Rio grab Skye. He dragged her to the edge of the ravine and—oh no—no—

“He threw her in!” Stevie said. “Skye’s in the river!”

Tucker dropped the glasses, watching with his naked eye as the frothy water grabbed Skye and propelled her downstream.

Stevie was running down the path toward the bridge. “C’mon!”

Except—Skye was fighting to stay afloat, the water merciless as it tossed her. And cold—it had to be hypothermic temperatures. Tucker dropped his pack. “Stevie! Stay here!”

But Stevie was already down the hill, running hard along the path.

And by the bridge, a tussle for life ensued as Archer and March beat each other. Rio had gone down, bleeding from the mouth.

Skye’s scream lifted like the mist off the river, light and eerie.

Tucker grew up in Minnesota. He knew how to swim—in lakes, in rivers, and—

Shoot. Stevie was running full tilt into trouble.

And below him, Skye fought for her life.

You can’t save everyone.

Maybe not. But he intended to try.

He took a running start and leaped off into the blue.

Windmilled his arms.

Landed with a hard splash into a current that grabbed him and threw him hard against a boulder. So hard it nearly jolted his bones loose. But the cold had him in a fisted grip, yanking out his breath from his lungs, a thousand knives that made him cry out in a roar.

“Skye!”

The current dragged him down, grabbing his boots, slamming him against boulders and other debris, filling his mouth with foam and icy spray. “Skye!”

His hands dragged over a boulder, and he grabbed hard, his fingers digging into the rough grooves long enough to get his bearings.

There—ten feet downstream, Skye had propped herself against a boulder, fighting her way out of the water. Her skin had turned translucent and pale, her blonde hair in strings around her face, and she shivered, hard, her teeth chattering.

“Stay there!”

She looked at him then, her eyes widening. Then past him toward the bridge. Her horrified expression made him turn.

Oh no—

March was on his feet, doubled over, bleeding from the mouth and—Tucker saw it now—side. So Steviehadshot him. He held the gun to Archer’s head, beckoning Stevie over the bridge.

And she held Seth’s pitiful, empty bear gun, as if it might actually produce bullets as she barked at March to put his weapon down.

Stevie had guts—he gave her that. And maybe she didn’t need saving—

Except March was calling her bluff.

The urge to jump in and save her gripped him, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Stevie!”

---