You Don't Know Me (27 page)

She woke seconds later—or maybe she’d only been shocked, but she couldn’t breathe. She lay sideways, the car crushed on the passenger side, her seat belt cutting into her carotid artery.

The sound of water rushed at her as the river filled the car through the passenger side window. The cold had teeth, snaring her breath as it crawled up her. She yanked at the belt and fought for the latch. “Please!”

Beneath her, Garcia slouched in the darkness, nearly submerged.

Annalise gulped for air as she thrashed. Her foot was caught down below, but she could barely feel it over the needles in her skin.

She found the latch. The seat belt snapped open and she arched upward, yanking her foot to free it.

The water worked up her body, over her shoulder, biting through her clothes. She’d already begun to shake.

Garcia lay unmoving in the liquid darkness.

She angled her neck toward the pocket of air at the visor.
Breathe, just breathe.

Her foot wouldn’t give.

The water seemed to stabilize around her ears. She had her face pressed to the velvety fabric of the roof, breathing in what little air remained in the pocket as she began to bang on her still-closed window.

Please, God. Oh, please.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm.

She didn’t have to panic. She could choose to hope.

Choose to believe.

Choose to hold on to grace.

Tuck just couldn’t escape the Decker family. He’d be happy if he never saw another member again, and then Mrs. Decker nearly T-boned him, her face illuminated in the bright lights of the town’s most notorious intersection. He’d swerved, plowed his Jeep into the curb, taking out the display of pumpkins piled up in front of the gas station.

Awesome.

What was her problem? And she didn’t even slow down—just kept going, like she didn’t see him. He watched her taillights as she punched the gas.

He turned down the volume of the game on the radio and let a descriptive word enter his brain as he got out of the Jeep, ducking his head against the sleet.

She’d made him bust out a headlight.

Oh, man.

He might have been at the game, might have been cheering on Colleen, but Mrs. Decker had taken care of that by ratting him out. He thought of her smug smile last night, pretending her way through dinner. How long did she wait before she pulled the family aside, told them a wild story about him?

He could only imagine.

And he wasn’t about to forgive Colleen either after the way she just stood there in school today as if she wanted her brother to take him down.

He didn’t even
want
to listen to the game. Wasn’t sure why he’d spent the last hour driving past the school, then down to get a sandwich, then back toward the game. He didn’t want to see her or anything.

He should just forget about the self-righteous Decker clan.

Tuck got in the car. Let the anger dig in him for a bit. Then he gunned it down the road after Mrs. Decker, just until she got to wherever she was going. He’d show her the damage and demand she pay for it. He wasn’t cutting into his snowboard fund because of her.

Even from this far behind he could see her swerving.
Slow down, sheesh.
She passed the library, the coffee shop, heading up the hill . . . out of town.

What if she’d been drinking? He let the thought sit there, then dismissed it.

But why wasn’t she at the game? That bugged him a little. As far as he knew, Mrs. Decker hadn’t missed a game in the history of Colleen’s life.

She turned into a lead foot as she sped down the hill.
Just try to outrun me, baby.
He gripped the wheel, glancing at the speedometer. He had snow tires on his Jeep. Her little sedan—he recognized it now as Colleen’s dad’s car—could be a snowboard for the amount of traction it had on this road.

Especially around the upcoming curve. He’d heard that someone had died thirty years ago around this curve. And Tuck himself had nearly hit the guardrail a couple times when he was just learning to drive.

He tapped his brakes. His car shimmied, slid.

What was he doing? He slowed, let his Jeep go to the shoulder, his heart thundering. He’d turned into a road rager.

Still, it bugged him. All her self-righteous preaching. The fact that she hadn’t stopped at the intersection. Her crazy driving.

Why wasn’t she at the game?

He sat there in the darkness, watching as her taillights shrank in the night. Then they disappeared, fast, a slash of red light into the trees.

Weird.

Now, as he sat on the side of the road, it all nagged him enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. Colleen wouldn’t take her phone on the court, so he was probably safe.

“Yeah, hey, Colleen. It’s me. I . . . This is going to sound weird, but I just saw your mom peeling out of town. She’s acting weird. And she nearly hit me. Tell her she owes me a hundred bucks.” Okay, that didn’t end quite like he wanted, but hey, he could taste the lingering ire in the back of his throat. He sighed. “I guess I’ll see you around. Hope you win your game.”

He hung up. Upped the volume on the radio.

They were well into the second game. Oh, Colleen missed a spike.

Maybe Mrs. Decker didn’t want to see them lose.

He put his car into drive, intending to turn around.

Do what you know is right.
He hadn’t been able to get Amelia’s dad’s words out of his head all day. Like he was haunted or something.

Still, maybe he’d just drive down the road, around the corner.

Then he’d go home and never see the Deckers again.

Hopefully.

Tuck slowed as he entered the curve, his headlight scraping the guardrail. Something had recently hit it. He drove across the bridge. Slowed. No lights in the long stretch of road ahead.

He pulled into the lot beyond the bridge, next to the overlook, and turned around.

His headlight revealed the gaping maw in the opposite rail.

No.

Oh
no
. He slammed his Jeep into park and barreled out.

“Mrs. Decker!” He scrambled across the road, fell, then flung himself at the rail, looking over.

The tin-can car lay on its side in the river below, the driver’s side propped up on a boulder.

No! He pulled out his phone to dial 911.

Nothing. Of course—the walls of the gorge obscured the signal. “Mrs. Decker!” She could be dead in there . . .

And if she wasn’t, she would be soon in that icy water.

Tuck searched for the path, the trail of dirt that led off-road tourists down to the edge, but couldn’t find it. It didn’t matter. His headlight shone over the river, and he scrambled to the edge of the bridge, began to climb down.

When his foot slipped on the icy rock, he fell, bumping and slamming into the stones, hitting the water.

The force, the ice-cold temperature, knocked his breath out of him. He gasped and fought the pain as he plowed through the water, the foam cresting up around his ears, down his jacket.

“Mrs. Decker!”
Please, let her not be underwater.

He scrambled to the driver’s door. Down here, away from the lights of his Jeep, he could barely make out the handle. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The river glistened in the darkness, flooding over him to his shoulders.

“Help!” The voice came from inside the window.

She was alive. “Mrs. Decker! It’s Tucker Newman!”

“Tucker! Help—my foot’s stuck! I can’t get out!”

At least she had air. He climbed over the boulder, back to the cliff, rooted around until he found a rock, his hand nearly numb with cold.

“Get back!” He slammed the rock into her window and it broke, a spiderweb of glass. He kicked it away and leaned in.

The water filled the car nearly to the roof. Only her chin and head emerged from the water.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Except if he didn’t get her out of there fast, it wouldn’t be.

Whoa. There was a hand—an arm!—floating by her face. He scrambled away. “What the—?”

She shrieked, slapped at it. “Get me out of here!”

“Is there someone else in there with you?”

“I think he’s dead. Here—pull me out!”

Tuck crouched on the boulder and reached in, caught her hand. It was ice. He grabbed her other hand and began to pull. Her head and shoulders were through the window when she cried out.

“I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s not your fault, Tucker. My foot is pinned. You gotta get help. Please—go, get help.”

“I can’t leave you here.”

“You can! Please!”

“Okay, okay—I’m just going to go far enough to get a cell signal. Then I’ll be back. I’ll be right back—I promise.”

Tuck was turning when he heard the car shift, heard it skidding against the rocks.

The current was taking it under.

“No!” He slid back toward her, grabbed her hand. Slipped just as the car settled.

It pinned his leg against the rock, and pain shot through his body.

Mrs. Decker clung to him, clawing at his hand. “Wait—don’t let go, Tucker. You’re the only thing holding my head above water.”

He wasn’t going anywhere, not with his leg pinned. But he kept that to himself. She didn’t need to know that they were both probably going to die.

Who wants to be mayor anyway?

Nathan’s own words sat in the back of his head like mud as his gaze moved between the door, the court, and the crowd of Deep Haven friends.

It bothered him that he needed it so much. That he thought without the title, he was no one. So he’d never scored touchdowns or made millions or even redeemed the Decker name. A man wasn’t tied to his name. A man was the guy he was at home or at work. Like Seb had said, every day proving himself to be a man of honor.

A man was the guy he became when his wife smiled at him.

That’s what he needed.

Who wants to be mayor anyway?

Except he thought he’d do a good job. Help this town to a better place, economically, maybe even civically.

I’m talking about the town of Deep Haven, Mr. Mayoral Candidate. Think they’ll forgive us for this?

Wow, he hadn’t realized the depths of his mother’s hurt over the years. But she was right . . . Deep Haven knew how to bear a grudge. So much for his mayoral bid. Or his real estate business.

Maybe they should move anyway.

But the truth about Annalise didn’t have to come out. So Annalise had traded in her old name for a new one. So she’d made up her past. So she’d lied about everything that they knew about her. It was private family business. No one really needed to know.

Maybe he could still win his campaign.

“De-fense, de-fense!” He joined the crowd in cheering the Huskies. The cheer reverberated through the gym, turning the place deafening. No wonder Annalise escaped to a quiet place for her phone call. They’d fallen to a 21–15 deficit in the second game, and even Colleen seemed to be losing her focus. She kept glancing toward him in the stands as if looking for her mother, needing her for moral support.

He checked his watch. Annalise had been gone for nearly forty minutes, the entire second game. Whoever she was talking to must be important.

Frank? Had she said his name? Nathan couldn’t remember.

He took out his phone. He could call, hope she’d answer, remind her . . . Funny, he had a voice mail. He hadn’t heard it come in. He’d pick it up after the game.

The Wolves landed another point. Three more and they’d have to go to three games, a fifteen-point match.

The coach called a time-out, and Colleen took the bench, wiping a towel over her face.

She didn’t move when the coach sent the team back in. Yeah, well, the pressure had gone to her head. She’d missed sets, spiked out of bounds, fumbled digs. She played like she belonged on JV. And it seemed as if she didn’t care.

Nathan frowned as he watched her dig around her jacket and pull out—her phone?

Oh,
c’
mon, Colleen.
She had better not be texting Tucker.

That thought felt a little hypocritical, seeing as Nathan had finally figured out the look on Jason’s face that day by the theater. He’d seen it in the mirror a couple times when he was that age.