Glock 9 mm and holster. “Other guys?”
“Yeah. The pickup truck. He spun out and crashed into a tree just around the curve.”
Riley’s gut clenched. He’d been so preoccupied watching in horror as this car sailed into the water that he hadn’t seen or heard the other vehicle’s collision.
For a second he was torn about what to do, then he yanked off his other boot. As far as he was concerned, the suspects could rot while they waited for help. If Charlie Beaumont hadn’t been such an asshole to run, none of this would have happened. Innocent victims got first dibs on rescue, that was his philosophy.
“Yeah, go check on them,” he answered the man he now recognized as Harry Lange, although what the wealthiest man in town might be doing spying on intruders at his neighbors’ house and responding to accidents in the middle of the night was anyone’s guess. “Does your cell work this far up the canyon?”
“It’s spotty but I might get lucky.”
“Call 9-1-1 and tell the dispatch we’ve got two accidents to deal with and we’re going to need all available units up here.”
“Got it.”
He was taking too long with this, while the occupants of the vehicle in the water needed rescue. He just had to trust Lange would be able to reach dispatch to send more help. With a deep, steadying breath, he braced himself and headed into the water.
The shock raced through his nerve endings like ice blocks clamping hard around his feet and calves. He ignored it, pushed past it and waded out.
By the time he had crossed ten yards, the brutally cold water had reached his waist. Snow and wind whipped any exposed flesh and every breath seemed to slice at his lungs like tiny switchblades. He was aware of the bitter cold on some level, but mostly he forced himself to focus on what had to be done.
“Help us. Please, somebody, help us.”
The desperate cry chilled him worse than the elements. By the sound of it, that was a kid’s voice, a young girl, wet, cold, possibly injured.
Kids. Damn it.
“I’m coming. Hang on.”
In the cloudy moonlight, he could finally make out the vehicle was a small SUV, a Toyota, by the look of it. He saw at least a couple of heads and now could hear other young voices crying. The sound of those desperate voices pushed him even faster and he finally just dived in and swam the remaining distance.
With icy hands, he pulled his flashlight from his waistband and aimed it into the vehicle window. He saw a form slumped over the steering wheel where a now-deflated air bag had deployed. He moved the light to the backseat and saw three pale faces staring back.
He tried to pull the doors open but they wouldn’t budge because of the water pressing in. “Can you wind down the window?” he yelled.
“No, we tried. They won’t work.”
Power windows tended not to be real cooperative when the car’s battery was submerged in four feet of water. He pulled out the crowbar, grateful for whatever instinct had prompted him to grab it. “Look, I need you to move away from the window and cover your face with your hands. I’m going to break the window, okay?”
“Okay.” He heard the muffled response from inside.
“Are you all clear?”
“Yes.”
Urgency lent him added strength and he slammed the crowbar into the window. It shattered and he brushed at the glass with his wet sleeve.
“I didn’t think anybody saw us. I thought we would be here all night,” the girl whimpered. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t see her features very well. He aimed the flashlight to get a better look at possible injuries and everything inside him froze.
Macy Bradford.
One of the little figures she cuddled was her brother, Owen, and the other was the freckled, red-headed kid who had been with them at the pageant. Jordie something or other.
He jerked his attention to the motionless form in the front seat. “Claire? Claire, honey? Answer me.”
She didn’t respond, although he thought he heard a slight moan. He checked quickly for a pulse and found one there, a little thready but strong. He wanted to do a full assessment but his gut was telling him the first priority was to get the terrified kids out of the reservoir and back to shore, where he could now see other rescuers coming down the slope toward the water’s edge.
“Are you guys hurt?”
“I’m cold. I cut my face,” Jordie said through his scared sobs. “And my shoulder hurts.”
“My arm hurts,” Owen whimpered. “I think it’s broken.”
“I’m okay,” Macy said, but Riley was pretty sure she was lying. He couldn’t wait for stretchers to get here. Not in these conditions. It could be fifteen minutes or longer before the paramedics managed to make it up the canyon and he had no idea what was happening with the other accident.
He was going to have to trust his instincts and go against every stricture he’d ever learned about not moving accident victims who had been injured. Sometimes removing a victim from further injury was the only option and right now hypothermia and shock were both grave concern.
“Macy, I’m going to carry the boys to shore first and then I’ll come back for you, okay? There are people who will help you make your way up to the road and get you all warmed up. Got it?”
“Is my mom gonna be okay?” Her voice shook with fear and his chest ached from more than just the effort it was taking to breathe through the bitter cold.
“I promise you, I will do my best to make sure of that. Hang on while I take care of the boys first. You keep talking to your mom while I’m gone, okay? You ready, boys?”
“Uh-huh.” Owen sniffled as he slid across the seat. Riley scooped him up over one shoulder and then took the other boy over the other in a double fireman’s hold, careful as he could manage of possible injuries.
The trip back through the water was surreal in the moonlight with snow swirling around the inky water. He almost fell once and would have dunked them all but he somehow managed to keep his footing. When he was almost to the shore, several people waded the rest of the way to take the boys from him.
“My wife’s a nurse,” the man who took Jordie said. “She’s waiting on the shore.”
“I think they mostly need to be warmed up, although one is complaining of arm pain and the other says his shoulder hurts.”
Two of the rescuers carried the boys to shore, but the other one turned to Riley. “Is there anyone else out there?”
He was just a kid, Riley realized. “Two more, one with undetermined injuries.”
“I’ll help you get them.”
He didn’t want to endanger anyone else, but the kid was strong, muscled, like a bulldogger. Probably a rancher’s
