No. No. No!
This was why people died in the river. They got knocked out and drowned. Or tangled with weeds and debris, unable to break free. She fought the pain in her head, fought the dizziness. She didn’t feel the car moving, but suddenly she was wet.
She opened her eyes and pushed the deflated airbag out of her way. Her car was resting on the driver’s side in the river, only her trunk partly on the riverbank. Through the cracked front windshield she saw that more than half her car was submerged. Sunlight streamed through the passenger half of the window. The only way to escape was through the passenger door.
Jim was be at the top of the embankment waiting for her to emerge. She would be an easy target for a good shot. Fifty feet? Sixty, maybe. She could stay here, wait it out. But Jim could empty his clip into her car. He could come down the riverbank and shoot her in the head. Waiting really wasn’t a good option.
If she hadn’t been slowed down by the tree, she would have had enough momentum to take her further into the river, without the broken nose and the pain in her head and lungs. She found her gun, and thank God it wasn’t wet. It could still fire, probably, but no guarantee.
She undid her seat belt. Her entire left side was wet, but the car couldn’t fill up with water, not when it was partly on the embankment and the passenger side was still exposed. The flowing water was surprisingly loud, but maybe that was her fear. Her car creaked and swayed with the rhythm of the river. If she stayed where she was, she’d be a sitting duck. Matt and Dean would soon start looking for her. She’d said she was ten minutes away—that was ten minutes ago. When would they start looking for her? When she was five minutes late? Fifteen minutes? Could she hide in here for fifteen minutes? When she didn’t show, they would retrace her steps, but there was no guarantee as to how fast, or if they’d wait for back-up, or anything. She needed to be proactive and save her own ass.
Her phone! She looked around for it. It had been on her charger, and she’d tossed it on the passenger seat. The charger was still in the dashboard. She pulled it up and the phone came with it—wet. She pressed the button. The lock screen came on, but she couldn’t get it to clear. She pressed the emergency call link in the bottom corner. Nothing. She shook the phone. Nothing!
Shit. She had to move. Now. The dizziness had mostly subsided, but blood still dripped from her nose. That was the least of her concerns.
She only had one chance to escape. She had to time it right.
She pulled herself into a crouching position, with her feet on the driver’s door. She looked at the passenger door. If she pushed it open, Jim would see it moving. But the window was up, and it would be harder to climb through the window, anyway. Still, she needed to use her strength to push the door open, which would be fighting gravity.
She wiped the blood out of her nose and mouth, wincing at the pain in her face. Definitely broken.
One. Two. Three.
She held her gun in her left hand and grabbed the handle with her dominant right, then pushed the door up with all her strength. Her arm ached, the stitches in her arm pulling as her muscles tightened, fighting to keep the door from slamming back down on her head.
She wanted to throw herself over the top of the car, where Jim wouldn’t be able to get as clear a shot. If she could just use the car as a shield ...
She pulled herself up with her left arm and almost dropped her gun. Her right arm shook as the door wanted to close on her. She didn’t dare look up the embankment, she had to do this fast, clean.
A gunshot cut through the afternoon.
She wasn’t hit, and she didn’t dare stop. She slid over the top of her car. She let go of the door and thought she’d cleared it when it slammed down on her ankle.
She heard her bone crack.
The pain was worse than the damn bullet two days ago.
She pulled her foot out, tears burning her eyes, and fell into the water, the roof blocking her from the embankment. Her right foot burned in pain, and she was standing nearly waist-deep in the river. Her left foot was sinking into the muddy bottom.
She peered over the back of her car. The glare from the sun distorted her vision—or maybe that was from the airbag. Maybe she had a concussion. Two men stood on the shoulder of River Road. The taller man was Jim.
And she recognized the other man, standing to the right of Jim.
Sergei Rykov.
Both of them held a gun.
***
“Something’s wrong,” Matt said. “Her phone is going straight to voice mail.” He looked at his watch. “She was supposed to be here five minutes ago. Something happened.”
Dean was on the phone. “This is Hooper. I need a location on an asset. Her number is 916-555-3436.” He said to Matt, “Give me two minutes.”
Matt didn’t want to wait two minutes, but he didn’t have a choice.
He heard a distant gunshot.