Sole Witness (27 page)

Please. Amber was
born
in the water.

*          *          *

Just when Lori thought she might’ve swum a safe enough
distance, a loud splash sprayed saltwater across her face and rough fingers
twisted the hair at the back of her head.

“Gotcha, bitch.”

Cripes. She really did.

Lori shoved her arms out and jerked her head free. A
handful of hair ripped from her scalp in the process.

She gave the killer a solid kick in the face with
her good foot, using the momentum to propel her through the water. She took a
deep breath and slipped under the surface.

Pushing with her arms as hard as she could, Lori
swam with all her strength. She came up for air only when her lungs burned like
fire.

Her fingers scraped against something.

Davis’s sandbar.

Lori scrambled on top, crawling on her hands and
knees. Maybe she could get to the other side before the killer realized what
happened. Maybe she could catch her breath, just for a second.

A viselike grip dug into her swollen ankle and Lori
screamed.

“That hurt, does it?” came the familiar voice.

Five long fingernails bit into the tender skin,
gouging until they drew blood.

Tears streamed down Lori’s face and her fingers
convulsed around handfuls of sand.

Desperate, she reared back one arm and let loose a
volley of sand and broken shells. A strange mix of joy and terror bubbled
inside when the debris splattered right in the killer’s smirking face.

The killer spluttered and slid underwater.

Lori scrambled across the sandbar. Her wrinkled
palms slipped on loose sand. Shells scraped her knees.

The killer broke the surface with a loud splash.

“I’m right behind you, Summers. And I’m not happy.”

Great.

She crawled faster, but the killer had the advantage
of two working feet, one of which kicked Lori in the shoulder and knocked her
onto her back.

Her neck lolled on the edge of the sandbar. Waves
lapped at the top of her head.

She grappled for more sand to throw.

The killer laughed and stepped across her chest so
that one foot was on either side of Lori’s waist. She dropped suddenly,
bringing her knees crashing down on Lori’s biceps.

The sand tumbled from Lori’s twitching palms.

She hoped her arms weren’t broken.

The killer wrapped strong, gritty fingers around
Lori’s throat and squeezed.

“And now you die.”

Lori thrashed, trying to throw the killer off her
body. Her lungs wheezed out their last drop of air, and no more oxygen rushed
in to take its place.

She bent her knees and tried to knock the killer off
with her legs.

The killer just laughed and squeezed harder. She
lifted her weight from Lori’s stomach long enough to shove her a few inches
further off the sandbar—far enough so that her face submerged underwater.

“If I stop squeezing long enough to let you breathe,
all you’ll suck down is a lungful of saltwater,” the killer said in a calm,
amused voice. “Either way, you die.”

*          *          *

Davis slammed on the brakes as soon as he caught sight
of his house, now a smoldering shell surrounded by cops, firemen and EMTs.

Carver kept one hand on the dash, the other firmly
wrapped around the door handle.

“Either drive up by the fire truck or park here,”
she said. “We’re wasting time.”

“We’re here,” he snapped, shoving the gear into
park.

Loud, rushing water burst from a giant hose and the
remnants of his house melted under the pressure.

He threw open the door and ran to the group of
uniforms at the front of his house, hoping for a face he’d recognize.

Bock.

“Where is she?” Davis demanded, grabbing the junior
officer by the arm.

“Out there,” Bock answered, pointing with one
finger. “We’ve got a sharpshooter over there trying to get a clear shot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tompkins is out there with her. They’re wrestling
on some kind of sandbar. Our guy doesn’t want to kill the wrong woman.”

Amen. Davis definitely didn’t want him hitting the
wrong woman.

He took off for the beach at a dead run.

The sharpshooter stood at the edge of the water, one
eye squinting through the sight on his rifle.

Davis knocked it out of his arms.

“What the hell are you doing, man?” the shooter
asked, bending to retrieve the rifle. “You’re going to wreck my clean shot.”

Davis squinted at the figures struggling on the sandbar,
arms and legs locked together.

“You don’t have a clean shot.”

Praying for time, he shrugged out of his suit
jacket.

The sharpshooter backed up a step. “What the hell
are you doing now?”

“Going in after her.” Davis hiked up a pant leg.

“You got a death wish?”

Davis grimaced and tugged off one shoe.

“Could be.”

Lori was pretty sure she was about to die.

Her hands beat uselessly against the killer’s strong
thighs and her legs flopped around like the tails of frantic fish, too long out
of water.

She, on the other hand, was too long under water.

The killer loosened her hold around her neck and
Lori sucked in a deep, frantic breath.

As promised, her mouth and lungs filled with nothing
but saltwater.

She choked, gagged, coughed.

Only water came out. Only water came in.

Dimly, she heard the killer laugh with triumph.

All she could feel were her lungs, burning with lack
of oxygen.

Lori’s limbs stopped flailing.

The killer gripped her by the armpits and gave her a
good shove. Lori sank like a rock.

As she slid further and further underwater, her mind
filled with odd, incongruous thoughts.

Graceful waves curled overhead. She dropped further
from the surface, the lulling Gulf water much warmer than she’d remembered. Why
hadn’t she been to the beach in so long? It was so nice here.

Weightlessness relaxed her muscles. Her ankle no
longer hurt.

Squinting into the darkness, she made out the
silhouettes of small, flitting forms.

“I’m floating with the fishes,” Lori murmured.

Tiny bubbles shot from her mouth.

A hysterical giggle escaped.

Saltwater rushed in to take the place of the
expelled air, but this time Lori didn’t choke.

She closed her eyes and drifted downward.

*          *          *

Not bothering to remove his pants and shirt, Davis
dove into the water fully clothed.

Using all his strength, he hurled himself toward
Lori.

Please, let her be alive. Please, let him be in
time. Please.

With each carefully timed breath, he squinted at the
sandbar.

Two figures. Struggling.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Lori, her face underwater.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Amber Tompkins, her head tossed back in laughter.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Lori, sliding underwater headfirst.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Tompkins, rising to her feet. No Lori.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Tompkins, shaking out her hair and brushing sand
from her skin. No Lori.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Tompkins, catching sight of him and flipping the
bird. No Lori.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

No Tompkins. Had she dived back underwater to make
sure Lori stayed dead?

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

Still no Tompkins. Still no Lori.

Kick. Stroke. Breathe.

He was too late.

*          *          *

Lori might’ve drowned peacefully had the killer not
chosen that moment to kick her on the back of the head, startling her eyes
open.

Darkness. Water. Couldn’t
breathe.

The killer’s fingers found Lori’s neck and twisted.

Not again.

Anger bubbled deep inside.

Lori fought against the stranglehold and broke free.
The killer kicked toward the surface to breathe but Lori grabbed her legs and
jerked her down.

The killer struggled for the water’s edge but Lori
latched on tight. She climbed up the killer like a monkey, keeping the killer
lodged underneath her body.

With her good foot on the killer’s shoulder, Lori
launched herself upward and broke the surface.

A deep, hitching breath wheezed into waterlogged lungs
and the sun blinded her eyes.

Hacking coughs spasmed from her chest.

Lori fought to stay afloat.

The killer grabbed one of Lori’s legs and jerked,
bringing her head underwater for a moment.

Remembering not to breathe in the salty water this
time, Lori waited until she broke the surface again before gasping another
long, wet breath.

The killer tried to scale up Lori, mimicking her
monkey climb, but Lori kicked her off, forcing her further underwater.

Lori coughed up more briny liquid, her throat and
lungs aflame.

If she were going to drown here today, then so was
the killer.

She sucked in the deepest breath she could and went
under, wrapping her legs around the killer’s arms and torso, and her hands
around the killer’s neck.

Turnabout was fair play.

The killer fought as fiercely as she expected.

Lori kept her trapped inside viselike limbs and
shuddered. She was going to need air, and soon.

But if she let go, the killer would get free. If the
killer got free, she could get to the surface. If she got to the surface, she’d
get plenty of oxygen. And if the killer got enough oxygen, there would be no
stopping her.

So Lori held on, longer than she dreamed she could.

As the seconds ticked past, the killer struggled
less and less.

Finally, she stopped moving at all.

After a moment, so did Lori.

*          *          *

By the time Davis got to the sandbar, two lifeless
bodies floated against the pile of sand.

Tompkins, face down. Lori, face up.

Both very, very still.

Davis lifted Lori by the arms and hauled her onto
the sand. He pressed his ear to her mouth, her lips cold and bluish.

She wasn’t breathing.

“No,” Davis said and shook his head. “No.”

He slanted his mouth over hers and blew out all the
air from his chest.

Nothing.

Again and again, he sucked in breath after breath,
trying to force precious air into Lori’s lungs.

No response.

Frantic, he got to his knees. He placed both hands
over her chest and pushed.

A thin stream of murky water trickled from Lori’s
mouth.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Davis swore, and
pushed again.

More dark water bubbled from her throat.

He put his ear back to her mouth.

Still not breathing.

Water splashed behind him.

Davis spun his head around. Tompkins?

No. The sharpshooter.

“What?” the shooter asked with a self-conscious
half-smile. “I was going to let you swim across the Gulf of Mexico by
yourself?”

“Help me,” Davis managed, the words coming out
garbled and forced. “Help me.”

The shooter glanced at Tompkins, her body still
floating face down, and then returned his gaze to Lori.

“Lips are awful purple,” he said.

Davis nodded.

The shooter crawled onto the sandbar and peered at
her face. “Not breathing?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. I don’t think so.”

The shooter picked up one of Lori’s cold, limp
wrists and held it for a second before letting it go.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“No,” Davis cried. “Don’t tell me that. It’s not
true.”

He threw himself across Lori’s lifeless body and
pounded one fist into the sand.

“Don’t you do it,” he whispered into her ear. “Don’t
you dare leave me.”