Текст книги "Midnight Secrets "

Автор книги: Lisa Marie Rice

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Eleven

“Comms check, again,” Joe ordered.

Isabel didn’t complain, didn’t roll her eyes. As if she’d been an undercover agent for the past ten years, she simply ran through their systems one more time. The tenth time. Eyes focused, no wasted movements, completely serious.

An operator.

“Check,” Felicity said.

Okay. It was late afternoon and they were in the back of Three Windows and Jacko’s friend had been absolutely ace. They had the placed fully wired. Nothing was going to happen that they didn’t know about. Joe had personally tested the metal detector at the front door, going through again and again with a weapon, with a knife, with knuckle-dusters. You couldn’t tell it was a metal detector and what he was carrying only showed up on Felicity’s screen at the back.

The metal detector worked.

If the fucker showed up with a fucking metal toothpick Joe was going to be all over him, he didn’t give a fuck if he blew the op.

The place was positively seeded with mini-mikes, almost invisible, incredibly powerful. Several were going to be piped into Bud Morrison’s office, an ASI friend. Former marine, now head of the homicide department and slated to become police commissioner soon.

Bud was chomping at the bit, as was Nick. Neither of them was territorial, either. Both of them just wanted to take that fucker down. They didn’t care who got the credit.

This was a team just raring to go. Even ex-CIA guy was communicating with Felicity via computer.

Everything depended on Isabel. He shot her a glance. The hot sexy woman he’d made love to last night was gone. In her place was a serious woman willing to risk her life to bring a criminal down.

They’d gone over the plan again and again and she knew every step, every facet. She’d had Felicity walk her through the eyes and ears they’d have until she understood everything.

Nick had given her an intro into interrogation techniques and she’d absorbed them quietly. They’d gone through a number of scenarios and in each one, she kept her cool.

Jacko and Metal were the designated shooters. If Blake so much as touched Isabel they would shoot to maim and stop, not kill. That was a collective decision and Isabel had been hotly opposed to it. She had a shoot to kill policy and it had taken a lot of talking to bring her down.

She accepted the reasoning—he needed to be alive so he could be interrogated about the conspiracy, so he could name names, so he could point fingers at the moles that had to exist in the US government for something like this to work. She accepted the reasoning but she didn’t like it.

Isabel looked calm and ready but Joe knew she was out for blood and that scared him. The only thing he could do was be ready to jump in and protect her. That was his designated role. He’d be in the open, just another guy in the bar situated way across the room, to the left. Drinking a beer, back to the room, seemingly absorbed in his tablet just like any other guy watching a game. What he’d be watching was Isabel. There was a camera trained right on her face. They’d worked it out so he had a clear view of everything, down to her eyelashes. It was the only way he could be persuaded to not be sitting next to her.

“Ten mikes,” Nick’s calm voice sounded in his earbud. Ten minutes to the arrival of Blake. The earbud was invisible. On Joe’s screen, Isabel blinked three times. A prearranged signal for everything’s okay. Blink twice and Joe was pulling his Glock from his shoulder holster, turning and shooting the fuck’s brains out from across the room. No, he told himself. As satisfactory as it would be to paint the walls with the inside of Blake’s head, he wouldn’t shoot to kill. Wouldn’t. No, sir.

Nick was with Felicity in Jacko’s friend’s office, monitoring everything. He’d brought along handcuffs, just waiting for Blake to slip up.

Joe watched Isabel’s face on his iPad. Before an op he was as focused as a human could get. Focused but with situational awareness. He realized finally that he was completely out of the game because he found it hard to tear his eyes from her face. It was the face of his future.

He was going to grow old with this woman. He was going to have kids with her, a family, and they’d eat really, really well for all the years of their lives. He’d work for ASI because they were great but they wouldn’t have every part of him the way the navy had. Because his heart belonged to Isabel.

He shook himself. This op was the most important one of his life because his life was sitting quietly on a chair near the window waiting to accuse a monster of mass murder and treason. A man like that would have no problems killing Isabel.

So he had to stop thinking of her and go over lines of fire and escape routes in his head.

“Five mikes.”

So far everything had gone smooth as shit through a goose. Joe had been by her side when she took Blake’s call at ASI. Felicity had routed it so that it looked like her cell was being used in her house.

When Blake had called, Isabel had been brilliant. She sounded flustered, depressed. Bathroom pipes broken, water everywhere. Let’s meet somewhere nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve been anywhere nice. Hotel Monaco? No, it’s really busy. Let’s meet at this nice restaurant I know, Three Windows. In an hour. I’ll finish up here and meet you there.

“Contact,” Nick said quietly in his ear and sure enough, on Joe’s monitor the tall, very elegant figure of Hector Blake appeared in the doorway and walked over to Isabel. The metal detector didn’t register any weaponry.

He was wearing a full length black overcoat and a black fedora, sunglasses. A thick scarf covered the bottom of his face.

Joe shifted uneasily. If he didn’t take that scarf off there would be no facial recognition possible.

He stopped by Isabel’s table, sat down, took her hand. They were talking. Isabel looked so sad, so vulnerable.

Joe’s skin prickled.

And then the lights went out. His tablet went dark.

* * *

“Hello, Isabel,” Hector Blake said as he stood next to her.

During the planning, Isabel had promised herself she would remain cool, not go for his throat. Not stare at him with hatred. And while promising herself that, she hoped she could do it.

She could. She could stay in character.

She gave a small smile, dipping her head. Sad Isabel, seeing an old family friend. “Hello, Uncle Hector. Nice to see you.”

He sat across from her, without taking off his hat or unwinding his scarf. A prickle of alarm ran through her. If he was planning on staying only a few minutes she wouldn’t have time to get him to incriminate himself.

“You’re not staying?” she asked, indicating hat and scarf.

He didn’t answer. He simply reached across for her hand. Oh. So this was how they were going to play it? Dear Uncle Hector, holding her hand while saying all over again how sorry he was she’d lost her family?

He held her hand in his gloved one, palm up, thumb over her inner wrist.

“Your heart is racing,” he said, with a cold smile. “You know, don’t you?”

Oh. So that was how it was going to be.

“Yes.” She gave him the cool smile right back. “I know everything. And you’re not getting away with it.” Her smile broadened. “Guaranteed.”

The lights went out.

Isabel looked around briefly and felt something cold against her wrist. She looked down and saw a white ceramic knife with a very sharp blade pressed against the inside of her wrist. Held by Hector in such a way that with one swipe he could slice right through the artery. She’d bleed out in seconds.

She looked back up into that face, not bothering to hide her hatred anymore. She could barely see him. It was dark in the restaurant, people murmuring, stirring. She blinked twice.

“I am getting away with it. I’m not here at all. I have all sorts of people back in Washington willing to swear in court that I am there. Not that it will ever come to that, of course.”

“People know you are here.”

“Yes?” He looked around. “I don’t see anyone I know. If you have friends who are watching this over a video feed, too bad. Because I just killed everything with a chip in a hundred-yard radius. Nothing is being recorded, nothing will be recorded and you—” He pressed down hard on the sharp knife and she felt him slice through the skin. Blood welled up at the knife’s edge. “You are coming with me.”

“No.” She looked up steadily at him.

“Developed a backbone, have we?” Hector murmured, words muffled by the scarf. “Be the first one in your family. Just so you know, I have a sniper watching through night vision optics and he can see perfectly clearly. The first person who comes up to you gets one right through the head. Maybe a waiter, maybe someone you’ve recruited, maybe even a friend, but someone gets killed. So move.”

Joe was seconds from running over to her.

Heart thudding, Isabel stood.

Hector was good. He managed to keep the knife at her wrist without it looking awkward. They walked to the door and Isabel kept her gaze down, at the floor. A sign she desperately hoped Joe would interpret as stay away!

Hector had already cost her everyone she loved. Mother, father, brothers. Aunts, uncles, cousins. She wasn’t going to give him Joe, too. Not sweet, brave Joe. She’d rather die herself.

It was dark inside the restaurant and outside, too. No lights at all. If Joe was coming out, he was coming out blind. He’d shown her night vision and she knew that whoever was out there with a sniper rifle could see just fine, and they were blind.

Whatever Hector’s plan was, though, Joe and his guys were smarter.

They were crossing the threshold of the restaurant, Hector pushing open the door into the cold night. Behind her, restaurant patrons were murmuring. She knew her team would be scrambling to deal with the situation.

“Forget about anyone coming after you,” Hector said, bending toward her. An uncle out with his beloved niece. “I just set off a limited EMP. That same EMP that killed video cameras and cell phones and any tracking devices you might have on you? It also killed any vehicles with electric circuitry. But I have acquired a vehicle that doesn’t have electronic circuitry. Ah, here we are.”

A dilapidated van screeched into the driveway, backed up. The rear doors opened and before Isabel could react, she was shoved inside and Hector climbed up next to her.

The doors were pulled shut and she bounced against the hard steel wall as the van took a corner and sped away.

Hector was wrapping something soft around her wrists in a figure eight. He knotted the ends and let her go. She tried to free herself but they were like handcuffs, only soft.

The van was moving fast. Every few minutes the driver took a sharp turn. She was lost in minutes.

Hector was looking out the back window with binoculars. “Don’t even think of trying to get away, my dear.” He put the binoculars down and spoke to the driver. “Nobody following us. We’re clear.”

She was trapped in a van with a man who wanted to kill her. Who had killed her entire family. Nobody knew where she was and no one could find her.

Hector was going to win this.

* * *

“Fuck!” Joe wanted to scream but he knew he couldn’t. Silence on an op had been beaten into him. He was blind. And deaf, he discovered as he tapped his earbud and got a whole lot of nothing. Complete silence. He couldn’t go running toward Isabel in the restaurant, that would tip Blake off.

What was happening out there?

Joe had to find out the old-fashioned way. By looking. Actual looking with his actual eyes because sure as fuck his electronic eyes were shot to hell.

He peered around a corner, trying to find Isabel and Blake in the sudden gloom in the restaurant. People were standing up, having patiently waited for the lights to come on. Now that they weren’t, they were getting agitated.

With the restaurant-goers milling around he couldn’t see the table at the front windows where Isabel sat. He moved through the diners as quickly and unobtrusively as he could, head on a swivel and as he moved toward the windows he saw Isabel and Blake outside. Who knew what he’d done to convince her to go with him but the fucker was wrong if he thought he was going to be able to kidnap Isabel.

In a fury, Joe took off, but in the darkness, a couple stumbled in his way and by the time he’d shoved them aside, Isabel was gone. Gone. In an old van with mud on the license plate, red brake lights winking as it took a corner. It had come racing to the entrance and in a second, Blake had pushed Isabel in then climbed in after her.

He hadn’t had a straight shot otherwise he’d have killed the fucker.

Joe raced to the back where the crew was.

“She’s gone!” he shouted.

Felicity slammed her computer shut. “Damn thing is fried. All comms are down. Must have been some kind of limited EMP. If he killed my computer, he’s going to be sorry.”

Metal and Jacko ran in, grim-faced, carrying their rifles. “Our vehicles won’t start,” Jacko growled.

Joe punched a wall. “Contact Bud Morrison! Get a description of that van out in a BOLO!”

Jacko’s friend Chuck, the owner of the restaurant, held up his hands. “Guys, sorry. The cells are fried and I don’t have a landline. The nearest public pay phone is a mile away. East to Stone Avenue. We’re completely cut off here. And I gotta get out there and deal with the customers.”

Joe was clenching his jaws so hard it hurt. Even running, it would take them minutes—minutes they didn’t have—to get to the public pay phones. By then Blake would be long gone. Joe had no doubt that they’d be finding Isabel’s dead body somewhere far away, on some roadside, tumbled down a remote hillside or fished out of the river.

He’d never felt so fucking frustrated. On any op there was always something you could do. But now? Any step could be wrong, waste precious time. It scared the hell out of him.

For the very first time since he signed up to be a warrior, he didn’t know what to do.

Metal and Jacko and Nick were looking at him, all three of them with their useless cells in hand. Felicity was looking at him, too, fingers touching the closed cover of her useless laptop.

Time was rushing by like a flood, Isabel was getting farther and farther from him with every passing second and he didn’t know what the fuck to do!

A vehicle slewed to a stop outside the back room, in the loading area, spewing gravel. It was ancient—with more primer than paint, two dented fenders. A jalopy.

A man got out, tall, with dirty blond dreadlocks. He was moving fast and Joe drew his weapon. The man had an athlete’s body but he looked like a homeless person, clothes rags, boots ancient. Hands and face grimy with dirt. And with a lump on his hip under the filthy long overcoat.

Was he sent by Blake?

“Hold it right there! Hands up!” Joe held his Glock two-handed at chest level. If this guy was sent by Blake he was going to kill him where he stood, homeless or not. The guy wasn’t raising his hands. “There are two snipers behind me. You reach for your weapon you’re a dead man.”

The man was frowning. “Goddammit, we don’t have time for this shit! You let them take Isabel! She’s getting farther from us every damned second.”

Joe lowered his weapon.

The bum glared at Joe. “Name’s Jack Delvaux. I’m Isabel’s brother and you’ve been talking to me on the computer. Blake must have used a miniature, controlled-pulse EMP so whatever tags you put on Isabel are useless. But I’ve got a hardened tag on that fucker Blake, so you and your friends hop in, we’re going after the son of a bitch.”

* * *

“You’re never going to get away with this.” Isabel kept her voice steady as she rode in the back of the van on a bench set along the side. Hector had been leaning forward conferring with the driver. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the loud engine noise of the ancient vehicle.

Hector’s eyebrows rose as he looked back at her. “Oh, but I am going to get away with it. As I told you, I’m in Washington, DC, right now.” He sat back down next to her. “You’ve been rich all your life so you should know this. Money can buy a lot of things, a lot of people.”

“And you’ve made plenty of money,” she spat.

“Plenty, yes. With more to come. But that won’t concern you, my dear, because you’ll have taken your own life. Poor, broken Isabel checked into a cheap motel and took enough pills to kill a horse.”

She tried to still her hammering heart. He sounded so certain, so matter of fact. But he couldn’t fake her suicide, could he? “People know I’m with you.”

Blake shook his head. “People know you’re with someone. Maybe an old lover, maybe the guy who filled your prescriptions for you. All anyone knows—if they even saw it in the dark—is that you willingly went with someone and drove away. No one could possibly know it’s me. And I put out a small electromagnetic pulse and anything with a chip is fried. My hat—” he tipped the brim of the fedora, dark eyes sardonic, “—has infrared lights in the brim. In case the cameras caught my face for one second before everything was switched off, all theyd get was a glow. I wore gloves. Even if someone saw me all they could say was that they saw a man in a black coat, hat, dark glasses and a scarf over the bottom half of his face. No one could possibly recognize me.

“My friends will know I didn’t kill myself! You’re crazy! They won’t rest until they get the truth.”

“Your friends can make all the noise they want. You checked into the motel under your own name with your own credit card, records showing you bought a huge stash of pills back in Washington, DC, will be uncovered. You tried to build a new life for yourself in Portland, but sadly that didn’t work out. You decided to end it once and for all. The autopsy will show a lethal dosage of a commonly prescribed antidepressant in your system. No signs of violence. Oh, and there will be some very sad—very, very sad entries in your journal and in your computer. No, my dear. No one will question this and if they do, we can buy the coroner, any PI they hire, any investigative journalist. We have more money than God.”

Smug and composed, he leaned forward once again to talk to his thug.

Isabel tried to think against the rising panic. He couldn’t possibly get away with this! Could he? But then, he’d gotten away with the Massacre. He’d hidden in plain sight. The worst terrorist attack on US soil since 9/11 and no one had a clue who had orchestrated it.

Three trillion dollars had been drained from the economy, which was enough to buy off every single government bureaucrat in the chain. Of course Joe and his friends couldn’t be bought, not for anything. Nick couldn’t be bought off. And the way they spoke of him, neither could their cop friend, Bud Morrison, be bought. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered and the murderer got away free.

They’d raise a fuss and maybe some journalist or blogger would mention her.

But in the meantime, she’d be dead.

A suicide.

But—for it to be a plausible suicide by ingesting pills, the body had to show no signs of violence. If there were signs of violence on her body, even the most corrupt cop would have to investigate.

Violence like—

She banged her head against the van wall, once, twice. She changed the angle and banged her head hard against a bolt and felt skin tear. It hurt but being dead was worse. She beat her head, her shoulder against the wall, tearing at the soft fabric holding her wrists together, twisting them so that her hands started turning blue from lack of circulation.

She kicked her ankle, hard, against the bench they were sitting on. So hard blood showed through her pant leg. She kicked again.

“Hey!” Hector looked astonished. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ankles, head, hands. She banged her shoulder against the van wall, over and over again, raking her hands over a nail, writhing, kicking. She was in a frenzy now. If they were going to kill her then by God no one was going to think she’d killed herself. No way.

She launched herself at Hector, biting him, scratching his face. There’d be his DNA under her fingernails. Talk that one away, you son of a bitch!

He understood, and tried to keep her away with his gloved hands but Isabel was having none of it. The point was not getting away. She knew she’d never escape, she could only foil his plans.

This was the man who had killed her family. The most wonderful people in the world and he’d killed them for money! Blood was running over her face from a cut in her forehead. She swiped at it and smeared it on Hector, smeared it on the van’s bench.

He was backing away from her but there was no room to avoid her. A low inhuman growl escaped her throat as she beat her bound fists against him, getting in close and unstoppable.

Screams of rage came from her throat now as she kicked, swung her fists, turned her fingers into claws, bit away a chunk of his cheek.

Blood. She tasted his blood and it drove her insane. He should bleed and he should die!

They tumbled around the back of the van as it turned corners fast, sometimes sliding on the icy roads. That was fine, that was great. The more bruises the better. She lunged forward and her elbow caught the driver on the side of the head.

“Hey!” The driver turned, eyes wide and white in the darkness. Isabel turned on him, too. He was perfectly willing to kill her and she was perfectly willing to hurt him. She shoved one foot in Blake’s face and grabbed the driver’s arm.

“You crazy, lady?” His voice was high-pitched, scared. She was right behind him, he couldn’t see her in the rearview mirror, so he was driving with his head on a swivel, watching the road and trying to see the crazy lady behind him. “The fuck? We’re on a fucking bridge, you want us to go over?”

Yes! A voice roared in her head. Explain that to the police!

She launched herself so that she was facedown on the passenger seat, Blake pulling at her legs, the driver trying to punch her but she was unpunchable. She was Isabel the unpunchable, the unstoppable, full of rage, out for revenge.

The overhead streetlights of the bridge lit the driver’s face then left it in darkness and each time it light up he looked more desperate, more wild. His one-handed punches had no effect. She could feel the van sliding on the street and with one last lunge—this one’s for you, Mom and Dad, Teddy and Rob and Jack—she pulled the steering wheel as hard as she could to the right and felt something crunch against the fender and then they were sailing, flying out into the night.

Hector and the driver screamed and Isabel savored their fear, but not for long because the van hit the surface of the river and started sinking.

* * *

The old jalopy pulled away before Joe could even get the door closed.

The car was filled with gear. The homeless guy dumped a small monitor and IR binocs in Joe’s lap. There were handguns and four Maglites in the footwell.

“Watch the screen,” he said.

Joe looked but couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. The man—Jack Delvaux—gave a disgusted noise. “I can’t believe my sister picked such a moron. Look at it, goddamned you! Blake had access to a small EMP generator, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We had intel that the Chinese had come up with something like this only we’d never seen it. But I had a hardened tracker embedded in a plastic that is indistinguishable from human skin and I slapped it onto Blake’s neck. It’s functional. Check that green dot.”

Joe looked down and sure enough, a green dot was running along the river.

“They won’t know we can follow them.” Jack looked briefly over his shoulder. “You two, you’re shooters, right?”

Metal and Jacko nodded. Metal aimed a thumb at Jacko. “He’s the best shot we’ve got. But I’m a medic, too. If anything happens to Isabel, I’m there.”

If anything happens to Isabel. Code for Isabel being shot to death, knifed to death, strangled... A pulse of fear so strong it bathed his body in sweat went through Joe’s system.

Jack shifted his eyes without moving his head. “You. Joe. Former navy SEAL. Keep your fucking head in the fucking game. That’s my sister and we’re bringing her back. Alive.”

“Yeah.” His voice was so hoarse he could hardly talk.

“Believe it. See it, live it.”

Jacko punched Joe’s shoulder from the backseat. Hard. “Yo. I can’t believe you’re letting a CIA punk give you a pep talk. ‘Smatter with you?”

“Help me on this, Joe,” Jack said, watching the road ahead. “I can’t do this without your help and the help of your friends.”

And just like that, Joe’s head was back in the game. Isabel was in danger and she needed him to be coolheaded. She needed him to be an operator, she didn’t need this sweating terrified man. He blew out a breath and checked the monitor.

“Two blocks up, turn right. Then three blocks down turn left. If you go fast we can catch up.”

Jack’s lips pressed together and he pushed on the accelerator so hard it was like being in a rocket. The car looked like it had been rescued from the junk heap but man it was eating up the miles. They were breaking every speed law on the books, but Joe leaned forward, willing it to go faster. To catch up with Isabel, in the hands of a murderer.

“How come this car works when ours don’t?” Metal asked.

“I bought it for cash and had it tuned,” Jack said. “It’s all mechanical. I have been pretending to be homeless and at times I slept in it, but it’s a real lucky break because Blake’s EMP killed everything that has electronics within a hundred, hundred fifty yards. He’s driving a van that doesn’t have electronic components either. I parked a block down, anyway. So my car and my gear work.”

And his foresight might save Isabel’s life.

“So,” Joe said, glancing over. Beneath the filthy dreadlocks, stubble and grime, he could see the resemblance. “Isabel’s brother.”

“Yep.”

“Thought you were dead.”

“So did Blake. That was the point. And I had to stay dead. If Isabel knew I was alive, she wouldn’t be able to hide it. I’ve been investigating, but I don’t have proof yet. But I will. There are other people involved in this and they are not done yet.”

“How’d you hide for six months?”

Jack flashed a grim smile and pointed to himself. “You’d be surprised how invisible the homeless are. That’s how I slapped that tracker onto Blake. Pretended to be a homeless vet at a rally, he had to shake my hand. Looked right into my eyes and he didn’t recognize me. Didn’t even really see me. Where are they?”

“Turn this corner and—” Joe looked up and saw the outline of an ancient van. “There it is!”

Impossibly, Jack stepped on the accelerator harder and they shot forward. “We need to be careful, I don’t want Isabel hurt.”

Joe lifted the IR binocs to his eyes. “I see them,” he reported. “Three outlines. Isabel is sitting on a bench.” Shoulders slumped. In the hands of the enemy. She had no idea they were coming after her. She thought she was alone, abandoned. On her way to her death.

Hang on, honey. Just hang on a little while longer, we’re coming for you.

“Where’s Blake?” Jack asked.

“Sitting next to her,” he answered. “And Isabel is—” He stopped. What was he seeing? The red outlines that were heat images were churning.

“Isabel is what?” Jack shouted.

“Fighting,” Joe replied, surprised the word came out. It felt like there were rocks in his throat. “She’s fighting Blake and—oh God.” He watched as she beat at Blake with handcuffs or restraints on her wrists, then started whaling on the driver. He was torn between cheering her on and screaming at her to stop it. They were undoubtedly armed. What the fuck was she thinking?

Though she was magnificent.

The van ahead fishtailed.

“She’s fighting the driver.” Joe couldn’t take his eyes from the binocs. It was like watching a train wreck.

The van swerved onto the other lane, then veered back into the right-hand lane. Isabel was a red-gold ninja, limbs moving almost too quickly to follow in the IR lenses, so quickly her movements left a red-gold trail, like manifestations of ghosts.

The van turned into the Morrison Bridge, wobbling. Thank God there was very little traffic on the roads.

“What?” Jack asked urgently. “What’s happening?”

“She’s putting up a real fight,” Joe said, terrified, trying to keep the pride out of his voice. “She’s got her head real close to the driver’s face. I think, um...” He held the monitor up to try to decipher what was going on. Isabel’s and the driver’s heads together formed one big red-yellow blob. Isabel pulled away and the driver took a hand off the wheel to place it against his head. “I think she bit him. Or kissed him.”

One or the other.

The van swerved again only instead of righting itself, it curved even farther to the right.

“Hey!” Joe shouted at the driver of the van. “You crazy fuck! You’re going to go off the bridge!”

The van speeded up as it rammed the bridge spars, broke through them and plunged straight down into the cold water of the river.

“Stop the car!” Joe screamed.

Jack stood on the brakes and Joe opened the door before it came to a complete halt. He studied the black water as he tore his boots and jacket off, figuring out his moves, figuring out how to get to Isabel because not saving her was not an option. He was either going to come up with Isabel or he wasn’t coming up at all.

He’d clocked in four and a half minutes underwater during training but only after super oxygenating and not moving in the water. On a rescue mission he could last two minutes, tops. That wasn’t important, though. The only important thing was how long Isabel could last.

He only had time to pull in two deep breaths, filling his lungs up completely with air then exhaling deeply by the time he stood on the edge of the bridge where the van had crashed through the barrier.

Isabel was a civilian and civilians didn’t last long underwater. She’d be terrified and panicky and flailing. She’d last thirty-forty seconds before she tried to pull in a terrified breath and breathed water. At least the water was freezing cold which slowed things down a little. Make that fifty seconds, tops.

Joe started the clock in his head as he stood barefoot on the edge of the bridge just long enough to calculate the entry point of the dive.