Chapter 20
Nash broke the surface with a sharp intake of breath, water cascading from his diving mask. He expected to see Amy’s encouraging smile from the Stone Cutter’s deck. Instead, his blood turned to ice.
The Stone Cutter was there, but something was terribly wrong. The boat listed slightly to one side, and Trent looked slumped over the controls.
“Trent!” Nash shouted, already swimming hard toward the boat.
Behind him, he heard Marshall, Trey, and Hunter following, but Nash’s entire focus was on reaching the Stone Cutter. He hauled himself over the side, water streaming from his wetsuit as he rushed to Trent’s side.
Trey and Hunter and Marshall were right behind him.
“Trent, what happened?”
Trent fell into Hunter.
Trey grabbed the radio and tried to call for help.
Nothing.
“Professionals,” Trent managed, rasping out. “They knew exactly … what they were doing. One shot from another boat, another from a guy who took Amy.” He wheezed out a breath. “Tried to … to call for help.”
Hunter ripped off Trent’s shirt.
Marshall inspected. “We gotta get him help, ASAP. One in shoulder, one in the chest. Maybe a lung.”
Nash’s head spun. “Where’s Amy?”
Trent’s eyes fluttered open, pain evident in his expression. “They took her,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Three boats … came out of nowhere. Jamming … all communications.”
Nash’s world tilted. “Who took her? The Ferrantes?”
The sound of another boat’s engine grew louder, and Nash looked up to see Brooks, Porter, and Colt approaching fast in the Liberty. Brooks was already on the radio, his FBI training evident in his controlled but urgent tone.
“This is Agent Brooks. I need medical evacuation at Bird Island immediately,” Brooks spoke into the radio as their boat pulled alongside the Stone Cutter. “We have a gunshot victim and a kidnapping situation.”
Porter and Colt were already moving, Porter leaping onto the Stone Cutter to help with Trent while Colt scanned the horizon with military precision.
Porter cursed. “Our signals were jammed. We got here as fast as we could.”
“How long?” Nash asked Trent desperately. “How long ago did they take her?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Trent replied, his face pale but determined. “They were heading north. Fast boats.”
Nash felt panic clawing at his chest. Amy could be anywhere by now, in the hands of people who had already proven they were willing to kill.
“We need to—” Nash started to say, but he stopped as the distinctive sound of rotor blades filled the air.
A helicopter appeared over the island’s ridge, moving fast and purposeful. Nash’s heart sank for a moment—were the attackers returning? “Who is that?”
Trey looked up and laughed. “Dang, the women must have called the calvary.”
“Who?” Nash asked.
Marshall grunted. “Oliver Browne is going to save our butts again.”
The helicopter touched down on the island’s only flat area, sand and debris swirling in the downdraft. As the rotors began to slow, Kensi and Cheyenne stepped out; Oliver followed close behind them.
“Ava radioed me,” Oliver called to them. “Told me what was going on. I came as soon as I heard.”
Nash had never been so grateful to see anyone in his life.
“They took our friend,” Trey said. “But first we have to get Trent medical care.”
“I’m fine,” Trent protested weakly, though the blood loss was clearly affecting him.
“You’re not fine,” Hunter said firmly.
“The helicopter can get Trent to the hospital fastest,” Oliver said. “But we need to move now.”
Brooks nodded, still communicating on the radio. “I’ve got another helicopter meeting us at the house. We can establish a command center there and coordinate the search for Amy.”
Nash felt his control slipping.
Amy was out there somewhere, at the mercy of men who had already shot Trent without hesitation. The woman he’d just found again after eight years, the woman he was falling in love with all over again, might be …
“Hey,” Porter said, gripping Nash’s shoulder firmly. “We’re going to find her. All of us. The Ferrantes made a mistake taking one of ours.”
Colt nodded grimly. “They have no idea what they’ve just brought down on themselves.”
Nash took a shaky breath, drawing strength from his family’s unwavering support. “Okay.” He thought of what Amy said about looking for miracles every day. He bowed his head and said a prayer for help.
As they carefully transferred Trent to Oliver’s helicopter, Nash caught sight of the blood on the Stone Cutter’s deck—evidence of how quickly everything had gone wrong. But he also saw something else: Amy’s notebook.
He grabbed it. It was still open to the pages where she’d been tracking their dive progress, her neat handwriting documenting every detail. She was meticulous, intelligent, and stronger than she knew. If anyone could survive whatever the Ferrantes had planned, it was Amy.
“We’re coming for you,” Nash whispered.