He scuttled back to the door and called out, “Charlie! Charlie!” He risked poking his head out.
But Eli couldn’t see Charlie. He could only see Johnny, standing with his arms out in front of him, his hands steadying his gun. When he heard Eli, he flicked an annoyed glance over his shoulder.
“Get back inside!”
“But I see Mia. I see her in the water. On that imager thing on the dash.”
Just as Eli finished speaking, more gunfire broke out. It sounded muffled, though, not like it was directed at them. Even so, both he and Johnny flinched.
“What!” It wasn’t a question but a verbal swat. “Listen to me. Get back inside and stay down. We can’t worry about that now!”
But Eli was most definitely worried.
He scooted back inside, but once there, he again rose to his knees. He scanned the water until he spotted her again, a black spot on the steel gray of the sea. Mia was about a hundred yards away. She still didn’t appear to be moving. The cold water must be sucking all the heat from her. Even if she was alive, how long could she survive?
Hadn’t he seen a life ring on the other side of the cabin? He crawled back out the door, but this time he scuttled to the far side of the boat. The white life ring was fastened to the railing. He undid it and the coil of rope it was attached to. In one quick motion Eli got to his feet, pulled the ring behind his back, and then hurled it with all his strength toward Mia. As it flew straight through the air, the line played out to its full length. The life ring landed with a splash.
It was still at least fifty yards short.
Had Mia’s head lifted at the sound, just a little bit? Hope made Eli dizzy. Still, even if she was still conscious, she appeared far too weak to swim to it.
Without giving himself time to think, he toed off his shoes and dived in.
The water was shockingly cold. But Eli was a strong swimmer, and he put all the adrenaline already pumping through his veins to good use.
When he reached her she was lying with her eyes closed, her cheek resting on something black. He realized it was her coat, which was somehow keeping her afloat like an air-inflated pillow.
“Mia!” Eli shouted.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Charlie?”
It was a ridiculous time and place to feel jealous, treading water in the ocean while behind him people were doing their best to kill each other, but Eli did.
“Lie on your back and I’ll tow you.” He left her coat in place—she seemed to be using it as a makeshift flotation device—and grabbed the collar of her shirt. With one arm, he began to stroke through the
water, dragging her to the life ring. By the time he finally reached it, his shoulder was burning and his legs were as heavy as if he were wearing lead boots.
“Okay, Mia, here we go. I’m going to get this ring on you.” But when Eli released her, she began to sink. He grabbed for her again, hauling her up out of the water. She didn’t move, didn’t respond in any way. The phrase
dead
weight
popped into his mind. Eli slapped one pale cheek. “Come on, Mia!” She didn’t stir. He slapped again, harder. “Stay awake! Keep fighting! Don’t you quit on me!”
Her head was back, exposing the long ivory column of her throat. Her eyes were open a fraction of an inch, showing the white rim. She was as still as a corpse.
“Mia!” He shook her. Her head wobbled loosely in the water. “Wake up! Gabe and Brooke need you.”
That got a response. Her eyes opened and she feebly began to struggle. He lifted the tied-together arms of the coat over her head and let it slip away. Then he managed to wrestle the ring over her shoulders and arms.
He heard a shout and turned. It was Gordon, leaning over the railing. Johnny was next to him. They began to tow Mia in, hauling the rope in hand over hand. Swimming, Eli followed at a slower pace. If the two cops were helping them, he figured everything else must be under control. He had never been more physically exhausted in his life. When he got to the boat, Charlie was there too, although something about him didn’t look right. Eli was too spent to figure it out or even to care.
Working together, Johnny and Gordon hauled Mia on board while Charlie watched. Eli managed to get his forearms on the back of the boat, but then he just hung there, half in and half out of the water. He was shaking with cold and adrenaline, but he didn’t have enough energy to get himself fully out. Then Gordon offered him a hand, and Eli finally managed to get a knee up, then the other. He crawled forward to where Mia lay on her back.
Johnny was on the radio, requesting assistance, including an ambulance to meet them at the dock. Gordon lifted his fingers from the side of Mia’s neck. “She still has a pulse, but it’s too slow. She’s hypothermic. We’ve got to rewarm her.”
“Get those wet clothes off her,” Charlie said. “They’re sucking all the warmth out of her.” He made no move to help, and then Eli saw why—his right arm hung loose and at an odd angle. At least one of the bones in his forearm looked broken. Charlie’s face was very white and his teeth were gritted against the pain. An ugly red gash marred his chin where something had dug a chunk out of it.
Gordon was already tugging off Mia’s pants. Eli tried to unbutton her blouse, but the buttons were too small and his fingers too clumsy. He gave up and pulled hard, popping the buttons. Against the ivory color of her bra, her skin was tinged with violet. Her lips looked blue. Eli rolled her from side to side to get the sleeves off, then started running his hands up and down her arms, trying to warm her. Her skin was as cold as if she were a corpse in a refrigerated locker.
“Stop that!” Gordon snapped as he stood up. “Leave her arms and legs alone. That’s where the cold blood pools. If you massage them, you could send it right back to her heart and give her a heart attack.”
“But we need to get her warmed up,” Eli said. “Don’t you have some blankets or a sleeping bag?”
“That won’t work,” the cop said as he rummaged in an overhead compartment. “She’s not shivering, so she’s not even generating her own heat anymore.” He came up with three gray wool blankets. “We can’t just wrap her in a cold blanket. We need something to warm her.” He looked from Eli to Charlie. “Two somethings. Both of you get down to your skivvies and cozy up. I’ll wrap these blankets around you.”
Eli ended up having to help Charlie out of his pants. He left the broken arm alone, although he managed—with Charlie swearing a good deal—to bare his other arm and torso.
It was so cold. Eli’s teeth were chattering as he shivered so hard he practically vibrated. Gordon spread one blanket on the deck, rolled Mia into the center, then directed Charlie to lie down on one side and Eli on the other, pressed close together so they were a tangle of arms and legs. The second and third blankets went over the first, and then Gordon tucked them in, wrapping them up like a twelve-limbed papoose. Well, eleven, because he left Charlie’s broken arm free. Even though Eli still felt like he was freezing to death, when he pressed his legs and torso against Mia, he was far warmer than she was. She felt like she still belonged to the sea.
“What happened to the guys who took her?” Eli asked Charlie.
“They’re both dead.” His voice was flat, as if it was a simple fact with no emotion behind it. Eli might be one kind of cold, but Charlie was another.
Eli tried to press himself even closer against Mia and ended up with his mouth resting against her bare shoulder.
Come
on,
he urged her in his thoughts as he pressed his lips against her.
Warm
up!
Live!
Live, Mia, Live!
She stirred. Eli went up on one elbow. When Mia’s eyelids flickered and then opened, he felt like he could breathe again. She was alive. She was alive and they were all going to be okay.
But then her eyes focused, not on Eli or Charlie, but on something at the end of the boat. Eli watched as they went wide.
“Watch out,” she slurred. “It’s Vin. He’s here.”
Eli turned to follow her gaze.
“I shot him, Mia,” Charlie said. “He’s dead. You’re hallucinating.”
“No she’s not!” Eli said. The old man with the red face stood on the deck, water sheeting off him, his white hair plastered to his head and his shirt slicked to his torso. There was a small hole in his chest. And a gun in his hand.
Then he raised it and fired.
T
he King County courtroom was packed. Some of the people crowded into the benches were the media, but most were Mia’s colleagues. She could feel them behind her, feel them silently giving her the strength to do this.
Frank was in the thick of it, shaking hands and accepting praise until the last possible moment to take a seat. He had eked out a victory over Dominic Raines, and even people she was sure had voted against him were now finding it politic to pay their respects. Mia still didn’t know whom she had overheard him talking to that evening at the office, the person who most certainly hadn’t been his wife. She told herself that she didn’t really want to know.
At the back of the courtroom, Charlie sat with his arms folded and his face expressionless, scanning the room. He had gotten his cast off a few days earlier, and the bullet graze on his chin was now marked by shiny pink skin.
From the other side of the room, Eli smiled and gave Mia a little wave.
As she looked from one man to the other, heat climbed her cheeks. She had only vague memories of being sandwiched between
the two of them, all of them stripped to their underwear. It was still embarrassing to think about.
Even when down to just his boxers, Charlie had kept his gun nearby. Which had turned out to be a good thing. After having fallen off the yacht, Alvin Turner—or Vin, as he apparently had gone by in the rest of his life—had grabbed a line hanging off the police boat and then managed to clamber on board with his gun tucked in his waistband. But the bullet Vin had fired at them had missed, and the second time Charlie shot him had proved truly fatal.
Coho County had reopened Scott’s case. The blood drawn from his chest tap had been stored at the medical examiner’s office. Once it was tested, the lab report said it contained massive amounts of opiates. Oleg’s home had yielded ground-up methadone as well as a nearly empty bottle of Everclear—a potent and tasteless alcohol. They had also found evidence linking Oleg to the murder of Elizabeth Eastman, who had also gone by Betty and Bets. She had turned Scott from an employer to a lover, and then when the two of them had met Oleg, she had set her sights on the wealthier man.
On Vin’s computer they had discovered evidence that he had bribed the IRS agent who had been investigating Oleg. Vin had used both the carrot—a cash payout—and the stick—Scott’s death—to help the agent decide which path to take.
Now the crowd started to murmur as Bernard Young entered the courtroom. Mia’s scalp prickled, the hair rising on her head and neck. She fought the urge to run. Young shuffled forward one slow step at a time, his ankles shackled together, his handcuffed wrists connected to his waist with a belly chain. Still, there was a deputy in front of him and a deputy behind, with a half dozen more scattered throughout the room.
Young raised his head and glared at her. Chin held high, Mia matched him stare for stare. He took his place next to his new defense attorney. True to his word, Rolf had refused to continue to represent him.
Judge Rivas took the bench. He nodded at her, the silver hairs in his buzz cut catching the light. “You’re looking well, Counselor. It’s good to have you back in my courtroom under happier circumstances.” He looked over at Trevor. “And special thanks to Mr. Gosden, our courtroom deputy clerk, for making it possible for you to be here today.”
Applause broke out from those assembled, and Judge Rivas let it go on for a few seconds before banging his gavel and putting on a stern face. “I would ask for silence. This isn’t a sporting event.” Then he was back to business.
He offered the opportunity to make statements to the families of the two girls Young had killed. One girl’s family just shook their heads, all of them weeping. But the other girl’s mother took the witness stand.
“I will never forgive the act,” she said, her voice so low and trembling that even with the microphone Mia had to strain to hear her. “But I am slowly finding it possible to forgive you, Mr. Young. If I don’t, then I might as well have died with my daughter.”
As she spoke, Mia was watching not her face, but Young’s. Was there the tiniest flicker of emotion in his eyes? Was it possible to still reach someone whose soul was as dark as midnight?
Looking at Young made Mia think of the three boys who had sentenced Tamsin Merritt to a different kind of prison, the prison of her own body. Still, Tamsin was slowly breaking free. She could now walk and talk and dress herself, even if all of these things were done slowly. Mia had gone to visit her a week ago in the rehabilitation facility. The other woman had trouble enunciating, and she cried easily, but then again she had twice faced death, once at the hands of her husband. The doctors said she had some short-term memory loss and that it was impossible to say if she would ever be back to normal. Still, Tamsin had been sure that Mia had done the right thing in not charging the boys as adults. She had spoken passionately, one painful syllable at a time, about the economic conditions that she felt had contributed to the three boys going off track.
Now Judge Rivas looked at Young. “Mr. Young, this afternoon you have the right to address the court prior to the imposition of sentence. You are not required to say anything, should that be your choice, but the law does afford you that opportunity. Is there anything which you wish to state to the court this afternoon?”
Rivas looked at the two families, and then at Mia. But when he opened his mouth, all he said was, “No.”
A few minutes later Young was sentenced to life, and then it was all over.
Both Charlie and Eli got up and headed in Mia’s direction. The two men had little in common, other than Mia. Both had saved her life. Both had become her friends. And both, she sometimes thought, might want to be something more. She looked from one to the other.