Page 6

Failure looms, mixing with the fear of losing someone I’ve never met.

Breathing ragged, it’s all I can do to get us both far enough from the river so we won’t be ripped back down, though that could all change should we get a flash flood. I just have to hope I can get her breathing and back to my truck beforehand.

As soon as we’re in a safe enough spot—for now—I rip my shirt off and ball it up to put it under her neck. Then, I pull the flashlight out of my pocket, click it on, and prop it up so I can see.

She has no visible injuries, aside from some bruises and a split lip.

But those are hardly the least of our worries.

Bending down, I listen to her chest.

No sounds.

No. God, please.

I feel her wrist. There’s a pulse, but it’s faint. Still, it’s enough to give me hope. Even if her skin is the same ice-cold as the water we just escaped from.

“Come on, stay with me,” I call out over the storm.

Rain continues to batter us as I remove my shirt from the back of her neck and slide my hand behind her head to tilt it backward.

Then, I breathe for her. Her lips are as cold as ice, her body limp.

Leaning back again, I check her pulse.

Still there. Still faint.

I breathe for her again and again. Repeating it every few seconds as I frantically monitor her pulse.

And then—she coughs, and cold water comes up as she fights to breathe on her own. She gasps, sucking in a ragged breath that brings me both a wave of relief and another bite of fear.

This is only part one.

Now I need to get her up the bank without losing my footing.

“There you go. You’re okay.” I turn her on her side so she doesn’t aspirate on the water, then glance up at the road as a beam of light flashes down over us.

“Ryker!” a man calls over the storm.

“Down here!” I turn my attention back to the woman, who is looking up at me through a pair of mossy green eyes. “You’re safe,” I tell her. But her dazed expression is a million miles away before her lids flutter closed and dark lashes rest against pale skin.

“Stay with me,” I say as I grip my flashlight and lift her into my arms to start up the rocky hillside. One wrong step will send us right back down into that river. And right now? The muddy ground is treacherous at best.

A man comes rushing down toward us, the beam of his flashlight bouncing as he chooses his steps carefully. As he gets closer, stepping into the light cast from mine, I see the familiar gaze of my friend Garrison, and I relax slightly.

Expression full of concern, he reaches us in seconds, already drenched from the unrelenting storm. “You okay?” he yells over the sound of the rain, the beam of his flashlight shining over us.

“I’m fine. She needs help.”

“Come on, there’s an easier path this way.” He guides me along the side, and we start up a small trail I likely wouldn’t have seen if not for him. My bare feet slide in the mud, but they’re so cold I can barely feel the rocks as we climb.

Something I’m sure I’ll pay for tomorrow. But if she survives, it’ll be worth every cut.

We reach the top in seconds as I do my best to keep her face turned into my chest so I can block as much of the rainwater as possible.

Garrison races over toward my truck and pulls open the back door so I can get her inside. I rush around the other side and climb into the back with her, lifting her head to put it on my lap, while Garrison gets behind the wheel.

“Ambulance was about fifteen minutes out when Weston called me,” he explains. “They were at another accident.” He puts it in drive and flips around to head the opposite direction.