Evelyn gasped as the man yanked her to her feet. She couldn’t very well walk with her ankles bound together, and she cowered back as the man pulled out a knife. “I’ll cut the rope so we can take you to him. And then I’ll start cutting clothes from your body. Let’s see how uncooperative he is when his wife is threatened.”
Caitlyn jumped when he sliced through the ropes binding Evelyn’s ankles. The woman was shaking but hadn’t been hurt. Yet. Her eyes darted to Caitlyn’s as the man sheathed his knife. They were filled with terror when she’d seemed so stoic only moments ago. The guy grabbed Evelyn’s arm, yanking her along with him as they moved toward the door. He looked back at Caitlyn, his eyes blazing. “You’re next,” he threatened. “Fucking giving us bad intel,” he muttered. “Admiral Rice is a dead man.”
The door shut behind them, and Caitlyn couldn’t hold back the small sob that escaped her throat. Evelyn hadn’t gotten anywhere with untying her ropes, and Caitlyn was still sitting beside the bed, unable to move. She looked down at her wrists in dismay.
Had Harper gotten her text earlier? Were the police or Navy or anyone else coming up with a plan right now to rescue them? How long was she going to have to sit in this damn cabin?
Her skin was raw from where the ropes bound her. She shifted, trying to swipe a stray tear from her cheek with her shoulder. She was not going to sit here crying. No way. No how. Caitlyn was an event planner. She dealt with unpredictable situations all the time. She improvised. She wouldn’t let some crazed assholes kill her on a damn yacht. This should’ve been one of the biggest moments of her career. San Diego was filled with Navy personnel, and if she started planning events for their family celebrations, she’d have a client list a mile long. She’d worked too hard to let them finish her off here.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the mattress. It had to be at least ten o’clock at night now. Maybe later. “Think,” she muttered to herself. “Where could I hide?” She tried to recall all the nooks and crannies of the boat. There’d been some storage type benches on the deck. But if she somehow escaped and crawled into one of those, she wouldn’t have air for very long. Besides, if someone put anything on top of the bench, she’d be trapped.
There were other small storage areas on the yacht. Again, it would be easy to trap her there though. There were other cabins. The dining area. The kitchen. The wheeled cart that the cake had been on. She was a petite woman, but it would be cramped as hell hiding on that cart or underneath any of the tables.
All of that was assuming she could escape.
Shifting her legs, she awkwardly reached down, trying to pick at the knots tying the rope at her ankles. Her wrists might’ve been bound together, but she could still use her fingers. And maybe she could pull at the rope around her wrists with her teeth. They’d be back for her after they argued with the admiral some more. Would they really hurt Evelyn?
She couldn’t worry about that right now. First, she needed to get free. To get out of this cabin and hide. Everything else would have to come later.
Chapter 10
Troy looked out across the inky black ocean, the boat they were on smoothly cutting through the water. The full moon provided some light, and the lights from San Diego shone in the distance. The team all had on night-vision goggles, but when they dove in, they’d rely on their instruments to accurately swim to the yacht.
“It’s already twenty-two hundred,” Jackson said in a low voice. “They’ve been held hostage for nearly three hours.”
“Damn all that red tape,” Raptor said.
“It’s like the different agencies were in a pissing contest,” Troy said. “The priority should’ve been rescuing the civilians and military officers being held, not fighting over who’s in control.” The bureaucracy they’d had to cut through to start the rescue had been bullshit. Various agencies were claiming jurisdiction. The FBI wanted to get involved. NCIS had additional agents on scene. The San Diego PD wanted to negotiate.
The hell with everyone else. The police department and other agencies could fight over control of the pier if they wanted, but nothing compared to what the Navy had at its disposal. The SEAL team was already en route. The Pentagon wasn’t willing to sit around while negotiators attempted to get in contact with the gunmen. The police department’s hostage negotiators had tried that shit for an hour and failed. Whatever the gunmen wanted didn’t involve negotiating at this point. The surveillance footage from the pier was still being reviewed, and no IDs had been made.
Their CO spoke over the comms channel. “I just received a new update. We have confirmation of seventy people on board. Fifty guests, fifteen staff including the party planner, and five crew members.”
“And still no word on the number of gunmen?” Blake asked.
“Negative. The update came from one of the women who called 911 earlier. She owns a bakery and was on the boat this afternoon delivering a cake. The event planner sent her a text and said armed gunmen were storming the boat.”
“Holy shit,” Troy muttered. He clenched his jaw, looking out at the dark water. For some reason, he still couldn’t get the redhead out of his mind. He couldn’t imagine a woman like her being stuck in a hostage standoff. She’d seemed so fragile. He’d carried her down the damn stairs.
His team had certainly rescued plenty of innocent civilians over the years. This mission was no different from any other.
“The woman’s been unable to get in touch with the party planner.”
“Most likely the gunmen took everyone’s phones,” Blake said.
“You’ve seen the list of the naval officers onboard and their wives,” the CO continued. “We don’t know much about the catering staff or other guests of the admiral. NCIS was supposed to have done background checks on everyone who’d be on board, but they don’t have that list for us yet. According to the baker, the event planner is named Caitlyn Thomas. She’s twenty-seven and owns her own business. She’ll be able to ID both the guests and staff when you locate her.”
“You think the gunmen will try to disguise themselves?” Jackson asked.
“Anything’s possible. It sounds like some of them must have been hidden onboard. It stands to reason they could’ve had disguises, additional clothes, or other weapons already stashed on the yacht. They might try to blend in with the other guests in the confusion.”
“Damn it,” Ethan said. “Shouldn’t the agents have swept the boat prior to the anniversary party? This is all sorts of fucked up. And why don’t they have the entire guest list?”
“That’s a good question,” the CO said. “I don’t have an answer for that.”
“We’re five minutes out from the drop point,” Blake said in a clipped tone. “The yacht hasn’t moved in well over an hour. It’ll make boarding it easier since it’s just sitting there in the ocean. We’ll dive in, approach the vessel underwater, and board from different sides.”
“Copy that, over and out,” Commander Hutchinson said.
They remained silent on their final approach, the yacht growing larger as they moved in closer. Lights were on in some of the cabins and rooms, but no one appeared to be moving around on deck. The engines had been shut off as well, and it was quiet out there in the middle of the water.
“Don’t they even have a lookout?” Ethan asked in surprise. “I don’t see anyone on deck.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling,” Logan muttered. “Their entire plan is bullshit. Even if they wanted intel, how the fuck are they planning to escape?”
“Maybe they’re not,” Troy said. “They could be communicating info back to the rest of their team, assuming the admiral or other officers even tell them anything. What if they blow the whole damn boat?”
“We don’t know that they have explosives,” Blake said.
“Yeah, well, like the CO said—anything is possible.” Troy took off his night vision goggles, checking his dive gear. They’d rely on their underwater navigation boards to get to the yacht in the dark water
. Ironically, they probably could’ve gotten closer given that no one appeared to be watching. They couldn’t chance being detected though. The worst thing would be for the hostages to be shot the moment the hijackers realized the cavalry was here. Boarding a boat that wasn’t moving would make things easier.
Troy glanced over at the Special Warfare Combatant-Craft Crewmen navigating the boat. They’d remain onboard dealing with any interference on the water while the SEAL team boarded the yacht. Troy pulled on his facemask, watching as his teammates did the same.
Blake signaled to them, and then one-by-one, they jumped into the water. Troy could feel the cold through his wetsuit and wondered how the people who’d jumped overboard had managed earlier when they escaped. The Pacific Ocean wouldn’t have been bad in the warmer months, but the water was damn cold now. He looked down at his compass and swiftly swam through the ocean depths, his team silently approaching the vessel. Troy and his teammates drilled in all conditions, and this was what they prepared for. Search and seizure of boats. Hostage rescue. Taking out armed insurgents.
It never got easier knowing innocents were in harm’s way, but it made him damn proud to complete missions that others couldn’t. To serve his country. Normally they flew overseas when on an op. The fact that this incident was so close to home? His blood boiled. Not only was the admiral in danger, but so were multiple other people on board the ship. They’d been working or attending a party, not expecting their lives to be in jeopardy.
His pulse pounded as his veins flooded with adrenaline. It was damn unconscionable that those bastards had taken a boatful of people hostage. There was only one way this would end tonight—with the innocents onboard rescued. The gunmen killed.
The hostages had been on the yacht for four hours—held captive for three. They’d be tired and scared, possibly injured, and his team would do what they could to reassure them. They needed to get on that damn yacht and end this.
Troy propelled himself forward, easily moving through the dark water. While a night dive might terrify some people, this was what they trained for. He couldn’t see his teammates but knew exactly where they were. He and Raptor were approaching the yacht from the port side. Ethan and Grayson would board the vessel from the starboard side, and Jackson and Logan would breach the ship from the back. They’d have the easiest time with a ladder right there, but the others would throw ropes onto the yacht and rappel up. The yacht was significantly smaller than many of the ships they’d conducted training scenarios on. Large cargo ships could take hours to clear. But a yacht of this size? These assholes would be dead before they knew the SEALs were even there.
The team reached the target and surfaced, the ocean quiet around them save for the occasional sound of the slapping of water against the ship. It was the calm before the storm—both literally and figuratively. A storm was moving in tomorrow, but the night was perfectly serene. And while everything on the yacht was quiet at the moment, all hell was about to break loose.
“SITREP,” Blake said over the comms channels.
“This is Everglades; we’re in position.”
“This is Hurricane; we’re in position.”
Blake looked over to Troy, and he nodded. “No tangoes on deck. Let’s do this,” Blake said. “Move in!”
Troy flung a rope and hook up over the railing of the yacht. The lights of San Diego were shining in the distance, but the biggest show of the night was about to go down right here. Not that anyone but the passengers would be watching.
Blake flung his own rope up as well, the metal of the hook clanking against the railing. Troy gave his rope a tug, ensuring it was secure, and then the two men were scaling the side of the ship. There was a cabin window to his left, but Troy made sure to avoid it, not wanting to be seen. Although he’d love to see what was happening inside, he couldn’t risk it. The element of surprise could potentially save the victims’ lives.
“This is Hurricane. We climbed the ladder and are on the back of the ship.”
“Roger that,” Blake said.
Troy didn’t hear anything as he continued climbing, and then he was up and over the railing, landing on the deck as well. He pulled off his face mask, his gaze sweeping the area, and glanced over at Blake, who was doing the same. Each team would search a different side of the yacht, moving through the cabins and rooms. Logan would remain on the deck, and Jackson would head toward the control room and take over.
“This is Raptor. We’re on deck.”
Troy removed his pistol from his waterproof pack. He had a knife on his person as well, but with such close quarters, it was likely there’d be hand-to-hand combat. Especially if there were hostages close by. Nobody wanted bullets ricocheting off the walls and harming a passenger.
Grayson’s team checked in as well. “There’s blood on the deck,” Grayson said. “There’s a trail leading toward the side of the boat. It looks like someone either jumped or was thrown overboard. I don’t see a body.”
“Damn,” Troy said.
“It’s clear where we are, but I do see some bullet holes,” Raptor said. “Let’s move in.”
Troy held his pistol and crouched down, jogging across the deck toward the door. Earlier the team had reviewed the schematics of a similar yacht. There was a dining room, kitchen, and multiple cabins, in addition to the control room and deck. There weren’t that many places to hide, which was both good and bad. They’d easily find the gunmen, but it also meant the hostages would potentially be in harm’s way.
In a sense, breaching a large cargo ship was easier. If the crew was locked away in a separate area, it was easier to take out the bad guys. There was no large holding area on a ship of this size. Since no one was on deck, it meant the passengers were all stashed in the cabins or rooms below.
They paused at the door to the interior of the ship, Raptor holding his weapon at the ready as Troy moved in. He stealthily slipped inside, Raptor right behind him. The corridor was empty, but they heard voices coming from a cabin.
Silently, they moved closer. One of the gunmen stepped out of an open cabin door, looking in the opposite direction from where they were. Without a sound, Troy moved forward, snapping the guy’s neck before he even knew Troy was there. A woman whimpered from inside the cabin, and he froze. Had he been spotted?
He looked back toward Raptor, who was hovering by the door. Raptor signaled to him, and then breached the entryway, Troy right behind him. There was one shot as Raptor took out a gunman, and then Troy was looking at a frightened woman sitting on the cabin floor. Her wrists were tied together, and she looked pale and shaky, appearing to be around fifty or so. “They took him—they took Steve. Admiral Rice. You have to help us.”
Raptor was already kneeling down and slicing the rope binding the woman’s wrists as Troy looked around. There was a briefcase on the bed with some papers inside and another weapon. The small window looked out into the inky black night. He looked to the door again, but no one else was there.
“How many gunmen are on the ship?” Raptor asked urgently.
“At least six that I’ve seen. Three stormed the boat, but there were others already on board. Oh my God. We have to help the others! Hurry!”
Troy’s lips quirked. This woman had been tied up and was clearly weak and scared, but she wanted to charge right in there with the SEAL team.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to stay here. We’re going room-to-room in our search and have already taken out two tangos. Staying out of harm’s way is helping us.”
“Okay. Okay. You’re right. I think one of them left—one of the gunmen. There was a smaller boat earlier. I heard them talking about it.”
“Shit,” Troy said. “Did they take any hostages?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t think so. I’ve been separated from almost everyone else. They wanted information from my husband. I think he gave them something. It was probably false—you know, fake intelligence or whatnot. They were threatening to hurt me to get him to talk
.”
“We’ll find him,” Troy assured her. “What can you tell us about the other passengers?”
“They separated us. We had fifty guests at our party. The women were being held in the dining room, and I’m not sure where the men are. They took Caitlyn and me to a separate cabin from the rest of the group.”
“Who’s Caitlyn?” Raptor asked, helping the older woman to stand.
“Our event planner. I’m not sure why they singled her out. They knew I was the admiral’s wife. I think Caitlyn is still tied up in another cabin. I was trying to loosen the knots on the rope when the men came back for me. She was still in there.”
“Was she hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so. She was tied up, but you can’t miss her. She’s got bright red hair.”
Everything around Troy stilled. For a split second, it was like he couldn’t even breathe. He heard the sound of blood rushing in his ears, felt his pulse pounding, and his chest tightened. Fuck. He hadn’t been imagining the weird feeling he had earlier. This wasn’t some nameless, faceless woman. She. Was. Here.
Chapter 11
Caitlyn worked at the ropes on her ankles, trying to loosen the bindings. It had taken a long time to untie the knots at her wrists. The gunmen hadn’t come back after they’d taken Evelyn from the cabin, which had given her enough time to work at them. Evelyn had loosened them enough that Caitlyn was able to bite at the knots with her teeth, gradually freeing herself. It had taken what felt like forever, and her neck and wrists both hurt now, but at least she had use of her hands.
She glanced again at the closed door, her heart pounding. Had they forgotten about her? Would they come back at any moment?
There was no clock in here, but it had to have been hours since the ship was taken over. Her contact lenses were dry in her eyes, and she blinked, wishing she were at home in her bed. Asleep. Snuggled under her comforter. Anywhere but tied up on a damn ship.
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