Chapter 39 A Bet Against Time
The water lapped softly against her chin.
Veyra’s arms were burning. The cold had seeped into her muscles, turning them heavy and slow. But she kept treading, kept her head just above the surface, kept her eyes locked on the scene unfolding on the shore.
The kidnapper was still screaming. Still waving the knife. Still clutching Lily to his chest like a shield.
And Dorian was still crouched behind the fallen log, his rifle aimed, his gray eyes scanning.
Then his gaze shifted.
He was looking at her.
Veyra’s heart lurched. For a terrible moment, she thought the kidnapper had seen her. But no. The kidnapper was facing the other way, his back to the lake, his attention fixed on Dorian and the bodyguards.
Only Dorian could see her.
His eyes were wide. Astonished. His jaw was tight. He looked furious and terrified all at once.
Relief flooded through Veyra. He knew she was here. He would not shoot her by accident.
She raised her free hand. Just a little. Just enough for him to see. She pointed at the kidnapper. Then she pointed at herself. Then she made a circling motion with her finger.
I’m going around. Distract him. Give me cover.
She did not know if he would understand. She did not know if he would agree.
But she had to try.
Dorian’s eyes followed her hand. His expression flickered. Confusion. Understanding. Then something harder. Something that looked like refusal.
He shook his head once. Sharp. Decisive.
He wanted her to pull back.
She shook her head back at him.
He shook his again. More emphatically this time. His lips moved. She could not hear the words, but she could read them.
Get back. Now.
She ignored him.
Dorian’s jaw tightened. His eyes blazed.
He understood what she was trying to do. She could see it in his face. She wanted to get close. Close enough to take a shot. To end this.
But he was afraid. Afraid for her. Afraid for Lily. Afraid that if she failed, if she made a sound, if the kidnapper saw her—
It would be over.
He raised his hand. Palm flat. Fingers spread. The universal signal for stop. Then he pointed at the shore behind her. Go back.
Veyra stared at him.
She knew what he was thinking. He had a plan. A sniper rifle. A clear line of sight. He could take the shot from where he was. He did not need her.
But she had seen the way the kidnapper was holding Lily. The way the knife was pressed against her throat. The way the child’s body was positioned directly in front of his chest.
If Dorian took the shot and missed—even by a centimeter—the bullet would hit Lily.
She could not let that happen.
She shook her head again. She pointed at the kidnapper. Then she pointed at herself. Then she made a gun with her fingers and pressed it to her own temple.
I can do this.
Dorian’s face went pale.
She did not wait for his response. She took a breath and ducked beneath the surface.
The water closed over her head. The world went silent. Muffled. Dark.
She swam.
Above the water, Dorian watched her go.
His hands were shaking. He could not make them stop. He pressed them against the stock of the rifle and forced himself to breathe.
She was going to get herself killed.
She was going to get Lily killed.
She was going to ruin everything.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up and shout at her to stop. He wanted to send Li Wei diving into the lake to drag her back to shore.
But he could not do any of those things. Because the kidnapper was still there. Still watching and still waiting.
If Dorian drew attention to the lake, the kidnapper would look. If the kidnapper looked, he would see Veyra. If he saw Veyra, he would panic.
And if he panicked, Lily would die.
Dorian had no choice.
He had to adapt.
He forced his face into a mask of calm. He lowered the rifle slightly. He stood up. Just a little. Just enough to draw the kidnapper’s attention.
"Ten million is a lot of money," Dorian said. His voice was steady and so measured. "I need time to get that much cash."
The kidnapper’s head snapped toward him. "No time! You have seven minutes left!"
"I can get you fifteen million," Dorian said. "But I need fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes?" The kidnapper’s voice cracked. "You think I’m stupid? You’re stalling!"
"I’m negotiating." Dorian took a step forward. His hands were raised. Empty. "You want money. I have money. Let’s make a deal."
The kidnapper’s eyes darted around. Left. Right. Checking the tree line. Checking the bodyguards. Checking for any sign of a trap.
He did not check the lake.
Dorian kept talking. Kept his voice low and calm. Kept the kidnapper’s eyes on him.
And beneath the water, Veyra kept swimming.
The lake was black.
Veyra could not see anything. She swam by feel, by memory, by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the surface.
She counted her strokes. Twenty. Thirty. Forty.
She should be close now. Close to the shore. Close to the kidnapper.
She surfaced slowly. Just her eyes and nose above the water.
She was behind them.
The kidnapper was ten feet away. His back was to her. His arm was still around Lily’s chest. The knife was still at her throat.
But he was looking at Dorian. Listening to Dorian. His shoulders were tense. His head was swiveling back and forth.
He was scared. Distracted.
Veyra took a breath and sank beneath the surface again. She swam closer. Five feet. Three feet.
She surfaced again.
She could see Lily now. The little girl’s face was pale. Her eyes were wide. But she was not crying. She was not struggling.
She was waiting.
Veyra’s hand found the pistol. She pulled it from her bag. The metal was cold and wet. She checked the safety. Off.
She took a breath. Steady. Slow.
And then she saw Li Wei.
He was standing at the edge of the tree line. His eyes were fixed on her. His mouth was open. His face was white.
He had seen her.
She pressed a finger to her lips. Shh.
Li Wei did not move. Did not speak. He just stood there, frozen, staring at her like she was a ghost.
She turned back to the kidnapper.
The kidnapper was still talking. Still shouting. Still threatening.
"Six minutes! You have six minutes! Where’s my helicopter?"
Dorian’s voice came from across the clearing. "It’s coming. I need more time."
"No more time! No more—"
Veyra pressed the pistol against the back of the kidnapper’s head.
The metal was cold. She could feel the heat of his skin through the barrel.
"Don’t move," she said.
Her voice was quiet. But in the silence between the kidnapper’s screams, it sounded like thunder.
The kidnapper froze.
His arm tightened around Lily’s chest. The knife pressed closer to her throat. But he did not turn around. He did not move.
"Drop the knife," Veyra said.
"Who—who are you?"
"Drop the knife. Now."
The kidnapper’s hand trembled. The blade wobbled against Lily’s skin. A small bead of blood appeared.
"I’ll kill her," the kidnapper said. "I swear to God, I’ll kill her."
Veyra pressed the pistol harder against his head. "If you kill her, you die. Right here. Right now. There’s no helicopter coming. There’s no money. There’s just me and this gun. So drop the knife."
The kidnapper’s breathing was ragged. His whole body was shaking.
"Do it," Veyra said.
The knife fell.
It hit the ground with a soft thud. The blade glinted in the moonlight.
The kidnapper’s hands went up. Empty. Shaking.
Veyra kept the pistol pressed to his head.