Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
And almost ended up in the crashing waters of the creek ten creeping minutes later. I stopped, sucked in gulps of air. I’d made it to the water, but the bridge was nowhere in sight. I was either too far to the left or to the right. But at least I could just follow the water in one direction, then the other.
My neck was iron, my fingers like claws by the time the headlights picked out jutting metal arches. Finally. Chest expanding, I angled the vehicle until it faced the bridge.
I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me at first, but no, the bridge swung to and fro in the wind, its creaks the groans of a dying man. Even worse was the water that roared over the platform, a surge of snow and ice from the mountains turned liquid.
I stared blankly at the sight.
I’d been prepared for a swollen creek, but this . . .
Not that it changed the choices available to me: forward or back. That was it.
Getting out into the slamming rain, I walked to the last safe spot on this side of the bridge. While the water did surge over the top of the bridge platform in violent pulses, the waves weren’t high. The Land Cruiser could get through.
If the bridge was strong enough to hold the vehicle’s weight after the pounding it had been taking in the storm.
Guess I’d find out. I’d made my decision, would carry it through. No turning back. And no point in trying for a signal, but I did so anyway just in case.
Nothing.
Wading back through the slushy snow after stowing my phone back in my coat, I jumped into the vehicle. The warmth was a blast that I knew would make my frozen fingertips hurt as they thawed out.
“The bridge is underwater.” A soft voice from the back seat.
My heart kicked so hard that it was in my mouth, a slippery lump of muscle that threatened to choke. I swiveled after hitting the overhead switch for the interior light, saw Grace looking at me with groggy eyes. The other woman, the one I couldn’t allow myself to believe was Bea, lay slumped in a drugged sleep. I struggled against the need to shake her, make her tell me what was going on.
Returning my attention to Grace with conscious will, I said, “How you feeling?”
“Hurts.” A whimper. “You tied me up.”
“It’s tape,” I said, as if that made it any different. “Sorry, I couldn’t figure out which one of you started it.”
Coughing, Grace nodded.
“Hold on.” Exiting to go around to the back, I took four bottles of water from the stash I’d grabbed on my way out of the house; I threw three into the empty glove box, and opened the fourth. Then, going around to Grace’s side of the Land Cruiser, I unscrewed the bottle and held it to her lips so she could sip.
After she pulled back, I screwed the top back on and put the bottle beside her. Not that she could get to it, but it would make it easier for me not to mix up which bottle belonged to which person.
Grace spoke again after I was in the driver’s seat. “I have no reason to attack anyone.” Her eyes, lost and emotionally bruised, held mine in the rearview mirror. “I barely know most of you.”
“Yeah.” And yet I didn’t offer to free her. “Do you know the woman beside you?”
Grace shook her head. “She came in the door right before you did, but she was kind of wobbly on her feet. I thought she was going to fall.” Swallowing hard, she looked at her fellow passenger. “Oh, no. She’s been stabbed, too.”
“It’s not her blood.” Turning off the interior light, I struggled to make sense of what Grace had told me.
I couldn’t.
Just do, Luna. Think later.
My eyes having finally adjusted to the sudden lack of light—or as much as they could adjust, I looked ahead to the bridge. “We have to get over that. You might be hurt less than Darcie, but you still have a stab wound that’s continuing to bleed.” I’d spotted hints of red on the towel when I’d given her the water.
“Bridge is . . . dancing.”
She was right—the bridge was continuing to sway this way and that in the wind, and every so often, it’d ripple. I watched the movements, and I watched the water, and I saw the pattern. If I could make it across between one ripple and the next, I’d avoid the biggest of the waves that crashed over the platform.
Snapping my seat belt back on, I said, “Here we go,” and put the car into gear.
One. Two. Three. Ripple. Go!
The groans as we drove on were hollow and deep, and I didn’t dare think about what was going on beneath the tires. I kept my eyes not straight ahead but angled slightly to the left. So I could see the metal of the struts, use that to orient myself in a straight line.