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She might have already made it to the shore.
Unless she’d been hurt when she hit the water. Falling from that height the landing could be like hitting concrete, especially since she probably would have landed awkwardly as Dante had been holding onto her.
Or he might have kept hold of her, dragged her down with him. His goal had been to kill himself and Samara because he couldn’t face living without her, and he knew they weren't letting him walk away with her.
While Brady had driven, following the dot on the GPS that marked Samara’s location, he had researched Dante Sundry. Because the woman whose house he had left Asher at had gotten his license plate they’d been able to find out who the car was registered to and everything they could about that person. They still didn't know how and where Dante had met Samara, but maybe once they found her, she’d be able to tell them.
His lungs were burning for oxygen, he couldn’t stay under any longer.
Michael burst up through the surface and sucked in several gulps of air while he scanned the shoreline.
He couldn’t see Samara anywhere.
She was still in the water, and if he didn't find her soon it was going to be too late.
He dove back down.
It was freezing, his muscles were aching, and he knew that he was going to become hypothermic sooner rather than later. Because it was so dull it was hard to see under the water, he swam back and forth, his head turning left and right, and left and right, looking for a large shape that could be Samara.
Michael was about to go back up to the surface to drag in another round of air before coming back down when he spotted something.
Two large shapes.
People-sized shapes.
Ignoring the need to breathe, he swam toward them.
It didn't take long, neither were moving, just kind of floating there, drifting slowly toward the bottom of the river.
The cold was almost paralyzing, his limbs were growingheavy, and his mind was growing numb. He wanted to lie down, close his eyes, go to sleep. He knew it was hypothermia clawing at him, lapping around him like the water, wanting to claim him. He fought against it. Samara needed him. He’d promised her that he wouldn’t let the stalker hurt her and he had already failed once, he wasn't going to fail again.
Something like spider webs tangled around his hands.
Hair.
Samara’s long dark hair fanned out around her, moving gently from side to side as it wafted with the water.
Michael grabbed hold of it and let it lead him to her body. As soon as he touched it, he curled an arm under her shoulders and kicked his feet.
He didn't get very far.
Something was pulling him back, pulling Samara and now him deeper into the river.
Keeping hold of Samara with one hand while his other ran up and down her body, he tried to find what was holding her down.
Dante.
His hand was locked around Samara’s ankle.
Any second now his lungs were going to force him to take a breath, filling his lungs with ice cold water instead of air, and Samara had been in the water long enough that she hung limply in his arms.
With no time to spare, Michael willed his body to cooperate and slammed his boot into Dante’s wrist.
That did the job.
The hand opened, and Dante floated away.
As fast as he could, Michael swam himself and Samara to the surface. He had to gulp in several mouthfuls of air before he could start swimming to the shore. His body was sluggish now, the cold was affecting him to the point that he wasn't even sure he could swim the fifteen yards or so to the edge of the river.
