Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
The dinghy bounced over the chop as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the water in shades of amber and coral. Jaz gripped the side rail, salt spray misting his face, and watched a lone yacht grow larger against the darkening sky.
Something wasn’t right.
Henry’s man—a thick-necked local who’d introduced himself as Cédric—sat on the rear bench, navigating them away from the regatta’s chaos.
Behind them, the harbor teemed with boats and spectators, sails snapping in the late afternoon breeze.
Ahead, a single yacht was anchored far from the rest, a silhouette against the bleeding sun.
Too far away. The thought nagged at him like a splinter. Henry had claimed he wanted to watch the race, but from this distance, the boats would be specks. Nobody anchored this far out to spectate.
Obviously, Henry hadn’t been telling the truth. The man ran a cartel. He was a drug smuggler, a murderer. So Jaz shouldn’t be surprised.
Except Henry didn’t know he knew.
The engine droned, vibrating through the hull and up into his bones. Jaz scanned ahead, then glanced back again, past Cédric. Wright’s boat had fallen behind, the gap between them widening with each passing minute.
“Beautiful evening, non?” Cédric called over the engine noise, his accent thick, his smile easy.
“Yeah.” Jaz kept his voice casual, his body loose. “Perfect for the race.”
Cédric adjusted their course. Still in the direction of the yacht, but they’d pass by the bow. Maybe he intended to circle to the other side?
Jaz’s instincts screamed at him to move, to act, to do something. If this was a trap, he needed to know what kind before he could escape it.
The dinghy shifted course and slowed.
Jaz turned to look at Cédric.
The man’s friendly demeanor was gone as he reached for something in his pocket. Something dark and metallic.
Jaz didn’t think. Just threw himself backward off the boat.
A gunshot cracked through the air, muffled when he hit the cold water.
He swam down and away, far enough to hide.
The engine noise faded, but not much before it increased again. Cédric was coming back to finish him off, as if leaving him alone miles from shore wouldn’t guarantee his demise.
Jaz kicked hard, his eyes burning with salt.
Above him, the hull of the dinghy was a smudge against the fading light.
Which way to shore? He’d lost all sense of direction. The water was dark, the light from above diffused and uncertain. He picked a direction—away from the boat—and swam.
His lungs began to burn. He needed air. But if he surfaced now, Cédric would be waiting with that gun.
He pushed further, angling up, praying the waves would hide him.
His vision started to spot, his body screaming for oxygen. He broke the surface, gasping, sucking in air that tasted like salt and fear.
The dinghy was about twenty yards away, Cédric silhouetted at the stern, scanning the water.
Jaz spotted the distant shore and ducked back under.
When he surfaced again, Cédric was circling the area slowly.
Lord, I need You.
He dove under again.
The next time he surfaced, Cédric spotted him.
Jaz went under, kicking furiously.
The gunshot was deafening, swallowed by water.
That had been too close.
How long could he keep up this game of whack-a-mole? How long before Cédric got off a lucky shot?
Jaz started swimming, not straight back to shore but diagonally.
Another engine roared, the rumble deeper than the dinghy’s. Jaz spun, looking for the source, and saw the bottom of a small craft, not much larger than the dinghy Cédric occupied.
Was it Wright? Or had Cédric called for reinforcements?
The boat slowed as it neared.
Jaz didn’t know what was going on, but he needed air. He popped up and gasped, facing the newcomer.
Wright was standing, scanning the water.
Cédric’s boat zoomed away.
“Over here!” Jaz was out of breath, exhausted. He couldn’t get enough volume, so he waved his arms and prayed they’d see him.
“There!” Wright yelled.
The driver aimed for him.
Wright leaned over the side and grabbed Jaz’s arm and hauled him over the gunwale. “Go, go!”
The boat shot forward, and Jaz collapsed onto the deck, coughing up seawater, his chest heaving. He yelled over the engine noise, “Thanks.”
Wright looked at him. His face was wild, his eyes desperate.
Jaz’s stomach plummeted. Something was wrong. Something else.
“She’s gone.” The man’s voice was ragged, barely controlled. “They took her. They took Kenzie.”
Jaz struggled to his knees, still gasping, trying to process. “What? How do you—? When?” He grabbed the console and pulled himself up. “How?”
“I don’t know.” Wright’s hands were fisted, white-knuckled. “Michael’s guy, Splat. He called, said he’d been shot. Said he lost her.”
Jaz spun, seeing the man who’d tried to kill him speeding away. “We have to follow him. We have to figure out—”
“He won’t know anything. He’s just a hired gun.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do!” Wright’s voice thundered. “I do know because I’ve done this before. I’ve dealt with…” He took a breath, let it out. “There’s a drone watching him. They’ll see where he goes. My bet is that he lands at a marina or even pulls up to a shore and then goes back to his life.”
Jaz couldn’t help but feel like their only lead to find Kenzie was disappearing into the night. “Nobody knew where we were. Nobody knows what we know.”
“Somebody knew!” Wright’s shout was loud over the engine noise.
It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Jaz had been on his way to meet an old friend. An old friend who’d tried to have him killed.
Kenzie had been safe at their hotel, safe with…with some friend of Michael’s. Who was Michael? He couldn’t remember.
But that friend hadn’t been safe. She’d been taken.
El Fantasma was way ahead of them. Somehow, he knew…everything. Jaz had thought he’d had the upper hand. Turned out, he held no cards at all.
“What about the yacht, the one we were on our way to—”
“That’s not his. Wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t lead you there, not if he suspected you.”
Right. Right. Which meant… He couldn’t think about what it meant. “We’ll find her. We’ll get her back.” They had to. He couldn’t conceive of another option. The woman he’d rescued… The woman he’d fallen for…
They reached the harbor, and the driver slowed for the no-wake zone, weaving among the many vessels floating there.
“He has my daughter.” Wright’s voice was low now, all the wildness compressed into something deadly. “He has my little girl.”
Kenzie wasn’t little, and she wasn’t a girl. She was a capable woman who’d proven herself time and again. But she was in the hands of a monster.
Jaz thought of Charlotte, safe in Virginia with Noah. At least Jaz hoped she was safe. He knew what it was like to have a daughter kidnapped. Did it matter that Kenzie was twenty years older than Charlotte? He doubted it. It would be just as terrifying for a father, just as awful.
“Where would they take her?” Jaz asked. “Where do you think—?”
“I don’t know.” Wright’s voice broke on the last word. “I don’t know.”
The sun slipped below the horizon, stealing the last beam of light. Somewhere out there, Kenzie was in the hands of people who wanted to use her, hurt her, maybe kill her.
And Jaz had no idea how to find her.
But he would. Whatever it took, however long it took, he would find her.
Or die trying.