Under the Surface
I couldn't dodge clean with Winnie in my arms, so I twisted to take the blow across my shoulder instead of my head. Pain exploded down my back and dropped me to one knee. Winnie tumbled free onto the patio stones, screaming.
"Run! Get under the deck!" I shouted, forcing myself up through the pain.
Preston didn't chase her — he knew I wouldn't leave without her. He swung the poker in a wide arc at my ribs. I ducked under it and drove my shoulder into his chest, and we went down hard onto the wet concrete at the pool's edge, the poker clattering into the water somewhere behind us.
He clawed at my throat, panic giving him a strength I hadn't expected, and got a hand under my jaw, forcing my head back over the lip of the pool. Cold, foul water closed over my face. Through the murk I could see the dark shape of the bags inches from my eyes, and my lungs began to burn.
Then, through the water and the ringing in my ears, I saw her.
Winnie hadn't run. She'd picked up the bolt cutters with both hands, her small face set in something fierce I'd never seen on her before, and she swung the heavy steel handles down across the back of Preston's ankle with everything she had.