Page 33 of The Deadly Shallows

“I don’t question him. That’s the difference between us.”

“Whatever,” Saul scoffed. “Then I’m not rowing.” The oars clanged off the surface inches from her head.

“I’m sure as heck not rowing.”

“Make her do it,” Saul said.

The second man chuckled. “Fair enough.”

He dragged her up onto the bench and placed two oars in her hands.

“Row!”

“I can’t see.”

He bent in front of her, his stale breath hot on her face. “You don’t have to see to row.”

Noah hobbled at a quick clip to Gabby’s car, the crutch propped under his arm.

“Noah,” his sister said, “are you sure you should be—”

“Don’t bother. You know if it was Finn out there, no one could hold you back. At least I’m letting you drive.” He popped the extra cherry Caleb kept in his car onto Gabby’s dash.

“True,” Gabby said, then turned the ignition. Within seconds they were pulling out of the hospital lot and onto the main road—each car in the caravan of search teams splitting off in different directions.

He’d put Caleb with Mason, Rissi with Finn, Logan with Emmy, and himself with Gabby. As an investigative reporter, his sister knew how to search and drive.

He looked at the speedometer for the third time as search helicopters buzzed overhead.

“Could you speed it up?” he asked, his skin nearly crawling with adrenaline.

Gabby depressed the accelerator, the red light swirling across the dash, reflecting on the windshield.

His heart was in his throat. No. His heart was with Brooke, wherever she was.

His cell rang, and Noah pulled it out so fast he fumbled to answer. “Yeah, Em?” he said, putting it on speaker.

“We got a hit on the van.”

Thank you, Jesus!

“They found it on the traffic-cam footage. It was last seen passing through a traffic light fifteen miles from here heading due east.”

Gabby frowned, her brows bowing. “Due east of here is the warehouse district down by the old port. Most of those properties have long since been abandoned.”

“The perfect place to take someone . . .” He stopped the thought of anyone hurting the woman he loved in its tracks. He needed to remain focused on finding her—not letting his mind wander.

“How long ago did it pass through?” he asked, fully redirecting his attention on the details.

Em cleared her throat. “It was time stamped at 0615.”

“That was well over an hour ago,” he said, the blood draining from his face.

NINETEEN

Oars lapped in and out of the brackish-smelling water. Her cuts stung deeper with every aching rotation of her arms.

The scent of sugary grape filled the air, stronger than the thick, marshy odor. Saul had to be within inches.