Chapter 23
Shana landed near the beach as far as she could on the extreme edge, but not far enough. And her landing had not gone well as a wave crashed and dumped her from her board into the surf.
Scrambling to get herself upright and standing, she found herself still in thigh-deep water and grabbed hold of her board, straining against her trembling and heart-pounding urgency.
Finding herself turned around she stumbled and spun until she oriented herself to the beach and then searched the horizon for the important landmarks.
First she searched for Dane, looking for the high tent and judge’s chair towering above the rest along the beach.
The chair was empty. That startled her and she spun her gaze along the beach to search further and remembered she needed to move, but to where?
Chauncey. Looking back to the surfers’ marshalling area, she couldn’t make out anyone for sure with the spectators, the surfers and the many water photographers all populating her picture.
She pushed forward blindly toward the shore, still studying the crowd, now looking for Ned or Roger or any of the thugs she’d seen working with them, and as the water became shallower she moved faster and steadier and her heartbeat became more purposefully urgent than panicked.
Before she saw them, she heard the watercraft heading her way and spun back around to see it practically on top of her.
With the water just below her knees, she lunged forward to escape their grasp.
A hand clamped on her free arm and, before she could drop her board and defend herself with her other arm, two men had her in their grip from behind.
She called out, but before she even heard herself or anything other than the announcer over the loudspeaker calling out the next heat and her name as the leader, she felt a sharp pinch.
Then saw the beach, the waves and the two blurry men spinning around until there was nothing.
* * *
Once Dane got close enough, he saw Chauncey jump on an overgrown jet ski with the word “Official” painted on the side.
Dane called out to him and he turned, gunned the engine and jetted back toward Dane, parallel to where he was on the shore.
Dane dove into the surf, close to where the surfers were offloading, and heard some alarm in the tone of the announcer.
Dane felt the alarm down to his bones, as he pumped toward the watercraft, aware of the ticking seconds as they fell behind Shana.
He didn’t understand how they nabbed her so easily and without notice—without even his notice.
In the blink of an eye he’d lost sight of her.
“Jump on—I saw them head west in the direction of the marina,” Chauncey shouted over the engine as he reached out an arm and helped haul Dane from the water.
“I’ll radio Cap and alert them. With any luck, we’ll get to Shana before they get to the Tavares yacht.” Dane forced his hand into his wet zip pocket and took out his radio, praying that it truly was waterproof as advertised.
“Hold on,” Chauncey shouted. Then he gunned the engine and they took off as Dane got the communication device to blip to life. Now if he could only hear himself think over the din of the engine and splashing surf.
He took a bracing breath of salty air, looked skyward as if he’d find help there and told himself he would get to her. He would get Shana away from those animals before they touched a hair on her head.
“Weapons?” Dane mouthed and pointed like he was shooting a gun. Chauncey nodded and made a quick gesture toward his camera bag.
Feeling more in control with a gun in his hand and finally catching sight of the watercraft with the two thugs and Shana, he turned his attention back to the communication device and pressed the button that would summon a response from Captain Lynch.
Praying that the man would answer immediately, Dane held it to his ear, cupping a hand over it to block the engine noise.
“Cap. Status. You in place?”
“In place and out of sight as best we can in the marina parking lot. Where the hell are you?”
“Approaching by watercraft—we have a complication.”
“What is it? What’s happened—”
“They have Shana. Call the Coast Guard to meet us at the Vineyard Haven dock. I’ll get to you as soon as I can after that.
Out.” Dane shut the device down and shoved it in one of his leg pockets, refocusing his attention on the men who held Shana ahead.
They must have drugged her because as they got closer, he realized she lay inert, held by Roger while the other man drove the boat.
Then he realized the other man wasn’t Ned.
Lucky for them, Roger’s pal was far from an expert on the oversized jet ski watercraft and hit the waves wrong often enough to slow him down.
Chauncey turned to him and shouted, “Looks like they’re headed for that marina—the first one we’ve seen.”
“Right in my backyard,” Dane said. He was pleased and hoped the Coast Guard would have a chance to catch up with them because, if Roger and his pal had muscle waiting for them—or if Ned was waiting for them—then they’d need help. Or at least more firepower.
Speaking of firepower, the driver chose that moment, as they closed to within thirty yards, to turn and raise an impressive semiautomatic weapon in their direction.
Dane didn’t waste a second contemplating his options or the likelihood of hitting his target.
He steadied his arm on Chauncey’s shoulder and fired a shot into the craft’s engine and then another.
It threw the craft off balance and Dane held his breath hoping that Shana didn’t drown as the thing listed and spun around out of control.
Chauncey closed the gap before Roger and his pal could wrestle the craft back on course. Roger had released Shana from his grip and Dane saw her move, struggling to an upright position and hanging onto the unsteady craft.
When Chauncey slowed and the engine quieted, Dane heard the unmistakable rumble of a large speedboat and turned to see the boat closing in with a squat man standing at the wheel.
Ned. In a goddamn gigantic boat bearing down on them with roaring outboard engines.
Luckily the boat was larger than it was fast. Unluckily Ned flailed a big-ass weapon in one hand.