On His Watch
Page 11
“Oops,” Phil said. “Sorry, Lou.”
“Uh-huh,” she muttered as she moved around behind him. “I’m hooking this harness around you, sir, so the team on shore can pull you out.”
She struggled to reach around Phil’s wide girth, wishing she’d gotten skinny Wilt as her victim instead. The dry-suit gloves made her fingers thick and unwieldy, and she fumbled with the carabineer. To make matters even more silent swear worthy, Phil had resumed his melodramatic struggling.
“Don’t make me drown you,” she snarled, jerking her head back so his flapping elbow didn’t connect with her eye.
“Where’s your compassion, Lou? I’m a panicked, hypothermic tourist here.” The bastard sounded as if he were about to laugh.
“I’ll show you compassion,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “And if you’re hypothermic, shouldn’t you be getting tired and sluggish?”
“That sounds threatening.” Phil was definitely laughing, the ass. “As soon as you save me and I get out of the hospital, I’m going to file a complaint with your superior.”
“That’s where you’re wrong—there is no one superior to me,” she said, letting out a relieved grunt when she finally succeeded in hooking the carabineer through the metal loop of the harness.
Phil laughed and then wiggled several feet sideways, pulling his slick, neoprene-covered body free of her grip.
“Never let go of your patient!” Callum yelled. “Once you put your hands on him, you do not let go until he is being lifted into the ambulance, understand?”
With a heavy sigh, Lou tried to maneuver behind Phil again, but he was surprisingly agile for such a big guy. Plus, the training had been tiring, and she still had to help hoist Phil’s bulk out of the water. Clenching her jaw, she lunged toward him, managing to latch her arms around his waist.
“Got you!” she crowed, but her satisfaction was quickly overruled by irritation as her legs floated up behind her again, curving her spine into an awkward partial backbend. With Phil’s body in the way, she couldn’t pull her knees up very easily. After several unsuccessful attempts at getting her legs underneath her, she kicked out in frustration. But instead of passing through unresisting water, her booted foot hit hard against something.
“What the hell?” she mumbled, looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t see whatever it was through the murky water. It had felt fairly firm, although it had moved with her kick. She was tempted to thump it with her boot again, but reconsidered.
“What?” Phil had finally realized she was ignoring him. He quit his fake struggling, twisting his head around to follow her gaze.
“I kicked something.” She kept staring at the water, as if she’d suddenly develop X-ray vision. Her arms were still locked around Phil’s middle. No need to get yelled at for making the same mistake twice.
“The Mission Reservoir Monster?” he asked in his best spooky voice.
“What’s taking you so long?” Callum called from the ice. “For Christ’s sake, Sparks, your victim would be dead by now. Just complete the recovery, and let’s get his body out of the water so we can notify his next of kin.”
“You gave up on me so quick, Cal,” Phil whined. “Aren’t you even going to start CPR?”
“No way,” Derek yelled back. “He knows where those lips have been.”
“What’s the problem?” Callum didn’t sound amused. He did sound annoyed.
“There’s something under the water. I kicked it.”
“Shark?” Chad suggested.
“Seriously?” Derek scoffed. “In a freshwater reservoir?”
“Maybe,” Chad muttered with a shrug.
“Well, it didn’t bite me, so hopefully that rules out both the Reservoir Monster and all woman-eating fish.”
Moving a few feet closer, Derek peered at the water. “If it’s anything valuable, I call dibs.”
“No way!” Lou protested. “I’m the one who kicked it. Finders keepers!”
Callum expelled an impatient sigh loud enough for Lou to hear, even across the twenty feet that separated them. He moved to the edge of the ice and slid gracefully into the water. As he swam toward them, Lou turned back to scan for the unidentified object.
At first she thought she was imagining it, but she could definitely see something down there, and it was getting larger and more distinct with each second. She wondered if her kick had knocked whatever it was loose, allowing it to float to the top. As she stared, holding her breath, the faint shape got closer and closer, until a large, gray mass bobbed to the surface. Lou gave a muffled shout, her arms tightening around Phil. A part of her knew what it was as soon as it surfaced, but a larger portion refused to accept it.
No. No way. No way.
“Is that a body?” Derek yelled from the ice.
“Yep, that’s a dead guy,” Phil said, his voice as casual as if it were a beer can floating next to them and not the waxy gray back of a corpse.
“Huh.” Derek didn’t sound too freaked out about it, either. “Lou, I’m good with finders keepers, then. You can have it.”
She couldn’t respond. For once, no words would leave her mouth. All she could do was cling to Phil’s middle and try to breathe. It wasn’t working.
As he pulled up next to them, Callum looked at the peacefully bobbing mass of flesh. “Fuck.”
Lou’s lungs had locked up again, and she felt as if her face had been dunked back into the frigid water. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the bloated body.
“Hey, Cal?” Phil still sounded much too calm. “Where’s the head?”
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About the Author
A fan of the old adage “write what you know,” Katie Ruggle lived in an off-grid, solar- and wind-powered house in the Rocky Mountains until her family lured her back to Minnesota. When she’s not writing, Katie rides horses, shoots guns, cross-country skis (badly), and travels to warm places where she can scuba dive. A graduate of the Police Academy, Katie received her ice-rescue certification and can attest that the reservoirs in the Colorado mountains really are that cold. A fan of anything that makes her feel like a badass, she has trained in Krav Maga, boxing, and gymnastics. You can connect with Katie at katieruggle.com, facebook.com/katierugglebooks, or on Twitter @KatieRuggle.