Angi Morgan - Hill Country Holdup

Tell him.

The nagging voice kept pestering her to tell Steve he was Rory’s father. But how? It wasn’t possible on the back of a Jet Ski. She’d missed the opportunity to calmly inform him. He already thought she was half-crazy and would never believe she was telling the truth.

Jane had no choice but to trust that he’d help. She had to get to San Antonio and find Rory. Then she’d worry about telling Steve everything she should have a long time ago.

TRAVELING THROUGH A thunderstorm that could be classified as a mild monsoon and getting to safety should have been the most important things on Steve’s mind. Well, they were priorities. Along with dodging the debris swept downstream by the Colorado River. He jerked the Jet Ski around another bobbing tree limb as thick as his thigh.

But Jane hung right there at the top of his problems. She hadn’t moved an inch, still hugging his waist as tight as when they’d started out. He wanted to reassure her.

Better to just concentrate on getting across the lake.

It would be safer to stay near shore, but that wasn’t an option. Too much debris, too much shoreline, too little gas. He knew of one possible evacuation site—the dam on the southwestern point of a hundred miles of shoreline. It was the only place people were still likely to be, and high enough that cars could still get to the roads.

It might as well have been pitch-dark for all the visibility he had, so he crept along like an old hound dog hunting for a scent. With no windshield on the Jet Ski, not even fools took these machines out in a mild rain. Especially with no life vests. The dang things had floated away before he could get to the boathouse.

Jane should have stayed at his parents’ home where she’d be safe. But he couldn’t risk making a mistake that might cost them finding her son. She would never forgive him.

He could beat himself up all day. It wouldn’t do any good. They’d find Rory, the Brant kid and the money. He spied an unidentifiable floating object ahead and released the throttle.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked, shouting into the wind.

“Nothing. We’re fine.” They bumped into a lounge chair cushion and Steve pushed it away with his foot. He wiped the water from his face using the tail of his wet T-shirt and flexed his stiff fingers several times. “You doing okay?”

“How far do you think we’ve come?”

“A couple of miles.”

“I’m glad you can make out where we’re going. I can’t see a thing.”

Little did she know he couldn’t see anything, either. He steered as best he could, keeping the cascade over his right shoulder. If the wind direction and slant of the rain were consistent, he just might manage to get them to the other end of the lake.

There wasn’t much room on the seat. Reaching behind him with one hand, he scooted Jane’s hips closer to his own. Half of him was glad for the close contact. The same half that loved the crazy thump-thump-thump his heart made whenever they were together. The other half kicked himself for letting her come along.

“Ready?” he asked, leaning forward to grab the throttle again.

“Yeah.”

Jane’s arms tightened once more, and she placed her face against his shirt. Back in his life a few hours, she made him feel more alive with one casual touch than any rush his current life provided.

Steve braced himself. He couldn’t turn and avoid an impact with the object in front of him. The Jet Ski rammed into a log and the side of his head slammed into the handle. He lost his grip and flew off the seat.

Water rushed up to meet him. He lost all sense of direction and inhaled a gallon of water as he sank deeper each second.

Some long-forgotten training finally clicked on in his subconscious. He fought the impulse to save all his air and let some go, watching the bubbles rise. He kicked his legs hard and struggled back to precious air on the surface. A weight pulled at his midsection, making it more difficult to stay above the water.

He had to hurry and began to pull himself through the rough waves. He couldn’t lose the Jet Ski several yards away.

His eyes stung from the water and the rain made it more difficult to see. He could breathe again, but just barely with whatever was jerking him down.

God, the weight was Jane.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.