She struggled and tried to roll in the water, to twist so that the attacker was under the surface. Shana was strong, a swimmer, but she was already tired and she couldn’t battle the fierce determination of this would-be killer.

No! Sweet Jesus, no!!!

She was already coughing. Trying to keep her wits. Find a way to survive.

But she was losing ground. Sputtering. Her strength drained even as she tried to pry the steely hands from her throat, hoping to land a blow with her feet. Kick him, Shana, kick! Or bite. Do something, anything!

But the water was heavy.

Her assailant was agile, even in the water.

Her lungs and nose were burning. Her throat on fire. She was trying to cough again, but couldn’t expel the air trapped inside. Her throat was raw, her lungs screaming.

Oh, God, oh, God…no, no, no!

Everything was going black, swirling above her, the stars and moon circling her head as a jet cut across the inky sky. I’m going to die, she thought with sudden understanding and surrender. Her arms moved more slowly, her legs stopped kicking.

She was floating on her back, staring upward as the blackness consumed her and she finally caught a glimpse of the person who had fought so hard to kill her.

Why? she wondered. Why me?

Far in the distance she heard someone yell. “Rico!” her neighbor screamed at the dogs. “Daisy! Little Bit! You all hush!”

But the Chihuahuas were rabid and kept up their high-pitched barking and wails as the night closed in on Shana. She struggled for a breath, then finally blackness took away her pain.

CHAPTER 22

The day was warm. Despite the breeze blowing off the Pacific. Bentz was back in Santa Monica, walking on the pier, slowing at the very spot where he knew he’d seen “Jennifer” jump into the bay. Here, he felt a chill and as he looked downward into the water, imagined he saw her ghostly image in the inky depths, her skin pale and blue, veins visible, her red dress diaphanous and floating around her like a scarlet shroud.

He blinked. Of course she wasn’t there, the water once again a clear aquamarine shimmering as it caught the sunlight.

His cell phone rang.

According to caller ID, it was Jonas Hayes’s private cell.

“Bentz,” he said, still scanning the sea and feeling the pain in his leg. Worse since his midnight swim. Age was creeping up on him, though he was loath to admit it, except to Olivia who thought he was still young enough to father another kid. If she could see him now, limping along the boardwalk, conjuring up wraiths in the water…

“We need to talk.” Hayes’s voice was tight, all-business. He obviously hadn’t warmed up since their last conversation.