Chapter 32
Kylian
The floor of the boat vibrates as Kendrick cuts across the water.
Though the twin inboard one-thousand-horsepower engines can reach one hundred forty miles per hour, K won’t push it that hard. He won’t take a risk that great.
Not with her on board.
Especially since she refuses to jump off the damn boat.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
As if he can sense our distress. As if he can feel the wrongness of our situation.
“Switch with me,” I scream at Locke over the wind.
He nods, and we move as a unit. I take his place beside Jo, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. He slinks to my previous position on the floor and crouches low, holding her legs to brace her for impact as Kendrick punches it harder.
I turn off the fear and run the numbers, only pulled out of the calculations when my phone buzzes in my hand again.
This time, I accept the call. “Give me ten seconds.” He’ll have to wait.
I take eight seconds to compute the calculations—the direction of the wind, the estimated distance to the dock, and the exact speed required to get the nose of the boat on land without smashing it to smithereens.
One and a half seconds to double-check the math.
Half a second to yell instructions to Kendrick.
“Seventy-eight miles per hour until the last buoy, then shut it down and coast. Bring it in between the sandy alcove and the rocks to the right of the dock.”
When my ten seconds are up, I greet him properly.
“Hey, Cap.”
“I see you. I fucking heard you. What the fuck is going on, Kyl?”
“We’re being pursued across the lake at high speeds. They’ve rammed us twice, but K was able to put some space between us. We should be home in fifty seconds or so.”
There’s no “or so” about it if Kendrick follows my directions.
My calculations are precise. Thank fuck, too, because there’s no margin for error.
“Fuck. Fuck.”
On the other end of the line, there’s a loud crash. The call remains connected, so he didn’t throw his phone.
Breathing heavily, he curses again. “You’re all together?” he grits out.
“Yes.” Before he can inquire, I elaborate. “Jo’s got a life jacket on. She’s sitting beside me. Locke is bracing her and keeping her steady.”
“Seat belt?”
“No.”
“Good. She can swim.”
My thoughts exactly.
“Put her on.” His voice is more hollow than I’ve ever heard it. Desperate.
I pause, considering.
We’re in the midst of a crisis. This could all end disastrously if the pursuer feels extra bold or Kendrick misses the soft, marshy target we’re aiming for.
Chatting on the phone helps no one.
In fact, it could make things worse.
There’s no comfort she can offer him or that he could lend to her. I don’t grasp why he thinks—
“Kylian.”
Right.
Sighing, I lean over and yell into her ear. “It’s Decker. He wants to talk to you.”