Page 135 of Conrad

He had to give her props for getting away, for thinking, but for a girl who’d grown up on a lake, she should know?—

And even as he cleared the house, running out into the snowy yard, toward the lake, he saw it happen.

The snowmobile cracked through the ice, its back end breaking through not far from shore but enough that the current could grab her.

She fell and disappeared as the machine slipped into the water.

“Penny!” He ran to the edge of the lake and didn’t stop. Just kept running, toward the hole thirty feet from shore, the hole that was widening as her head popped up and she grabbed at the ice.

Around them, the trees cracked in the wind, his breath and the crunch of snow breaking the air?—

“Conrad!”

She’d spotted him.

“Hang on—hangon!”

But she slipped, vanished again, and he dove across the ice, his body landing, skidding through the snow?—

Not far enough. She’d floated out into the middle.

He tore off his jacket, slapped it to her. She grabbed the arm—good girl—and he used it to reel her in. Then he caught her wrist. Grabbed her up, pulled her to the surface, the water brutal, stinging. He fisted her jacket with his other hand and yanked her to the edge.

She sputtered, shook her head, gasped. Whimpered. “Don’t let me go—don’t let me go?—”

“I got you.” He searched her face. A bruise on her cheek, fear in her eyes.

The ice cracked beneath him. She screamed.

“Just stay calm!”

“You’re not calm!” Her eyes sparked.

Yeah, well,if he pulled her up, they’d both go in, the ice splintering beneath him even as he held her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have stayed at the jail?—”

“What? No—babe. I told you to go?—”

“I didn’t leave—not really. It was just?—”

“Fake. I know.” He smiled then, his hands gripping her jacket, holding her up. He’d lost feeling in his grip, and she’d started to slow her tread, probably turning hypothermic, dipping into the water.

“We need to get you out. Can you climb over me?”

“You’ll go in.”

Probably.“I’ll be fine.” He met her eyes, held there by the emotion in them. Fear, yes, but . . . trust. And maybe even hope.

And all the panic simply silenced, the terrible whirring inside stopped. And all he could think was . . .“God’s grace is bigger than your mistakes.”

Bigger than his impulses. Bigger than his fears. Bigger than his panic.

Bigger than his past.

And maybe, even though the world dropped out beneath him, God had him.

Okay, God, I got her. I need You to have me.

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