Page 70
Ethan would need to grab Piper and take her weight.
If the guy didn’t mean to kill her, he’d take advantage and get out of there.
That was the plan.
He kept running.
Tango was still in the fight, locked onto one of the assailant’s arms.
The man turned, swinging Tango as if he could bang her into the van and knock her off.
Tango’s favorite game was to clamp down on a knotted rope that Ethan hung in a tree in his backyard. She’d swivel her body to get herself looping through the air, slamming into the trunk, shifting her weight, and winging the other way; back and forth, back and forth. Tango was having a blast biting the bad guy and playing her swing game.
That guy was going to lose a chunk of arm if he kept it up.
Ethan was steps away.
“Stop where you are!” The man with Piper in his arms yelled.
From the sound of his voice, Ethan knew the guy was losing energy.
He stopped.
Piper was going in.
What if she couldn’t swim?
He prayed like hell that she could at least bob and float. Hoped that she would know not to try to go in headfirst or fight for a handhold and end up in a belly flop that could break her back
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Both assailants outside the van were running on fumes.
The man had worn himself out dangling Tango and had dropped to his knees, folding himself into a tight ball, chin tucked, forehead to the ground, using his free arm to grip against the open van door as Tango pulled backward with the strength of her hind legs.
The car traffic had cleared in front of the van; nothing would stop them once the driver put his foot down.
The man on the ground had stopped struggling.
Piper, in the air, had stopped struggling.
It was as if someone with a remote had tapped pause.
No one moved.
Ethan sensed help was shifting into place. It was a sensation he’d developed on the battlefield when he’d fought with the Marine Raiders.
Gator.
Yeah, he’d come to think of Gator as a brother out there in the middle of nowhere doing some shit that some desk jockey thought was a sane move.
And somehow, they’d make it through.
“Call off your dog.” The first guy to make a grab called from inside the van.
