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Jackie snorted. “Stupid lad. Suit yerself.”
Graeme moved up to stand with Dickie and Chattan, looking ready to murder Barr. Then he glanced to his left. “Finally.”
A pistol fired, and Sam screamed and fell to his knees on the damp planks of the pier. Royal appeared out of the night, smoking weapon in hand.
“Goddammit,” Jackie yelled. “I swear I’ll shoot her.”
Sabrina realized she only had one choice. She steeled herself, and then threw all her weight against her captor. Jackie cried out, wheeling an arm in a desperate bid for balance before falling off the side of the pier, taking Sabrina with him into the water.
Thefreezingwater.
Unlike the Serpentine, there was no shallow bottom here. As her boots filled and her clothes weighed her down, Sabrina fought panic and struggled to reach the surface.
She broke free, gasping, hair streaming in her eyes. Flailing about, she smacked someone’s face.
“Stupid cow!” yelled Jackie from right behind her.
He shoved her down, and she went under again. The water sucked her into its dark, terrifying void.
She felt more than saw a body arrowing into the loch, right next to her. A hand clamped onto the back of her collar and pulled her up to the surface. Coughing, she drew the sharp night air into her lungs. An arm snaked around her shoulders and pulled her against a broad chest.
“I’ve got you, love,” Graeme said. “Don’t struggle.”
Sabrina managed to wipe her eyes, and the shoreline wavered back into view. There were other boats now beached on the sands and men running toward the pier.
“Where’s . . . where’s Barr?” Her teeth chattered.
“Royal’s got him,” Graeme said as he swam them to the shoreline.
Monroe and Wilson splashed out into the shallow water to meet them, pulling them toward the gravelly shore.
“I can’t b . . . believe how deep that water is,” Sabrina stuttered as she and Graeme sloshed through the last few feet. “And how cold.”
“It’s quite a drop-off.”
“How did you get free?”
“Dickie cut me loose.”
“G . . . good for Dickie.”
Graeme swept her up, sodden clothing and all, and carried her to the shed.
She gazed up at him, his hair shiny and sleek against his skull. His mouth was set in a taut line, and he looked grim as death.
“Are you all right?” she asked, patting his cheek.
“I’m fine. But if we don’t get you out of these wet things . . .”
She mentally grimaced. The idea of her drowning or falling ill from a dunking would naturally terrify him.
“I’m f . . . fine, too,” she said. “Please don’t worry.”
He carried her through the front door and carefully set her down on a bench.
“Ye could’ve been killed, ye daft lass.”
He snatched a blanket off a bed, wrapped it tightly around her, and then went to the stove to layer on peat. Within a minute, a roaring fire poured out blessed warmth into the room.
