“We made it.” Mac checked the rearview mirror. The river undulated behind them like a fat greedy snake. “There’s no way Freddie’s men got across. I think we’re safe.”

For now.

Mac checked his phone. Still no cell reception. Grant and Hannah had to be warned, and Mac would have to deal with Freddie.

Stella bent forward and put her head between her knees.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Sometimes an adrenaline crash makes me throw up. You might need to pull over. Thankfully, I usually wait until after a high stress situation is over to get sick.” Stella’s voice was tight.

“Better than during,” Mac said. “Seriously, you were great. You really saved my butt back there. You can watch my six anytime.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Even if I throw up afterward?”

“Breathe through it. You’ll be all right.” Mac reached over and rubbed her back. She needed a distraction. “I’ve hurled a time or two. Have I ever told you about my childhood?”

She shook her head. “Not much.”

“The Colonel put us through training exercises.” Mac slowed the car now that the bridge was behind them. “We learned hand-to-hand, how to handle weapons, and advanced survival training.”

Stella’s next breath was a slow, audible inhalation through her nose. She blew the air out through her clenched teeth.

He opened the dashboard vents, directed the air toward her face, and continued, “There was this one time when we practiced water rescue drills.”

As he told the story, the memory was so clear, he could feel the cold of the water on his skin, the weight of his wet clothes dragging him down . . .

He barely heard his father’s speech. Treading water in jeans, boots, and a backpack took all his concentration. When he tried to look up at the Colonel, the spotlight shining off the back of the house caught him in the eyes.

The Colonel’s super-light wheelchair rolled past. “Time.”

Mac swam for the edge of the pool. Grant hauled him out as easily as if he were a puppy that had fallen in.

“Well done,” the Colonel said. “Catch your breath, Mac.”

Mac’s shoulder muscles quivered under his wet T-shirt as he took his place in line. As the youngest of the Barrett siblings, he was the last to participate in every drill.

The Colonel spun his chair to the edge. Except for the spotlight, the water rippled dark in the September night. The pool was a standard thirty-six-by-eighteen backyard size, built long before the Colonel’s injury, when backyard parties were part of summer vacation. Now the pool was used for conditioning and for the Colonel’s aquatic physical therapy sessions. In the winter, he used an indoor hydrotherapy.