Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,72

that she can’t quite even grasp what that kind of life would be like.

Especially since she’s a journalist, one of the lowest-paying jobs there is for a college graduate. She works really hard—fifty to sixty hours a week—for her meager wages.

“I’m not exactly rich,” Logan says, backtracking. “It won’t last forever. It’s just temporary while I figure some things out.”

“Sounds great,” Hannah says. “No need to be ashamed.”

She can tell from his face that things have changed between them.

Stop being a snob, she tells herself. Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.

“So, how do you spend your days?” she asks, trying to move the conversation along and get past this awkwardness.

He shrugs. “Hiking, swimming, skiing. Depends on the weather, I guess.”

“Wow,” she says. “That must be nice.”

Now he looks even more embarrassed.

The weird thing about him is that he doesn’t seem like some rich asshole living off Mommy and Daddy’s allowance. He seems like a down-to-earth guy. He is nice and he has a certain boyish charm. He doesn’t seem smarmy or pretentious. He seems like the kind of guy she could really enjoy spending time with.

The boat zips along, and they are both silent. The end of the first lake is approaching. She wants to start over, change the subject.

I’ve still got a little time to salvage this situation, she thinks.

Then she notices one of the girls on the pier. Probably fourteen or fifteen, she is jumping up and down on the dock, yelling and waving her arms. Hannah can’t make out what she’s saying because of the whining boat motor.

“What’s that girl doing?” she says to Logan.

He turns, noticing the girl for the first time.

“Hey,” he says to the pilot, “let off the motor for a second.”

The pilot does as he’s told, and the boat slows to a crawl. The motor idles, still audible but much quieter.

“Help!” the girl on the dock screams. She points into the water. “My sister!”

The message is clear: her sister is drowning.

Chapter 3

“Go!” Logan yells to the pilot.

The kid does as he’s instructed. He presses down on the throttle, and the propeller digs into the water, the bow lifting into the air. The boat surges forward, rising and falling, chopping into the water. It makes up the gap to the pier in seconds. The pilot cuts the engine at the last instant and yanks the rudder so the boat swings parallel to the dock.

Before the sidewall even touches the dock, Logan leaps out and dives into the water. He cuts the surface with hardly a splash. His action is so sudden that Hannah gasps.

The boat rocks in the waves it created, but the water is incredibly clear, and Hannah can see Logan under the surface, a blur swimming toward another blur.

The water must be glacially cold. Fed entirely from snowmelt, the lake is frigid all summer long, but this late in the season and this early in the morning, swimming would be like jumping into a bucket of ice water.

Hannah feels suddenly very helpless. This is an emergency, and she wants to help. What can she do?

You’re a journalist, her inner editor’s voice says. Cover what’s happening.

Now Hannah has a purpose. She hops out of the boat onto the deck, next to the girl. Hannah pulls out her phone, turns it to video mode, and begins to record.

A second after the camera begins to record, Logan bursts from the surface with the drowning girl in his arms. He begins swimming toward shore, holding one arm around her. The girl, maybe eleven or twelve, is completely limp. Her hair floats on the surface like strands of seaweed.

Hannah walks down the dock, filming Logan the whole time. She is on the bank when he comes up out of the water, holding the lifeless girl.

This footage is unbelievable, Hannah thinks. Then she feels ill at the thought. This girl is dying, and all she’s doing is filming what’s happening.

But she doesn’t stop. Her editor’s voice is in her ears, spurring her on.

Logan sets the girl down in a patch of grass and kneels next to her. He puts two fingers on her throat, checking for a pulse, and puts his head over her face, his neck turned so he can watch for her chest rising and falling and feel her breath on his cheek.

“There’s a pulse,” he says, his voice unbelievably calm. “But she’s not breathing.”

Hannah’s heart slugs in her chest. She doesn’t stop filming.

Logan tilts the girl’s head back and tries to