Cheryl Tardif - Submerged

“Stay in your car!”

“Sorry, John. I can’t do that. Rebecca’s in danger.”

“Wait!”

But he was no longer listening.

Tucking the cell phone into his pocket, Marcus strode up the sidewalk. At first, he figured he’d rush through the front door, but common sense kicked in. What if Walter Kingston had a gun? No. His best chance of saving Rebecca was bringing the element of surprise.

He crept up to the living room window. Lights from the kitchen and a lamp near the door illuminated the room. There was no sign of Walter Kingston. Or Rebecca.

He moved to the front door, turned the knob and let out a soft breath when it opened. Slipping into the house, he eased the door closed. Then he listened. Someone moved at the far end of the house.

With cautious footsteps, he proceeded into the house. From his previous visit, he knew the floor plan. The bedrooms were in the back. That’s where he’d find Kingston and Rebecca.

Passing through the kitchen, he spotted a pill bottle on the counter. It rested on its side, a pile of small blue pills next to it. A kettle next to both.

Shit! He’s drugged her.

As he tiptoed down the hall, Marcus caught sight of Colton’s bedroom. It was exactly like he’d last seen it, with clothing and sporting equipment spread out across the floor—including a worn-out hockey stick.

That’ll do.

He strode into the room, grabbed the stick and continued down the hall, hockey stick raised.

“What are you doing?” he heard Rebecca say from inside her bedroom.

The sounds of her slurred voice combined with running water made Marcus shiver. I’m coming, Rebecca. Hold on.

“Relax, Rebecca,” Walter Kingston replied.

Marcus muffled a curse. Then he stepped up to the bedroom door, which was cracked open an inch, and peered inside. The room was empty, but dancing shadows came from the open doorway into the en suite.

He moved swiftly into the room. He scrutinized his surroundings, desperate to find a way to catch Kingston off guard. He had to get him out of the bathroom, away from Rebecca. How?

A laptop sat on the bed, its screen glowing. Had Kingston caught her in bed checking e-mails?

Marcus approached the laptop, and when he read the document displayed, his stomach clenched. It was a suicide note. From Rebecca. Either Kingston had typed it, or he’d made Rebecca do it.

Splashing sounds came from the bathroom.

“No!” Rebecca cried. “Stop!”

Marcus spun toward the hallway, nearly knocking over the laptop. Forgetting his previous plan to lure Walter Kingston back into the bedroom, he darted toward the doorway.

What he saw made his heart stop.

Rebecca was in the bathtub, fully clothed, while Walter Kingston held her head underwater with one hand. In his other hand, he held a straight blade.

Marcus would have taken a slap shot at the man’s head, but at the sound of footsteps, Kingston whipped around, his eyes locking on Marcus’s, the knife against the back of Rebecca’s neck.

“Let her go!” Marcus shouted. “It’s over, Mr. Kingston. The police are on their way.”

Rebecca’s head was still beneath the water.

“Let Rebecca go,” he said again, moving closer.

Kingston raised the blade. “Stay back! I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t your concern.” He yanked Rebecca’s head up, and she gulped for air. “It’s all her fault.”

Marcus lowered the hockey stick and held his other hand up to stall him. “Listen, Rebecca didn’t do anything other than marry your son.”

“Wesley?” The man sneered. “He’s no son of mine. He’s a weakling.”

“The police know everything. They’ll be here any second. If you step away from her and put the blade down, things won’t get any worse for you.”

“Worse? Tracey is dead. Wesley’s in jail. And that bastard Rufus is probably singing like a fucking canary.” Kingston’s lips thinned. “So, yeah, how could things possibly get worse?” He drew the straight blade underneath Rebecca’s chin and a thin line of blood appeared.

Marcus flinched. “Let Rebecca go, Walter. The kids need her.”

“It’s too late, Mr. Whoever-You-Are.”

“S-superhero,” Rebecca slurred.

Marcus frowned. Kingston must have drugged her first.

As Kingston’s head swiveled toward her, Marcus lunged forward, but Kingston must have heard him because the man twisted around and swiped at him with the knife. The blade slashed across Marcus’s arm, tearing through the fabric of his jacket and slicing through skin. Blood gushed from the wound.

Marcus growled a curse and batted the blade from the man’s hand. It skittered across the floor. Kingston let out a roar and rushed at Marcus, tackling him with startling agility. The hockey stick flew out of Marcus’s hand, and they rolled across the bathroom floor, each struggling to get the upper hand.

Marcus landed a punch to Kingston’s left cheek.

The man went down, but he didn’t stay down. Without warning, Kingston grabbed Marcus and pinned him to the floor.

Before Marcus realized what had happened, the man was on top of him, his hands wrapped around Marcus’s throat, squeezing.

Marcus gasped, and his vision became distorted. Oh God, Rebecca…

He blinked and saw movement by the bath tub.

Then he saw the hockey stick slice through the air. It made a sickening sound as it connected with the back of Kingston’s head. The man’s eyes rolled back and his mouth gaped as if he wanted to say something. Then he slumped forward, his face resting inches from Marcus’s.

Marcus scrambled out from beneath Kingston. Pressing two fingers to the man’s neck, he felt a faint pulse.

“Is he dead?” Rebecca said in a shaky voice.

“No.”

He heard her blow out a pent-up breath. Her shoulders slumped and he reached her as she collapsed on the bloody floor. Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode out of the bathroom and set her down on the bed.

“You think you’ll ever be done rescuing me?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Probably not—if you can’t kick this drug habit you’ve got.” When she stared at him in confusion, he added, “That’s twice now that someone tried to drug you.” He grinned, then gathered her close and kissed her hair. “I thought you were dead.”

“Apparently, I’m not that easy to kill,” she slurred.

They heard shouts coming from the front of the house. The cavalry had arrived.

“Marcus?” someone yelled.

“John Zur,” Marcus said to Rebecca. Then he hollered, “We’re back here! Kingston is down.”

As footsteps thundered down the hall, Rebecca stared at the broken hockey stick on the floor. “I owe Colton a hockey stick.”

He grinned. “We’ll buy him all new gear.”

“You’re bleeding,” she said with a gasp.

He looked down at his arm. A thick trail of blood oozed down his sleeve and dripped onto the floor. “It’s a flesh wound. You aren’t afraid of a little blood, are you?”

When she shook her head, he said, “Good.” Then he hugged her.

After Walter was taken into custody and the house was cleared, Rebecca changed into some warm clothes, then joined Detective Zur and Marcus at the kitchen table. Marcus had already made coffee, and she grabbed a mug and sipped it, fighting back the tears that simmered in her eyes.

“Thank God you didn’t finish the tea,” Marcus said, shaking his head slowly.

Still lightheaded, she glanced at him but said nothing. She knew how close she’d come to death. A few sips more and it would have been lights out. Walter would’ve succeeded in drowning her.