When Carly reached the Seal Beach jetty, she had fifteen minutes to get to Seaside Point. The jetties formed the mouth of the flood control channel that carried water miles from the foothills to the Pacific Ocean. The south jetty wall was in Seal Beach. Across the flood control channel, the north jetty wall was the Las Playas border. The north side extended farther than the south wall because of the Las Playas marina. It curved around to Seaside Point and had a paved road while the Seal Beach jetty gave way to a sandy beach. In the daytime, fishermen on the south side and those at Seaside Point could holler back and forth. Swimming out to the point would be quick in the water calmed by jetties. She could see lights outside the bathroom, which was clearly visible to Seal Beach, but she couldn’t see people.
Scurrying across the sand, she slid into the dark water and began her swim to the guest boat slips on the far side of Seaside Point, closer to the marina.
One thing gnawed. The guest slips were for small craft, dinghies. Correa couldn’t tie his thirty-six-footer there.
Swimming freestyle as rapidly as she could, she slowed as she neared the slips. There was a Zodiac tied up but no one in it. From the water she couldn’t see if anyone was on the point. For a minute she treaded water and prayed for Nick, that she was correct to choose a water approach and that Correa would be caught and brought to justice.
Pressing the light on her watch, she saw six minutes gone. She moved to the slip and put a hand up to steady herself in the gentle swells. Then she heard voices.
“She’s not coming.”
Jarvis! He was here, which meant the police hadn’t taken him in yet. He’s working with Correa. Carly almost felt defeat. She’d imagined confronting Correa alone. Now what?
“There’s no way she could tell where that picture was taken. She’ll come.”
With a jolt, Carly recognized Mario Correa’s voice. She remembered that voice toasting his crimes the night Jeff was murdered.
“Look, we’re boxed in here. What if she calls the Coast Guard? We’ll never get back to the Tango.”
Correa cursed. From the tone and their conversation, Carly realized Nick wasn’t here. They wanted to lure her here, but where would he be?
She tuned them out and slipped away from the Zodiac, trying to see the picture of Nick again in her mind’s eye. A small white sink in a boat bathroom.
The Tango.
Correa is here. His boat has to be here.
Without checking her watch because she knew she didn’t have much time, Carly took off for the empty slip Alex had shown her. She prayed that the Tango was there now and that Nick was on it.
She swam hard, knowing that if Correa and Jarvis got in the Zodiac, she could never outswim them. Dock 15 was the last one and she had to hurry.
When she turned to find slip 22, she paused, breathing hard, straining to hear anything, afraid she’d hear the motor of the Zodiac bearing down on her.
All she heard was the beating of her own heart.
Then fear struck. What if he’d tied the Tango up somewhere else?
“Oh, Lord, please.” She bent her head and allowed herself a couple of seconds to pray, now doubting the wisdom of her decision to swim here and doubting her instincts. Pulling herself together, she started toward slip 22, the water here smelling like diesel fuel and feeling oily.
Finally she was close enough to see that the slip wasn’t empty.
Yes, she thought, the boat’s here.
She made her way through the murky water and came up at the back of the boat. There on the stern was the name Tango. Correa’s boat.
Placing her hands on the yacht’s swim platform, she started to pull herself up.
Suddenly an explosion rent the air.
Looking over her shoulder at where she’d just been, she saw a ball of fire explode into the air above Seaside Point.
45
CARLY FELT as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, and the breath whooshed out of her lungs. She dropped against the hard fiberglass of the swim platform, half in the water and half out, and tried to breathe.
Had her husband just exploded with Seaside Point?
Oh, God, please, no, no. I pray I was right, that Nick wasn’t out there.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, unable to move or to think, terrified that her worst fear had materialized. Like Elaine, I’ve lost my husband. It was anger that brought her back to the here and now. Correa would be coming back to his boat to get away.
She pulled herself out of the water and all the way onto the platform, then looked down at her waterproof bag as if it were a venomous snake, thinking her phone had vibrated but not wanting to check. Wiping water from her face, she opened the bag, removed the gun, ignored the phone, and stood to get her bearings.
The deck of the cruiser was encased in a plastic and canvas enclosure. Carly didn’t know much about boats, but this one was similar to the one she and Nick had chartered for the Maui swim.
Nick.
She made a fist and pounded her thigh as her legs threatened to give out under her, the thought of life without Nick sapping her strength. Keep moving, she told herself. If I don’t keep moving, I’ll dissolve.
She unsnapped the enclosure and stepped onto the deck. Straight ahead was the cockpit; off to the left, a seating area. Jaw set, resolute, she started to go below. Correa isn’t going to get away this time, she thought.
The sound of a small boat motor floated in from a distance. Carly hurried below and quickly surveyed the galley and sleeping area. No one.
She reached for the door to the bathroom and slid it open, nearly howling with relief when her husband’s blue eyes stared back at her. There was no sign of the suicide vest, and fear about explosives was tempered a bit by the joy that flooded Carly was like hot water after a tough swim.
But then the roar of a boat motor was on them. The Tango moved as something bumped into it. Voices. Then the boat shifted again as someone stepped aboard. The outboard motor went silent.
Nick sat on the commode, bound by handcuffs and duct tape, with a piece covering his mouth.
“Thank God you’re okay,” she whispered as she pulled the tape off.
“Ditto that. I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing here,” he hissed back. “I hope you have a cuff key.”
The Tango’s motor roared to life and the floorboards vibrated.
Nodding, Carly pulled the pen key from her sleeve. She fell into Nick as the boat shifted sharply, moving backward. She undid his hands and then used the knife to cut the tape around his legs.
“You came prepared. What did he tell you?”
“No time. We have to get out of here. You had a vest on . . .”
“He took it with him, said he had a plan for it.” He rolled his head as if his neck were stiff. “I heard an explosion.”
“He blew up the bathrooms on the jetty.” Their eyes held for a moment and Carly saw love, fear, and relief swirl in her husband’s. He gripped her hand tight as if sensing she wanted to hold on to him and never let go, but they just didn’t have the time right then.
“Did you find Masters?” he asked as the moment ended and they both moved out of the restroom.
“She’s here?” Carly stopped, gun at the ready, watching the stairs.
The boat was moving slowly out of the marina.
“She was. He wanted hostages in case his escape was blocked.” Nick gripped Carly’s shoulders and moved her toward the sleeping area. He yanked up a mattress to reveal a large, open compartment. And Ginny Masters.
For a second Carly thought the reporter was dead. But then the woman moved. Carly handed Nick the knife so he could cut her free.
“We have to stop this boat,” Carly said as they pulled a dazed Masters to her feet.
“I agree.” Nick rubbed his wrists.
Carly heard footfalls coming their way. She held out the gun.
Nick shook his head. “Close quarters. You see to Masters.” He pointed to the bathroom, and Carly pulled the wobbly woman
that way.
“I got caught unaware once,” Nick said. “It’s not going to happen again.”
Carly yanked Masters out of the way as feet appeared on the stairs.
Jarvis’s heavy-lidded face, with eyes that always looked half-closed, registered shock as he saw Carly supporting Masters.
“Wha—?”
Nick moved in behind him and executed a hair-pull takedown, jerking Jarvis’s head back with one hand to encircle the neck with the other arm as he took the man down to his knees while simultaneously applying a carotid restraint.
The gun Jarvis was holding flew from his grasp as his hands scrabbled on Nick’s arm around his neck. But it was too late to resist. Nick set the hold and his arm muscles squeezed the man’s carotid arteries, cutting off the blood flow to the brain until Jarvis relaxed and then passed out.
Nick let him fall to the floor and quickly applied the handcuffs that had just been removed from him. Jarvis would come around in a few minutes.
While Nick was working with Jarvis, Carly grabbed the gun Jarvis dropped as Masters seemed to get her bearings. “He’ll kill us all.”
“Ms. Masters?” Carly looked at the woman.
“Correa. He’s crazy. He’s planned this for over a year,” the woman said with a sob. Her face was a mess of smeared makeup and mascara, and she smelled as though she’d been without a shower for a while.
Carly saw angry red welts where the rough ropes binding the woman had been. “How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. I lost track of the days. We went out to sea and I thought he would kill me there.” She leaned forward to rub her wrists and nearly fell on her face. “Please, some water.”
Carly saw the sink a few feet away but no way to get the water to Masters. “Can you get to the sink and drink from the tap?”
“Help me, please.”
Carly helped Masters to the sink and made certain she could support herself before turning to Nick, who was checking to be sure Jarvis was still breathing.
“We have to get out of here before he clears the harbor.”
Nick nodded. “Ms. Masters, will you stay down here while we stop Correa?”
She shook her head. “Please don’t leave me.”
Carly looked at Nick. “No time to argue.” She handed him the gun she’d picked up while she kept the one she’d brought.
He took it and started up the stairs with Carly and Masters right behind him.
Nick moved quickly in the direction of the cockpit, wanting the element of surprise, Carly was sure. She worked to support a wobbly Masters, desperate to see what was happening.
She heard angry voices. Then the boat leaped forward, and the quick acceleration threw Carly and Masters onto the deck. Correa must have punched it. Carly struggled to get Masters and herself upright as her gun flew from her grasp and over the side into the water. There was no time to worry about the loss.
She looked toward the cockpit and saw Nick grappling with Correa. The boat swerved left, then right.
Carly grabbed the railing and put Masters’s hand on it to help her up.
The boat slowed, throwing Carly forward, but she was able to stand and help get the reporter’s legs under her. They both held on to the railing.
Under a brightening dawn sky, Carly saw that the boat was heading straight for the jetty.
Nick and Correa were still wrestling; she didn’t see the gun anywhere. She tried to leave Masters at the railing and go to the steering wheel.
But the boat’s motor roared with acceleration and lurched forward abruptly, throwing her into Masters, who lost her grip.
Both of them went over the side, into the water, before Carly could do anything to stop it.
46
CARLY CAME UP FOR BREATH, calling for Nick, knowing he’d never hear her. She turned to see Masters flailing in the water a short distance away.
“I can’t swim!”
Everything within her screamed to swim after the Tango and Nick, but Masters needed help. The woman was drowning.
Carly watched helplessly as the boat swung back and forth like a snake with its head cut off. A second later it slammed into the jetty with a sickening boom and a loud crack. The vessel had been traveling at such a high speed that it seemed to be cut in half on impact. Flames exploded as the fuel caught fire.
Carly felt punched in the face. If Nick had exploded in that ball of fire, her worst fear had just come true.
She wanted to cry out to God in anger. Nick!
Just then, arms slammed around her neck and tore her gaze from the flames. Masters had thrashed over to her in a panic to stay afloat.
Carly had no time to consider Nick’s fate. Her lifesaving courses kicked in. She took a breath and went underwater, dragging Masters down with her until the woman let go. She swam a safe distance away before surfacing. Masters was flailing, choking on water, and cursing. But the only way to safely save a panicked drowning person was to wait until they were too weak to fight.
Masters needed to stop fighting and give up control in order to be saved.
Carly made herself look at the fireball that was Correa’s yacht. She couldn’t bear to think the worst. God, why? We were so close . . .
As clearly as if someone were speaking to her, Carly heard a line of Scripture: “He answered their prayer because they trusted in him. . . .”
I trust, she thought. I trust.
In a flash Carly saw herself thrashing like Masters—thrashing with fear for Nick, fighting to control that which was in God’s control, and drowning. I need to stop fighting and give up the need for control.
Oh, God, I know you love Nick more than I do. She choked on a sob that threatened to escape. I trust him into your hands.
A supernatural peace settled over Carly as she waited for the perfect time to approach the reporter. Over the struggling woman’s curses and splashes, she heard the harbor patrol siren and knew someone was heading for the crash on the jetty. The sirens drowned out Masters’s calls.
When the woman went under for what Carly thought would be the last time, she hurried forward and grabbed her. Making certain she was breathing and keeping her face out of the water, Carly positioned her arm across the woman’s chest in order to swim with her to safety.
She looked over her shoulder at the now-dying fire on the jetty and kept praying.
With the sound of a boat approaching and a light probing the water, she recognized a Coast Guard vessel and slowed her progress, waving to be seen, needing help with Masters. In short order they were pulled safely into a boat.
From the deck, Carly kept her eyes on the smoldering jetty. A fireboat blocked her view, along with a couple of others she couldn’t identify.
“I need to check you out.” An officer handed her a towel as the vessel she was on turned toward the harbor patrol dock.
Carly started to protest, then stopped, suddenly feeling as though all the strength had left her body. She sat down heavily.
He handed her a bottle of water and continued with his assessment. Carly felt numb, but she knew she wasn’t injured. Masters had been placed on a stretcher and covered with a blanket. The EMT seemed satisfied that the reporter would be okay, and he radioed that information to the paramedic team waiting on the dock.
Carly took a deep breath and repeated to herself that God was in control. Whatever had happened on the jetty with Nick, she clung to those words and felt a quiet peace replace the numbness. By the time the boat reached the dock, she was able to stand and felt steadier, strong even.
She again turned toward the jetty, where the smoke was now dissipating. Only the fireboat remained. The other two were chugging toward the dock.
When the radio crackled, she learned they had an emergency situation. The paramedics who’d boarded the Coast Guard vessel once it docked were tending to Masters. Carly heard the emergency tone on one of their radios. One of the incoming boats was broadcasting.
“Be advised—we have a neck injury. Ne
ed a backboard standing by.”
Someone was seriously hurt.
Carly’s heart began to pound and she made for the gangway, wanting to get to the dock to meet the incoming boat. She wrapped the towel tight around herself and hurried down the dock. Ignoring the rough wood on her bare feet, she jogged to the empty slip. Another paramedic team pushing a gurney with a backboard headed toward the same spot.
“What is it?” she asked.
“They pulled someone out of the water. Possible spinal injury.”
Carly held her breath and prayed she’d see Nick as the boat docked. Oh, Lord, please don’t let the bad guys win this one.
A gangway was extended, and the paramedics rushed aboard and secured their patient to the backboard. They carefully maneuvered the injured man down the gangway and placed him on a waiting gurney. Carly saw the man’s face as his head passed by. She jumped back as if stung.
Mario Correa.
His face was bloodied and bruised, but he was breathing.
Where was Nick?
Carly took two steps back and ran into someone. Turning, she saw Nick’s blue eyes and the twinkle in them. The bruises and cuts she’d pay attention to later, but the light in those eyes made her shout with relief and throw herself into his arms.
47
“WHAT HAPPENED?” Carly asked Nick when she regained her voice.
Nick was wrapped in a towel like she was. She could see now that he had taken a couple of good punches. One side of his face was puffy.
“I saw the jetty, knew he was going to ram it. I jumped first, and I guess he jumped a second later and hit the rocks.”
“I heard possible spine injury.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. I just kept his head out of the water. He was unconscious. I feel bad about Jarvis. I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He wrapped her in a tight embrace. “I hear you saved Masters.”
“I just kept her head out of the water,” she echoed, smiling at him, her heart about to burst with thankfulness. “Something occurred to me just now.”
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