Her leg was in the frigid water and Billy’s weight inexorably pulled her downward, within the yawning hole where he was sinking, intent on taking her with him.
“Regan! Hold on!”
Santana? Oh, please . . .
With a last frantic tug, Billy yanked Regan into the lake’s dark, icy depths . . .
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CHOSEN TO DIE
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“No!” Santana ran, slipped, slid, across the ice. He saw the struggle, watched in horror as Billy Hicks, holding fast to Regan’s ankle, dragged her into the water. “Oh, God, no!” The ice was solid where he was, but as he ran toward the hole he saw the splinters, the deadly gashes spreading the snow apart, allowing water to surface.
He had to get to her. Had to save her.
Tossing down the useless guns, he stripped off his jacket and beelined toward the shifting, dark waters. Overhead a helicopter flew low. The police! Thank God!
“Stand down, Santana!” he heard from overhead, the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize on a bull horn, screaming over the whomp, whomp, whomp of rotors. “Nate Santana, stand down!”
He reached the edge of the hole and dived in. She was drowning, thrashing, fighting the madman in the water. He struck her and she flung a hand at him, only to miss, to tangle her hand in the rope that was uncoiling in the darkness. Overhead there was light, distorted and broken through the ice. They’d been sucked away from the hole, were doomed to die.
Billy came close again and she took the screwdriver from her pocket. As if in slow motion, she swung, the Phillips head driving hard into his eye. Blood spurted and plumed in the water.
Regan kicked away, her lungs on fire, the water a smear of blood. She couldn’t hold on. Couldn’t reach the surface no matter how hard she kicked. It’s over, she thought wildly. Billy’s prediction is 444
Lisa Jackson
true. Adrenaline caused her to kick hard, but her lungs, oh, God, her lungs were about to explode!
She thought of Bianca, on the cusp of womanhood. Oh, baby, I didn’t mean to abandon you . . . I love you . . .
And Jeremy . . .
And Nate . . .
Her lungs were stretched to the limit, every air sac within feeling as if it would burst. Pain, searing and hot, cut through her. She let out a breath, air bubbles rising. A bit of relief.
Don’t give up! Don’t! Fight. For your kids! For San- tana! You have too much to live for. But the pain . . .
More bubbles.
Billy, like an octopus in a sea of his own ink, was struggling wildly, but he was drifting away, from her, from the rope . . .
She let out another breath.
Felt light-headed.
This is it . . .
Her arm, the one twisted in the rope, was being pulled and her last grim thought was that Billy Hicks, the Star-Crossed Killer, had bound her with his deadly rope as surely as if he’d lashed her to a tree.
She let out her final breath and felt her lungs start to fill.