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raging tumult. Although many cars had fallen, Chloe didn’t see any of them on the surface.
    They were sinking.
    When the water reached her thighs, she snapped out of her stupor. It was freaking cold . Time to go.
    First, Emma.
    She turned to reach for her daughter but was impeded by the seat belt. Wincing, she fumbled for the release button with numb fingers. They came away wet. The water level was rising faster than she could function.
    Shit!
    Chloe shifted into high gear. She removed Emma from her car seat and pulled her into the front of the vehicle. Water swirled around Chloe’s chest, robbing her breath. The car was getting sucked into a current, spinning as the bay swallowed them whole. Emma shrieked in terror. Her little arms clung to Chloe’s neck, trembling. Another problem presented itself: the window was only halfway down. She didn’t think she could open the door, and she couldn’t fit through the space with Emma.
    They were going to die in here.
    No, her mind balked. Not like this.
    She grabbed the handle and rolled down the window, grateful for all things manual. Her VW might be the oldest heap in San Diego. It didn’t have air bags, power steering or air conditioning, but at least they could escape without breaking the glass. In theory. Water rushed through the opening at an alarming rate. She had to wait for the car to submerge.
    “Can you blow bubbles for Mama?”
    Emma’s face crumpled. She was blonde and brown-eyed, like Chloe, with round cheeks and soft curls. Her cherub’s countenance masked a stubborn disposition. Emma’s temper tantrums were legendary.
    Right now, that was a plus. Chloe needed her to be strong. To fight.
    Chloe held her breath as the cold flood overcame them. Keeping one arm around Emma, she used the other to grip the jamb and push through the window. She kicked both legs and dog-paddled the short distance to the surface. It was shockingly difficult. Emma dragged her down and the chill robbed her breath. Her wet clothes hampered her movements. She broke through the surface and gasped for air, desperate to stay afloat.
    Emma sputtered and screamed.
    Jesus, God. Please help me.
    Chloe should have taken off her shoes and sweater before exiting the vehicle. The price for that oversight might be their lives. Her skinny jeans, basic cardigan and canvas sneakers felt so heavy.
    Emma only weighed twenty-five pounds, but it might as well have been two hundred.
    Chloe couldn’t swim like this. Not with one arm, fully clothed, in these conditions. She didn’t have the upper body strength.
    Emma’s arms created a noose around Chloe’s neck that added to her sense of doom. Pumping her legs furiously, she fought to stay above the surface. Her energy was already sapped. She looked around for something to grab hold of. They weren’t directly under the bridge or anywhere near the shore. The bay stretched far and wide between downtown San Diego and Coronado Island. A powerful current threatened to sweep them out to sea.
    It was hopeless.
    “Help!” she yelled, to no one. “Help me!”
    Then, as if conjured by her hoarse cry, a head popped up in the choppy waves. A dark-haired man was swimming toward them. He looked young and strong, though it was hard to tell with the glare on the water. Sunlight sluiced off his arms with every stroke, like the shining wings of a guardian angel.
    When he reached her, Chloe realized that his sudden appearance was only half a miracle. He couldn’t save them both.
    “Dámela,” he said, gesturing for Emma.
    Emma clung to Chloe’s neck, shivering. Her teeth were chattering, her lips blue. Chloe didn’t understand what the man had said, but she knew what she had to do.
    “Dame la niña,” he panted. Then, in careful English, he said, “The baby.”
    Up close, the man resembled a warrior more than an angel. His hair was cropped short on the sides with a longer strip on top, Mohawk-style. Chloe assumed the language he spoke was Spanish, not some