Page 7 of One Last Chance

Nothing from Burke, but she wasn’t helpless. She dropped her camera into the bag at her feet, pulled her Glock, and ventured out of the shadows.

Her eyes had long adjusted to the night, and she waited another half second to blink away the residue of the viewfinder. The rain still pinged down, not as violent, but enough to shatter the silence of the night. Above, traffic whooshed through puddles on the bridge.

The man crouched, then rolled the body into the water.

Washed his hands in the water.

Got up.

And turned.

She stood just twenty feet away now, her gun raised. But the light caught his face, and she froze.

Not a man.

What?

The face under the hood of the rain jacket wore no makeup, but her features appeared young, female, and shaken.

Something wasn’t right here, but—“Stop!”

The woman’s mouth opened, then closed, and she turned, sprinting away.

Flynn started after her, slipped, nearly fell down the muddy bank, then scrambled up. “Burke! It’s a woman!”

“On it!”

“She’s headed for the road.”

Flynn fought for purchase in the slippery soil, reaching the grassy edge, tripping over a downed tree, catching herself. “She’s getting away!”

“I see her—” More breaths now, and he grunted over the phone.

She plowed through the bramble, headed for the path?—

A blow slammed into her, like a branch across her shoulders, and she fell so hard that the gun bounced away into the night.

Then a knee landed on her spine, the weight of a body pressing her into the loam and grime. She tried to twist, fighting, throwing her elbows back, but the hand grabbed the back of her neck, forced her face into the mud.

“Thought you’d catch me, huh?”

She tried to turn her head, fighting for air, but the voice registered.Deep.

Male.

What?

Then he grabbed her, flipped her, his knees on her arms, his body over hers. In the dim light, she made out a man in a hoodie, his face gaunt, his eyes hard on hers.

“Help—”

His hands viced, his thumbs against the well of her neck.

She kicked at him, her breath fading, dots blackening her vision.

Her right hand found a rock embedded in the soil, and she closed her fist around it. His knees pinned her upper arms, but as her breath burned in her, she flung it at his head.

It hit him—enough that he loosened his hold, jostled his perch—and in that second, she got an arm loose. Brought it in front of her, slamming her hand into his jaw. He fell back.

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