Doug’s eyes met mine, and I knew I was right.
Rage boiled up from deep within me. “The danger you put us in! All of us. Molly and Nikki. They could have—”
“Hey, I made them release the girls right away. They weren’t supposed to touch them.”
I couldn’t hold back my disgust. “Did you even care about Chris? Or was your relationship part of your plan all along?”
He seemed to crumple. The weight of his deceit coming down on him all at once. The pain, the regret.
Oh, Doug. Why’d you have to make a deal with a Mexican cartel? What were you thinking!
Garcia gestured for Hansel and Gretel to come forward.
No, no, no! “I’m sure we can still work something out,” I stammered. “We can get the money. No problem. Noah will pay. He’ll pay. He’ll pay more for both of us.”
Garcia didn’t acknowledge me in the slightest. He nodded to the thugs.
They grabbed ahold of Doug by the arms.
He looked to me, his eyes wide, pleading.
“Seriously, Mr. Garcia.” I had to do something. “If you could just get me on the phone, in no time I can have the money on the way.”
Doug planted his feet, forcing the men to drag him across the deck.
C’mon! “Just one phone call. That’s all it will take.”
The henchmen pinned Doug against the side rail.
Garcia moved to block my view. “Now. Let’s talk about that phone call.”
Two gunshots fired—pop pop. Then a thump and a loud splash.
My heart stopped. Air. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe. Omigod!
Doug! Oh Doug! Oh Chris!
My stomach squeezed and bile bubbled at the back of my throat.
There he was, in the wake of the boat, floating face down.
I came up out of the chair, met Garcia face to face.
He grinned. “I admit, I was surprised when you showed up at the station. You have quite a set of balls, young lady. Doug said to expect you to be feisty, but—” He puckered his lips and eyed me with that degrading, you’d-be-so-hot-in-bed expression.
I wanted to smack it off his face. I wanted to rip his eyes out. He killed Doug!
“Now that we’re back on track, let’s talk about that money. How sure are you that he’ll pay?”
I stared at him, shaking. He’d just killed a man, with not even a flinch.
“Because, my dear, your life depends on it.” He twirled the gold ring around his pinky. “See that’s what Doug didn’t understand.”
My heartbeat hammered double-time. This man would kill me, without a second thought, if the money didn’t come. And soon.
Dalton had no idea where I was, where they were taking me.
I was truly kidnapped, by a ruthless killer.
I had to do something. Fast.
I rammed my shoulder into Garcia’s gut, pushed past him, and with two long strides, I was up and over the side of the boat.
Chapter Twenty-one
Hitting the water from a moving vessel, even at the slow run of thirty-five knots, was like slamming against a rock cliff. Having my hands zip-tied behind my back hindered any attempt at a tuck and roll. Water plunged up my nose as the air was squeezed from my chest. I tumbled in the waves before bobbing to the surface. My hair swirled around my head and stuck to my face. I spit it out of the way and managed to grab a breath before the boat wake crashed over my head and tumbled me again.
As soon as I bobbed to the surface, I knew I had seconds to react. I had to get the zip-tie off. And fast. If I had any chance at all.
I was in for a marathon swim.
The boat slowed and came to a stop.
I rolled sideways in the water, arched my back and worked my wrists around my butt. All those hours of yoga paid off. I slid through and brought my hands up in front of me. Now to get the zip-tie off. I gnawed at it with my teeth.
Salt water flushed into my mouth and I gagged. That wasn’t going to work anyway.
With a jerk, I rammed my arms down against my sides. No luck. One more time. Still not working. I’d done it successfully in training. But not underwater. Apparently I couldn’t get enough momentum with my arms underwater. Dammit! I tried again. It wasn’t going to happen. Either the plastic was too thick or something.
I had miles to swim to shore, without my arms. I closed my eyes. Please find me, Dalton. I’m right here. Not far from my bracelet. Come get me. Now’s the time. You can be the knight in shining armor this time. I won’t mind. I swear.
Dammit! I lunged forward, head down, and kicked my feet. I had to get out of here. My only advantage was the vast ocean. I hoped those thugs wouldn’t be able to find me amid the waves. Many man-overboard stories have ended tragically because a tiny head is so hard to see in the chop. In my case, it was the only chance I had.
Just head for shore. Calm and steady.
I glanced back at the boat. It hadn’t moved. What were they doing? Would they figure I was dead anyway? Not bother to come after me? No way. I’d just witnessed them murder Doug. My stomach clenched again at the memory. Oh, my god. They killed Doug.
Dalton’s voice called out in my head. “Don’t think about that right now. Focus. Swim!”
Of course they’d come after me. But they had plenty of time. Even a world-record swimmer would take hours to get to shore from here.
Don’t think about that right now. Focus. Swim!
I drew in a breath, put my head down, and kicked. Then I heard it. The high-pitched whir of an outboard motor. They’d fired up the skiff.
I kicked harder, then stopped. What’s the point? Where you gonna go? I had to hide from them. Keep my head low, underwater as much as I could. Hope they couldn’t find me. Until they gave up. Until dark. How long was that? I had no idea. Two hours? Four?
I turned to keep my eyes on them, staying low in the water, getting a quick glimpse with every roll of the surf.
The skiff zoomed across the water toward me. Right toward me. Crap!
They’re going to shoot me in the water. Like a fish in a barrel. A fine kettle of fish. I’m fish food.
Oh my god, I’m losing it. So this was it. Dalton would find my body. And Doug’s. Poor Chris. Oh Chris. I’m so sorry. Dalton would be so angry with me. Or sad? I don’t know.
Don’t think about that right now. Focus.
The skiff. Gretel sat in the bow. Captain Jack drove.
The boat slowed, rocking in the waves as they came up on me.
“Eres una niña estúpida,” Gretel spat. You are a stupid girl.
I kept my hands down in the water. I didn’t want to give away my only advantage.
“Boss is not done with you yet,” he said in English as the boat approached within feet.
Gretel leaned over the side of the boat and reached down to get ahold of me under my arm pits to haul me aboard. I shot my hands out of the water, up between his arms, grabbed him by the collar, and shoved with both feet against the side of the boat, tugging him into the water with me. Before he knew what happened, I dove under the boat, and came up on the other side.
With one kick, I got my elbows on the side and hauled myself up onto the edge of the skiff. Jack spun around in surprise. I rolled sideways into the boat, swinging my leg straight out, and caught him in the gut. When he doubled over, he came right down on top of my shoulder. I let out a shriek.
Jack pushed himself up, off of me, stunned by my scream. I gave him a kick to the head, throwing him backwards. He lost his balance and fell overboard.
Gretel’s hand shot up from the side and gripped the edge of the boat, but I already had the oar in my hands and whacked his knuckles. But he kept a firm grip on the edge.
“Not this time,” I said. I dropped the oar and grabbed the throttle. The boat surged forward, dragging him by one hand. He was a big weight, the boat too small to overcome it. I had to let go of the throttle to pick up the oar again. Damn zip-tie! I gave his hands another whack, but still he wouldn’t
let go. Fine! I brought the paddle side around and slammed him on the side of the head. He let go then.
“¡Adiós!” I yelled, grabbing the throttle again.
Plink-plink. Gunshots hit the skiff. I dove for the floor. The boat sputtered to a halt. Pop, pop, pop. Shots punctured the inside of the bow.
I spun around, keeping low, and reached up and grabbed hold of the throttle. So what if I couldn’t see. The motor roared to life and I was zinging through the waves again. One peek to make sure I was headed away from them. Pop, pop! A bullet ricocheted around inside the skiff. I dropped back down and kept my hands on the throttle.
As long as I didn’t run out of gas, I should be able to outrun them. Just head for shore.
And hope they don’t radio ahead for more thugs to greet me there.
Once I’d traveled about a quarter mile, I peeked back at them again. I was confident I’d gotten far enough ahead of them to be out of rifle range. Garcia had his big old boat in gear and they were following. I kept the throttle at full tilt. No time to let up on the gas and try again to get the damn zip-tie off.
I had to get to shore. I’d drive this skiff right up onto the sand and run for it. Garcia’s boat was too big, drew too much water, to land on a beach. And they had no dinghy now. They’d have no way to follow me without taking a swim.
The engine sputtered and coughed. No! No, no, no!
“Stay with me,” I said aloud. “Don’t give up on me now.”
Then, like angels descended from above, two helicopters appeared out of nowhere—Armada de México search and rescue MDXs. Yes! I let off the throttle, stood up and waved my bound hands in the air. “Here! I’m here!”
I glanced back. Garcia’s boat had made a dramatic U-turn and was now heading back out to sea.
One helicopter veered off, heading straight for him. The other slowed to hover nearly directly overhead of me, then lowered to about thirty feet above. Someone jumped from the open door into the water. Then the helicopter rose and continued.
I knew who it was even before his head popped out of the water.
He swam toward me and I gave him counter balance so he could get into the skiff.
“Just thought I’d drop in,” Dalton said with a grin as I launched into his arms.
Chapter Twenty-two
“You found me!”
“I should have known you’d have the situation under control,” he said, his arms around me. He wasn’t letting go.
“I don’t know about control,” I said. “I was getting the hell out of there.”
He let loose a laugh from deep in his belly as he snugged me closer.
I’d never felt so safe in someone’s arms. It was over. But I hadn’t saved Doug. My eyes got wet with tears.
He pulled away, just enough to look me in the eyes. “Hey, you’re all right. It’s over. You’re okay.”
“What? I know,” I managed. I couldn’t let him see me upset. I was a federal agent, after all.
His brow creased with concern. “Are you sure? You—”
“It’s this dry Mexican air.” I wiped my eyes. “Really.”
He wrapped his arms around me again and buried his face in my hair.
When he pulled away again, he eyed me with serious concern. “What happened? You look like hell.”
No doubt. My face was scraped up, sunburned, covered in sea salt, my wet hair tangled into a nest. “I was headed to the salon when you interrupted me,” I said, trying to keep it together.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife. “Yeah? What’s the other guy look like?” he said as he cut the zip-tie from my wrists.
“Thanks,” I said. “I, ah, hadn’t gotten to that yet.”
He paused, looked at me. His eyes grew wide. “Your shoulder.” He took hold of my elbow, moved my arm ever so slightly.
I came up off the seat. “Oww!”
“It’s dislocated.”
I looked down. My arm was hanging limp.
“You didn’t know?” He was nodding, understanding. “All the adrenaline. We need to get you to the hospital.” His eyebrows went up. “Or…”
“Or?”
“Or I can pop it back in right now.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“It’ll hurt more later. Trust me.”
I bit my lower lip. He couldn’t be serious. I stared. He was.
“Okay, but if I cry, you can’t tell anyone.”
He grinned. “Deal.” He took my hand in his. “Sit up straight.” With his other hand, he cupped my elbow and pinned my arm against my side. “Relax.”
“Are you kidding?”
“It will only hurt more if you’re tense.”
I sighed. Right.
Keeping my elbow pressed tight to my side, he rotated my lower arm out ninety degrees. His hand ran up my back, felt my shoulder blade, did some kind of massage, then he moved my arm back to straight out from my body. I felt my shoulder ease back into the socket.
“There it is,” he said with a smile of relief.
“That was amazing.” I moved my arm in a circular motion, feeling my shoulder move inside the socket. “Now, if you only had some water. My tongue feels like the Sahara.”
He grinned and flipped off the tiny backpack I hadn’t noticed he was wearing. He ripped open the zipper and handed me a water bottle.
“Oh, I love you!” I proclaimed as I brought the bottle to my lips and chugged. Water never tasted so good—cool, wet, clean. I guzzled the whole thing.
“Who’s that?” he asked. The helicopter had a swimmer in the water and a rescue basket was being lowered.
“Doug,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My stomach got that sinking sensation again. “It’s a recovery, not a rescue.”
He swung around, his face filled with compassion. “What happened?”
Suddenly, I felt exhausted. Any energy I had left sapped away. “He was in on it. I was the target for kidnapping from the beginning. He figured Noah would pay to get me back. But he underestimated the risk.” That moment he was shot flashed through my mind again. “He found out the hard way how dangerous these cartels can be.”
Dalton sighed and shook his head in frustration.
“What am I going to tell Chris?” I said and tears bubbled up. I couldn’t stop them.
“I don’t know.” He took me in his arms again, hugged me tight and stroked my hair. “You’ll think of something.”
“His heart’ll be broken. I can’t bear it, Dalton. I can’t.”
He nodded, kept stroking my hair.
“We could just stay in the boat,” I said. “Stay right here. Float away.”
“You’d never survive.” A beat. “There’s no wine.”
I smiled. Then I laughed. He kissed my forehead.
We stayed there, him holding me, and watched as Doug’s body was lifted into the helicopter.
“I can’t believe you found me. So Noah was right, the tracker actually worked?”
He tensed up a moment before he nodded. “When we saw the signal come from the ocean, we knew you’d been taken on a boat. So I called in some favors.”
“That fast?”
“I had the satellite phone.”
“Yeah, but still.”
He shrugged, looked away.
“Wait, that doesn’t—”
“Okay, so I called earlier. It was a bad plan. A weak plan.”
I nodded. He was right.
“I couldn’t let you go out there without solid backup.”
“The Armada de México search and rescue team?”
“They were the closest and they were willing to come.”
I nodded toward Garcia’s boat, being boarded as we watched. “Well, they’re going to get a big catch today.”
“And Noah’s idea, well—yes, the tracker worked.”
My hand went to my empty wrist. “But my bracelet. He ripped it from my wrist and threw it in the ocean.” I huffed. “My dad gave me that br
acelet. It’s all I had.”
“It saved your life,” Dalton said.
“Yeah, but…” It was gone. My bracelet was gone.
“Your dad gave it to you for a reason. I guess it served its purpose.”
“I suppose.”
Dalton wrapped his arms around me again—those big, strong, safe arms. And that’s all that mattered.
By the time the medics had checked me over and I was brought back to town, word had gotten out and the tiny square was crowded with locals waiting to see Comandante Garcia and Officer Ramón brought in by the Federales shackled in handcuffs.
In the tiny police station, a woman, about ten years my senior, sat down across from me. She had a warm disposition. I liked her right away. Especially when she handed me a chocolate bar.
“Special Agent McVie, is it?” she said, looking me in the eye.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gestured toward the chocolate, which was already unwrapped and melting in my mouth. “I figured you might be hungry. And you can call me Detective Hernandez.” That made me smile. A fellow woman in that kind of position. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
I was to tell the story while the same young lady who’d been here when I’d come to talk to Garcia recorded it, plunking away at the same typewriter. The irony seemed almost comical.
I laid it out for her. Everything. Until I got to the point where I’d gone to the shed for Adrián. I’d kidnapped him, against his will. How was I going to explain that? He’d promised not to say anything to his boss about it. But would he keep quiet when the Federales questioned him? I couldn’t be sure.
In the end, he’d cooperated. There had been such a short window of persuasion. That didn’t really need to be mentioned, I decided. It’s not like we’d actually tortured him. Just threatened. Well, except for Chris anyway. “We appealed to his good nature,” I said.
“Uh huh,” she said, nodding. I had a hunch she knew exactly what happened. But we’d taken down some seriously bad men, and she wasn’t going to sweat the details.
I debated whether to tell her about Doug’s involvement, but in the end, it was better to be truthful.
Operation Turtle Ransom: A suspenseful, wild-ride-of-an-adventure on a tropical beach in Mexico (Poppy McVie Mysteries Book 4) Page 19