Chapter 13
STONE
The tension in Stone’s chest eased. All four men were down, clean and fast. Frankie’s plan had worked.
But their boat kept going, aiming straight at her.
“Fuck.” He waved his arms at her. “Frankie! Jump!”
He took off along the bank, crashing through reeds, mud clutching at his boots.
The boat wasn’t slowing.
“Jump!” he shouted again.
She turned her face toward him, eyes wide with fear.
“Fucking jump!”
At the last second, she threw herself sideways off the hovercraft and the other boat slammed into it in a fiery explosion.
Stone crashed through the underbrush, thorns tearing at his sleeves.
The fire lit the trees in flashes, casting everything in orange and dancing shadows. The wreckage groaned as it twisted and sank, steam pouring from the water like breath from a dying beast.
The bank dropped away without warning. He slid down, boots skidding through slick mud, and hit the water hard, going chest-deep.
“Frankie!”
He couldn’t find her.
Heat slammed into his face. Smoke burned his eyes. The air reeked of diesel and scorched metal as steam rose in thick waves off the surface.
He pushed forward, sweeping aside floating debris: splintered wood, shredded canvas, and twisted bits of hull. He searched fast, dipping below the surface, grabbing anything that felt solid.
“Come on!” he shouted. “Come on, come on!”
A broken seat cushion bumped his chest, and he tossed it aside. “Frankie!”
A splash cracked through the roar of the fire and Stone turned toward the sound. Water shifted near a jagged piece of wreckage and an arm broke the surface, flailing weakly.
“Frankie!” He surged forward, shoving aside charred debris, breath burning in his chest. Smoke and steam blurred everything.
She tried to swim, but her movements were broken, arms jerking out of sync. Her body pitched sideways. She slipped under the murky water.
He lunged, reached her just as her fingers disappeared beneath the water, and hauled her up.
She broke the surface coughing, choking on smoke and water. Her eyes were wide, glassy, unfocused.
“Frankie! I’ve got you.”
Her eyes searched the smoke as her gaze slid right past him.
Shit! Maybe she can’t see. Or hear.
He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her.
She trembled in his grip, coughing hard, legs barely moving.
“You’re safe now,” he muttered. Hooking an arm around her waist, he turned them toward the shore. “Let’s get out of this water before a fucking gator gets curious.”
Behind them, another explosion tore through what was left of the motorboat. A blast of heat raced across the water. Stone threw himself around Frankie, holding her tight as the air sizzled and the surface hissed like it was boiling.
The blast passed quickly.
Releasing her, he grabbed her free hand. “Come on,” he said, dragging her forward. “One step at a time.”
His knees hit mud, and as they collapsed onto the bank, Frankie barked out a painful cough. Soaked and shaking, they crawled from the water like swamp creatures from a B Grade movie.
She was alive and in one piece. That should’ve been enough.
But it wasn’t. He needed to hear her say she was okay. He brushed wet hair from her face. Blood streaked her jaw. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” she rasped. “Did you get them?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You did, Frankie. You were incredible.”
She shook her head. “We need to talk to them.” She tried to stand.
“Jesus, Frankie, wait—” He grabbed her arm. “You were just in an explosion.”
“I’m fine.” She staggered forward, limping hard on her busted ankle.
“Christ,” he muttered, pushing up to his feet. He caught up to her, hooking an arm around her waist. She didn’t push him off, but she didn’t lean in either, her weight was half against him, half fighting him.
“Did you see any of them come out of the water?” she rasped.
“No. I went to help you.”
She turned on him, and her bloodshot eyes looked lethal in the moonlight. “Damn it. They could’ve gotten away.”
He stopped walking. “Frankie. You could’ve died.”
She didn’t answer.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You hear me? You almost died back there.”
“I’m still breathing.”
“Barely. You’re bleeding.” He ran his thumb gently along her chin.
She batted his hand away. “It’s nothing.”
“You can’t even see it. The cut’s deep, covered in soot.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Yeah? You’re limping, soaked in fuel, and you can’t see straight.”
“Stone.” Her voice cut sharply. “We need to get those men. Doctor-patient can wait. So, let’s move.”
He stared at her. She didn’t blink. Didn’t back down.
He let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that doctor-patient idea, I like the sound of that. Just take it easy.”
They moved along the edge of the water. Mud sucked at their boots, and Frankie’s limp worsened, but she didn’t slow down or complain. Just kept scanning the water with her jaw clenched tight.
Blood oozed from the gash on her chin. Either she didn’t feel it or didn’t care.
Stone grabbed his handgun from behind a cypress log where he’d stashed it before setting the rope. He stayed close to her, scanning the bank and the black water for any signs of the four men. Behind them, the fire crackled as the last of the wreckage hissed into steam and sank below the surface.
Silence followed.
Then the swamp came back to life. Chirps, croaks, distant wingbeats. It was like the swamp had been waiting for the fiery show to end before returning to normal.
“Over there.” Stone pointed to the opposite bank, where two bodies floated facedown. One had snagged in the reeds, and the other drifted with the current. Neither man moved.
Frankie barely glanced at them, unfazed by the sight. “Where are the other two?”
The reeds thickened around their knees as they pushed forward. Boot prints tracked through the mud. Size twelves, not his. One print was deeper than the other.
He’s limping.
“One’s on the move.” He scanned the brush ahead, but the moonlight barely touched the dense vegetation. “He’s wounded, though. Won’t get far.”
“We should go after him,” Frankie said.
“Let’s find the other one fir—”
Movement stirred in the mud a few yards ahead.
Stone raised his gun and stepped in front of Frankie. A man clung to the bank facedown, half his body still in the water, one arm draped over a root, gripping on.
Stone charged forward, gun trained on the man’s back. Frankie followed, limping hard.
The man’s chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths. His face was smeared with blood, his eyes glassy, and his lips cracked.
“Don’t move, asshole,” Stone said, aiming between his eyes.
“Don’t shoot,” the man croaked. “Please. I’m unarmed.”
He tried to roll onto his back, but he gasped and dropped flat in the mud. “Can’t breathe. You broke my fucking ribs.”
“Name,” Stone snapped.
The man looked up, eyes flicking from Frankie to Stone. When his gaze fell on the gun, whatever fight he had left seemed to drain out if him.
“Garrett. My name’s Garrett.”
“What was in the boxes you were carrying?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just packed them onto the boat.”
“What are you doing on Blackwater Deep?”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
Frankie stepped forward and stomped on his back. He screamed.
“Answer him,” she said coldly. “What are you doing with the legs on Blackwater Deep?”
Garrett twisted, trying to look at her. Recognition lit his eyes.
“You’re that bitch who—”
She stomped on his ribs, and he choked on another scream.
“You better answer her,” Stone said, flashing Frankie a crooked smile. “You don’t want to see her pissed.”
“I’m already pissed,” Frankie shot back, grinning.
“Hear that, Garrett? I’d start talking.”
He didn’t.
Frankie placed her boot on his back, and leaned in.
Garrett tensed, then broke.
“Okay! Okay!” he sobbed. “Fuck.”
“Then talk.” Frankie stepped back, eyes locked on him. “What are they doing to the rig legs?”
Garrett swallowed hard. “It’s a server farm.”
Stone’s breath hitched, and his flicker of disbelief twisted into rage.
“A what farm?” Frankie snapped, turning to him.
Stone stared at Garrett, trying to piece that information into his puzzle. “A server farm.”
That explained the scrambled digital signatures and the tracking inconsistencies. He’d assumed interference, maybe jamming tech. Not this! Building the server farm underwater was smart. The ocean would keep the machines cool and mask electromagnetic noise.
And make it damn near impossible to trace them.
That’s smart. And fucking expensive.
Whoever was behind this wasn’t just clever, they were connected. And well funded.
That made them fucking dangerous.
“When will it be ready?” Stone demanded.
Garrett groaned. “It’s ready.”
Stone’s jaw clenched. He glanced at Frankie, and fear flickered in her eyes, quick and sharp, like she understood exactly what that meant.
He nudged Garrett with the barrel of his gun. “What intel are they after?”
“I don’t fucking know,” Garrett said. “They don’t tell me shit. I just move boxes.”
Stone leaned in, bringing the muzzle inches from Garrett’s eye. “Who’s in charge?”
Garrett hesitated, eyes flicking. “Fuck you.”
Frankie kicked him in the soft spot below his shoulder blade.
Garrett screamed. “Langley!” he choked. “It’s Langley!”
Stone froze. It was like the air had been sucked straight out of his lungs.
“Langley?” he repeated. “That’s not possible.”
Frankie blinked. “Who the hell is Langley?”
“He’s dead,” Stone muttered. “I know that for a fact.”
Garrett coughed and spat a bloody glob into the mud. “Yeah? Then your intel’s shit. Langley’s behind it.”
Stone staggered back a step. His brain scrambled to make sense of this info, but none of it added up.
Langley was dead. He and his Shadow Hounds team took that bastard out after the shit went down in Damascus.
Confirmed kill. No doubt.
Stone grabbed Garrett by the collar, and Garrett howled as he was yanked halfway out of the mud, face-to-face with Stone. “Tell me the truth, you son of a—”
The water around Garrett’s submerged legs shifted. Just a ripple, but wrong.
“Fuck!” Stone’s instincts screamed as he dropped Garrett and dove for Frankie.
The water exploded.
A massive gator surged upward in a blur of teeth and muscle. Jaws clamped onto Garrett’s legs as Stone and Frankie hit the mud in a tangle of limbs.
Garrett shrieked as the gator twisted, spinning him like a rag doll. Bones cracked. Mud sprayed. The sound was raw and wet and gruesome.
The gator dragged him under in a swirl of blood and foam. The screams stopped.
Stone fired his gun into the water. Frankie rolled upright, and stared open-mouthed at the water.
Stone jumped to his feet, ran to the water’s edge, and emptied another burst into the creek.
Garrett was gone. The gator too. Only the ripples remained, spreading across the surface.
“Son of a bitch,” Stone muttered, chest heaving, gun still raised.
Frankie reached his side. “Holy shit! That was brutal.”
Stone stared at the water, dread tightening in his gut like barbed wire.
Frankie wiped mud from her face. “What now?”
That server farm needed to be shut down ASAP. And she knew that rig better than anyone. He needed her. She wasn’t just the key. She was their weapon.
He reached for her hand and met her gaze.
“Blackwater Deep is your rig,” he said. “Time to take it back.”