Chapter 17 - SURVIVING THE CHILL
Damon dragged Clara toward the barnacle-encrusted wooden pilings of an old, disused fishing pier nearby.
They pulled themselves out of the water, shivering violently as the freezing maritime wind cut through their wet clothes.
Clara coughed up seawater, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she leaned against a rotting support beam.
"Are... are you okay?" Damon managed to ask, wiping wet hair out of his eyes while checking the waterproof folder.
"I'm freezing, but... the documents are safe," Clara gasped, holding up the sealed plastic bag inside her coat.
Damon let out a massive sigh of relief, wrapping his wet blazer around her shoulders to share what little body heat he had.
"We need to get to a federal safehouse before my mother's men sweep the coastline," Damon said urgently, standing up.
He helped Clara to her feet, their bodies aching from the fall, but their spirits unbroken by the harrowing ordeal.
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They walked three miles along the deserted shoreline until they reached a 24-hour highway diner in the neighboring town.
Damon used a payphone in the back to dial Agent Miller directly on her secure, unlisted federal emergency line.
