Page 102 of Lethal Deceit

He yells something in Arabic, gun in his hand as he gestures hard toward the airboat.

She shakes her head, slips—arms flailing—and hits the slick rocks. For a second, she scrambles, trying to find her footing.

Then she falls sideways into the water. Not deep—just enough to vanish into shadow.

El-Maati swears and vaults onto the airboat, one hand gripping the motor housing as he scans the surface.

Luke’s rifle fires again—not at him.

Past him. “Contact in the water—right behind her!” he yells.

My blood turns to ice.

Two flat, unblinking eyes break the surface—gliding, steady, locked on a flailing Samantha.

“Cover me!” I yell back at him.

Behind me, gunfire erupts—tight bursts from inside the house. Silas and Reese are clearing room by room, pressing forward.

I sprint toward the water.

Mud grabs at my boots, sucking and pulling with every step. The rain is blinding now, pelting sideways in sharp, stinging sheets. Branches whip at my arms. The cold sinks into my bones.

I hit the water at a run.

It’s worse than I expect. Freezing. Thick. Alive. Something brushes my leg, rough and slick. I kick it off and push forward. There’s no bottom—just the shifting, sucking drag of swamp beneath me.

Samantha’s up ahead, thrashing wildly. Her arms slap the water. She’s screaming, gasping, slowing herself with every movement.

“Don’t fight!” I shout, swallowing water. “Float!”

She doesn’t hear me. She’s going under.

I reach her. My hand clamps around her arm. Her skin is slick, cold, trembling.

She turns and strikes out—panicked—her elbow catching my jaw, teeth clacking hard enough to sting.

“It’s me!” I yell again, voice hoarse.

She freezes.

Then she clings—arms locked around my neck, nails digging in, breath shuddering against my ear. I hold her tight, turning her away from whatever’s behind us.

Luke’s rifle cracks again—sharp and steady.

Up ahead, the airboat veers and slams into the far bank with a metallic roar—fiberglass grinding against mud and brush.

A shot cracks. El-Maati’s silhouette jolts—then crumples in the spill of lightning.

I don’t stop to check.

Samantha’s shaking in my arms, too weak to swim, too terrified to let go. Something’s still in the water with us. I feel it. Hear it.

I kick.

Hard.

Every stroke is a prayer. My legs burn. My shoulder screams. Rain fills my ears, my mouth, my eyes.

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