Looking around, giving them all eye contact, I describe how the ‘dynamic duo’ navigated the rough terrain and dodged trees, all while hauling ass.
“Then … they stopped.”
I pause to let the tension build.
“When we pulled up next to them in the mule, the sheriff asked if they had lost the scent.”
Holding my hands to each side of my mouth, I lean toward them. “I think Jocko was a little insulted the man doubted them.”
Everyone chuckles, and when I look at Jocko, he gives me a killer head nod.
Luke asks, “What happened? Why did they stop?”
“They needed a water break. They had been running cross-country for twenty minutes at a brutal pace. I asked the sheriff how far we had come, and he estimated two and a half miles.”
Jocko raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, and I laugh.
“Yes, he miscalculated. Sitting in the cruiser waiting for you and Grant, I calculated the distance and the speed. From Mr. Romano’s house to where we found him was four miles. The time tracking was right at 22 minutes. That means Jocko and Lucifer were going approximately 11 miles an hour through the woods. At that pace, they were covering a mile every five and a half minutes.”
Grady whistles and Jocko gives me a sexy pleased smirk.
Grant pipes up. “He ran a four, seven, 40-yard dash in high school. That's still the fastest time, by the way.”
Luke asks, “How fast is that?”
“That is right at seventeen miles per hour.”
“Wow! How fast can Lucifer run?”
Jocko tells him, “He's been clocked at thirty-five miles per hour.”
“WOW!”
Grant puts it in perspective for Luke. “He runs faster than the speed limit in town.”
Luke pats Lucifer. “Dang, boy! You're fast!”
“He's got twice as many legs.” Grayson adds.
Betsy says, “Back to the story, please. It’s past my bedtime.”
Everyone laughs.
“We weren’t on the trail again two minutes before Jocko and Lucifer take off at a dead run. Then Jocko shouts ‘STAY’ and Lucifer locks up. But Jocko doesn’t. He barrels past, plants a foot, and ….” I demonstrate the motion of his arms lifting over his head, then bring them back to my chest. “He dove off the riverbank! My heart almost stopped beating.”
I look at Jocko. “The minute it took for us to arrive in the mule, get out, get to the edge, and spot you swimming, has got to be the longest minute of my life.”
I tell his family without waiting to see how my words affected him. “He was swimming across the current. Mr. Romano was holding on to a fallen tree in the middle of the river.”
Betsy gasps.
“How Mr. Romano got there is for the investigators to figure out, but he would've surely drowned if Jocko hadn’t swum out and saved him.”
Jocko clears his throat.
I tilt my head and turn back around to look at him. “By the way, what did you say to him when you got there? He was laughing so hard.”
Jocko’s eyes twinkle. “I asked to see his fishing license.”
Everyone laughs.
I turn back to the family. “By this time, Grayson is hovering overhead. A couple of deputies have waded out to stabilize the rescue basket while Jocko swims back with Mr. Romano. They strap him in, then hoist him up to the helicopter. And he waves like he's in a parade, happy as a lark.” I show them, “Of course, we all waved back.”
Everyone laughs again.
I walk over to look Jocko in the eye. “I want you to know, witnessing the way you selflessly saved that man’s life was the most moving experience I have ever had.”
His eyes bore into mine, and the look on his face is the same one that has haunted my nights for the past six years. I smile at him, happy I know what that look means now.
It means everything.
