Storm
“When danger gives chase, a captain must know when to outrun it, when to outmaneuver it, and when to turn around and face it.”
— James Sinclair
The white fishing boat cut through the water behind us.
Fast.
Too fast.
Its bow rose with every swell before slamming back against the sea.
Spray exploded across its windshield.
But the driver never slowed.
Neither did Calle.
She pushed the throttles forward.
The engines beneath us roared.
Sea Whisper lifted onto the plane and surged toward open water.
“How far behind us?” Calle asked.
Nathan raised the binoculars.
“Three hundred yards.”
“Are they gaining?”
“Yes.”
Frank pulled Rose closer against him.
“I thought this yacht was fast.”
“It is,” Calle said.
Her hands tightened around the wheel.
“But that boat was built for speed.”
Ben moved toward the weapons case.
“And it isn’t carrying fifteen people.”
I looked back.
The fishing boat had no markings.
No registration number.
Dark tint covered the windows.
I couldn’t see the driver.
I couldn’t see anyone aboard.
But I could feel them watching us.
“They followed us from Thomas’s marina,” I said.
Ward stepped beside me.
“Or they were waiting here.”
The thought chilled me.
“You think there’s more than one?”
“I think we need to stop assuming there’s only one of anything.”
One boat.
One vehicle.
One tracker.
One enemy.
There could be dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
And we still didn’t know who they were.
Ward lowered the binoculars.
“Two men on deck.”
“Armed?” Ben asked.
“I can’t tell.”
Ward reached for the radio clipped to his vest.
“Calle, get us farther from shore.”
She glanced at him.
“That leaves us exposed.”
“It also keeps innocent people out of the line of fire.”
She nodded and adjusted our course.
The marina disappeared behind the rocky point.
Ahead of us...
There was nothing but the endless Pacific.
Ivy appeared at the top of the stairs carrying her camera.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Getting pictures.”
“Get below.”
“If those are the same men who watched Thomas’s boathouse, we need their faces.”
“You can’t see their faces.”
“Not yet.”
She lifted the camera.
The long lens extended toward the approaching boat.
Ward moved directly in front of her.
“Below deck, Ivy.”
“I can help.”
“You can help by staying alive.”
Her chin lifted.
So did Ward’s eyebrow.
For one terrible moment, I thought she might argue with a Navy SEAL while armed men chased us across the ocean.
Then Piers looked at her.
“Give me the camera.”
She hesitated.
“I know how to use it.”
“So do I.”
Ivy reluctantly handed it over.
“If you change the settings, put them back.”
Piers stared at her.
“We’re being pursued by armed men.”
“I know. That camera was expensive.”
Frank nodded solemnly.
“I understand.”
Rose slapped his arm.
“Let’s go downstairs with Ivy.”
Piers moved to the stern and began taking pictures.
Ivy disappeared below with Willow, Hazel, Frank, and Rose.
Calle stayed at the helm.
Ben and the other SEALs spread out along the deck.
Ward remained close to me.
Too close for me to forget the call.
Too close for me to forget Tonya.
I had only heard his side of the conversation.
But after Ward came back aboard, Calle quietly told me what he’d said while I was helping Rose.
Tonya didn’t love him enough to spend the rest of her life with him.
The engagement was over.
Just like that.
A future Ward had counted on...
Gone in the space of one phone call.
I didn’t know what to say to him.
I didn’t know whether he wanted sympathy.
Or silence.
And this wasn’t the time to ask.
A flash came from the fishing boat.
Ward grabbed me and pulled me down.
The windshield behind us shattered.
Glass exploded across the helm.
Calle ducked but kept one hand on the wheel.
“Everyone down!” Ward shouted.
A second shot tore into the side of Sea Whisper.
Ben raised his weapon.
“Shooter at the port window!”
Scott dropped behind the rear seating.
“They’re using suppressed rifles.”
Another round struck the railing.
The sharp metallic crack echoed across the deck.
Ward pushed me behind the helm.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
His head snapped toward me.
“No?”
“This is my yacht.”
“And those are bullets.”
“I know what bullets are.”
“Then you know they can kill you.”
“Calle needs help.”
“She needs you alive.”
Calle glanced down at us.
“I hate to interrupt this touching argument, but I need someone to check the engine gauges.”
I pointed toward the instrument panel.
“See?”
Ward muttered something I couldn’t hear.
I had a feeling it wasn’t polite.
I crawled toward the helm.
Broken glass covered the deck.
Ward moved with me, placing his body between mine and the fishing boat.
Another bullet struck the bulkhead.
He didn’t flinch.
“Port engine temperature is climbing,” Calle said.
I checked the gauges.
“How high?”
“Two hundred and fifteen.”
“That’s too hot.”
“I know.”
“Oil pressure?”
“Dropping.”
My stomach tightened.
One of the rounds hadn’t simply struck the hull.
It had hit something important.
“We’re losing the port engine,” I said.
Ward looked toward Ben.
“How long can we maintain speed?”
“Not long,” Calle answered before Ben could.
“If the temperature keeps rising, I’ll have to shut it down.”
“And if you don’t?”
“We could lose the engine completely.”
“Fire?”
“Possible.”
Ward glanced toward the fishing boat.
We couldn’t outrun them on one engine.
And they knew it.
Piers raised Ivy’s camera again.
“I’ve got one face.”
“Do you recognize him?” Ben asked.
“No.”
Piers took several more pictures.
“The shooter has a serpent tattoo around his left forearm.”
My blood went cold.
“An anchor inside it?”
Nathan adjusted the lens.
“Looks like it.”
The same symbol was carved into Grandpa’s fishing lure.
The same symbol left on his boat before he died.
“They killed him,” I whispered. “Those bastards.”
Ward looked at me.
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
My fear disappeared beneath something hotter.
Anger.
For years, we had believed Grandpa’s death was an accident. A heart attack out at sea.
Then we learned someone had murdered him.
Now the people responsible were close enough to shoot at us.
“They killed Grandpa.”
“Storm—”
“And now they’re trying to kill us.”
Another bullet shattered one of the stern lights.
I stared toward the dark windows of the pursuing boat.
Something inside me hardened.
“No more running.”
Ward caught my arm.
“What did you say?”
“We’re not going to outrun them with one engine.”
“That doesn’t mean we turn around.”
“It does if we know these waters better than they do.”
Calle looked at me.
I saw the moment she understood.
“The reef.”
Ben frowned.
“What reef?”
Calle pointed toward the eastern horizon.
“There’s a shallow channel between two reef systems about four miles from here.”
“Can Sea Whisper get through?”
“Yes.”
“What about them?”
I looked toward the fishing boat.
“Not at that speed.”
Ward studied me.
“You’re sure?”
“Grandpa brought us through that channel when we were children.”
“That was years ago.”
“I’ve sailed it since.”
Calle nodded.
“So have I.”
“How deep?”
“Eleven feet in the center,” she said. “Less than six on either side.”
Ben glanced toward the fishing boat.
“That vessel draws what?”
“Probably four feet,” I answered.
“Then it can follow us.”
“Only if the captain knows where the channel bends.”
Calle’s eyes met mine.
There was no marker.
No buoy.
Nothing to show where the safe water ended, and the coral began.
Grandpa had taught us to navigate it by the shape of the cliffs and the color of the sea.
The port-engine alarm began screaming.
Calle pulled back the throttle.
Our speed dropped immediately.
Behind us...
The fishing boat gained.
“Decision time,” Ben said.
Ward looked from Calle to me.
Then toward the approaching boat.
“Do it.”
Calle spun the wheel.
Sea Whisper banked hard toward the east.
Ward grabbed the edge of the helm with one hand and wrapped his other arm around my waist to keep me from falling.
For one breathless second, I was pressed against him.
His heart pounded beneath his shirt.
Not with fear.
With adrenaline.
Then he set me back on my feet.
“You good?”
“Yes.”
His eyes searched mine.
As if he needed to make sure.
As if losing Tonya hadn’t changed the fact that his first instinct was still to protect me.
Maybe that was who Ward was.
Maybe he would protect anyone standing beside him. I knew he was that kind of man.
I couldn’t allow myself to believe it meant more.
Not now.
The fishing boat adjusted course.
“They’re following,” Piers said.
Calle pushed the remaining engine harder.
The port engine still ran, but barely.
Steam drifted from the exhaust.
“We have three minutes before I shut it down.”
“We’ll reach the reef in two,” I said.
Ward looked ahead.
From where we stood, the sea appeared completely open.
Nothing but blue water and rolling waves.
But I could see the subtle change beneath the surface.
Dark blue becoming turquoise.
Turquoise becoming pale green.
Coral waiting just below.
“Everyone hold on!” Calle shouted.
The first wall of reef passed beneath us.
Rose screamed from below.
Frank yelled something about his luggage.
Then Sea Whisper entered the channel.
“Two degrees starboard,” I said.
Calle adjusted.
“Steady.”
The reef rose on either side of us.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
One wrong turn could tear open the hull.
The fishing boat fired again.
The bullet went wide.
“They can’t get a clean shot while we’re turning,” Ben said.
“That won’t stop them from trying,” Ward answered.
I watched the water.
“Port now.”
Calle turned.
“More.”
“How much?”
“Five degrees.”
The depth alarm chirped.
Nine feet.
Eight.
Then ten.
We found the center again.
Behind us, the fishing boat entered the channel.
Too fast.
“They don’t see the bend,” I said.
Piers lowered the binoculars.
“They’re following our wake.”
“Then we give them the wrong wake.”
Ward looked at me.
“What are you thinking?”
I pointed toward a place where the reef split.
“Grandpa called it the Devil’s Fork.”
“Why?”
“Because one channel leads through.”
“And the other?”
“Ends on coral.”
Calle smiled for the first time since the shooting started.
“Hold on.”
She turned sharply toward the false channel.
The fishing boat followed.
For ten seconds, we headed directly toward the coral shelf.
The depth alarm screamed.
Seven feet.
Six.
Five.
Ward stared at the water ahead.
“Storm.”
“Not yet.”
Four feet.
Calle’s hand tightened on the wheel.
“Storm.”
“Now!”
Calle spun the wheel hard to port.
At the same moment, she pushed the damaged engine forward.
Sea Whisper surged sideways through the hidden opening between the reefs.
Coral flashed beneath us.
Close enough to touch.
Then the water turned dark again.
Deep.
Safe.
Behind us...
The fishing boat tried to follow.
But its captain reacted too late.
Its bow struck the reef with a violent crack.
The boat lifted out of the water.
Then slammed down onto the coral shelf.
One of the men was thrown across the deck.
The shooter’s rifle disappeared into the sea.
Scott raised his weapon.
Ward stopped him.
“No.”
“They fired on us.”
“And now they’re stranded.”
Piers studied the damaged vessel.
“One man is down. Two still moving.”
“Take pictures of everything.”
I stared at the boat trapped on the reef.
For the first time...
We could see the men clearly.
Three of them.
One bleeding.
One shouting into a radio.
And one standing perfectly still near the stern.
Watching us.
Piers zoomed in with the camera.
“The man at the stern has something in his hand.”
“A weapon?” Ward asked.
“No.”
Piers’s face changed.
“It’s another lure.”
The man lifted the brass lure into the sunlight.
Even from a distance...
I imagined that anchor.
The serpent.
Then he pointed directly at me.
Ward stepped in front of me.
The man smiled.
He threw the lure into the water.
Then raised two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute.
“Who is he?” I whispered.
No one answered.
The stranded boat began taking on water.
Yet the man didn’t seem afraid.
He simply stood there...
Watching Sea Whisper sail away.
As if getting trapped on the reef had never mattered.
As if shooting at us had never been the real mission.
Piers lowered the camera.
His expression was grim.
“I know why they followed us.”
Ward looked at him.
“Why?”
Piers turned the camera around.
On the screen was a clear picture of the man holding the lure.
A black symbol had been tattooed across the side of his neck.
Not the anchor.
Not the serpent.
Coordinates.
Ward studied the numbers.
Then looked toward me.
“What’s located there?”
I read them once.
Then again.
My knees nearly gave way.
Because I knew those coordinates.
Every Sinclair sister did.
They belonged to a place Grandpa had forbidden us from sailing near.
A place that didn’t appear on any of his charts.
A place he had mentioned only once.
The night before he took his last voyage.
“Storm?” Ward pressed.
I looked toward the distant horizon.
“The Blackwater Trench.”