Brodie’s eyes scanned the banks of the river. Nothing. It was probably just thunder out over the Glades.

“Okay, enough of this shit.” He turned to Tarver. “Throw him over the back.”

Tarver was confused. “What?”

“Make sure he’s tied to the seat rail, and toss him in! Jesus! Don’t you even speak English?”

Tarver, muttering, dragged Jenner to the stern. Jenner struggled, tried to clutch onto something, anything, but Tarver moved him too quickly, pushing him against the low rim at the side of the boat, then rolling him over.

Jenner hit the water and was immediately dragged back behind the boat, choking and spluttering as he tried to get his face above the surface, fighting to wedge his fingers under the noose.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get a rise out of your little pal…Tarver—watch the banks for movement.”

Jenner’d just managed to get his palm inside the rope when Brodie gunned the airboat; the rope snapped tight and they shot forward, Jenner bouncing and spinning behind. He had one hand jammed between the yellow rope and his neck, and with the other struggled to hold the tow rope for all he was worth, feeling his biceps tear as he fought to give his neck some slack.

The water banged against his back, flailing him from side to side, gasping and retching, gulping in water, vomiting it back out. The rope dug deep into his palm as the noose locked tight around his neck. His fingers went numb, his neck shredding as the rope cut a deep groove into his skin.

The boat slowed abruptly to an idle, and Jenner’s momentum slammed him against the low transom.

Brodie leaned over him and said, “Where is she?”

Jenner, chest heaving as he fought for air, shook his head.

Brodie straightened, faced the dark mangroves.

He yelled, “Officer! You want to see me do him one more time? This next one will kill him, I figure.”

Brodie was pretty sure she was near. He muttered to Tarver to keep watching.

“You stupid bitch! You’re going to die out here, you know that? If you’re lucky, you’ll bleed out before the gators find you…”

Tarver was moving the spotlight along the bank, shifting shadows through the foliage.

Jenner had worked the noose a little looser. He grabbed the back rail of the airboat, pulled himself a little bit out of the water, struggling to get his breath.

They stared into the mangroves.

Brodie sighed. “Well, doctor—looks like you’re out of time. I don’t think she wants to play.” He climbed back up onto the stick.

“Tarver, push him away, and let’s finish this.”

A hundred yards behind them, some branches swayed, and Deb appeared, staggering in waist-deep water, exhausted, hands barely above her head.

Brodie nodded at her. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

He turned to Tarver. “Okay, get him on board now, then help her in.”

Jenner lay on the floor of the boat. When he lifted his hands to loosen the rope, he saw his fingers were torn open, a grooved burn across the soft flesh of his palms where he’d fought the rope.

Deb grunted in pain as Tarver dragged her over the rail into the airboat. She lay next to Jenner.

He said, pointlessly, “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’ll be okay, Jenner. They were going to kill you.”

“They’re still going to kill me. Now you, too.”