In the Bleak Midwinter

In her peripheral vision, Clare caught a glimpse of the boat, motoring slowly upstream toward the bridge. She took another step. Fowler began to unwind the blanket from the wailing infant. She knew, at that moment, he would toss Cody into the kill, no matter what they said or did. She unzipped her parka and peeled it off. “Give me the baby, Colonel,” she said, holding out her coat. “You can put him right in here.” She balanced on a single tie, feet together, pressing down on the back of one rubber boot. “I promise you, I’ll see that the Burnses get him. He won’t interfere with Wesley’s schooling ever again.” Her stockinged foot slid free. She wavered, one-legged, almost losing her balance. She didn’t take her eyes off Vaughn Fowler’s face.

He looked down at the angry baby kicking in the crook of his arm. “He’s such a responsible kid, that’s part of the problem.” Clare found her footing again. Her toes curled over the edge of the tie as she lifted her other leg and shook the boot free. It hit one of the ties and fell off her foot. A moment later, she heard a splash.

“Give her the baby, Vaughn, and let’s get out of here. Your son needs you.” Russ’s voice sounded much closer now. She could feel him, radiating strength and reassurance, almost close enough to reach back and touch.

Vaughn drew a deep breath, as if savoring the taste of the air. “Wes is the fifth generation of my family to attend West Point, did I tell you that?”

Clare nodded. “Yes, sir, you did.”

He looked into her eyes, soberly, measuring. “It’s a good thing to live as a soldier.” With a shrug and a twist of his arms, he tossed Cody over the parapet.

Russ shouted, “Get down, Clare!” as the parka tumbled from her arms. She went over the side before she had a chance to think about it, her shins scraping the iron, the wind tearing up her eyes and blinding her, and then she was under the water, and it was cold, cold beyond any definition of cold, burning her skin like acid. She followed her bubbles up to the pale sunshine, broke the surface, unable to breathe, the shock of it seizing her lungs. She heard yelling, a motor gunning, shots. It was hard to think, impossible to focus. She couldn’t see Cody. She gulped in air with a sob, forcing her chest to work, went under again. The boat motor throbbed through her nerves. Her body felt like one huge tooth ache. She spiraled through the clear water. There was a flash of white ahead, but when she broke surface, it was a clump of snow and ice. Someone was yelling her name. She went under again, the ache intensifying, although she couldn’t have imagined it could get any worse.

She saw him. Floating so near the surface his ice-blue sleeper was dappled with sunlight. She stroked through the water, kicking against the drag of her skirt, time slipping past her like bubbles, until she reached the tiny form. She surfaced again, hauling Cody up with her, holding his head out of the water one-handed while she tread in place. “Here!” she screamed. “I’ve got him! Here!”

The sound of the boat was everywhere, but she was still surprised when she turned and it was there; cutting engines, sliding alongside her. Hands reached out, so many hands, and she held up Cody and let him be whisked out of view. She reached for the side, but she was too weak to hold on. More hands grasped her, grabbed her arms, and she was hauled in like a fish, flopping and twitching on the bottom of the boat until someone tossed a thermal blanket over her and rolled her in it. Through the press of parkas, she saw a man half-dressed in diving gear resuscitating Cody, his mouth covering half the baby’s face.

“Breathe.”

“For Christ’s sake, take us over to the shore so we can pick up the chief, he’s going to freeze to death.”

“Get on that radio to County Hospital, tell ’em we’re coming in with possible hypothermias.”

“Miss, I have another blanket. Can you get your clothes off under there?”

“What about the perp’s body? Are we fishing him out?”

Cody’s tiny fist jerked in the air. The diver pulled away, rolling the baby onto his side. Cody coughed, vomited up a stream of water, and began to cry. Everyone cheered except Clare, who squeezed her eyes shut against hot tears.

The boat bumped and scraped against rock. She opened her eyes in time to see Russ wading through the water. The boat tipped hard to one side as he heaved himself in. “Come back here, Chief,” the voice beside her said. “I’ve got a blanket for you. Jeez, you tore the hell out of your pants, didn’t you? What the hell were you thinking of? We had them.”

Clare focused on the man who had been helping her, and recognized Kevin Flynn. The engine kicked in again, pulling them steadily away from the shore, gaining speed as they motored downstream.

“Shove it over, Kevin,” Russ said, his voice thick. The young officer handed him a blanket and carefully shifted down the bench. Russ wrapped himself from the waist down and sat heavily. “Lyle, you notify the hospital we’re coming in?”

“I sure did, Chief.”