If she could get to the road she could flag it down. Get help. Live.
But as she calculated her chances, her hope ebbed. She was too far away. She’d never make it. Dowell would see her.
She watched with bitter longing as the car swept down the road toward Tybee. It was going to pass right by them, never even realizing what was happening.
Just as she was beginning to despair, the car slowed. The driver must have noticed the SUV. Maybe seen the Camaro’s headlights. Whoever it was, they must have realized there’d been an accident.
By the time it reached the SUV, it was barely moving.
Then, miraculously, the car stopped.
Harper held her breath. Dowell had gone quiet. Had he seen it, too?
For a long moment, nothing happened. The headlights stayed on. The car didn’t move.
Finally, the engine switched off.
The wind had died down. Across the acre of marshland, she heard the sound of car doors opening and then closing hard.
Dowell must have heard it, too, because she heard him mutter, “Goddammit.”
His flashlight went out.
Hope rushed through Harper like heat. She longed to scream for help but he was too close. He could shoot her and have plenty of time left over to shoot whoever just got out of that car. So, she said nothing. And waited.
Above the sound of the rain, she heard Dowell stumbling through the water. He seemed to be heading toward the wreckage of the Camaro.
Harper strained her ears. What was he up to?
Near the road, the cold, white beams of two flashlights flickered on, moving steadily toward the wreckage of the Camaro.
“Harper?” a voice called out across the marshes.
Her heart stopped.
It was Luke and Daltrey, looking for her. Joy quickly turned to fear, however. They had no idea what they were walking into.
As she studied the terrain, she realized with horror what Dowell was planning. By moving closer to the Camaro he’d positioned himself right where they were heading.
If she called out to them, he’d kill her. If she didn’t, he’d kill them.
It was a trap.
Swiping the rain and mud from her eyes, she watched the flashlights moving toward the damaged car in tormented silence.
She couldn’t let them get hurt.
She drew a breath and shouted, “Luke! Dowell’s out here. Be careful—”
The sound of a gunshot cut off the last word. Dowell was a hell of a shot. He missed her by inches. She thought she felt the heat of the bullet as it passed.
She dropped down low, holding the gun above her head to keep it dry.
Another shot cracked through the night.
Both flashlights blinked out.
A beat passed.
“Martin Dowell.” It was Daltrey’s voice, dripping with authority and contempt. “We are Savannah police officers. Give yourself up. It’s over.”
From somewhere in the dark, Dowell laughed, an awful, unfunny sound. “I’ve got an idea—how about you come and get me, girl? I’ll show you how that FBI agent died. I know you’ve been wondering.”
“Dowell, there’s nowhere to go.” Luke acted like Dowell hadn’t spoken. “There’s nothing out here but alligators and mud.”
“Now, that simply ain’t true,” Dowell replied gleefully. “There’s also Harper McClain out here. Isn’t that true, Miss McClain?”
Harper leveled her gun in the direction of his voice and said nothing.
“Just walk out of here now, with your hands where we can see them, and you get to live,” Daltrey said. “I assure you that’s the best option you have right now.”
There was a long silence, and then, without warning, Dowell let loose a spray of bullets in the direction of the detectives’ voices.
He was shouting something but Harper couldn’t make out the words above the deafening sound of gunfire.
In the silence that followed, she heard the distinctive metallic sound of a clip being ejected and a new one being inserted.
Fifteen more bullets, she thought. Fifteen more chances to kill.
He would get them eventually. They would try to catch him off guard and they would fail and he’d kill them.
She couldn’t let that happen. She had to act. He was close enough to her that she could hear his labored breathing. She had the best chance to bring him down.
Besides, it was her he wanted.
“Dowell,” she called without moving, letting him gauge her voice. “Stop shooting. I’ll come with you if you let them go.”
There was a pause.
“You had a change of heart? What’s caused that now?” His voice was suspicious.
She thought fast. “I can’t stay out here any longer,” she said, making her voice weak. “I’ve pierced a lung. I need help.”
“Come over here, then.” His voice held lazy interest. “Let’s finish this thing.”
Harper moved in the water, just enough to attract his attention, but remained on her knees, the gun held steadily in her good hand.
“I’ve got a broken leg,” she said. “I can’t walk anymore.”
For a second, he didn’t reply. Then, the sound of splashing as he began wading toward her.
Her pulse began to race.
“Where the hell are you?” His voice was closer.
She could see his shadow now, no more than twenty feet away. Short and sturdy, silhouetted against the Camaro’s fading headlight.
One last time that car was trying to help her.
In one smooth move, she raised the gun, using all her strength to hold it steady with one hand. She pressed her finger firmly on the trigger to release the safety. Felt the mechanism shift.
She exhaled. And pulled the trigger.
The noise was deafening. With no strength and no left hand to brace her, the recoil knocked her over. She landed flat on her back in waist-deep water. The gun slipped from her fingers.
She fought to get up, scrambling frantically to find it in the mud with her one good hand. When she looked up, Dowell was stumbling toward her, holding his own gun.
Sobbing, Harper fought to get away, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The deep mud clung to her knees, pulling her down.
Dowell stood over her. His eyes were glazed. The gun wavered in his hand. Harper flinched, waiting for the shot.
Instead, his knees buckled and he toppled forward, landing heavily on top of her, pushing her down under the dark water. Caught off guard, she fought to push him off, but he held on tenaciously, holding her down, his fingers like snakes against her body.
She tried to cry out but the sound was lost in the water and mud filling her mouth.
As the last of the air left her lungs, it occurred to Harper that he finally had what he wanted. She was going to die.
Then, with shocking abruptness, Dowell was gone, the weight of him lifted from her chest.
Freed, Harper struggled to the surface and took a gasping breath. Seconds later, a hand grabbed her by the jacket, pulling her up and dragging her to a patch of grass.
“You okay?” Daltrey asked, bending over as Harper sank to her knees, coughing muddy water from her lungs. She spat, trying to clear the metallic taste from her mouth.
A few feet away, Luke stood grim-faced over Dowell’s body. The man lay on his side. His hands were cuffed, and he wasn’t moving.
“Is he alive?” Harper rasped the question through frozen lips.