by Amy Waeschle
Preston Ford took the final step to the hole.
Cassidy slammed her fist down, grunting with effort as the shard sunk into soft flesh. Preston Ford cried out in surprise, and then they began to tumble backwards. Cassidy heard the gun fire. More glass exploded. Suddenly, she was free of Preston Ford’s grip and he was falling backwards through the hole in the glass.
Cassidy landed on her hands and knees but the trip seemed to take an eternity. The sound of the growling surf mixed with the whistling wind. She heard the soft thump of Preston Ford’s body landing on the ground below.
And then Bruce was pulling her into his arms.
“Oh, my God,” Cassidy said, her body shaking in violent tremors.
Bruce held her tight. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. The guard outside didn’t stand down easily.”
Cassidy clenched her eyes shut, breathing through the image of herself flying through the window. “It’s okay. You came.”
Finally, she had the courage to step back. She followed Bruce’s gaze to where Preston Ford’s body lay crumpled and still.
“Is he dead?” Cassidy whispered, her mind spinning too fast.
“We don’t have time to find out,” Bruce said. He moved to Officer Nash’s limp form in the hallway behind them and squatted to check his pulse. After a long moment, Bruce shook his head.
“Are you hurt?” Bruce asked, returning to scrutinize her.
“No,” she said.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes panicked. “Where?”
She extended her palms. “The glass.”
Bruce winced. “You’re going to need stitches.” He looked around the space then hurried to grab the throw blanket from the back of the couch. After nipping the edge with his teeth, he ripped down, creating a strip of fabric. Repeating the use of his teeth, he created two ribbons then took her palm into his hand and wrapped each strip snugly.
While he tucked in the ends of the bandages, she looked from the dead guards to the blood and bits of glass covering the floor, to the hole that opened to the black night sky.
“Quinn,” Cassidy said, her lip trembling.
Bruce held her face in his hands and stared into her eyes, his expression fierce. “We’re going to find him.”
“How?” She shivered. The room was so cold now.
“Let’s start with clues from his video.” He grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on. Quinn hadn’t moved but the guard was gone.
The sight of him there sparked a fury inside her. How dare they hurt him like that?
Bruce stepped close, his eyes inspecting every corner of the image.
“What if we don’t find him?” Cassidy cried, both wanting to look away from Quinn’s terrifying image and unable to. “Officer Nash used a radio to talk to the guard.” Cassidy glanced at Officer Nash’s crumpled form in the hallway and shuddered. “Can’t we just use his radio, tell him to let Quinn go?”
Bruce shook his head. “That would sound suspicious, don’t you think?” He went back to peering at the screen. “They likely had a plan. I’m betting this guard is waiting to hear that the notebook is secure so he can carry out his part.”
“We have to get there before he figures out what happened.”
Bruce pulled up the map program on his phone. “Tell me again where Quinn’s last signal came in.”
Cassidy zoomed in on his map. “There.”
Bruce studied it, then looked back up at the screen. “He’s in a small space.” He pointed at the bed lining the wall behind Quinn. “Where do people have single beds like that?”
“A crawl space?” she said. “A kid’s room in a house?”
Bruce glanced back at his map, zooming in further and executing a grid search. “That doesn’t look like a house, does it?”
On the screen, she watched Quinn breathe. Tell me where you are, she begged. Sometimes, she could tell what he was thinking, and he could do the same with her.
“See how the ceiling comes down like that?” Bruce said, pointing at the screen. “It’s almost curved.”
Just then, the image shifted. It was so subtle she barely caught it.
“A boat,” Cassidy said.
Bruce stared at her. “It fits.” He zoomed in further. “Here,” he said, pointing at the yacht harbor west of Fisherman’s Wharf. “That has to be it.”
Cassidy glanced up at the screen again, hoping for some kind of confirmation.
Bruce dialed a number, then put his phone to his ear.
“Who are you calling?” she asked, alarmed.
The caller answered. “Hey Perry, Bruce Keolani here. Say, can you look something up for me?”
Cassidy balled her fists, the fabric bandages pinching her skin.
Bruce gave the man on the other end of the line Preston Ford’s name. “Looking for a boat.”
Cassidy waited with him, sensing the tension in his body. She glanced up at the image again. They were so close. Hang on, Q, she told his image. We’re coming.
The voice on the other end of the line spoke, and Bruce’s shoulders dropped. “You sure?” he asked, shaking his head at Cassidy.
Cassidy panicked. Quinn was on a boat. She was sure of it.
“Okay, well, thanks.”
“Have him try Tony Ellison,” she blurted.
Bruce gave her a questioning glance but repeated the name into the phone.
Cassidy held her breath.
The line buzzed again. Bruce shook his head, his eyes grim. He signed off.
“Wait!” Cassidy cried. “Ask him to try one more name.”
Bruce paused, waiting.
Cassidy swallowed. “Ask him to try Ethan Kincaid.”
Bruce’s eyes filled with confusion. He made the request, his voice tentative, almost as if he didn’t want the answer.
Perry’s voice spoke, and Bruce’s eyes widened. “Confirmed?” he asked, then listened. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks, Perry.”
He turned to Cassidy. “He’s texting me the slip number.”
“Let’s go,” Cassidy said, hurrying toward the door.
“Whoa,” Bruce said. “Are you going to tell me why the owner of this boat has your last name?”
“Bruce, we have to go!” she said, wheeling on him.
“No, our part is done. Now we let the pros handle this.” He pulled his phone from his pocket.
“No, Bruce! We know where he is!” Cassidy cried. “We need to get him, now, before they realize something’s wrong!”
Bruce tapped a button on his phone and lifted it to his ear. Cassidy turned and ran for the door but she only made it halfway.
“Stop!” Bruce said, hugging her tight. “Think it through, Cassidy. What are you going to do when you get there? Talk your way onto the boat? Expect them to just turn Quinn over?”
“I don’t know!” she cried, struggling against him. “I’ll figure something out.”
“You have no weapon, no hostage negotiation training. How are you going to free him and keep yourself safe? These are trained killers, Cassidy.”
“I’ll take his gun,” Cassidy said, eyeing the lifeless form of Officer Nash only five feet away, the blood pooling on the hardwood floor.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that,” Bruce said. “But you can’t just storm onto the boat. They’ll kill you, and they’ll kill Quinn.”
“I can’t just sit here and wait while he’s there suffering,” Cassidy said as her limbs ran out of fight. “I have to go there.”
They were both breathing hard from their struggle. “I can get the Hostage Rescue Team in place in less than sixty minutes.”
“We don’t have that long and you know it,” Cassidy said. Bruce held her fast, but she could feel his grip loosening. “If you keep me from him, Bruce, I’ll never be the same,” she said, her voice breaking.
Slowly, Bruce released her. “Why don’t you trust me, Cassidy? Why don’t you trust us to take care of him?”
She turned to face him, the
tears blurring her eyes. “Quinn is all I have.”
“Goddammit,” he finally said, looking away. He seemed to think for a long moment, his face tight in a grimace. “Okay,” he sighed. “We’ll go there. But we’re only going to get close enough to confirm. We are not under any circumstances getting onboard.”
But Cassidy was already running for the door.
They reached Bruce’s SUV and Bruce paused at the back to reload his weapon, then they were underway, with Bruce driving at speeds that under any normal circumstances would terrify her, running yellow lights, taking sharp turns, and barking orders into the phone all the while.
The text came through with the boat’s location and its name, which made her feel sick.
In less than ten minutes they arrived at the marina’s parking area. “I suppose a request you stay in the car would fall on deaf ears,” Bruce said.
Cassidy pushed open her door to the smell of creosote and salt. She took off running, with Bruce hurrying to catch up. “You will follow my lead, okay?” he said in a harsh whisper. “Or I’ll take you right back to the car and cuff you to the bumper.”
She eyed him warily.
“I mean it, Cass. I can’t be worrying that you’re going to do something stupid.”
“He’s my brother,” she said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back.”
“I get that, but we’re just here to do recon, do you understand?”
Cassidy huffed a frustrated sigh.
They reached the imposing metal screen door. “It’s locked!” she cried when the handle refused to turn.
Bruce removed a tool from his pocket. “Shine this for me,” he said, handing over his phone.
Cassidy turned on the flashlight feature and watched Bruce try variations of the tool to pick the lock while her anxiety began to itch at the base of her neck like a rash.
“Wouldn’t it just be faster to shoot it?” she asked as time seemed to accelerate. What if they were already too late?
“Too risky.” The lock clicked.
Bruce quickly packed away his tool, then pulled her through the door, shutting it carefully behind her. They walked down the gangplank, the boards creaking beneath their feet. At the base, Bruce turned left, leading her past silent boats. A soft breeze ruffled the hairs at the edge of her temples. The still water shone black in the soft glow from the deck lights. At the junction with Dock B, he paused long enough that she could hear the gentle lapping of water against the hulls.
“It’s at the end, left side,” he said in a soft whisper. “We’ll confirm, then wait.” He gave her a stern gaze.
She nodded, though doubting if she could keep such a promise.
Slowly, they walked down the dock, past the sculpted bows of several large vessels, their white fiberglass hulls shining in the dock’s dim lights. Cassidy watched Bruce scan the area ahead of them. The dock creaked, making her cringe. From another section of the marina, she could hear faint music, the low hum of a generator, or maybe an air-conditioning unit.
They stepped lightly past an empty slip and two smaller boats. An engine rumbled to life, and Bruce glanced at her. Cold fear dumped into her stomach. The sound was coming from the end of the dock.
When she hurried forward, Bruce drew his gun and matched her stride. Side by side they continued. The engine noise rumbled louder. Cassidy broke into a sprint as she saw the boat at the end of the dock gliding back from its slip.
They were taking Quinn away. They were too late.
By the time they reached the end of the dock, the Cassidy Lynn was accelerating into the night.
Twenty-Eight
Bruce was already on his phone. “They’re leaving the marina,” he barked. “I don’t know,” he added, squinting into the night.
In anguish, Cassidy watched the white yacht get smaller and smaller as it headed into the protected channel created by the breakwater. While Bruce bantered with whomever was on the other end of the line, she hurried along the side of the nearby yacht. I won’t let them take Quinn.
Something caught her eye.
She paused at the back end of the boat where a gunmetal-gray Zodiac was tethered by a rope. Behind her, she heard Bruce call her name. She reeled in the Zodiac, then jumped aboard.
The engine started easily, and then she was untying its tether.
“Cassidy?” Bruce yelled in alarm from somewhere behind her.
But Cassidy was already steering the Zodiac along the back ends of the boats, her fist gripping the tiller.
“Cassidy!” Bruce cried out while chasing her down the main dock.
Cassidy twisted the throttle and braced her feet as the boat accelerated. She rounded the last slip and aimed for the breakwater.
A second later she saw a flash of color. Bruce landed in the boat, knocking her down. They landed in a heap on the cold floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce cried.
Cassidy struggled to her feet and regained control of the tiller. “I can’t let them get away, Bruce!”
He stared at her from his position.
“You can either hang on or get off. I’m not going back.”
Bruce grimaced. “Cassidy, they’re coming. The chopper is fifteen minutes out. We have to let them do their job.”
“What if they fail?” she shouted as tears sprang from her eyes. They reached the end of the long breakwater and Cassidy turned the bow into San Francisco Bay.
“This boat isn’t even safe for the open sea, Cass. We don’t even have life vests. If we fall in or the boat capsizes, we’ll die in a matter of minutes.”
Cassidy ignored this. She had already accepted the risks. “If he dies, I might as well die too,” she said as the wind burned her eyes.
“We’re putting them at risk by going out here,” he said, getting to his feet. He looked into the black night. “We have no idea where they’re going. How far.”
“There they are!” she said, spotting the yacht ahead of them, moving towards the Golden Gate Bridge lit up in white neon.
Bruce turned. “This is a bad idea, Cass,” he said. “We don’t know how many people are onboard. What’s to say they don’t just shoot us. Plus, this boat isn’t fast enough to catch them.”
“It’s fast enough to keep them in sight,” Cassidy said.
“Turn around, Cassidy!”
Cassidy ignored him.
“What’s your plan? Do you think they’re just going to let you onboard? You don’t even have a weapon.”
“I still have the notebook,” she said.
Bruce groaned. “What if they have ten armed men aboard that boat? We’re sitting ducks.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do!” he shouted. “This is suicide!”
“Then you should have stayed behind. I’m not going back.”
She felt Bruce’s searing gaze on her but didn’t unlock her attention from the distant boat. The boat crested bigger and bigger swells the closer they moved towards the channel. A steady breeze sent a constant mist of sea spray into her face.
Shaking his head, his face tight in a grimace, Bruce grabbed one of the bow lines for balance. They passed the banks of the Presidio. In the lights from the Golden Gate Bridge, she could just make out waves firing at Fort Point, marching forward like lines of silver, their white spray detonating against the reef as they broke. The little boat strained against the strengthening current now that they were in the narrowest portion of the channel. Cassidy knew of boats suddenly flipping in the powerful eddies or getting swept out to sea on an ebb tide. Bruce was right; without wetsuits and life vests, they wouldn’t last long in this freezing cold water. If that didn’t get them, the powerful waves would.
From the tug of the current, she knew the tide was ebbing, meaning that millions of gallons of seawater were speeding out to sea like a river. Ahead of them, the yacht passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, and seemed to accelerate. The currents caused sections of swell to break like standing waves. Cassidy sw
ung to avoid them, afraid of capsizing. But there were also huge boils to avoid, and eddylines. In the center of the channel, the Zodiac surged forward as if on a conveyer belt. The sea spray from the rollers and the current clashing had soaked her t-shirt and skin, and a layer of water sloshed around her feet, drenching her sneakers.
“There they are,” Bruce said just as she heard the sound of helicopter blades. Her heart lifted at the same time her gut clenched tighter.
A large, white powerboat with a spinning red light circulating from its bridge shot into view, aiming straight for the yacht. Cassidy watched it pass beneath the bridge, its bow angled high as it cut through the waves.
“Coast Guard,” Bruce confirmed.
A giant wave slammed into the bow, knocking Cassidy back. Bruce’s knees buckled, but he held on. Cassidy was undeterred. There were too many variables. What if Preston Ford’s guards shot the helicopter out of the sky? Or the Cassidy Lynn was too fast for the Coast Guard? She wouldn’t rest until she had Quinn off that boat.
Waves crashed against the cliffs to her left, erupting like claps of thunder in the darkness. She realized that they were now passing the area in front of Preston Ford’s Sea Cliff mansion. Had the FBI team moved in to secure the scene yet? Were they watching them right now through binoculars? Would she be held liable for killing Preston Ford and ruining their chances of gaining information from him?
Cassidy forced her mind to focus. Save Quinn.
Ahead, the helicopter hovered over the yacht, its searchlights sweeping over the bright white deck, but the yacht showed no signs of stopping.
The Zodiac rode over the top of another giant swell then slammed down into the trough. The following wave broke over the bow, sending a wall of icy seawater into her face.
“My turn,” Bruce shouted, then took the tiller from her hands.
Cassidy was still wiping the seawater from her face and coughing from the spray that had forced its way into her mouth.
“You okay?” he asked.
She realized that her hands were bleeding again and wondered if she had just smeared blood all over her face.
“Watch for swells,” he shouted, pointing at the bow.