Harper sat back in her seat, panting from the effort. She couldn’t stay here, not if Dowell was looking for her. She had to get out. She had to run.
Gritting her teeth against a pain so intense it made her sweat, she swung herself sideways, hanging on to the wheel with her good hand and kicking the door, forcing it open another inch. And again. And again.
But it wouldn’t open far enough. The mud was too high, and the car was too low.
She’d have to find another way.
Pulling her jacket sleeve down around her good hand, she swept jagged shards of glass from the window frame. Using her right hand to lift herself up, she slowly, painfully, swung her legs out the window.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to jump away from the car, but she was too weak to make it and instead landed in an ungainly pile in the ice-cold water. The pain was so excruciating she cried out.
She lay on her back, rain lashing her face like thousands of tiny stones. Her breathing was raspy and labored. Every single breath hurt. She thought she might have broken a rib. She knew she had to move, but she was so tired.
She couldn’t do this. She was done.
Hot tears burned her eyes, and she took in a painful, shaky breath.
I never thought it would end like this, she thought, hopelessly. In the mud. In the rain. Alone.
Through a blur of tears, she saw a single beam of light cutting through the darkness. For a split second, she thought someone was coming to save her. But then she realized it wasn’t a helicopter or a police car.
It was one of the Camaro’s headlights, glowing like a beacon.
The car was crushed on all sides, axle deep in mud, and shining.
A gunshot cracked across the marsh, as loud as cannon fire.
Drawing in a sharp breath, Harper rolled over, dragging herself up onto her knees.
“Where you hiding, girl?” The voice came from the darkness. It was oddly familiar. Southern and comfortable, like family.
And it was close.
The rush of adrenaline gave her strength. She had to move. That light couldn’t give him better directions. She had to get away from the car if she wanted to live.
Groaning under her breath, she lumbered to her feet like a beaten boxer, punch-drunk and stumbling. Her left arm swung loose, as if it belonged to someone else. It didn’t hurt anymore but it felt wrong, hanging like that.
Clutching it with her right hand, she stumbled away from the voice, away from the car, away from the light.
Instantly, another gunshot crackled through the black night.
She ducked but kept going, wondering if she’d even feel it if the bullet hit, she was already in so much pain. Her feet splashed through the water.
A few yards away, a flashlight swung around the marshes, seeking her.
“I don’t want to kill you.” The voice echoed above the rain. “I didn’t want to kill your mama. But I’ve got to do this. I made your daddy a promise, and I gotta keep it.”
Gritting her teeth, Harper kept moving, more cautiously now, trying to be quiet.
“He betrayed me,” the voice continued, as the light searched the flat landscape. “And there’s a price for that.”
The water was getting deeper. It was up to her knees. But Harper kept moving in a slow, limping run, clearing the rain and mud out of her eyes with her fist, then grabbing on to her arm to stop it flopping like a dead thing at her side.
She knew enough about shock to know she needed to get warm and dry soon, or that alone could kill her, but before she could think about it much, another gunshot split the night—this one sounded closer.
She ducked and lost her balance, tripping over something solid and low, and went sprawling.
For a second, her head was underwater. Panicking, she thrashed until she realized the water wasn’t deep and pulled herself up, spitting mud and fighting the urge to cough.
She knew she couldn’t go much farther. Her breathing was getting worse and she’d begun to shiver violently.
When she looked around, she found this wasn’t a bad place to hide. She was surrounded by high grass, which shielded her. From this location, she could see the Camaro, about thirty yards away, resting at an unnatural angle, its lone working headlight pointed mournfully at nothing. Beyond that, she could just make out the shadowy shape of an SUV, parked on the highway, about a hundred yards from her hiding place.
Between her and the battered Camaro, a flashlight moved unsteadily as Dowell picked his way through the deep mud.
Harper peered into the distance on all sides but there were no other signs of life. There was no indication that his son was with him.
It was just the two of them, alone, in the dark.
Maybe she could wait him out? But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t likely.
If there was one thing she’d learned about Martin Dowell, it was that he was a patient man. Only one of them was walking out of this marsh alive.
Something brushed her leg and she scrambled back, nearly landing on her back in the water again. Her heart hammered against her ribs. There were alligators out here.
If Dowell didn’t get her, they might.
Somehow, she had to get away. But, how? Every time she moved, he fired.
It didn’t matter, she decided. She had to try. If she could get far enough away from him, she could get through the marsh to the road and find help.
It was the only option.
She waited until the flashlight was pointed away from her. Then, cautiously, she stumbled to her feet and began to limp away from the car. She moved slowly but each step seemed to echo as loudly as a shout.
She’d only gone a few feet when she heard that grating voice again. “I know you’re there, girl. I can hear you splashing. Come on, now. Let’s talk this through.”
Harper bit her tongue. The one thing she absolutely couldn’t do was say a word. She might as well pin a bull’s-eye on her forehead. When a moment of silence had passed, she stumbled on, her feet sinking into the mud. Her lungs weren’t working right, and pulling her feet out of the muck took all her strength. In a few minutes she was winded.
Her left arm had begun to ache fiercely and she reached over to hold it steady. As she did, her hand brushed the hard lump against her side. It took her a second to realize what she was feeling.
The Glock.
In her panic, she’d forgotten all about it. Of course, she couldn’t be certain it would work. She’d been in water—it must have gotten wet.
Still, what if it did?
Reaching inside her jacket, she carefully unsnapped the clasp holding the gun in place and pulled it out.
Thanking whatever gods had seen to it that she broke her left arm instead of her right, she held the pistol steady.
“Come out, girl,” Dowell cajoled from somewhere near the car. “I’ve waited long enough. Every second I spent in that prison, I thought of this moment. Seventeen years I waited in that cell. It’s time.”
Harper was warmed by a surge of hatred. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. So many angry, true things.
But she stayed silent, the gun in her hand, and angled herself toward his voice.
If he came for her, she’d get him first.
As she waited, beneath the steady rush of rain, she noticed a new sound. It was far away, but getting closer.
She turned toward the road. A car—its headlights like long golden blades—appeared from the Savannah end of the highway, far away but moving straight toward them. Harper’s heart leaped.