Chapter 12
FRANKIE
Working alone, Frankie crouched low in Stone’s hovercraft, partially concealed in a thicket of sawgrass.
She adjusted Stone’s fancy night-vision goggles, and the world shifting into an eerie green glow as she focused on the narrow tributary up ahead.
The Louisiana night pressed against her skin like a damp cloth and sweat trickled down her spine.
The damn mosquitoes buzzed their high-pitched squeal near her ears.
Flicking them away was pointless, the insects were as relentless as the heat and humidity which was on max tonight.
Stone had called her plan reckless. Maybe it was.
But reckless had kept her alive after Mom took off without a backward glance, forcing her to spend her childhood on a male-dominated oil rig.
Reckless had kept her moving after Dad was murdered.
Reckless was just another word for refusing to roll over and die.
Overhead, the moon hung low and bright, casting silver across the water and giving enough light to make her too exposed for comfort. Beside her, Stone’s loaded Glock was resting on the seat.
She checked the watch Stone had lent her: 11:42 P.M. If those bastards kept to their pattern, the boat would come this way real soon.
Stone had been skeptical when she’d insisted on using his hovercraft, but his doubt had evaporated during their test run.
She’d navigated the craft through passages so narrow they’d scraped vegetation on both sides, skimming over mud that would swallow a normal boat to its gunwales.
The impressed look on his face had been worth the mosquito feast she’d provided.
“Okay, you proved your point,” he’d said, white-knuckling the seat as she’d whipped the craft around a tight corner.
“I’ve been driving these things since I was twelve,” she’d answered with a shrug. “Never had my own though. Lucky for some.”
She hadn’t bothered explaining how her dad had taught her on an old military surplus model that they’d stolen for the joyrides.
The tributary she hid in was the same one where she’d followed the men last time.
It cut through the marsh like a black vein, barely visible even with the goggles.
But she’d grown up navigating these waterways and could follow them blindfolded if needed, which wasn’t far from what she was doing now, with the moon hiding behind clouds.
The familiar night chorus of frogs and cicadas kept her company.
Using her as bait had been her idea, and it had rattled him at first. But when he’d realized she wasn’t backing down, he’d finally agreed.
Stone hadn’t argued about her taking the gun, though.
He already knew better than that. He warned her not to shoot all of them before they got answers, though.
She’d smirked at that. The temptation to kill these bastards was fucking high.
Her job was to lure the men into Stone’s trap, but if their plan went sideways, and lately a lot of things had gone sideways, she was glad she wasn’t facing these men unarmed.
She and Stone needed answers, not dead bodies.
She exhaled slowly, focusing on the water’s surface. Dad had always said distraction got you killed faster than anything on a rig.
Focus on what matters. The rest is just noise.
At 11:57, a new noise cut through the stillness.
It was subtle, but so unnatural it shouldn’t be in this pristine location.
The hair on her arms stood up as a low shape materialized from the darkness.
A boat moved at speed without lights. She counted four men, same as before.
The boat was loaded with boxes, all unmarked, same as last time.
Yes. Let’s do this.
She clicked the radio once, just like Stone had shown her, signaling that she’d spotted the men. Two clicks came back, confirming he’d received her message. Stone was back at the cabin, working on the trap they’d set.
Now it was up to her to lead these bastards to him.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she twisted the key and the hovercraft’s engine roared to life, tearing apart the stillness of the night.
This had to work. It was her plan. If this failed, they wouldn’t get a second chance.
She grabbed the gun, flicked off the safety, stood up, and fired twice in quick succession at the oncoming boat.
The blasts echoed across the water, sending a massive flock of egrets exploding from the reeds. She didn’t wait to see if she’d hit anyone. They needed those men alive. Wounded was a bonus, but not dead. Not yet.
Shouts carrying across the marsh told her she’d gotten their attention.
She dropped back into the seat and slammed the throttle forward, and the hovercraft surged ahead like a bucking stallion.
“Come on, you bastards,” she muttered, yanking the wheel and diving into a narrow side channel barely wider than the craft. Cypress trees jabbed up from the shallows, and low branches clawed at the craft’s sides as she pushed the machine harder.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Their boat was bigger yet slower, struggling with the tight turns, but the bastards were following. That was all she needed.
If they didn’t take the bait or broke off, they were screwed.
The sharp crack of a bullet sliced overhead.
“Shit.” Frankie ducked. She turned left at the fork, then right at the old lightning-split cypress. She feathered the throttle through a twisting stretch of water, and the hovercraft skimmed across the surface like it was born there.
Another bullet cracked past her head, and she ducked lower, teeth clenched, as the echo of gunfire chased through the narrow corridor of trees. They were getting desperate.
That’s fine . . . so long as they don’t back away.
Ahead stood the thick reeds, the half-submerged log she’d marked earlier, the familiar bend in the river, and just beyond that, the straight stretch where Stone was waiting.
Almost there.
She thumbed the radio. “Stone, thirty seconds. They’re right on my ass.”
“Remember, don’t drag them too close,” he said, voice tight with strain. “Get some distance. I’ve only got one shot at this.”
“Then make it count.”
She dropped the radio and gripped the controls, swerving hard to the left as the hovercraft knifed around a floating mat of hyacinth, spraying water and plant matter in her wake.
A bullet screamed past her, tearing through the canvas canopy just inches from her head.
“Shit,” she hissed, slamming the throttle and yanking the craft into a hard turn. Her shoulder crashed against the seat frame, pain flaring up her arm, but she didn’t slow down. She scanned the narrowing stretch of water ahead.
This has to work. We need answers. This is our only shot.
The tributary tightened around her, trees pressing in from both sides, their roots like gnarled fists clawing at the water’s edge. The hovercraft groaned beneath her, its engine straining, but she held steady, every muscle braced, nerves stretched thin.
Behind her, the engine of the other boat snarled louder. Angry voices shouted over the roar. They wanted her stopped. Or dead.
Not tonight, assholes.
She shot through the final bend, and the water ahead straightened into one last stretch. Somewhere in the dark, Stone was waiting, weapons ready. She just needed to make a few more seconds.
She shot past the trap they’d set up earlier.
The thick rope remained hidden below the water’s surface, but she caught sight of Stone in the corner of her eye, crouched low near the bank.
Twenty feet away, she spun the hovercraft around.
With her heart pounding, she killed the engine and prayed this would work.
Stone leaped to his feet and released a heavy log they were using as a counterweight. It dropped into the mud, yanking a thick rope up and tight across the water a few feet in front of the chasing boat.
The rope hit them like a sword across their chests. The four men shrieked in agony as their bodies cartwheeled off the back of the boat.
Frankie couldn’t tell who went first, just wild limbs in the air and hard slams into the dark water, each impact throwing up a wall of spray.
The boat kept coming.
Unmanned, it surged forward, bow lifting.
Frankie’s chest tightened.
It was aiming straight at her—fucking fast.
Too fast to start the hovercraft engine.
“Oh shit!”