The Third Grave (Savannah #4) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,18
into the water. “No, no, I’m fine,” Nikki tried to yell, but her voice was strangled and she was coughing, but she was okay.
Too late!
The detective launched herself, diving into the swiftly moving current.
No, no, no! This is no good.
From the back, more people began to shout.
“What the—?” A deep male voice.
“Is that Morrisette, what the fuck does she think she’s doing?” A different man was speaking, and she spied a deputy running to the shore. “Hey, we need some help here! Christ, there’s another one in the water.”
“She’s going to drown!” A woman’s voice this time as Morrisette appeared, bobbing up from beneath the surface. She flipped her short hair from her eyes and got a bead on Nikki. “You!” she sputtered, focusing as she started to swim closer. “For the love of God, what the hell are you doing here?”
There were more excited shouts from the bank. Deep Voice yelled to someone, “Get a rope! Or something.”
“What’s that gonna do?” the woman demanded.
“You got a better idea?” Deep Voice again. “Yeah, right! I didn’t think so. Just get the fucking rope!”
And then, over it all, another almost-angry voice, “What the hell got into her?”
Reed! She’d recognize her husband’s voice anywhere. She turned her head and spied him. “Nikki?” Reed yelled. “Nikki? Oh, Jesus. What—?” He was already sprinting toward the bank as if he, too, was going to dive in, just as Morrisette, spitting water and blinking, surfaced about twenty feet from her.
The detective’s eyes were like lasers as they focused on Nikki. “Why am I not surprised?” She was trying to swim toward Nikki but fighting a losing battle with the swift river. “What the fuck do you think you’re—? Oh, shit!”
From the corner of her eye Nikki caught sight of a small boat, unmoored and swirling wildly in the current. The same boat? Or another craft? She didn’t have time to think. It spun crazily, heading straight toward her.
Her heart turned to ice and she started frantically swimming.
“Move!” Morrisette ordered, eyes round.
Upstream, Reed surfaced and he, too, saw the impending disaster.
The boat was spinning crazily, careening faster and faster, closer and closer.
“Nikki!” he yelled, his eyes round in horror. He was already swimming toward her. “Watch out!”
Nikki cut to one side and dove deep.
Too late!
Thud!
The side of the boat slammed into her shoulder. Hard.
Pain jarred her, radiated from her shoulder.
Her arm went slack.
Stunned, she nearly blacked out. Felt something break deep inside of her. The water—so much damned water—swirled and danced around while a dull, throbbing ache crawled up her neck.
Swim! an inner voice yelled at her and she blinked, then with one arm forced herself upward, making her legs kick, breaking the surface in time to see the boat—red and white in the gathering darkness—careening wildly toward Morrisette.
No!
“Watch out!” Reed’s voice boomed from somewhere behind her.
Morrisette was already swimming toward shore, but she looked over her shoulder and—
Bam!
With a terrifying crack, the boat’s prow rammed into the side of Morrisette’s face.
Blood bloomed across Morrisette’s forehead as she let out a sickening moan.
Morrisette didn’t move.
No. Oh, God, no!
Despite the pain Nikki kicked hard. Using one arm, she fought the current and swam toward the motionless woman. “Morrisette!” she yelled frantically, gulping river water and choking as she swam. “Hang on!”
But it was no use.
Before Nikki could reach the unmoving woman, Morrisette sank like a stone.
CHAPTER 5
“What the hell were you thinking?” Reed demanded, raking stiff fingers through his hair. He was seething, his eyes dark with a deep, underlying worry, as he stood at the end of Nikki’s hospital bed in the emergency room of St. Luke’s Hospital.
The last two hours had been a blur—an ambulance ride after he’d dragged her from the river, doctors and nurses in the ER, checking her, hovering over her while Reed waited impatiently for her diagnosis. He’d been worried sick when he’d pulled her from the river, had been scared out of his mind that she might not survive, but now that he knew she was going to recover, that she hadn’t lost the baby, his anger was rising. And he wasn’t bothering to hide it. A bad sign.
She slid her gaze away from his. “I told you, I was working on the story.”
“Not good enough, Nikki.” To his credit, he paused, looked away, attempted to contain himself, but he was failing. “I asked you not to go to the crime scene,” he said.
“There was no asking about it,” she shot back, her own temper rising. “You ordered me.”