Emergency Contact. Susan Peterson

calf muscles eased and she kicked harder, forcing her arms deeper into the water and reveling in the pull of the water against her shoulder muscles. As she tilted her head for air, she caught a glimpse of Ryan. He had moved closer to the edge of the pool to watch. His stance was relaxed, his expression contemplative.

      Tess lapped the pool again, and this time she noticed that he’d moved to sit in the shade, sipping a drink. His steady gaze, with those exquisite blue eyes, was still trained on her. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it, determined to tire herself out before she indulged in food or anything else.

      She swam on, numbing her body and mind with the repetitiveness and fierceness of her workout. At lap twenty, something started to niggle at the edge of her awareness—a tiny ripple of discomfort.

      She swam harder, dug deeper into the water and ignored the voice, trying to drown it out. She executed another perfect flip turn and headed back toward the deep end, determined to regain the numb feeling she’d obtained at the start of her swim.

      But she failed.

      From out of nowhere, scraps of pictures flashed across her consciousness, all clamoring for attention. Disembodied voices filled her head. Frantic, Tess tried to push them away. She dug deeper still, drawing on untapped strength. But the images and voices persisted, beating away at her defenses and forcing her to listen. To see.

      A fuzzy image of herself strapped to a table.

      Pain ripped through her muscles. She floundered and, when she gasped for air, water rushed into her mouth. Chlorine scorched the back of her throat, and she reared up out of the water, trying to breathe. Trying to escape.

      But she was blinded by the rush of water and wet clinging strands of her hair. Her arms slapped the surface helplessly, and she urgently tried to find the bottom.

      No bottom. She was in the deep end.

      She tried kicking, but her arms and legs had turned to lead. The water around her churned and roiled. One last try to reach the low end. But her body failed her, refusing to respond. She started to sink.

      As water rushed her mouth, Tess thought how funny it was that she was drowning. An Olympic-caliber swimmer, and she was drowning in a backyard pool.

      An odd sense of peace settled over her, cushioning and cradling her. Maybe this was the solution. Maybe she was supposed to simply let go and allow herself to be pulled under.

      She stopped struggling.

      Water closed over her head, and she sank to the bottom.