Double Take. Jenness Walker

      John pointed to the glove compartment.

      Cole opened it and tugged out a map, a knife then the Glock. The cool feel of it soothed him as John pulled the truck onto the road.

      “Should we get some coffee to go?”

      “There’s no ‘we,’” Cole said.

      “If you’re doing this, I’m doing this, okay? What good is family if they won’t go out for an evening of boathouse hopping with you? Besides, I’m the one with a license to carry that beauty.” John grinned, then sobered. “You really think she’s there?”

      “No…Yes.” He closed his eyes. “I have no idea. But I sat on that bus and did absolutely nothing while they took her. If I go back home and wake up tomorrow to find out my bizarre theory was right…”

      “Okay, man. Then let’s do this. You said we’re looking for a small lake near a larger one. Secluded. Affluent-community type thing, correct?”

      “Exactly.” Cole had studied that chapter of the book, read it over and over again, gleaned as many details as he could. “In Obsession, it seems like they drove maybe an hour. So…”

      “So we’re looking for something that’s an hour away, right?”

      “Or less. Right.” Maybe.

      John shoved the map toward Cole and edged the Dodge Ram back onto the road. “I’ll head up I-85. There’s an area near Lake Lanier kind of like you’re talking about. Some of Kasey’s clients live up there. Nice homes.”

      “And what would your girlfriend say if she knew what I was dragging you into?” They could get arrested, maybe worse if someone decided to try out their shotgun collection on intruders.

      “We’re just friends. And…she’d wonder why she wasn’t invited.” John smiled. “So let’s do this. But if the girl isn’t right there—” John pointed to the map. “I don’t know where else to look.”

      “As long as we do what we can.” Cole glanced up as lightning sliced through the night sky.

      So…c-cold.

      Rain hit the roof, a solid wall of sound. Occasional crackles of lightning lit the boathouse, making the shadows deeper while spotlighting the boat, the lift, the lack of color in her hands.

      An eerie keening filled the room, echoing off the walls. It wasn’t until the lapping water choked it off that she realized it came from her own throat.

      She was going to die here.

      No! She’d get through this. Maybe she could work the knots loose. Bite through them. Rub them against a bolt on the lift until she could break free. Awkwardly, Kenzie ran her icy fingers along the couple inches of metal she could reach. Smooth. Maybe she could slide down just a little. There had to be some sort of screw or…or something. Had to. She couldn’t just hang here. Willing strength into her legs, she kicked against the water. Nothing. Again, with more force this time. Still nothing, and she was tiring fast.

      “God!” Her cry reverberated back to her. She doubted He heard. No one could hear over this storm. No one would be coming to her rescue. If she wanted to live, she had to work. Had to come up with some other plan. There had to be some way…

      But not right now. After she’d rested a bit. S-so tired…

      Kenzie relaxed her head against her arm, allowed her eyes to drift closed. That felt a little better. A little warmer. A little more—

      Her chin hit the water and she jerked her head back up, heart pounding so loud she could hear it thudding in her ears. If she slept, she died.

      Trespassing. Breaking and entering. What other laws would they break tonight? Though they hadn’t actually broken anything and weren’t planning on robbing anyone, Cole doubted good intentions would win them any favors if they were caught creeping around a stranger’s boathouse.

      Of course, the real question was, what would it do to his job search if anyone found out about his crazy Lone Ranger crime spree?

      “Nothing?” John whispered as Cole stepped away from the boathouse.

      Cole shook his head, and they jogged back to the truck.

      “How many more on this lake?” The rain had soaked through Cole’s clothing, chilling his skin. And they’d only been outside for a few minutes at each stop. How long had the hostage been in the water?

      If this wasn’t all in his head.

      “I think two more. Maybe three.”

      So they’d check two or three more. Then they’d go home, John would get a laugh, and Cole would get a shower. He’d check the news a couple times, throw the book away, wash his hands of the whole thing…and begin an intensive search for his sanity.

      “Here’s the next one.”

      Cole peered through the swishing windshield wipers, but without the headlights on, everything was shadow. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. With John just behind him, he jumped out of the truck, ducking as rain blurred his view, and ran, sticking to the cover of the trees. The dark outline of a boathouse loomed in front of him, but he stopped behind a tree and studied it first as John came up behind him.

      Lightning flared, illuminating a cabin off to the right. No lights. No vehicles. Even so, his steps slowed as he neared the lake. John stayed back, his gun in hand as he kept watch. Stopping under the boathouse’s overhang, Cole peered into a window. His breath fogged the already-cloudy glass. Too dark.

      The door stood a few yards away. Cole gripped the handle; it turned easily, but the door creaked as it opened. The rain on the roof roared loudly enough to cover the sound. Still no movement. Number three—another waste of time. But he stepped inside to double-check. If she was here, she might be unconscious.

      Or dead.

      No one on the deck to the right. He moved to the left, walking softly as he searched the shadows. All clear.

      The rain let up for a moment—a light patter on tin—and he heard something. A soft whine. No, a sob. The voice faded into a whimper as lightning flared.

      A woman in the water. Hands tied to the lift. Hair floating around her shoulders.

      He fumbled for the light switch as she slowly turned toward him, her eyes dark hollows in a face pale as death. “Help…m-me.” Her soft voice trembled almost as much as her body, but she was still conscious, still alive.

      If he could just keep her that way until help arrived.

      “My name is Cole Leighton. We met earlier today.” He kept his voice low and steady, trying to stay calm as he strode to the doorway. “You’re going to be fine.”

      Cole hollered for John and edged closer to the water. The light shone on the lift and her ropes, then her blue-tinged fingers. Wincing, he threw off his jacket while he kept up a one-sided conversation.

      “My cousin John is calling nine-one-one. I’m going to get you out of the water and get you warm, okay? You’ll be fine. Help is on the way.”

      He searched his pockets for the knife he’d taken from the glove compartment. There. He slipped into the cold water, and it hit him mid-chest.

      “What’s your name?” he asked as he waded to her.

      “M-MacKenzie Jacobs.” Her answer was barely above a whisper as he cautiously hooked an arm around her waist. The rope held her up too far—her feet didn’t quite touch bottom.

      “Okay, MacKenzie. I’m just going to keep my arm around you so you don’t sink when I cut the rope, okay? Then you’ll be out of here.” He held her carefully, feeling her violent tremors against his chest. How long had they left her out here? The heat of his anger should warm her in seconds.

      Cole sawed at the thick rope, watching the