The two men were moving closer together—for a hookup?—as David slipped his arm through Olivia’s and steered them back toward the triton fountain. He resisted turning around for several seconds, leaning in like a lover, but when he listened hard, he could hear the sound of footsteps on gravel.
And when he did turn, he could see the two men casually sauntering after them. It was no time to take a chance.
“Run,” he said, releasing Olivia’s hand. “Run!”
They both took off, racing around the fountain and down the darkened path.
When David glanced back, he couldn’t see the pursuers anymore. But he could hear the sound of twigs snapping, leaves crumbling, and footsteps pounding on the cold, hard soil near the trail.
Olivia, in her sneakers, was running at a good clip, and David made sure to stay close by her side.
But he had the feeling that the guys chasing them were loping along on either side, hidden by the trees and brush, and intent only on blocking their exit from the park.
“Where to?” Olivia panted.
And that was when David spotted the separate trail leading down to the boathouse and pointed at it.
Olivia abruptly veered off, down the sloping path to the lake, her arms spread out to maintain her balance, and David followed her. He didn’t see anyone behind them, but he was sure that they would figure out what had happened in a few seconds—if they hadn’t already.
A string of forlorn white lights dangled around the eaves of the boathouse, but the door was shut and the shutters drawn. A little wooden gate blocked the pier; Olivia vaulted it easily, with David hot on her heels. Three or four old rowboats bobbed in the black water.
“Get in the boat!” David said. “The one at the end!”
Without missing a step, Olivia ran down the wooden pier and jumped into the boat. As David hastily untied the rope, she straightened out the oars. He thought about untying the other boats and setting them adrift, but before he could do it he saw the man in the peacoat skittering down the hill, with something that looked suspiciously like a gun glinting in his hand.
“Row!” David said, and she had no sooner dipped the oars in the water than David leapt off the pier, landing with a thud and knocking her backwards off the thwart. The boat careened away from the dock with the two of them tangled on its floor.
David heard one of the men shout to the other.
Slinging the valise off his shoulder, he scrambled over Olivia, and grabbed for the oars.
He could hear the thumping of feet racing down the pier.
Bending low, he put his back into it, and pulled hard. The boat skimmed forward into the dark, the oars creaking in their locks. As soon as he’d managed to raise them from the water, he pulled again, starting to get the rhythm of it. The two men were shouting at each other, in a language he didn’t understand, and although it was too dark to see what they were doing, he could hear the splash of a rope being flung into the water and the hollow clunk of a prow banging against the pier.
He dipped the paddles again, wishing he could somehow do it more quietly, and saw an orange spark ignite from the direction of the dock. A bullet plowed into the water near the stern. Olivia, crouching low, said, “David, keep your head down!”
Another spark ignited, with only the slightest phht, and this time a splinter of wood exploded off the rim of the boat.
David knew they were just shooting at the sound of the oars—out here on the lake, it was almost pitch-black—but if he didn’t keep moving, they might catch up.
“David, what can I do?” Olivia said. “How can I help?” In her voice, he heard more anger than fear.
He didn’t know what to tell her. He pulled again, but it was hard to row without sitting up and exposing himself to another wild shot. And no matter how carefully he dipped the oars, they squeaked in their locks and came up dripping.
There was another flash in the night, that one closer, and the bullet cracked into the back of the boat, flinging a powdery dust into the air. David wondered when they might lower their sights enough to put a bullet into the boat below the waterline.
“David, let me row for a while!” Olivia whispered. “I can do it.”
But David shook his head and asked her if she could swim.
“Of course I can swim.”
“Then take off your coat—it will weigh you down—and get ready to.”
He let go of the oars—already his hands were starting to ache—fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, and turned it on.
“You see the boathouse?” he said. From the lake, they were the only lights visible. “Swim back there.”
But she paused. “Only if you will, too.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Get going!”
Dropping her coat and kicking off her sneakers, she rolled over the edge of the boat and into the water. Once he was sure she was well away, he bent double and quickly pulled the oars through the water three or four times, putting some distance between them and their pursuers.
The gun blazed again, and the bullet clanged off the oarlock with a shower of white sparks before ricocheting into the darkness.