Chapter 40
FORTY
Kenzie’s hands still covered her ears, just in case the sound came again.
That had been torture.
She could see why the Coast Guard used the alarm to get a boat’s attention—no chance anybody could ignore that pulse. It had sliced through her skull, rattling her teeth, vibrating in her chest until she thought her heart might seize.
If she’d been in the cabin, behind the partially soundproof panels, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But here, with nothing but fiberglass between her and it—sheer torture.
Now that the pulse had silenced, she needed to get her bearings again. Her head pounded with a dull, relentless ache that had her stomach churning.
The engine noise seemed muffled, distant, as if she were underwater. She hoped she didn’t have permanent hearing damage.
Her legs screamed. How long had she been standing in this coffin-like space? An hour? Felt like it, but it was too dark to read her watch. Her calves had cramped, the muscles seizing into hard knots she couldn’t massage away. Her lower back throbbed.
The nausea was the worst of it now—a sick, rolling sensation that had nothing to do with the boat’s movement and everything to do with the sound that had just assaulted her. She swallowed hard, tasting bile, and pressed her head against the cool fiberglass.
Breathe. Just breathe.
It was a few moments before her brain finally came back online.
That noise had been directed at this ship, meaning it had come from another. Was the Coast Guard here?
Maybe, but she hadn’t heard anything before the pulse.
The machines that made that noise—sound cannons—were equipped with microphones loud enough to be heard by all the crew on another vessel from as far away as a half mile.
Surely the Coast Guard would have started with a verbal warning, not an attack.
The alert tone was used as a last resort before weapons.
But someone had located this yacht. If not the Coast Guard…
Dad was here. Maybe Jaz—
Don’t think about Jaz. He’s fine. Henry’s a liar.
She strained to hear anything, her pulse racing now for an entirely different reason. Slowly, her hearing returned. The ringing faded to a high whine, and beneath it, sounds began to filter through.
Faraway shouting. Either her hearing was improving rapidly, or the men were moving in. Was it Dad? Were they here for her?
A slam that was so loud, it must have come from the berth on the other side of the panel in front of her.
Should she leave her hiding place? Was that her father or his men?
A man spoke French, rapid and harsh, but she translated.
“Elle doit être ici. Trouvez-la.” She must be here. Find her.
That wasn’t the Coast Guard. That wasn’t Dad.
Suddenly, the voices were louder. Closer.
Someone had opened the locker door.
She heard metal on metal—the hangers scraping against the rail.
She gripped the knife in both hands, hoping to keep the panel from moving.
But then it shifted.
No. No, no, no.
She watched in horror as a crack of light appeared at the edge, thin as a blade.
She was hemmed in on both sides. Trapped. Nowhere to run. The compartment that had kept her safe was about to become her cage.
A man muttered curses in French, so close it was as if he spoke right into her ear.
She tried to pull the blade out.
Velcro ripped. Another inch of light.
Her knife was stuck.
The guard pulled from his side. She pulled from hers. But the knife’s handle slipped out of her hand.
The panel was shoved to the side, her knife with it.
The guard saw her. He was the second of the two who’d taken her initially. The first man’s partner.
The dead man’s partner.
His face was flushed, his jaw tight, his eyes hard with fury. He looked murderous.
The hope that had risen at the sound of the pulse flew away like a bird startled from its perch, leaving nothing but cold, hollow dread.
“Trouvé,” he called over his shoulder. Found.
He reached in and grabbed her arm, fingers digging into flesh already sore from being handled just like that, over and over. He yanked, and she lurched forward, her legs stiff and cramped from standing motionless for so long.
She stumbled out of the locker and would have crashed to the floor if not for the guard’s iron grip. He hauled her upright.
Another guard appeared in the doorway, his expression just as angry.
Whatever had caused that alert tone, whatever hope it had briefly kindled…
It had only made things worse.