Betrayals
Page 32

“Olivia?” he whispered.
I could say my hand ached. That it was getting sweaty. That it just wasn’t comfortable. Here, how about I hold your sleeve instead?
But if I said any of that, he’d never reach for my hand again.
I murmured, “Sorry, stumbled,” and he said, “Careful,” and we continued walking.
Three more steps. Then a noise overhead. A raw croak, and a shadow passed, and I couldn’t see more than a shape, yet I knew what it was. I opened my mouth to say, “Raven,” but Gabriel was yanking me behind him, his gaze fixed on the fog ahead as he released my hand.
Another shape took form. A human one. Gabriel charged. His fist made contact with a crack, and the figure flew back. Gabriel was on him in a second, his hand wrapped in the man’s shirt-front, yanking him up and then slamming him onto the tracks.
“Stay down,” Gabriel said. “Or the next time I lift you, it’ll be to drop you over the side with your confederate. Understood?”
The man nodded.
“My partner has a gun pointed at you.” Gabriel didn’t need to confirm that. I did indeed have my gun out and aimed. “Now I am going to back up and you are going to—”
“Gabriel!”
The man’s hand shot out, aiming for Gabriel’s knee, presumably to buckle it. Gabriel stomped on the man’s stomach. He yowled and doubled up, and Gabriel reached to grab him. The man flailed, and I said, “Gabriel! Just get back. I have this,” because all I could see was one of those flailing limbs knocking Gabriel off the bridge.
He glanced at me, his lips parting, but before he even got out a syllable, he was charging—at me.
I heard a shout from the other end of the bridge, a man’s voice booming, “No! Stop!”
I wheeled just as a figure flew from the fog. A knife flashed. I felt it sink into my side as I twisted. Pain ripped through me, and my feet tangled, and a hand knocked my shoulder, as hard as it could. Gabriel grabbed for me, his fingers brushing my jacket as I flew sideways. I tried to twist, felt cold steel skim my fingertips. Then my head hit metal, and everything went black.
FALLING
The moment Olivia fell past his reach, his fingers skimming her jacket, Gabriel jumped. There was no moment of indecision. No moment of decision, either. She fell and he followed, and it was only after he did that he saw her hit her head on a girder, saw her crumple, unconscious. Yet he felt no flicker of relief that he had jumped after her because the point was moot. Of course he would jump.
It did not matter whether he thought she was in mortal danger or simply falling, certain to survive. She fell and he followed, and all the times he’d told her not to rely on him, what he’d meant was that he did not want her taking a chance. Before this, he could not have said whether he’d have stayed with her at Will Evans’s house if she’d been the one who was hurt when Chandler was trying to kill them. Whether he’d have climbed into a burning car for her, as she had done for him. He knew he would not have abandoned her to her fate. But would he have made her bold and risky moves? Or found another way, less dangerous to himself? The question had haunted him. But here was the answer: she fell and he followed.
Before she’d struck her head, a thousand thoughts had been running through his. Not mad panic—orderly questions whipping at light speed. How deep was the river? How high was the bridge? Would they strike bottom? That was the greatest danger, but almost equal was the force with which one hit the surface. It was too late to attempt a proper dive and feet down seemed safest and—
And then Olivia struck the girder, and the questions flew from his mind, because all that mattered was that she was now unconscious, plummeting toward the river. While he’d been considering those questions, he knew she’d been doing the same. She could handle this. Now, unconscious, she could not, and he had to see exactly where she hit, because once they struck the water—between the murk and the night—he’d never see her, and if she didn’t wake from the force of going under …
That was when the panic hit.
The water would almost certainly not wake her, and the river was rushing fast, and there was no one to see her fall, and if Gabriel lost track of her even for a moment …
He would not. That was the simple answer. He was right above her, slightly to the left, and he could see the bright glow of a building at exactly the correct trajectory between him and Olivia. When he surfaced, he would see that light and know where to swim for her.
He struck the water. He hit it well, and perhaps there was then some benefit to his distraction, that he’d simply let himself fall. He hit the surface, feet together, and dropped straight down.
It was not painless. As a teen, he’d once leapt from a third-story window, escaping when he’d miscalculated the owner’s return during a break-and-enter. This was worse, a flash fire of agony.
He shoved the thought aside, which did not mean the pain stopped, only that he paid it no mind. Get to the surface, breathe, and then find Olivia.
He managed the first with relative ease. He’d landed and could see the faint glow of the city above, and while he’d rarely swum as a child, he’d taken it up in college, when he discovered that, like running, it was a method of exercise that was not only solitary in nature but discouraged interaction in a way that gym activities did not. He was, if not an excellent swimmer, a very good one, and he propelled himself to the surface easily. Then he pushed out of his heavy, sodden jacket as he looked about for Olivia … and saw nothing.