Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
The hurt in Natalie’s eyes felt like a knife to Hudson’s chest.
Three months of carefully constructed lies had created this moment—the moment when she looked at him like he was a stranger.
Like he was the enemy.
And he couldn’t even blame Natalie for her anger.
Hudson opened his mouth to explain, to find some way to make her understand that the feelings had been real even if everything else had been fabricated.
Then headlights cut through the darkness at the marina’s entrance.
His blood turned to ice.
“We need to go. Now.” He reached for Natalie’s arm.
She jerked away from his touch. “I’m not going anywhere with you—”
“Natalie, listen to me.” He kept his voice low and urgent.
He scanned the approaching vehicle. Dark SUV, no plates visible, moving slowly like they were looking for something.
Or someone.
“We don’t have time for this. Those people—whoever they are—they’re not here for a midnight fishing trip.”
“You’re being paranoid. It’s probably just—”
The SUV’s headlights swept across the marina, and Hudson saw the exact moment Natalie registered the threat.
The vehicle stopped at the entrance, blocking the only road out.
Two figures emerged, silhouettes against the headlights.
Even from this distance Hudson could see the unmistakable profiles of tactical rifles.
“What . . . ?” Natalie whispered.
Hudson grabbed her arm, harder this time, and pulled her behind the stack of overturned dinghies. “Listen to me very carefully. Those men are armed, and they’re here to either take us or kill us. Probably both. I need you to trust me right now, just for the next few minutes. Can you do that?”
She stared at him, her face pale in the dim light, then nodded shakily. “Yes.”
He pulled his gaze away from her and glanced around.
“My car?” she asked.
“Blocked in. We’d never make it. Getting to mine is too risky also.” His mind raced through options, discarding them as quickly as they appeared.
The marina was a kill box—limited cover, no alternate exits, nowhere to run except into the water.
The water.
His eyes locked onto a twenty-foot center console fishing boat tied up at the nearest slip. Old but serviceable and, most importantly, it had a motor.
“Can you swim?” he asked.
“What? Yes, but—”
“Good. Stay low and follow me. Don’t make a sound.” He paused. “Swimming is a last resort—but it might come down to that, depending on how things go.”
Hudson moved in a crouch toward the dock, acutely aware of Natalie behind him. She was trying to stay quiet, but her breathing was too loud, her movements too hesitant.
She was a civilian. Untrained. Terrified.
He couldn’t blame her.
They reached the boat just as voices carried across the marina—low, professional, coordinating a search pattern.
Hudson didn’t recognize the language, but he didn’t need to.
The tone said everything: tactical team, mission-focused, eliminate the targets.
“Get in the boat,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. “Hudson, we can’t just steal—”
“Get. In. The. Boat.” Each word was clipped, final. “Or stay here and find out what those men want with you.”
That got her moving. She climbed over the gunwale with surprising agility, and Hudson followed, immediately moving to the console.
There were no keys in the ignition—of course not.
That would be too easy.
“What are you doing?” Natalie whispered from where she’d crouched in the stern.
“Hot-wiring it.” Hudson pulled the panel away from the ignition, exposing the wiring underneath.
Thank goodness for older boats. Newer ones had sophisticated security systems he couldn’t bypass without tools.
His fingers found the starter wire and the battery wire, and he stripped the insulation with his pocketknife.
The voices were getting closer.
Maybe thirty seconds before they reached the dock.
“Hudson—” Natalie whispered.
“Quiet.” He touched the wires together, and the engine coughed but didn’t catch.
Come on . . .
He tried again, holding his breath.
The engine turned over, rumbling to life with a sound that seemed deafening in the quiet night.
So much for stealth.
A shout came from the dock.
Hudson released the ropes keeping the boat at the slip and threw the throttle forward just as the first gunshot splintered the air.