Chapter 2 - The Man Who Could Walk
“Your legs...?” Rosalind whispered.
“Later.” Tobias braced one foot against the center console. “Hold still.”
The blade was a compact rescue cutter, its hooked edge built to slice webbing. Tobias pulled up the belt and exposed the steel wire. It took two hard strokes to sever the thin cord; the belt snapped free with a violent jerk.
Water washed across Rosalind's lap. “You've been pretending?”
“Yes.” The word hurt him to say. “And I hate that I had to.”
“Fifteen years, Toby.”
“I know. Right now, breathe.”
He pulled his jacket over his hand and struck the side window. The glass held. Outside, Garrett and Penelope stood shoulder to shoulder, their silhouettes blurred by the rain.
“The door,” Tobias said. “When the pressure evens out.”
“There's no time.”
“Then we make time.”
He waited until the water reached their shoulders, shoved his weight against the door, and kicked at the frame. A hinge screamed. On the third strike, the damaged door swung outward into the current.
The river took them.
Rosalind couldn't tell which way was up. Her blouse tangled around her arms. Tobias caught her by the waist and pulled her beneath an overhanging shelf of rock. They surfaced in a pocket of shadow, both choking, both alive.
“Don't call out,” he breathed. “Pretend you're dead. He's watching us.”
She turned her head. Far above, Garrett swept the river with the beam of his phone.
“Why?” she managed. “Why would he do this?”
“Because he thinks the trust pays out when you die.”
“What trust?”
Tobias looked toward the bank, where Penelope had taken Garrett's hand. “The one your mother never told you about.”
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A motor growled nearby. Headlights appeared on the access road. Someone else had come to the river.
A man got out of a truck carrying a rifle.
