Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
They’d been flying for half an hour since the fisherman had called Wright. Thirty minutes with no more word, not from the fisherman, not from whoever was supposed to have a drone overhead.
Had they lost her? Was she gone?
Jaz braced himself against the gunwale, scanning the horizon as if he could see over it. Nothing but open water in every direction. The speedboat was eating up nautical miles, but time felt frozen. Waiting. Just waiting.
Wright sat with his head bowed, phone in his hand, though it wouldn’t ring out here. They were too far from civilization to get any cell signal.
Duck was at the helm. Splat sat beside him, chair swiveled to face toward the back, legs stretched out.
He stared out the back of the boat. One hand was pressed to his ribs, and he winced whenever the boat hit a wave, but that and the blood still on his forehead were the only indications he’d been injured.
His other hand held the satellite phone. For hours and hours—or so it felt—nothing happened. And then Splat sat up and held the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
He listened. After a second, he spun and tapped on the navigation console.
A red pin dropped on the display.
Jaz stared at that pin, which looked like—it sounded corny to even think it—but it looked like a beacon of hope. We’re coming, Jesus girl. We’re coming to get you.
Splat ended the call, dialed another, spoke coordinates into it. A second later, Splat ended that call. “We got ’em.”
Duck throttled back, the sudden deceleration throwing Jaz off balance. He tightened his grip to keep from flying forward.
Martinez’s black-hulled craft surged alongside. “News?”
“We’ve got a location,” Jaz said.
“About fifteen nautical miles south-southeast of us,” Duck said.
“How are they still so far?” Wright snapped.
“They’re moving too.” Duck vacated the driver’s seat. “We’re not far. We should see it any minute. When we do”—he focused on Splat—“throttle down and we’ll loop around.”
Splat slid behind the wheel. “I know the plan.” He turned to Wright. “You’re still okay with it?”
“Whatever it takes to get her back.”
Jaz knew his part. He grabbed the rail and swung himself over the gap between the boats, landing hard on the black hull of Martinez’s boat. Duck followed a second later.
Jaz planted his feet and hung on. “Let’s move.”
Splat hit the throttle, and Martinez fell in behind.
Jaz checked his weapon. Full magazine with two more stowed. He slid the gun back into the holster strapped to his leg over the wetsuit and the magazines into the small waterproof pack strapped to his waist.
Laguerre had thought of everything.
Once his scuba gear was ready, there was nothing else to do until they reached the yacht.
They’d see the running lights any minute now.
On the boat ahead, Wright seemed equally intent, standing behind the empty seat beside the hull and gripping the console, every line of his body rigid.
Jaz understood how he felt. His own daughter had been threatened.
Nearly shot. Kidnapped. Those hours when he hadn’t known where she was, his body had thrummed with a thousand emotions that mixed up and coalesced into sheer determination.
He’d have sacrificed anything to get her back safely.
His brother’s life, the nanny’s life. His own life—the one he’d put in the most danger.
Whatever price required to protect Charlotte, he would have paid it.
Like he’d do anything to protect Kenzie now.
Jaz gripped the rail and watched, his heart pounding a single word with every beat.
Kenzie. Kenzie. Kenzie.