Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(86)

After they arrived, the police would have to drive back to the lake. They might wait for backup before they went in to confront multiple armed people.

Morgan climbed into the Jeep, locked the doors, and kept her eyes on the entrance to the camp.

She hated waiting.





Chapter Forty-Two

Sharp slid to a stop at the end of the dock and shone his flashlight at the water. “Olivia! Lance!”

Something splashed to the right. Sharp turned the beam and spotted Lance and Holgersen fighting in the shallows. Lance punched Holgersen in the face. Holgersen staggered backward. Sharp didn’t have a clear shot at Holgersen. He’d have to leave him to Lance.

Where is Olivia?

Sharp saw a trail of bubbles on the surface. He secured his handgun in its holster and jumped into the lake. The cold water closed over his head. He swam for the bottom, feeling in the murky darkness for her body. His hands swept through empty water.

Something long and silky passed through his fingers. Her hair? He grabbed for it, only to come up with a handful of wet weeds. Disappointment flashed through him. At that very moment, she was drowning. If he didn’t find her in the next minute or two, she would die. His lungs screamed for oxygen, and he kicked upward.

Sharp surfaced, and he gasped for air. “Olivia!”

Panic stirred inside him. How much longer could she survive underwater? He saw more bubbles a few feet away, took in a breath of air, and dove under again. His hand brushed clothing. Olivia! He kicked forward and swam into an arm. Grabbing it, he pulled her to the surface. Was she alive? Once his head was above the water, he flipped Olivia onto her back and towed her to the shore. When the water was midthigh, he scooped her into his arms and carried her through the weeds and mud to the lakeshore. He staggered onto the beach and gently set her down.

“Please.” He put a hand on her chest. Was it moving? She hadn’t been underwater for more than a minute or two. “You can do it, Liv.”

Nothing. She wasn’t breathing.

He pinched her nostrils, put his mouth over hers, and gave her two rescue breaths. Then he started chest compressions. He counted to himself, then pinched her nostrils and breathed into her mouth twice more.

She stirred and sputtered, and Sharp’s heart jump-started. He turned her on her side so the water could drain from her mouth. She coughed hard, her body heaving with the effort. When the spasm had passed, she inhaled with a whistling sound. He put two fingers to her wrist. Her pulse scrambled under his fingertips.

His belly churned with relief. Light-headed with it, he leaned down and hugged her for a few seconds. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Welcome back.”

She rolled to her back. Her eyes flew open desperately wide. But she wasn’t safe yet. Her chest rattled, and she couldn’t get enough air to answer him.

Sharp pulled his phone from his pocket to call for an ambulance, but it had been submerged in the lake and wouldn’t turn on. Olivia was alive, but she struggled for every breath. She needed a hospital.

He looked for Lance. Shit! Where was he?

“Lance!” he shouted.

No one answered.





Chapter Forty-Three

Waist-deep in water, Lance hugged his head to block the punch. Holgersen’s hook landed on his biceps. Holgersen shifted his stance and came at him with an uppercut. Lance stepped sideways to avoid the blow. Countering, he fired a jab, catching Stephen in the jaw, and followed up with a cross that snapped his head back. Blood spurted from his nose, and his hands went reflexively to his face.

Shoving Stephen’s chest with both hands, Lance knocked him backward and reached for his Glock.

They were fairly well matched in size, and Holgersen had clearly trained in hand-to-hand combat. But Lance had no interest in a fair fight. Fighting honorably was bullshit. The only thing that mattered was not dying.

Before he could draw his weapon, Stephen dove at Lance. The high water slowed Lance’s movements. Stephen tackled him around the waist. They went under together, rolling in three feet of water like a crocodile with fresh prey in its mouth.

Water blinded Lance, and he swallowed a mouthful of muddy lake. Choking, he raised his head above the water and sucked in a lungful of air. Stephen twisted, grabbed Lance by the neck, and shoved him underwater again.

Lance held his breath and floundered. His hands went to his throat, and he pulled at Stephen’s fingers. Getting hold of just one, he bent it backward until it snapped. The grip on his neck released. Lance pushed out of the water. Stephen staggered backward. His left hand fell awkwardly at his side. One finger bent at an obscene angle, rendering it useless.

Stalking forward, Lance reached for his gun again. But his hand hit an empty holster.

“Looking for this?” Stephen yelled. He pointed Lance’s own gun at him. Stephen must have taken it while he was trying to drown him.

Lance didn’t waste time talking. He dove sideways and swam for the bottom. He flinched at the muffled sound of a gunshot and waited for the pain, hoping the shot hit him in the vest. A few seconds passed, and he felt nothing.

Stephen had missed.

Lance eased to the surface. Holgersen was turning in circles, the gun aimed out over the water. Another shot rang out. But Stephen was facing away from Lance and shooting in the wrong direction. Lance slipped underwater and swam toward him. He could see nothing but mud and murkiness. Three strokes later, his hand struck fabric.