Rogers’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Matt pulled the tourniquet tighter. He couldn’t leave Rogers alone.
“Help!” Alyssa shouted from the basement. “Help me!”
Matt raced back down the stairs. He used his knife to cut the zip ties binding Alyssa’s wrists behind the metal support pole. “I’m trusting you to not run. I need you to help him.”
Matt ran back up the steps.
“OK.” Rubbing her wrists, Alyssa followed Matt.
He stripped off his jacket and pressed it to Rogers’s leg. “Keep pressure on this.”
She didn’t hesitate but put both hands on the jacket and leaned her body weight into her arms. Her eyes were traumatized, but her jaw was set in determination.
“I can count on you to stay here, right?” he asked. “I need to help the sheriff.”
She nodded. “Please, stop him.”
Matt looked out the french door. He scanned the back of the property and spotted Bree’s dark form facedown and spread-eagle on the pale, frozen lake. A few feet ahead of her, a hole in the ice told Matt exactly what had happened. Something moved in the hole. A head, bobbing.
Everything inside Matt went bone-cold.
Joe and Christian had fallen through, and Bree was on the ice. Despite the danger of the lake swallowing her too, she would try to save them.
Matt turned and looked around the room. This was a construction site. There had to be something here he could use as a rope. He spotted a spool of electrical cord. It would have to do. He grabbed the spool and the AR-15 from the floor. He slung the rifle over his back by the strap. He opened the french door and jumped out. He flexed his knees to absorb the landing, then sprinted for the lake. He stopped at the edge. He weighed more than Bree. He might make the situation worse.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Bree!”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw him. “Stop!” she yelled as she pulled her body forward by her elbows. “The ice won’t hold you.”
“Wait!” He began unraveling the electrical cord.
The ice cracked, the sound rippling across the lake. Bree barely paused for a second before continuing to slither across the ice. Christian had been bound. When he went through the ice, he must have sunk like a brick. Matt knew what Bree was going to do.
“Wait!” He let out the cord as fast as he could. Then he tied a slipknot at the end and quickly coiled the cord.
She was going into the water after Christian.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bree dragged her body toward the hole. Her heart rammed against her rib cage as if it no longer wanted to be inside her body. She didn’t blame it. She didn’t want to be here either.
But she couldn’t find Christian just in time, then let him die. Ten feet ahead, a hand clawed at the edge of the ice. The large red mark on the back of the hand was bright red. The arm that followed wore a sleeve.
Joe.
He hoisted himself out of the ice on his belly and dragged his legs out of the water. As soon as his feet were clear, he rolled away from the hole. Bree crawled faster, her gaze darting from Joe to the water, where there was no sign of Christian.
“Bree!” Matt called.
She glanced back. Matt held a coil of what looked like electrical cord in his hand. He heaved the coil at Bree underhand, like he was bowling. The coil slid across the ice. She caught it. Matt had tied a loop in the end of the cord, which she appreciated. Her fingers were too cold to have managed it. She shimmied into the loop and tightened it around her waist.
She pushed visions of Kayla and Luke from her mind. Christian was someone’s kid too. Bree couldn’t not risk her life to save him because she was afraid of leaving her niece and nephew without a guardian. Christian could be alive in the water. She imagined his terror. Under the ice in the dark, unable to swim with his hands bound.
Helpless.
Then she continued to inch forward. Back on the shore, Matt was tying the cord to a tree near the edge of the lake. At least if she drowned, Matt could recover her body.
Joe saw her. His gaze locked on hers. Anger and resentment passed through his eyes, then he looked at the hole in the ice and an insane smile spread across his face. “Fuck you, Sheriff.” He climbed to his feet and took a few shaky steps away. After scooping his gun off the ice where he must have dropped it, he staggered away.
Bree had no time to worry about him. She’d reached the hole. The water shimmered darkly as she plunged both hands into it. The cold-shock stole her breath. She reached as far down as she could, but she felt no body.
Where was Christian?
No.
Panic scrambled in her chest.
He can’t die.
She did the last thing she wanted to do. She stripped off the outer layers that would weigh her down in the water: jacket, body armor, and boots. Then she slid into the hole feetfirst. Even though she’d expected the deep freeze, the intensity of the cold stunned her. Hypothermia would set in quickly. She didn’t have much time. She had to find Christian now. She moved her feet around, stretching them as far as possible, but she felt nothing.
After taking a huge breath, she let herself go under. The water closed over her head. Even with her eyes closed, the cold froze her eyeballs. She was barely submerged when her feet touched the bottom. The lake was about six feet deep here. She felt around with her toes. Nothing. She surfaced again and gasped. Her body was quickly going painfully numb.
Christian’s hands were tied behind his back. He would have been helpless, unable to keep himself afloat. He would have sunk to the bottom, but he should be close to the hole.
Please, let him be here.
She filled her lungs, went under again, and opened her eyes. The water was too dark and murky to see anything. She closed them again and felt her way along the bottom with her toes. Her feet encountered nothing but mud and weeds. She pushed toward the surface. But her head hit solid ice. She was no longer below the hole. She opened her eyes, the cold blinding her. The solid ice above her was barely lighter than the darkness below.
Her mouth opened, and water rushed in, choking her. Panic nearly shut down her brain and body, but she felt for the electrical cord around her waist and followed it, hand over hand, to the hole. She’d only been three feet away, and she’d nearly drowned in panic.
Her head broke the surface, and she sucked in air. She could not stay in the water much longer and survive. Her heart was stuttering, beating wildly, erratically, panicking inside her chest as if it knew her system would shut down soon. Her hands were losing strength, and her fingers were wooden. She could barely hold on to the cord. Fighting her own instincts, she went under again, fanning out both legs.
Something brushed her knee. She grabbed it. An arm?
Summoning strength she didn’t have, she pulled the dead weight to the surface. Christian was dressed only in boxers, and his skin was slippery. She pulled his head clear of the water. He bobbed and almost went under again. Bree threw one arm over the edge of the ice and wrapped the other under his chin, but she could not haul him out of the water. She didn’t have the leverage of her feet on the bottom or the strength to get him out of the lake with just her arms. She tried to untie the electrical cord from her own waist, intending to secure Christian instead, but her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. She’d lost her dexterity.
“Christian,” she croaked. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t answer. His skin was gray and his body lifeless. He wasn’t breathing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Matt grabbed the roll of orange safety fencing and ran for the lake. He spotted Bree’s head above water. She was holding Christian up as well, but just barely. Even from the shore, Matt could see her grip slipping. She went under again for a brief second but managed to slap her arm back up on the ice. Her grip on Christian never faltered.
She would die before she would let go.
Matt wrapped the orange fencing around the tree a couple of time
s. Then he unrolled it across the ice like a horizonal rope ladder. Lowering himself to his belly, he army-crawled out onto the lake.
“Hold on, Bree,” he shouted. “I’m coming.”
She didn’t answer.
He moved as fast as possible. The ice groaned under his body, but it held as long as he kept his weight spread out. He reached the hole just as Bree’s arm slipped off the ice. She and Christian went under. Matt plunged his arms into the water. The cold hit his injured hand like a knife. He grabbed Bree and pulled her up. Her eyes were closed. Her grip on Christian loosened. Matt reached for the young man and managed to get ahold of his arm.
Bree opened her eyes. “Get him out first.”
She was tied to the tree, but if Christian went under, Matt might not find him again. As much as he didn’t want to let go of her, he needed to release her to pull Christian out of the water.
Matt pushed the orange mesh into the water. Bree shoved her hands through the holes and locked her arms in at the elbows. Matt used both hands to haul Christian out onto the ice. He was cold and unmoving. His skin was as pale as the ice he lay upon.
Matt turned to Bree. She was trying to climb the mesh, but her movements were clumsy with cold. Matt grabbed her by the belt and pulled her onto the ice.
Teeth chattering, she rolled away from the hole. “Take. Him.”
Matt slid Christian along, using the safety fence as leverage. Bree grabbed her jacket, vest, and boots, then moved toward shore. When they reached land, Matt dragged Christian onto the bank. Bree crawled onto the ground and collapsed, coughing.
Todd and Stella ran to meet them. Stella had brought blankets and a first aid kit from her vehicle. She covered Christian while Todd began CPR. Stella dropped to her knees beside Christian, pinched his nose, and covered his mouth with her own. She gave him rescue breaths, then waited as Todd counted chest compressions.
“Ambulances will be here in a few minutes,” Todd said. “I called the state police for assistance. Oscar is with Rogers. The girl is still there too.”
Christian coughed up a lungful of water. Stella rolled him to his side and rubbed his back.
Bree shoved her feet into her boots, then put on her vest and jacket. She checked her weapon and looked at Matt. Her lips were blue, she was shivering almost uncontrollably, and blood ran from a cut on her cheek. “I’m going after Joe,” she said between the chattering of her teeth.
Matt didn’t bother trying to stop her, but he wouldn’t let her go alone. He swung the rifle around to his hands. “I’m with you.”
They set off jogging along the shoreline. Bree must have been operating on sheer stubbornness.
Matt flexed and released his grip on the butt of the AR-15. “I doubt he got far, not after being submerged in the lake.”
“He’s wet. He has to be developing hypothermia if he’s still outside.” Bree barely kept pace next to him. Her strides were uneven, and her breathing was ragged. How was she still on her feet?
Five minutes later, they ran behind a cedar-sided lakefront house. Matt heard music and laughing. He glanced over his shoulder to see people gathered around a firepit in the backyard. A party.
He turned back to the lake and spotted a figure stumbling on the ice toward the dock. “There he is!”
But Joe saw them too. He changed course and moved unsteadily toward the center of the lake.
Bree cupped her hand around her mouth and yelled, “Joe, the ice is weak. You can’t get away!”
Joe wobbled, but he kept going. He looked like he could barely stay upright. The ice groaned and cracked again, the sound reverberating across the lake, and he veered toward the shore again. Matt pressed forward. He drew ahead of Bree.
Matt intercepted Joe at the shore. Joe pulled out his handgun. The hand that held the gun trembled. Behind him, Matt heard more laughter. He couldn’t let Joe take a shot and risk the partygoers being hit by stray bullets.
He turned the AR-15 at Joe. “Drop the gun.”
“No. I won’t go in.” Joe’s voice was surprisingly strong. His words trembled from cold but not fear. He’d made a decision. “I can’t go to prison.”
Matt knew what he’d chosen before it played out. His gut twisted. Matt didn’t want to kill him. He wanted him to pay for what he’d done.
“You don’t have to die, Joe.” Matt looked down the barrel and took aim.
But Joe’s eyes were defeated, his jaw clenched, and his posture went rigid. “Fuck you.”
The scene seemed to slide into slow motion. Joe met Matt’s gaze. He raised the gun to point it at Matt. Training took over, and Matt pulled the trigger twice.
Joe didn’t move for a few seconds. He looked down at his chest, then up at the night sky. Finally, he fell backward onto his ass, his arms outspread. His head bounced twice on the ice. He dropped his gun, and it skittered toward the shoreline.
Panting, Bree reached the edge of the lake and stopped next to Matt. “You had to do it. If he had fired, he could have hit those kids.”
“I know.” Matt eased a few feet out onto the lake, careful of his footing, his weapon still pointing at Joe. Adrenaline flooded his system. His vision narrowed to view only the threat, and his hearing was muffled by the sound of his own pulse. The ice cracked. A long line cleaved across the lake.
“Stop.” Bree had her phone out. “The ice is breaking up.”
“He could still be alive.” Matt stared at Joe. The moonlight was bright, and Matt could see a dark stain had spread across Joe’s sweatshirt.
Bree met his eyes for a second.
They both knew the odds that Joe was alive were slim. But she understood. She scanned the area. She pointed to the house in front of them. “There’s a kayak under that deck. We’ll use that to get to him.”
Matt ran back to the house and untied the kayak and paddle from its winter storage place under the deck. He dragged it down to the water and pushed it onto the lake. The boat broke through, but it was slow going. Five full minutes passed before Matt reached Joe. Joe’s eyes were open and unfocused. Matt touched the side of his neck. No pulse. He was dead.
Matt pulled his body across the front of the kayak and paddled back to shore. The return trip was easier, with the ice already broken.
Bree helped him drag the boat ashore. They both stared at the body for a few seconds.
“You couldn’t have saved him,” Bree said, apparently reading his mind. “You hit him dead center in the chest with two shots.” Her voice was grim, but matter-of-fact. “We both know the damage an AR-15 does.”
Normal bullet wounds caused lacerations. Even a handgun shot to the heart could be survivable with prompt medical treatment. But an AR-15 fires a bullet at high speed. The velocity causes a huge swath of damage. It explodes bone and shatters organs. The bullets had likely shredded Joe’s heart. Matt swallowed a wave of nausea.
“Joe aimed his gun at you knowing exactly what would happen,” Bree said, her voice low. “He made you shoot him. It was suicide by cop—or almost cop.”
“I know.” Matt had fired at center body mass, exactly the way he’d been trained. He wished he hadn’t been forced to pull the trigger. He couldn’t regret stopping Joe before he killed another person, but Matt would have one more traumatic memory to live with for the rest of his life. “He was a murderer. I don’t know why I care.”
“The fact that you didn’t want him to die has nothing to do with who he was and everything to do with who you are,” Bree said. “You’re a good man, Matt Flynn.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
After a state trooper arrived and took control of Joe’s body, Bree made her way back to the construction site on rubbery legs. She was frozen, inside and out.
Matt walked at her side. “Hard to believe it’s over.”
Under her jacket, her clothes were wet. Every minute or so, she was gripped in a bout of insane shivering. Her teeth rattled in her head. Her emotions were as numb as her body. Too much had happened that night to process.
>
Two ambulances were parked in front of the house where Joe had kept Christian and Alyssa hostage. Christian was already loaded into the back of the first ambulance. The EMT at his side was grim-faced. One glance reassured Bree that Christian was breathing, and his heart was beating. That was more than she had hoped for earlier. She didn’t waste time with questions. The ambulance driver closed the rear doors and jumped behind the wheel. Lights flashed and the siren wailed as the vehicle drove away.
She watched it disappear. “How long do you think he was submerged?”
Matt lifted a palm. “I have no idea. Five minutes? Maybe ten. I lost track of time.”
“Me too.” To Bree, it had felt like ages. “He could still die.”
Matt reached over, gave her hand a squeeze, then released it.
She continued to the second ambulance. Rogers was being loaded into the back. His eyes were closed. He wore an oxygen mask, and an IV line snaked out from under a pile of blankets.
Bree touched her deputy’s forearm. “How is he?” she asked the EMT.
“We’ve controlled the bleeding, but he lost a lot of blood.” The EMT fastened a strap over Rogers’s blanketed body.
Bree worried about his emotional state as well, but his mental health would have to be addressed later. She went looking for Alyssa. Everyone except Joe had survived, and Bree could accept those results.
In front of the house, Stella handcuffed Alyssa and put her in the back of her SFPD cruiser. The sight depressed Bree.
“She was involved in a string of burglaries that ended in three—nearly four—murders,” Matt said, as if he could read Bree’s mind.
“I know. She’s not innocent.”
“Maybe Sara Harper took advantage of her,” Matt suggested.
“Doesn’t excuse her from withholding information. She knew more than she would admit from the very beginning. She wanted our protection, but she wasn’t honest with us. If she’d been up-front, she might have prevented Christian’s kidnapping and this entire nightmare.” Bree waved a hand in the air. “So, why do I even care what happens to her?”
See Her Die Page 26