Anchoring You (The Wright Heroes of Maine #9)

Chapter 1

ONE

Kenzie Wright stood at the helm and scanned the horizon, nothing but sea and sky in every direction.

She could breathe out here on the open waters.

The clank of rigging, the snap of lines.

Billowing canvas, steady wind, and waves high enough to keep her on her toes.

They’d had smooth sailing for most of the trip, but they were in the trench now, a fault line running from here westward, which always came with rough, confused waters.

She and her crew had left St. Barts that morning, sailing this remarkable vessel to Miami for its wealthy owner.

Late afternoon sunlight glinted off the Caribbean, the air carrying the scents of salt and solitude and freedom—so different from the landlocked life her father had mapped out for her.

At the creaking behind her, Kenzie glanced over her shoulder to see her first mate, Barn, approaching, his weathered face partially hidden beneath a salt-and-pepper beard. He’d been with her on most of her voyages, a solid presence in the unpredictable world of contract sailing.

“Cap’n.” His voice was gravelly from years of shouting over ocean winds. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” She smiled but faced forward again, maintaining her professional distance. Being the youngest captain in these waters—and female, to boot—meant never letting her guard down, even with trusted crew.

Barn propped one foot on the starboard bench and crossed his arms. “Saw you with that fella Jaz last night.”

Kenzie stifled a sigh. Of course someone had seen.

She’d walked to her favorite restaurant in the neighborhood for dinner.

All she’d wanted was to eat alone, to enjoy the birdsong and peace.

She had no idea why the high-society playboy had been there and had been even more bewildered when he’d joined her.

She’d seen Jaz in town often enough, always with one arm around his woman-of-the-day, the other hand holding a drink. The night before, he’d plopped down at her table, uninvited. Why he’d been in her part of town, far from the glitzy resorts where she usually saw him, she still didn’t know.

At first, she’d figured Jaz had learned of their connection—her sister was engaged to Jaz’s brother—but Jaz said nothing about it, just offered to buy Kenzie a drink.

The man was all charm and no substance.

Not that she owed Barn an explanation, but she didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. “We weren’t on a date. I assume he saw me and…was bored or something.”

Barn studied her face like he could read the truth there. “And?”

“And nothing.” As if she’d be listed among Jasper Aylett’s conquests. The wind shifted slightly, and Kenzie adjusted the wheel to keep the sails filled. “I ate my dinner, he talked at me, and I left.”

“That fella’s got a reputation. Trouble for someone in your position.”

Right. Young female captain meets notorious playboy. It wasn’t just about her reputation. It was about being taken seriously in an industry that still raised eyebrows when she introduced herself as the captain.

“I can handle myself.”

“Don’t I know it?” His eyes nearly disappeared as his cheeks rose in a smile. “You’ve come a long way from Cal’s marina. Built something real out here.”

“Couldn’t have done it without help,” Kenzie said. “Cal taught me the sailing. My mentor, Edwin, gave me the credibility.”

“Good people investing in good people.” Barn dipped his head. “That’s how it oughta work.”

“And without you, it never would’ve happened. You’ve been by my side since the beginning. I couldn’t have chosen a better first mate.”

“Aw, go on.” He waved his hands toward his face, talking and acting like a very exaggerated southern belle. “You’re gonna make me cry and ruin my…”

The radar alerted, and he glanced at the screen. She did the same, noting a vessel a few miles out. They watched for a moment to see the trajectory.

“Looks to be headed straight for us,” Barn said.

She squinted in the bright sun. A speck had appeared on the horizon. She and her crew came across other vessels often enough, but something about that one had her reaching for her binoculars. Through the lenses, the speck materialized into a speedboat.

It was moving fast, bouncing over the waves, its bow lifted high, white water spraying behind it.

She could make out one—make that two—figures, but the spray hid most of the deck.

There could be more men behind them. The two she saw wore all black, and though she couldn’t be sure, she’d have sworn she caught the reflection of something metallic on one of their hips.

A weapon? These weren’t fishermen or tourists.

Pirates operated in these waters, though usually farther south, closer to the islands of Trinidad and Tobago off the coast of Venezuela. These weren’t the swashbuckling legends of old, but rough men who targeted tourist vessels to steal whatever valuables they could get their hands on.

The speedboat was on a heading that would intercept the yacht in a matter of minutes.

“Get everyone below.” She was thankful her voice didn’t give away the fear bubbling inside her. “Secure the doors. Keep them safe.”

“What is it?” Barn held his hand out for the binoculars.

She pulled them closer. She didn’t need a second opinion. “They’re coming. Move.”

“I’m not leaving you to—”

“Now, Barn. Protect the crew. I’m counting on you.”

She’d hired four crew members. Barn was the oldest and most experienced.

There were two more men, one with a wife and kids at home, and a woman a few years younger than Kenzie who’d begged to join.

Kenzie remembered what it was like, being capable but having to convince captains and yacht owners that she knew what she was doing.

She’d taken the other woman on with the hopes of mentoring her.

Would that decision cost the younger woman her life?

Barn was still staring at the approaching boat.

“Go!”

He shook himself and spun, shouting orders.

While he did what he’d been told, she pressed the red Distress button on her radio, then spoke.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Sailing Vessel Blue Fantasy.” She relayed their call sign and position.

“We are being pursued by an unidentified black-hulled motor vessel, closing fast on an intercept course. Occupants appear armed. Requesting immediate surface or air intervention. Over.” She repeated the Mayday two more times, then shifted to hail the approaching speedboat.

“Sailing Vessel Blue Fantasy calling unidentified boat approaching from a hundred and eighty degrees approximately two miles out, state your intentions.”

Through the binoculars, she watched the passenger glance down at the dash, then lift his gaze again without responding.

She’d have sworn he was looking right at her.

The radio crackled with a gravelly voice. “Mayday Relay, Mayday Relay. Blue Fantasy, this is Motor Vessel Bella Bella. Received your Mayday. We are fourteen miles to your northeast and are relaying your coordinates to Coast Guard Sector San Juan now. Stand by. Over.”

The Bella Bella’s response sent a cold spike of fear through her chest. She was deep in the Anegada Passage, in the long stretch between St. Maarten and the British Virgin Islands, two miles of ocean beneath her keel and, considering that the Coast Guard hadn’t replied, at least sixty miles of empty sea between her and the nearest help.

The rough water was typical here, but it wouldn’t slow that speedboat down much.

She replied to the relay vessel, trusting them to keep trying the Coast Guard. No ship called the Bella Bella was going to come to their rescue. For now, they were on their own.

She engaged the on-board engine and adjusted course away from the enemy boat.

A voice crackled over the radio. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.” She had to concentrate to understand over the static.

“Sailing Vessel Blue Fantasy, this is United States Coast Guard Sector San Juan. Received your Mayday. Your position is copied. Nature of distress—unidentified hostile vessel. Blue Fantasy, advise: How many persons on board? Are there any weapons on board? Over.”

“Sector San Juan, Blue Fantasy. Persons on board—five.” Her crew.

Her responsibility. “Vessel is armed for self-defense, one small-caliber handgun and one SOLAS flare gun. Target vessel is now within three hundred yards. I am adjusting course and preparing to defend. Requesting an ETA on nearest asset. Over.”

“Copy all, Blue Fantasy.” The voice on the radio sounded young and utterly unconcerned—his job, of course.

But she wouldn’t mind hearing a little urgency.

“An MH-65 helicopter is being diverted from Borinquen, ETA sixty-five minutes. Stay on this frequency. Do not engage unless forced to do so. Over.”

Sixty-five minutes? It would be over long before help arrived.

Had her pursuers heard the Coast Guard’s reply? Probably. They knew as well as Kenzie did that she and her crew were on their own.

Movement off the starboard side caught her eye, and she swung the binoculars in that direction. A second vessel was approaching, and it didn’t look like help. It was another speedboat.

Were they flanking her?

“Dear Lord, help us.”

She adjusted course again, though without God’s intervention, it was futile. Even in perfect waters with the wind at their back and at full sail, they couldn’t outrun those boats.

Help me think, please.

Panic wouldn’t save them. What would Dad do?

Kenzie knew the answer—Dad would fight. The problem was that Dad was a trained CIA operative. She was a sailor. She knew how to shoot the Sig P365 Dad had given her, but she was no marksman.

One in the chamber, ten in the magazine. Eleven shots on rough waters—against two boatloads of pirates. Kenzie couldn’t outrun them, but she could make boarding a nightmare. If they wanted her boat, they’d have to climb a pitching deck in a blinding salt spray.

All she’d done was buy time. If help didn’t come soon, they had no chance of escape.