Page 69 of Silver-Tongued Devil
Net. A torn net.She reached above her head, grasped the filaments, and tried to wrench them off, but something was stuck there, too. She couldn’t get them off her hair. And Blake’s shirt was trapping her.
She was kicking hard to stay horizontal, not to have her legs float upward. Trying with one hand to wrench the sodden, flapping shirt off her body, twisting in the water. On her back now, still far down in the green, the lighter water above her taunting her, the air much too far away. And it was getting so hard to hold her breath. Her fingers clawed at the wet cotton, but she could barely see now. Her lungs were bursting, and the water was darker. Her hand groped, fell away.
The water flickered, blurred around the edges. Then it went black.
Blake watched Dakota swimming away and had to laugh even as his body protested her defection. Seemed like all she ever did was turn the tables on him.
Tonight, though? Dinner sounded good, and that promise of hers sounded better. Dakota naked, on her knees, and not stopping until he was done? Oh, yeah. That would be just fine.
He was still thinking about it when she disappeared from sight under the log, and he sighed, killed the idle, and started to turn the boat. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning. Breakfast, and then he could be taking her home by nine. Nine-thirty at the latest. And he’d tell her it was going to be anearlydinner.
Early and quick. He’d waited a long time for this. He was done waiting.
He glanced toward shore again, maybe just because he liked looking at her.
She wasn’t there.
Half of him was thinking,She swam that fast?The other half was turning the boat, his pulse racing, his muscles tensing, his body sayingWrongbefore his conscious mind caught up.
He got closer and realized why. A disturbance in the water on this side of the logs. Ripples that shouldn’t have been there. He was pushing that slow-idle button again on the thought, and then he was nearly sliding down the ladder, leaping over the side of the boat, and swimming hard.
Precious seconds wasted, twice, to surface and orient himself. And he still didn’t see her. He was swimming along the edge of the logs where the water had been disturbed, turning his head, peering beneath him through water that wasn’t clear enough.
He was on top of her before he recognized her. At least, he saw something far below, like a giant fish. Something pale.
Legs. Kicking feebly. And then not.
He was diving deep, touching her back, her arms, and she wasn’t responding. She was stuck, caught somehow, and at first, he couldn’t figure out how. He was groping around the billowing cotton of her shirt, the floating seaweed of her hair, and he felt it. Something catching her there.
He felt around some more. Her head, her face. Whatever it was, it wasn’t around her neck.
Pull.He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her straight backward with all his might. A moment of resistance, then she came free, and he was dragging her to the surface, kicking hard.
Her body was limp, her eyes closed. He said, “Dakota!” and got nothing. No response at all.
Rescue breathing. Now.It wasn’t easy to do it in the water, but he managed. Pinching her nose closed with one hand, holding her in place with the other while his legs worked hard to keep him afloat.
Two breaths. Still nothing.
Get to shore. You can’t do the rest of it here.He grabbed her across the chest, his hand tucked in her armpit, and swam harder than he ever had. The shortest route around the logs, and then to the beach, using every bit of his strength and his will.
It was fast. It seemed like forever. He stopped once along the way to give her a couple more breaths. Still nothing. Finally, he got his feet on the sandy bottom, and then he was hauling her, striding against the resistance of the water like it wasn’t there. Straight out of the lake and onto the beach, where he laid her down and dropped to his knees beside her.
Try again with the breathing. Then move on.The long-ago lifesaving lessons in the community pool had come back to him in force. Three more breaths, done right this time, here on land, watching her chest rise as he filled her lungs with air.
Check for a pulse first. Then chest compressions.If there wasn’t a pulse, her heart would have stopped. He could start it again, though. He had to. First, though, he got a hand under her ear and focused.
It wasn’t easy. He was trembling himself, and she was so cold. He was about to give up and start working on her chest when he thought he felt a faint movement under his fingers. Then he felt her jerk under him, heard the choking sound.
He rolled her fast, and even as he did, she gave a convulsive heave and was expelling what was in her stomach. A trickle of water came out, that was all. But she was breathing. Huge, sobbing gasps, only her chest moving, her arms and legs still limp.
Get help.He looked around. The guy who’d been on shore was nowhere in sight. He reached for his pocket, for his phone, and even as he pulled it out, realized it was drowned, as dead as Dakota’s had been.
He couldn’t leave her. She was breathing now, but what if she stopped? He didn’t know if that could happen. He couldn’t risk it. He left the useless phone where it lay, got her under the shoulders and knees, and was running with her through the deep sand. His knee protested hard and threatened to buckle, and he wouldn’t let it.
Off the beach, onto the boardwalk, then the sidewalk. Far too long a distance, and still, nobody was there.
He was at the front doors of the resort now, a blank expanse of glass. Dark inside, nobody in sight, but somebody would be here. He had full-time security. Where the hell were they? He was kicking at the glass, hitting it with his bare foot. Over and over.
