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Chapter Three

HUDSON

G unfire echoes in my ears as I reach the spot in the guard railing where a great gaping hole announces my worst fear. I run a hand through my hair, staring at the raging rapids below, the Lincoln already down the river so far I can’t see it.

“Call search and rescue and the coroner’s office,” Officer Maywell grumbles to the deputy standing next to him.

Coroner’s office? The words slam around in my brain, but I can’t grasp them.

“You called in the abduction?” Maywell questions me as I eye the other guy’s name badge. Officer Brooks. Both look resigned to some obvious fate I refuse to accept.

“But aren’t you going down there? The woman,” I scream, shaking my head. I don’t know if it’s creeping cowardice or abject laziness, but their indifferent faces provide a wordless answer.

Sprinting back towards my motorcycle, I ignore their hollering. “Wait, we need to get your statement.”

“I’ll come by the office. Steph can vouch for me,” I roar, starting the engine and racing off.

I need to get down there as fast as possible, mentally calculating where the car may have been swept by the river.

A storm’s moving in with flash flooding alerts.

The timing couldn’t be worse. Yet, I pray that somehow Hadleigh made it out of the car before the falls.

Pulling off at the closest trailhead, providing access to the raging river below, I grab the bugout bag I always keep with me for emergencies. Unrolling and filling it with the provisions from my saddlebags and my firearm, I sprint into the woods.

I clench my teeth as I race to the edge of the gorge, spying fast rapids below. Sheer cliff on both sides greets me as I scan the angry, gray, white-capped water. My stomach drops.

How in the fuck could she possibly survive this?

Ignoring the fatalistic thought, I follow the edge of the steep canyon downhill, scanning the water for signs of the car, the men, or the girl.

Looking back over my shoulder, I visualize where they must’ve dropped down, smashing onto a bed of giant, jutting rocks before the river seized the Lincoln.

Who am I kidding? Her odds of survival are minuscule.

But I can’t stop, driven by the stunning blonde’s haunting last look through the back window of the SUV, palms pressed against the glass.

I’ve only lived in Northern Idaho for the past year, but regular forest parcours pays off as I find footing where none appears to exist, dropping into the bottom and coming to a stop a few feet from the rapids.

I immediately regret the loss of my bird’s-eye view as the enormity of the untamed landscape crushes me.

Hadleigh’s a needle in a vast, unending haystack.

I trek along the riverbank, surveying the surrounding landscape.

I move as fast as I can, well aware that the Corsair likely barreled down this waterway at a breakneck pace, far faster than I travel.

“Come on, Hadleigh. You have to make it. You have to survive.”

I’m no nostalgic fool, and I’m the last guy on the planet to believe in love at first sight. Any sentimentality that remained in me after my fucked up childhood was beaten out in the Corps and overseas.

Nevertheless, what I felt the first time I looked at Hadleigh is inexplicable yet tangible. Supernatural and otherworldly. I can’t stop until I find her.

The water slows up ahead as the river widens, and the trail I follow vanishes.

I’ll have to rock climb to continue following the river, staring at the nauseating precipice in front of me.

If I had the right shoes and gear, I wouldn’t hesitate.

But my motorcycle boots, bugout bag, Wranglers, black, pinstriped, button-down shirt, and leather jacket? Everything about this screams disaster.

Surveying the breadth of the water, its deafening roar fills my ears as I weigh my options.

I could wait for search and rescue. But the menacing storm clouds overhead tell me I’m running out of time.

I could scramble back up the trail I just descended for better views of the overall terrain.

But precious minutes would be lost. Or I could find a precarious vantage point to better assess my situation.

Eyeing a sturdy, gnarled tree, clinging to the cliff face, I climb halfway up its twisted length, my eyes settling on a black form and sunny blonde hair on the other side of the bank. Hadleigh lies face down. My heart stops. Is she alive?

I scream, “Hadleigh!” But the roar of the water drowns out my voice.

Fuck! I’m on the wrong side of a raging river out of time.

I notice how one branch of the tree I perch in drops out over the water, almost enough to give me a head start across the river.

If I can make it far enough across the sketchy limb before it breaks, I’ll land in the middle of the calm water.

From there, if I swim fast and hard, I can make it to the opposite bank and Hadleigh. At least in theory.

I call the sheriff’s department, looping search and rescue into the mix. As dark storm clouds build overhead, the wind picking up, I scream my location, knowing it’s now or never if I want to help Hadleigh.

“There’s a flash flood alert, and the winds are picking up, so the bird’s grounded. Be prepared to stabilize her and relocate as far from the river as possible.”

“Yep,” I say, my mind a swirl of a thousand contingencies and possibilities. “Will let you know once we’re safe.” If I can stabilize her. If she’s still alive.

I replace my cellphone in an inside pocket of my coat that zips, making sure everything on my bugout bag is secured. Edging out on the limb, I hope for a headstart. But almost immediately, it sways and cracks beneath my weight. Before I can blink, the limb tips, sending me headlong into icy rapids.

Cycling through an Arctic washing machine, I get worked feet over head, swirling and twisting. I struggle to raise my head above water, gasping for air and surveying the messy chaos of the river.

I didn’t go in nearly as far as I hoped. Swimming with the current, I diverge diagonally, using the water to my advantage, fighting and churning through the tumbling rapids to get as close to the far bank as I can when I hit the calmer water.

I’ve got one shot at this.

God, I wish I’d gone to Seal School instead of joining the Corps. The amphibious training really could have helped me out right about now.

I fight the river, taking long strokes and pulling myself through the currents. After what feels like an eternity, I hit the calmer waters, spit out much further from the shore than I originally calculated.

Time to dig deep, power through. I sprint for the distant shore, holding my breath much of the way, using the pull for oxygen to my advantage to reach the water’s edge and Hadleigh.

New, faster currents grab my feet, pulling me under. I fight, coming up for a gulp of air and then another, realizing I’m back in the grip of the rapids, headed for the waterfalls below.

I struggle to surface, sprinting against the current, a bathtub toy in a whirlpool. I crash into a large boulder beneath the water, air bubbling violently from my lungs. But it gives me a moment and the right footing to push back towards the river’s bank.

I tangle myself in slower-moving logs and then boulders as I inch and crawl out of the water, dripping, teeth chattering, and sucking oxygen like a caught fish.