STORM
“Darkness is only an advantage when your enemy believes you cannot see through it.”
— James Sinclair
The red dot rested over my heart.
For one suspended second...
No one moved.
Then Ward hit me from the side.
The world disappeared beneath his body as he drove me to the floor.
The salon window shattered.
A bullet struck the wall where I had been standing.
Wood splintered across the room.
Rose screamed.
Someone pulled her down.
Frank overturned the table and dragged Grandpa’s journal with him.
“Lights out!” Ward shouted.
“They’re already out!” Frank yelled.
Ben grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him behind the galley counter.
“Then stay down!”
Ward covered me with his body.
His forearm shielded my head.
His heart hammered against my back.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved quickly over my shoulders and arms.
Checking.
Making certain.
Only after he found no blood did he breathe again.
Another shot tore through the salon.
Ward rolled us behind the heavy sofa.
“Shooter is east of the marina,” Nathan called from somewhere near the stairs. “Elevated position.”
“Roof?” Ben asked.
“Probably.”
One of the SEALs moved toward the shattered window.
Nathan stopped him.
“Don’t. He has the angle.”
“Where are the Coast Guard officers?” Calle asked.
As if in answer, gunfire erupted near the marina entrance.
Not one shot.
Several.
Then silence.
“They’re splitting our attention,” Ward said.
He looked toward Ben.
“The sniper isn’t the attacker.”
Ben immediately understood.
“He’s the distraction.”
A dull thump came from beneath the deck.
Everyone froze.
Then came another.
Something had struck the hull.
No.
Not something.
Someone.
“They’re boarding from the water,” Calle whispered.
Ward pulled me closer to the floor.
“How many access points?”
“Swim platform. Port ladder. Starboard service hatch.”
Ben pointed toward two SEALs.
“You take the port side. Nathan, starboard with me.”
“I’m going with you,” Calle said.
“No.”
“You don’t know this yacht.”
“We know how to clear one.”
“And I know every hidden passage Grandpa built into her.”
Ben stared at her for half a second.
Then handed her a small flashlight.
“Stay behind me.”
She nodded.
For once...
She didn’t argue.
I started to rise.
Ward pushed me down.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“With Calle.”
“No.”
“You just let her go.”
“I didn’t let her do anything.”
“This is my yacht too.”
“And you have a sniper trying to put a bullet through your heart.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Only slightly.
But I heard it.
So did he.
Ward’s expression hardened as if he could erase the emotion by refusing to acknowledge it.
“Stay down.”
A scraping sound came from the rear deck.
Ward turned.
His entire body changed.
The man who had been holding me seconds earlier disappeared.
The SEAL rose silently and moved toward the salon door.
He glanced back once.
“Do not move.”
Then he vanished into the darkness.
I remained behind the sofa.
For almost three seconds.
Then someone grabbed Ivy from the shadows near the galley.
Her camera crashed to the floor.
A hand covered her mouth.
She kicked backward.
Her heel connected with the man’s knee.
He cursed and tightened his arm around her throat.
“Ivy!”
I lunged before I could think.
The intruder dragged Ivy toward the lower cabins.
He wore black diving gear.
Water streamed from his clothes.
A serpent curled around the exposed skin of his wrist.
I grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the end table and swung it with both hands.
The base struck the side of his head.
He stumbled.
Ivy bit his hand.
Hard.
He released her with a shout.
She dropped to the floor and crawled away.
The man turned toward me.
Blood ran from his temple.
His eyes were cold.
Furious.
He pulled a knife from his belt.
“You should have stayed out of Blackwater.”
Then he came at me.
I threw the lamp.
He knocked it aside.
I backed toward the galley, searching for anything I could use.
A knife.
A bottle.
A chair.
My hand closed around the first object I found.
Frank’s metal thermos.
The man lunged.
I swung.
The thermos struck his wrist.
The knife clattered across the floor.
He grabbed my throat.
My back slammed against the counter.
Pain exploded through my shoulders.
His fingers tightened.
I clawed at his hands.
The edges of my vision darkened.
Then his body jerked away from mine.
Ward hit him with enough force to drive both of them through the salon door.
They crashed onto the rear deck.
I fell to my knees, coughing.
Ivy crawled toward me.
“Storm!”
“I’m okay.”
I wasn’t.
But Ward was outside with a man who had tried to kill us.
And the sniper was still watching.
Ward struck the intruder once.
Twice.
The man fought back, driving his elbow into Ward’s ribs.
Ward barely reacted.
He caught the man’s arm and twisted it behind his back.
The intruder reached toward his ankle.
A second blade flashed.
“Ward!” I screamed.
Ward turned just before the knife reached him.
He trapped the man’s wrist.
For several brutal seconds, they struggled over the blade.
Then Ward drove the man against the railing.
The knife fell into the water.
The red laser appeared again.
It moved across Ward’s back.
Straight toward his head.
“Down!”
I ran onto the deck and slammed into him.
The rifle cracked.
The bullet tore through the air above us.
Ward twisted as we fell, putting himself between the deck and me.
Pain flashed across his face when his shoulder struck the boards.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Saving your life.”
“I told you to stay inside.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
The intruder scrambled toward the swim platform.
Ward started after him.
Another shot struck the railing between them.
The sniper wasn’t trying to stop Ward.
He was covering the intruder’s escape.
The man dove into the black water and disappeared.
Mark fired twice from the upper deck.
Not toward the water.
Toward the marina roof.
A shadow moved near one of the vents.
Then vanished.
“Shooter is retreating!” Mark called.
Ben’s voice came through the darkness from the port side.
“Two in the water. Heading south.”
The marina lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then returned.
Everything looked worse beneath the harsh white lights.
Broken glass covered the salon.
A bullet hole scarred the wall.
Blood stained the rear deck.
I didn’t know whether it belonged to Ward or the intruder.
The Coast Guard officers ran toward us from the marina entrance.
One held his arm against his chest.
Blood darkened his uniform.
“We’re secure!” he called. “Shooter escaped across the service roofs.”
“Medical kit!” Rose shouted.
Hazel was already carrying it.
Ward grabbed my shoulders.
“Let me see your neck.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
I touched the side of my throat.
My fingers came away red.
“It’s a scratch.”
“He tried to choke you.”
“And you stopped him.”
Ward stared at the bruises forming beneath my skin.
Something frightening moved through his eyes.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Rage.
Cold and controlled.
The kind that didn’t disappear when the danger ended.
“I should have stayed with you,” he said.
“You couldn’t have known he was already inside.”
“I should have known.”
“You saved me.”
“After he got his hands on you.”
His voice was low.
Furious with himself.
I placed one hand against his chest.
“Ward.”
He looked down at my hand.
Then at me.
For one breath, neither of us moved.
I felt his heartbeat beneath my palm.
Hard.
Fast.
Alive.
Ben stepped onto the rear deck.
His gaze dropped to my hand.
Then lifted to Ward’s face.
He didn’t say anything.
But he saw it.
Whatever Ward was trying to hide...
Ben saw it.
I slowly lowered my hand.
“Where are Calle and Piers?”
“Checking the engine room. The intruders planted something near the port fuel line.”
My stomach dropped.
“An explosive?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Ward turned toward Ben.
“Get everyone off the yacht.”
“No,” Calle called from the salon door.
She climbed onto the deck with Piers behind her.
Water stained the knees of her pants.
“It isn’t a bomb.”
“What is it?” Ward asked.
Nathan held up a small black device.
“A transmitter.”
“The tracker from the hotel car?” I asked.
“Same design,” he said. “But this one wasn’t tracking our location.”
“Then what was it doing?”
Nathan looked toward the main cabin.
“Broadcasting everything said aboard Sea Whisper.”
The blood drained from my face.
“They heard us talking about Blackwater.”
“Yes.”
“The journal.”
“Yes.”
“Thomas.”
Nathan nodded.
“They know he knows the second way in.”
I reached for my phone.
Ward caught my hand.
“No calls.”
“We have to warn him.”
“If that device was transmitting, they may have been monitoring your phones too.”
“Then we go back.”
“Storm—”
“Thomas is alone.”
“I know.”
“They found him once already.”
“I know.”
“And now they know Grandpa’s journal says he has to return to Blackwater.”
Ward held my gaze.
“We’ll get to him.”
“When?”
“As soon as we know this boat is secure.”
“That may be too late.”
The Coast Guard lieutenant returned.
His expression was grim.
“Two officers were attacked near the power station. One wounded, one unconscious. Their uniforms are missing.”
Ben turned toward the dock.
“So two of the attackers may still be inside the marina dressed as Coast Guard.”
Lieutenant Akana reached for his radio.
“We’re locking down every exit.”
“No,” Ben said.
Everyone looked at him.
“If they came for the journal, they won’t leave without it.”
Frank appeared in the shattered salon doorway.
His white shirt was smeared with dust.
His hair stood in every direction.
But Grandpa’s journal remained clutched against his chest.
“They didn’t get it.”
Rose stepped beside him.
“And they aren’t going to.”
Ward looked at the journal.
Then toward the dark marina.
“They may not need it anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They heard us read the entry aloud.”
The truth settled over us.
They knew about Thomas.
They knew about the second entrance.
And they knew we were planning to call Mom.
Hazel suddenly looked around the salon.
“Where’s Mom’s photograph?”
“What photograph?” I asked.
“The one Ivy brought from Thomas’s boathouse. The picture of Grandpa, Dad, Mom, and Thomas standing beside the old yacht.”
Ivy looked toward the broken camera bag.
“It was in the side pocket.”
The pocket had been cut open.
The photograph was gone.
They hadn’t come for the journal.
They had come for the picture.
For the faces.
Grandpa was dead.
Dad was dead.
They already knew Thomas.
Which left only one person in that photograph.
“Mom,” I whispered.
My phone rang.
Every person on the deck went still.
ELEANOR SINCLAIR flashed across the screen.
Ward took the phone from my hand.
He didn’t answer.
The ringing stopped.
A message appeared almost immediately.
Not from Mom.
From an unknown number.
Ward opened it.
There were only six words.
WE HAVE ELEANOR. brING THE JOURNAL.
Beneath the message...
Was a photograph of our mother bound to a chair.