The windshield creaked again. Cruz had stopped moving.

Jason cursed, then let go of the case and leaned across her. With fast cranks he lowered her window, the water pressing against it hungrily, slopping in. She gasped at the cold, eyes widening. The Honda made a sickening groan and lurched forward. A crack rippled across the windshield like ice on a lake.

Jason grabbed the passenger side window frame, chunks of safety glass poking dull into his hands, and hauled himself out to belly-flop in the oily water. The headlight below him lit the river like a polluted swimming pool. He took a breath and dove, his eyes closed against the murk. Counting, one, two, three, four, frog-legging down and over. Then surfacing slow, one hand above to make sure he didn't hit the bottom of the car. When he felt air he kicked hard and came up alongside her door.

She stared at him, blinking like she was surprised he was there. The Honda shuddered, the entire hood submerged, three-quarters of her window underwater. He grabbed the frame with his right hand and with his left leaned in for her, clamping his arm in a crude hug under her shoulders. "Come on," he said. "I need you to help."

She blinked, shook her head, then nodded. Her hands found the window frame, white fingers clenching the edge. He tugged at her, planting his feet against the side of the car, the traction of his sneakers lending purchase. She steered herself out the window, body slipping through. He had her most of the way out when the windshield gave. Water flooded in, yanking the car downward. He kicked frantically, one arm slung around her, terrified she would get caught and tug them both to the bottom.

And then she was clear, and he was on his back, pulling her in a lifeguard cradle through inky water.

The Honda canted up, only the crumpled trunk sticking out of the water, already beginning to sink. Iridescent bubbles streamed around it.

"Are you okay?" He kicked backwards. The eastern shore was closer, so he headed that way. There was hardly any current; this section of the river was really a channel, used for shipping.

"I'm dizzy," she said.

"Can you kick?"

Her legs began to scissor. It was wobbly at first, but grew stronger as they moved.

Jason looked up to the bridge twenty feet above. From this angle he couldn't see much, but an Escalade was a big vehicle. If it were there, he should have been able to spot it. Maybe they'd continued on, not wanting to linger near the accident. The corner had been deserted when they'd gone over, but surely other cars would have come soon.

An Escalade. Until now, he hadn't had time to process what that meant.

The east bank of the river was lined with scrub trees, their branches festooned with plastic bags and rotting sneakers. A sludgy, organic smell surrounded them. The channel walls were vertical concrete three feet high. He looked at it, then at her.

"I'm okay," she said.

He let her go cautiously, and she tread water with one hand on the wall. Jason took a breath, ducked underwater, then kicked hard, flinging an arm up to catch the lip of the breakwall. He brought his other to join it, then pulled himself up, the concrete scraping against his body. A thin ribbon of trees bordered the construction site he'd seen before the car went over. Heavy equipment was parked fifty yards away, and mounds of dirt screened them from the road.

He lay on his belly and extended an arm for Cruz. Water sluiced off her as he hauled her out, her feet scrabbling against the concrete.

When she was safely on dry ground, he flopped down on his back. He hurt in a hundred places, and his breath came hard. But they had made it. He stared up at the sky, the rain cool and cleansing. Clouds hid the stars. Cruz lay beside him, panting. Her upper arm touched his, and the warmth felt good. He lay still, not thinking and enjoying it.

Then Cruz jerked upright. "The briefcase."

He shook his head.

She stared at him. "You were reaching for it. I remember."

"It was caught." Jason sat slowly. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing twigs. "Under the seat. I couldn't get it in time."

Her eyebrows knit. "It had everything to save your life, and Billy's. You needed that briefcase." City light reflected off the clouds to paint her profile, and he saw something like understanding dawn there. "But I couldn't move."

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing at all.

Cruz stared for a long moment. Then leaned forward to bring her face close. Her hair was matted and wet, and she had a leaf stuck to her neck, but she glowed anyway. "Thank you," she said.

"You would have done the same."

She smiled. "Don't believe it." Then she kissed him, her lips cool, her tongue sweet, and he felt something loosen in him. The Worm giving ground, and he realized that whatever else happened, whatever this thing between them turned out to be, he hoped he didn't screw it up the way he screwed most things up. He prayed that if it did end wrong, at least let it be a new screwup. A screwup that came of reaching for something more. Maybe even of daring to be responsible to someone else.

Then he heard a voice he recognized.

"Y'all kissing on each other after climbing out of the Chicago River?" Playboy sounded mean and close. "That's just got to be love."

CHAPTER 36

Full circle.

The first time they'd met, Playboy had been smiling and armed as he took Jason by surprise. Now here they were again, a few days later, history repeating itself yet again. Like a little kid making the same joke over and over: Not that funny the first time and worse with each repetition.

"Stand up real slow." Playboy wore a black track suit made of some shiny material. The Cadillac necklace gleamed from his chest, and in his right hand he held what looked to Jason like a Ruger P90, chrome over black. Behind him stood two men: a tall, skinny guy who kept shifting on his feet and a stocky muscle-man with tape across his nose. The wrestler Jason had hit with a car door. Full circle.

Jason took his hands from Cruz's hair, held them out at shoulder height. Twisted to get a leg underneath, then rose up straight and easy. His eyes drank the landscape, looking for any advantage. The only cover were the mounds of rain-spattered dirt behind Playboy, sloping ten-foot hills that hid the street beyond. He thought of diving for the river, but it was no kind of cover at all. It was only in movies that bullets didn't hurt once you hit the water.

"You a pain in my ass, know that?" Playboy shook his head. "Most people, they'd have called it a day after goin' off the bridge. Couldn't believe when Curtis," gesturing at the tall one, "said he saw y'all swimming for shore. But then, you a soldier, right?"

"Yeah," Jason said softly. "That's right."

"I feel that." He gestured with the pistol. "Toss your strap."

"Huh?"

Playboy rolled his eyes. "Your gun. Drop your gun."

"I don't have one."

The gangbanger raised the Ruger to point at Jason's face, the black hole of the barrel sure and unblinking. Jason stared back. "I don't."

"What'd you do with my Beretta?"

"DiRisio and his crooked cops took it from me."

Playboy's eyes narrowed at that. "DiRisio, huh?"

"Yeah. Same guy who hired you to grab me. Same guy who killed my brother."

Wind stirred leaves in the reedy trees along the water's edge. Playboy stared at him another moment, shrugged. "That was a nice gun."

"You want to give me the one you're holding, I'll buy you a new Beretta." Trying to play cool, just like the first time they'd met. To keep tensions from escalating. All the while, his heart vibrating against his ribs.