Page 4 of Cold Light of Day

The voice whispered to him from the recent past, and he shook it off to focus on saving the woman. As he pushed his head up and out of the water, he caught sight of her arms—still waving.

Grier considered himself to be an experienced diver, but that didn’t mean he was a long-distance swimmer. Maybe he should work on that too, because right now the muscles in his arms and legs were complaining, but at least they weren’t going numb.

“I’m coming!”

He had no idea if she’d heard him, and it was more likely she was watching him, willing him to swim faster toward her, so he should save his breath. The fact that she hadn’t tried swimming toward him told him she might have already lost her ability to control her limbs enough to swim. She was going to sink into the cold depths.

One more glance toward her and he saw ... nothing.

His already-pounding heart jackhammered.

She’d been waving for help right over the SSTatethat sank over a century ago—he’d gone down to look at it a few weeks after arriving in Shadow Gap.

God, help me make it!

Even if he made it to her, he’d have to swim her back. Grier dove down deep into the murky, cold waters, pushing himself forward with every kick until...there...he caught a glimpse of her sinking body.

Arms. Then hands.

The visibility improved as he got closer.

Come on!Only a few more yards separated them, but she was sinking faster than he could swim. Grinding his teeth, he gave one last thrust to propel his body deeper. He was so close to saving her.

God, if you’re listening, help me!

At this depth, the visibility grew to less than five feet, and she disappeared again in the murkiness. Desperation flooded his soul as he searched, reached, and grasped in the cloudy green waters.

His lungs started burning.

No. He couldn’t stop now.

White flesh flashed in his line of sight, and he again spotted her hands and arms, her tangled hair lifting up and floating in the current, obscuring her face. Grier reached forward and gripped her hand, tugging her body upward behind him as he pushed to the surface.

Come on...just a little farther.

He was trained, had practiced holding his breath, but his heart pounded too fast, burning through the oxygen he held in his lungs. Gripping her cold, limp hand, he pulled her up ... up ... up.

He breached the surface and sucked in air as he pulled her up with him. That was half the battle. The next half—swim them back and pump the water from her chest.

Given his line of work, he’d faced certain death before, and as he stared back at the shore, he knew he was facing death again—head-on. He stared it down and started for shore.

A fire truck and an ambulance were crossing the bridge, which was still a couple miles out from the beach. In Alaska, people learned to live on their own or die on their own, because help wasn’t always around.

A deep vibrating thrum in the water and in his ears drew his attention. A floatplane?

The red-and-white prop had already landed on the water and maneuvered toward them. A woman held open the door and shouted, but he couldn’t make out her words. But he didn’t need her words to understand the plane would save them. He swam toward the welcome sight, the plane much closer than the shore by far—and probably the reason he would live another day. The drowning victim too. Still in his arms as he swam to the plane, she twisted into a fit of coughing up water. Good ... this was good.

“It’s gonna be okay.” With his free arm, he grabbed the pontoon. Because she couldn’t use her limbs, she remained limp, dead weight, which made her seem heavier than she truly was.

The woman could still die of hypothermia, but she wouldn’t die a drowning victim. He noticed she was wearing only slacks and a fleece jacket.

She hadn’t meant to go for a swim.

The two women in the plane reached forward and tugged her from him. She might be pale and have blue lips, but for the moment she was still alive.

The hand reaching out to him pulled his attention from the drowning victim. He looked up into a beautiful face framed by crazy brown curls, with a set of light-blue eyes he could never get out of his head because spilling out into the blue iris of her right eye was a deep, golden amber. Partial heterochromia—he’d had to find out about her eyes the first time he’d seen her. And now, he couldn’t take his gaze from her as he held on to the pontoon.

Her expression was stern, filled with concern, but the corners of her lips hiked up—just for him? “Hello, Grier. Looks like you’re the hero today.”

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