Double Take - Catherine Coulter [3]
The man’s voice, his breath hot on her cheek now, said over and over, “That’s it, that’s right, come on now, you can do it. Don’t give up.”
“More,” she whispered, not knowing if she’d even spoken aloud. He flipped her onto her stomach and began pounding her back with his fists. When water spewed out of her mouth, he quickly pulled her onto her side. She heaved and gasped, so cold she wanted to scream, but he slapped her back hard again with the heel of his hand and more water gushed out, then slowed to a dribble, snaking down her chin.
She wheezed and shuddered and said, her voice hoarse, “The seals aren’t honking anymore.”
The sharp slaps against her back stopped. The man said, “Yeah, they’ve closed down for the day. Hang on now.” He rubbed her back rhythmically, and she coughed again, hoarse and loud, and more water dribbled out of her mouth. Where was all that water coming from?
When he couldn’t get another drop of water out of her, the man pulled her up to a sitting position and forced her head between her knees. She breathed hard, couldn’t seem to stop shuddering.
“Good, that’s it, keep sucking in air.” He yanked off her wet leather jacket and pulled his heavy sports coat around her.
She hiccupped. “My jacket, my poor jacket. I’ve had it since I was a sophomore at Boston College.”
“It’s so tatty it’ll have to survive. What’s a little water? Hey, I came out of the Crab House and saw that guy clip you on the jaw—and I saw the knife. When I yelled at him, he knew time had run out and he threw you over the railing. He knew I couldn’t chase him then, knew I was going right for you, had to get you out of the water. I couldn’t even shoot at him—there wasn’t time.”
“Shoot him? What on earth do you mean?”
Another man’s voice came out of the darkness. “Hey, Cheney, can’t I leave you alone for a single minute? Where’s June? I thought she only came out for a cigarette. I thought you came out to fetch her. What’s going on here? Who is this?”
The man sprinted over, squatted beside the two of them, and stared down at her, his expression appalled. “What happened here? Did she try to commit suicide?”
He’d asked the man who’d rescued her, the one called Cheney, but she was alive, thank you very much, and so she answered, “No, a man punched me, but he ran out of time before he could finish me off, so he threw me over the railing. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react at all. He—Cheney—stopped him. He saved me.” She paused, giving him a crooked grin. “That’s a strange name but I’m used to strange names. Mine’s not strange, it’s sort of boring, really.”
“What is your name?”
“I’m Julia.”
Cheney smiled, kept rubbing her back. “It’s not all that boring.”
The other man stared at her like she was nuts, but she really didn’t care. She felt wonderfully tired and slumped back against Cheney’s hands. “My jaw feels like someone exploded a bomb inside my face.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Cheney said. “No, no, don’t you let go now. Straighten up, you can do it.” Cheney lifted her back to a sitting position, pounded her back a couple more times. Thank the good Lord there was nothing left to come up. “That’s it, no more water in you. Now get yourself together, Julia. You’re going to be all right.” He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Time to get a grip here. Come on now!”
She opened her eyes and yelled, “Stop it, you baboon! My head’s going to break off my neck.”
He stopped shaking her. “Okay, but don’t try to fade out again or I’ll whack you some more.”
She heard a woman’s voice. “Cheney? Manny? What’s going on here? I finished my cigarette, but neither of you were at the table when I went back inside. Linda said Manny had come to look for you, Cheney. Come on back inside, they just brought our dinner. Hey, what’s this?”
Cheney slowly got to his feet, pulling Julia up with him, anchoring her against his side so she wouldn’t fall on her face.