Raven’s Nest (Raven’s Cliff #3)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

The Vigilant.

US Coast Guard contract research vessel.

Classified mission off the Oregon Coast.

Footsteps.

Tapping along the metal corridor. Fast, but controlled. The kind that generally proceeded a raid. Stopping and starting, what sounded like rusted hinges echoing in the spaces between. As if they were checking every hatch — searching for something.

Someone.

Lieutenant Commander Saylor O’Conner staggered to her feet, clutching her head as pain pulsed through her temples, ricocheting across her skull and into her chest. She took a step, tripping against the wall when everything shifted — left and right until she thought she’d puke .

She palmed the handle of her weapon, her mind scratching at the emptiness where her memories should be.

Some explanation as to why she’d entered the researcher’s storage room.

Why the thought of those men opening the door sent a shiver down her spine when she suspected they were part of the crew.

Teammates she’d worked with for the past week.

Another creak.

Closer. Maybe two rooms over. Barely enough distance to get it all straight in her head.

She drew herself up and pushed off the wall when that tone sounded again.

The same one that had caused her to tumble onto the grated floor a moment ago.

Louder, this time. Deeper. Rattling through her head, splintering any remaining thoughts.

She took a breath, blacked out for a second, until those footsteps started up again.

The hatch to the room next to hers opened, the telltale screech of metal-on-metal making her eye twitch. She drew her gun, hands shaking, vision nothing more than a pinhole centered on the door when shouts erupted in the corridor.

Everything froze, an eerie silence weighing down the already thick air until it shifted — sped up.

A lone reply, then gunfire boomed through the hallways, pinging off the metal walls, drowning out everything but that damn tone, echoing through the hull.

Exploding inside her head like a frag grenade.

Men yelled outside the door. Footsteps raced down the corridor. The sounds all mixing together until they faded into the lingering strum vibrating through the walls. The underlying thrash of her pulse in her head.

Saylor blinked, rousing god knew how much later.

Her ass once again planted on the metal grates.

Her weapon resting against her palm. Hints of smoke and diesel hung in the air, a motor humming in the distance.

She crawled to her feet, the floor still tilting beneath her as she pressed her ear against the hatch.

Nothing.

No murmurs, no tapping. Just the hull groaning against the surge of the ocean. The ship listing sharply to port.

She took a breath, then inched open the door. Deep shadows filled the corridor, the odd, dull emergency light glowing amidst the darkness.

Had they been attacked?

Suffered some sort of catastrophic failure from the inbound storm?

Or had she imagined everything? The voices. The sharp bursts of semi-automatic gunfire. The fear of being discovered.

The Vigilant rocked, slamming her against the wall.

Pain sparked through her shoulder, clearing some of the fuzziness.

She took a step, found her balance, then shuffled down the corridor.

She glanced into the open rooms, frowning at strewn papers and abandoned tech.

Drops of blood trailed along the metal floor, a bloody handprint smeared across the stairwell frame.

That helped her focus. Had her winding her way up the stairs to the next level. She’d check the crew’s quarters, first, then make her way to the bridge. Either the captain or the rear admiral would have the answers. She just needed to stay coherent long enough to sweep the ship.

Another pulse derailed those efforts. Had her bent over, her hip pressed against the wall, her hands braced on her knees. She concentrated on drawing air in, then pushing it out. Anything to keep the dots from eating up the rest of her vision. Dropping her where she stood.

The tone lasted longer than before, ringing through the hallway until it finally faded, only a deep vibration lingering in the air.

Hovering just out of sight. She did her best to stumble the rest of the way, checking each room until she reached the far end.

Distant voices traveled down the stairwell, the ghostly sounds mixing with that faint echo.

Another bloody handprint had her clearing the adjoining stairs before slowly climbing them. Dragging her shoulder along the wall in case the boat tilted — tumbled her over the rail.

Reaching the upper level without falling two flights seemed like a shining success until she tripped onto the deck — took stock.

Thick, dark clouds filled the horizon, heavy rain cutting down the visibility to some ridiculously small margin.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning danced across the waves, each flicker providing a snapshot of the storm’s progression.

Another violent surge impacted the hull, tossing the massive ship amidst the towering swells. Water crashed across the bow, spreading the width of the deck, tumbling down the stairwell, then retreating over the edge .

She stumbled onto the walkway, gripping any available surface like a lifeline as she picked her way toward the bridge.

She got halfway to the front stairwell when another deep pulse boomed beneath her.

The force knocked her onto her ass as the ship’s lights surged, glowing twice as bright before exploding in a shower of glass and filaments — plunging the Vigilant into utter darkness.

Pain clouded her vision, every thought quickly crushed by the endless humming inside her head.

Thunder bellowed around her and pressure cinched around her chest as she fought to draw in a hint of air.

When her head had cleared enough, she pulled herself upright, legs shaking, her vision a mix of blurry gray bulkheads and black dots.

Deep shadows engulfed the ship, any hint of light extinguished along with her sanity.

But she managed to unclip her flashlight from her belt and grope her way along.

Were those lights flashing in the distance? Red and green? Slowly getting closer?

She blinked, nearly fell, then scanned the surface.

Nothing. No lights. No boats. Just endless cresting waves curling across the ocean.

Saylor gave herself a mental shake, then tumbled through the hatch and into the stairwell.

The Vigilant tilted with the next wave, staying slightly off-kilter, this time, as lightning flashed beyond the windows.

She staggered up the short flight, her stomach threatening to empty from the constant bouncing of the small beam, as she reached the bridge.

She took a breath, shoved open the door, then peered inside.

Shadows filled the room, the helm aimlessly turning with the current.

She stepped across the threshold, falling against the rear bulkhead when the ship tipped up, cresting a huge wave before dropping off the other side.

Water sprayed across the glass as the vessel bobbed aimlessly along the surface.

They should be moving. Making a run for the coast before the storm cracked the damn ship in two.

The welds on hull were already singing. An eerie tone she knew preceded the catastrophic failure she’d been thinking about.

The kind legends were wrought from. Except where she couldn’t quite remember how to get the ship going.

Which levers to push. How to activate the beacon.

Had they lost power?

She scanned the instruments, trying to get a single thought to take hold, when she spotted someone sprawled across the floor. She tripped her way over, then stopped dead.

“Captain Baker?”

Blood pooled beneath his body, his eyes open, unseeing. Saylor went to her knees, felt for a pulse. Cold skin greeted her fingers, the mere press of it roiling her stomach. She grabbed his shoulder — turned him onto his back.

Three hits.

All one grouping. What looked like a single pull from a semi-automatic.

Had she heard gunfire?

She glanced at her weapon. Had she fired?

Another pulse .

Stronger than before. As if it lived in the air around her. Had taken on a life of its own. A few sparks erupted from the navigational panels, a tendril of fire brightening the darkness. Destroying any hope of using the radio.

She stood, attempted to puzzle it all out, when the unforgiving truth hit her hard. Based on the sounds, the emptiness, the crew had either abandoned ship or been taken hostage. Likely by the men she’d heard. But hadn’t they been Maddox’s men?

More pain arced through her temples, the cold bite of reality driving home. Either she stayed and went down with the ship, or she headed for the stern — prayed the Zodiac hadn’t been compromised.

The next massive swell got her moving. Stumbling her way back down the stairs and onto the deck.

She grabbed the railing with one hand, her weapon still gripped in the other, then started moving.

Slowly. Each step harder than the last. She passed where the starboard lifeboat should have been, noting the empty lines, then kept going, tripping her way to the stern.

The thirty-foot Zodiac hung several feet off the deck, the side closest dipping at an odd angle, the broken line from the rigging snapping in the wind.

It wasn’t her first choice as an escape vessel, the overhead canopy barely enough to protect from regular rain, let alone the deluge falling around her.

And the mix of fiberglass and inflatable tubing might not withstand the sheer force of the surging waves, but it beat dying on the deck of the Vigilant .