* *
Jack leaned back against the door and pulled a page of crime pictures from his jacket. His eyes scanned the images: a ransacked college dorm room, a garbage-strewn alley and a trashed apartment. Places where three different young women were killed. The only connection anyone had been able to find was security camera footage and witness statements that described someone in an orange raincoat at each of the crime scenes.
Oh, Lord, why am I the only one who believes this is the work of a serial killer? He was risking his entire professional career on a hunch. Monday afternoon, he’d finally talked his editor at Torchlight News into running the article he’d cobbled together laying out his investigation thus far on the “Raincoat Killer.” The story ran on the front cover of Tuesday’s paper, and on Wednesday morning the chief of police himself had called a press conference to announce the murders were unrelated and that Jack’s article was nothing but the product of an amateur sleuth jumping to ridiculous conclusions. His editor had suggested Jack take the rest of the week off while the publisher figured out whether or not to fire him.
Jack had decided instead to chase one final lead all the way up to Manitoulin Island. Either he’d find the proof his story was solid or face the fact that when he walked back into the office it would be to kiss his job goodbye. Every well-honed instinct in his journalistic gut was convinced these three murders were somehow connected. Especially now that he’d looked across a ferry and locked eyes on her.
His eyes zeroed in on a picture of the final crime scene. There, amid the broken glass and chaos, two flyers lay on the floor, next to where a young woman had been stabbed. One was an island ferry schedule, with this afternoon circled. The other read Meg Duff, Island Weddings above the picture of a beautiful woman with troubled blue eyes. The very same woman who’d just disappeared off into the fog.
A heavyset man jostled past him, his coffee slopping over the rim of his cup and onto the page. Jack leapt back and tripped over something. A cell phone. Was it Meg’s? Had she dropped it in her hurry to get away from him? He slipped the phone and the wet pages into his bag. Well, she might not want to talk to him as a journalist, but he wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if he didn’t at least try to return her phone.
Jack shoved the door back open and walked outside. Wow. It’s like soup out here. He strode down the deck, choosing a direction at random.
A scream split the air. Female. Terrified. He started running. Then he saw them. A figure in a raincoat had wrestled Meg over the railing. Her hands were tied. Her feet kicked frantically. Adrenaline surged through Jack’s body, pushing his legs into a flat-out sprint.
Meg’s attacker threw her overboard.
Screams filled Jack’s ears as Meg’s body disappeared. The man in the raincoat turned. Was he face-to-face with the Raincoat Killer? The thought hit Jack like a punch to the gut. His eyes searched the hooded form for some clue to his identity. But he barely had seconds to look before the killer took off running.
Jack gritted his teeth. How long would it take him to find a member of the crew and tell him to sound the overboard alarm? Minutes. He’d learned that from covering too many drownings. Then even more precious minutes would pass as they stopped the ferry, lowered the lifeboat and went back to search the foggy water for the woman now fighting for her life. How long would it take them to find her? Could she even hold on that long? Was he willing to risk it?
No.
His bag hit the deck. Jack tossed off his leather jacket, grabbed a life ring from the railing and clutched it to his chest. Dear Lord, please give me the strength to save her. He leapt overboard. Air rushed past him. Choppy water hit Jack’s body like a tidal wave, knocking the ring from his hands and throwing his sense of direction into chaos. The ring’s towrope unraveled in the water around him. Identical walls of gray filled his vision on all sides. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up swimming in circles until both he and Meg drowned. “Hey! Hello! Shout if you can hear me!”
No answer but the rumble of the ferry departing in the distance. For a fraction of a second he closed his eyes and focused on the fading sound of the engine. Then he tied the end of the towrope to his belt and took off swimming in the opposite direction, dragging the ring behind him. “Hang on! I’m coming!”
Oh, Lord, please let her still be alive. Help me reach her in time.
“Help!” Her frightened voice pierced the gloom. “I’m—” The sound was swallowed up by the gurgle of water filling her throat.
“Hold on! I’m here!” Please, Lord, please, help her hold on. “I’m coming for you.” His long limbs tore through the water. The fog parted and he saw her, breaking through the surface, thrashing against her bonds. Her eyes met his. Terrified. Exhausted. Water swept over her head again. She disappeared under the surface.
He dove for her. His eyes peered blind through the cold, dark depths. He found her, churning the water as she kicked frantically toward the surface. Her foot made contact with his knee. His leg went numb. He gasped and nearly swallowed a mouthful of water. If she didn’t calm down enough to let him save her, neither of them would make it out alive.
His left arm slid around her waist. He pulled her against him. His right hand grabbed her bound wrists and slid them over his head. To his relief, her body fell still against his chest. Now he just had to be strong enough to swim for both of them.
His lungs burned with the urge to breathe. His heart pounded through his skull. The cold seeped through his clothes as his legs battled against the weight of his boots. But the rope tied to his waist kept him tethered to the life ring above. They burst through to the surface. He spluttered, then gasped for breath. She coughed hard; her body shuddered against his. Her head fell onto his shoulder, and he impulsively turned his face toward it, feeling her forehead brush against his chin. Her legs started treading water. Thank God. Just. Thank. You. God.
He pulled the life ring over. “I need you to let go of me so I can untie your hands. Okay?”
She nodded as shallow gasps slipped between her lips. Carefully he slid her arms off his neck, pushed the life ring between them, and helped her lean her weight on it. They floated there for a moment, panting for breath, resting on opposite sides of the ring, their hands linked over the center. Tendrils of dark hair framed her face. Blue eyes looked up into his. Fragile and brave.
Questions poured through his brain. Was this some sick coincidence, or had he actually just saved this woman from the very serial killer that the Toronto police said didn’t exist? Was there a personal connection between her and either the killer or the most recent victim, as he’d theorized from the crime photos? Did she even know about the murder of three young women, miles away in Toronto?
But even as the thoughts filled his mind, he could feel the hard-bitten journalist inside him battling against the unexpected desire to simply to reach up and cup her cheek in his hand, to comfort and reassure her.
Instead he reached for the twisted and torn fabric that still tied her wrists together. Judging by the state of it, she hadn’t been about to give in without a fight.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
A grin of relief broke over his face. “No problem. I’m just thankful you were able to keep afloat long enough for me to reach you.”
“I don’t...” She shivered. “I don’t know what just happened...or who that was...or why he’d... One moment I was standing on
