Page 53 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

GWEN

At the dock, I don’t hesitate. The old boards tremble and groan under my feet as I race toward the ancient boats tied up at the end.

I don’t take the time to untie one; instead, I toss the phone into the hull to free up my hands and grab the utility knife from my pocket, severing the rope tethering the sturdiest-looking one to the dock.

I double-check the safety on the gun and slip it into my pocket.

Then, I jump aboard, bracing myself as the rickety boat lurches beneath me.

I jam the knife in the ignition and turn.

It takes several tries before the motor chugs to life.

A sleek motorboat this thing is not. I open the throttle as much as I can, and the engine strains and protests, the boat pulling away at a painfully slow pace.

There’s no sneak approach out here on the lake.

Sound carries over the water, and the moon hangs brightly in the sky overhead.

I point the bow toward the other boat and urge it forward, my heart screaming in my chest. As the engine warms, I pick up speed until I’m moving fast enough that wind tangles my hair.

The light on the other boat grows sharper as I approach.

I can see two figures standing near the stern, one larger than the other, but both little more than shadows.

Still, there’s no question it’s Madison and Sam.

They tussle and grapple with each other as the boat heaves and tips underneath them.

Just when I’m terrified it will tip, dumping both into the frigid water, I hear a gunshot.

The sudden sound of it echoes across the lake’s surface, shattering the night.

My insides seize with panic. I watch helplessly as Sam stumbles back, his hand grabbing for his arm. His foot must catch on something in the bottom of the boat because he’s suddenly teetering, one arm pinwheeling to regain his balance but failing.

He falls, and I hear another loud crack as his head slams against the gunwale. He disappears from view into the boat.

“Sam!” I throttle down and yank the wheel sharply, turning the boat and allowing momentum to carry me sideways toward the other craft, where Madison stands, gun clutched in her hands, the barrel pointed toward where Sam fell.

I pull my own gun, flipping off the safety as I raise it. “Drop it, Madison!”

She spins to face me, the boat teetering at her sudden shift in weight. Her hair is disheveled, and her clothes are dirty and torn. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, her mouth parting slightly in surprise. Then she notices the gun aimed at her chest.

She draws in a sharp breath and swings her arms wide, her gun still gripped in her hands but pointed away from me. “Oh, thank God! Gwen!” She’s practically sobbing.

All I can think about is Sam lying at the bottom of that boat. Shot. Bleeding. I need to get to him. My heart trips against my ribs, panic pressing against my lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

“H-he was trying to kill me,” Madison blubbers .

“Drop the fucking gun!” I scream. I can’t get to Sam while she’s still armed.

She jerks her head back as though she’s been hit. She opens her mouth, seems to think better of whatever she was about to say, and closes it. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses the gun overboard. It hits the water with a splash, and I let out small breath of relief that she didn’t resist.

“Get to the back of the boat,” I order her. “Hands on top of your head.”

“Gwen,” she starts. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not the enemy here. Sam came after me. I swear. He was trying to?—”

I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. “Move!” I growl at her.

She must see the terror and rage on my face because she swallows and nods. Without lowering her arms, she shuffles to the rear of the boat and sits.

It’s the best I’m going to get. Keeping my gun trained on her, I crouch and use my free arm to reach between the boats, grabbing the rail of the other and pulling us together. The sides collide with a screech of metal that sends both vessels tipping.

I get my first glimpse of Sam. He’s lying crumpled in the bow. Blood spills from a wound in his arm and collects in a puddle under his head from where it cracked against the gunwale.

His face is pale. His eyes closed.

He’s not moving.

All the breath leaves my lungs. No! I scream inside. Nonononono . This isn’t happening. He’s not dead. He can’t be. Not after everything we’ve been through together. After everything we’ve survived.

I scuttle into the other boat, dropping to my knee beside him. Trying to keep the gun on Madison, I press my fingers to the side of his throat with my free hand. Please please please please ? —

There’s a pulse. Steady and strong. His chest rises and falls evenly.

He’s alive .

I want to collapse with relief, but I can’t. Instead, I let out a slow, tremulous breath.

“Get us to shore,” I order Madison.

She’s still sitting at the rear of the boat, hands on her head. She doesn’t move. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Gwen. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” I feel my control slipping. “Get this fucking boat started now!”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know how,” she wails.

“Prime the damn engine and pull the cord.”

She hesitates, then scrambles toward the motor.

While she’s focused on that, I try to assess Sam’s wounds, but it’s difficult one-handed.

I glance again toward Madison, still fumbling with the motor.

I calculate the distance between us, trying to determine whether it’s safe for me to set the gun down.

If she lunges at me, can I grab it before she makes it across the length of the boat?

It’s a risk I’m willing to take. My eyes dart between Madison and Sam as I run my hands down his body. I find the wound on his arm—a through-and-through shot up near the shoulder. Not life-threatening.

The real issue is the gash on his head from where he hit the gunwale. I gently probe at the area. The bone feels intact, but it’s a bad sign that he’s still unconscious. His injuries aren’t immediately life-threatening, but he needs a hospital.

“I’m here, Sam,” I murmur, pressing my hand against his forehead. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

I still haven’t heard the cough of the engine and I look back to see what’s taking Madison so long.

She crouches at the stern, tears streaming down her face.

“I can’t,” she sobs. “Sam’s the one who started it the first time.

I’m trying to remember what he did, but something’s wrong with it. I—I think it’s flooded or something.”

I curse under my breath. I consider crawling back there and starting it myself, but my gut tells me to keep my distance.

She’s dangerous—despite her attempts to appear otherwise.

I could try to haul Sam into the boat I used, but I dismiss that idea out of hand. It would be too dangerous and unwieldy.

But that does give me an idea. “Get in the other boat,” I tell Madison.

If I can put some distance between us, I can get to the stern and start the engine.

I can get us to shore and find help for Sam.

It’s a risk, and it might give her a chance to escape, but right now, that’s not my biggest concern. Sam is.

Madison shifts to her knees, hands in front of her, pleading. “You have to listen to me, Gwen. Sam came to my house tonight. He swore he was going to kill me.”

As much as I don’t want to believe her, I realize there’s a solid chance she’s telling the truth.

Not him threatening to kill her, but him going to her house to confront her.

Obviously, whatever plan he had—if he even had one—backfired.

I don’t know how she got the upper hand, but he clearly underestimated her.

If Sam were conscious, I would grab him and ask him what the hell he’d been thinking. Once we get to the hospital and he’s cleared by the doctors, I plan to do just that.

But I have to get him to shore first.

“Get in the other boat,” I tell her again, my voice menacing.

Except she won’t shut up. “He pulled a gun on me, Gwen. He forced me down here. He was going to drown me, just like he did Rowan. I saw him the night she was murdered. Through the window. I was up getting a glass of water and I watched him come home late. I saw the mud on his pants.”

I shake my head. “He had a flat tire,” I tell her, echoing the excuse he’d given me. Even I recognize how lame it sounds. That’s the problem with alibis—sometimes they’re so mundane they seem ridiculous.

“Look.” She shifts, holding up her right leg. There’s a thick rope tied around her ankle. The other end is attached to a concrete block resting in the stern. “He was going to drown me. Why would I do this to myself?”

My throat goes dry. She has a point. I glance at Sam, still unconscious by my side. I watch his chest rise and fall evenly. I know this man. I know his heart. I know he would do anything for our family. The doubts from before nip at the edges of my thoughts.

Could he kill to protect us? Yes.

Would he? Maybe.

That’s the problem, I can’t definitively say he wouldn’t.

But I do know he wouldn’t do it like this. Melvin dumped his victims in a lake after murdering them. Sam would never do anything to echo Melvin. Sam’s not cruel like Melvin was.

Sam isn’t a monster.

“You’re lying,” I spit at her.

She shakes her head. “I swear, I’m not! He was about to throw me in. Just like Rowan. But I was able to get his gun from him. That’s what you saw—me defending myself. You have to believe me, Gwen.” She tugs on the rope. “I wouldn’t do this to myself.”

She’s so convincing with her tangled hair and wide eyes. The expression, the cowering, the crack in her voice, the way her lower lip trembles. She looks young and afraid, and the mother in me wants to go to her, pull her into my arms, and tell her it will be okay.

Except it’s not real. None of it is. I have to remind myself that some of the deadliest creatures in the world are the most beautiful.