Page 41 of The Heat is On

Shecouldswim. She’d even worked as a lifeguard at summer camp.

But this river was hungry. The rapids grabbed her, thrust her against a tumble of rocks, the current dragging her feet out from under her. She caught the edge of a rock, her fingers tearing against the rough surface, but enough to slow her down, turn her toward the bridge.

Just in time to see March kick Rio full in the face. Archer had March by the throat, but March had used the leverage to send Rio spinning into the ground.

She screamed. A high pitch eruption of horror that the river quickly gobbled.

Rio was going to die—she saw the look in March’s eyes when she’d stepped in front of Rio on the path. Had never seen such evil.

Rio wasn’t getting up.

She had to get back to him. But the river ripped her from her perch, slammed her back into the roil, her feet above her.

She was going to hit her head on one of these rocks and die.

Rolling over, she threw her arm up just before she slammed into a downed tree, stripped and skeletal in the water, the branches lethal. But it slowed her down, and she used it to leverage herself onto a nearby boulder.

The river had cast her a good forty feet away from the bridge. The cold found her bones, racking her body with shivers.

“Skye!”

She heard her name lifting above the roar, but it drifted away, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the horror on shore. March and Archer, grappling.

Rio still on the ground, now pushing to his hands and feet.

Get up!

“Skye!” Her name again, and this time she searched the river. Saw a figure in the water, fighting the rapids. Stared at it, the realization like fire through her body.

Tucker.

Tucker!

Not dead, but he would be if he didn’t get out of the water.

Which he must have jumped into to save her.

Of course. So, that must have been him back at the cabin, just like Darryl said.

“Stay there!”

Yes. But movement on the bridge made her look past him.

A woman—the US marshal had edged out on the far side. Yes—

Except, March had Archer by the neck, the gun against his temple—where was Rio?—shouting at the woman. She held a gun too, was probably yelling at March to put his down.

But she didn’t know March like Skye did. March was desperate.

He wasn’t giving up.

Maybe Tucker knew it too because he shouted at the woman. “Stevie!”

The US marshal looked at Tucker, panic on her face, as if she didn’t expect to see him in the river.

Neither, apparently, did March, who turned the gun on Tucker.

“No!” Skye screamed just as the gun reported.