The Killing Tide

by Dani Pettrey

  Securing his arm underneath Noah’s shoulder, he wrapped his right arm tightly around Noah’s chest as he’d done so many times as a rescue swimmer. Fifteen saves and one loss. He prayed Noah remained in the former. He would remain in the former.

  Biting back the pain that ripped through his torn rotator cuff, Finn carried Noah toward the surface. He’d refused to get it fixed—wanting the pain to be a constant reminder of the life he lost, lives . . .

  Please, Father, let me save Noah.

  He swallowed.

  Please save Noah and me.

  Reaching the first decompression stop, he kept his arm cinched around Noah’s torso. Blood eked out of the wound, and he prayed the sharks stayed at bay.

  They had two more stops to safely ascend. He would have blown by them and gladly taken the decompression sickness if it would help, but in Noah’s compromised state, the harm would far outweigh the benefits of the faster ascent.

  Finn’s shoulder throbbed all the way to the surface, fighting each rotation, but he pushed through. The larger the strokes, the faster the ascent.

  Finally breaching the surface, he lifted his mask off and gulped in a fresh breath of air.

  He stilled at Noah’s dead weight in his arms.

  “Noah?”

  His head lolled forward, his body limp.

  “No! No! No!” Finn placed two fingers on Noah’s neck, searching for a pulse. Come on. His chest tightened, his breath ragged. Come on!

  sixty-seven

  Finally, Noah’s pulse throbbed beneath his fingers.

  His head lolling, Noah murmured something Finn couldn’t make out.

  “I’m getting you to the boat and to safety,” he assured him.

  Noah managed a loose nod.

  Finn turned toward the boat, but it was gone.

  He spun around and spotted it disappearing in the distance—another boat at its side.

  Heat seethed through his cold limbs. Marv and the man with him.

  “It’s okay,” he assured Noah. “When we don’t check in with Caleb and he can’t reach us, he’ll send help.”

  Finn switched on his rescue strobe—the light flashing white. He reached for Noah’s and clicked it on. Two were better than one.

  He lay back in a modified float, keeping Noah’s back to his chest. Maintaining their heads above the frothy waterline, they bobbed with the waves.

  Please, Father, let the rescue team come soon.

  After a tearful good-bye between Mark and Kenzie, Gabby and her sister made their way along the airport road toward the exit. Passing the entrance to the commercial hangar area, Gabby spotted a red-and-white pass hanging from a truck’s rearview mirror as it entered through the gated area.

  She pulled the pass she’d found in Will’s truck out of her purse, thankful Tess had allowed her to take it, and quickly hung it on Kenzie’s rearview mirror.

  Kenzie’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

  “Follow that truck into that area.” She pointed at the commercial hangar lot.

  “Why?” Kenzie frowned.

  “I’ll explain in a minute. Just drive past the guard shack like you belong.”

  Kenzie tapped the wheel as they passed the guard and drove along the row of hangars. “Now explain?”

  “I found that pass hidden in Will Seavers’s truck. Tess didn’t know what it was for but said I could take it. Then we found the same pass in Dennis Fletcher’s truck.”

  “And clearly the passes give access to this area. . . .” Kenzie’s blue eyes narrowed. “So what were two Coast Guard guys doing with passes to commercial airport hangars?”

  “Excellent question, which hopefully we can find the answer to,” she said as they passed one large steel hangar after another—several open with small private planes sitting inside, while other hangar doors were closed.

  “Where to?” Kenzie asked.

  Gabby looked at the pass swinging from Kenzie’s rearview mirror, her gaze fixing on the black 19 on the square white sticker in the upper right corner, both on the back and—she flipped it around—on the front. She looked at the hangars and noted that each one was consecutively numbered. “Hangar nineteen,” she said, praying her hunch paid off. It was the farthest hangar out.

  Pulling up to it, they found it still—no cars parked out front.

  “Park on the side, so you aren’t directly in view from cars driving by. Park at an angle that allows you to still see if any cars approach.”

  Kenzie did as requested and shifted the tan ’90s Range Rover into Park. “Now what?”

  Unbuckling, Gabby opened the door and hopped out. She leaned back in to grab her purse and said, “I find a way in.”

  Kenzie leaned toward her, resting her palms on the passenger seat. “You know that’s probably the last thing from safe.”

  “It’ll be all good. You stay here and keep watch. If you see anyone, call me and I’ll get out.”

  “How are you going to get in?”

  “I’ll find a way.” She always did.

  Shutting the door quietly, she hurried to the back side of the hangar, leaning against the building and scoping out the area to be sure no one had seen her.

  The hangar door most likely had an alarm, so she needed to find an alternate way in.

  She spotted two large rectangular windows lining the rear. Unfortunately, she needed help reaching them.

  She scurried back to Kenzie’s car and opened the door.

  Kenzie jumped. “Sheesh. You scared me. I was so focused on the road I didn’t see you. Or hear you . . .” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve gotten stealthier with age.”

  As a kid, she’d been dubbed the “loudest child on earth” and had been the reason she and her siblings had gotten busted midescape by their mom more often than not. Silence and stealing Momma’s homemade oatmeal–chocolate chip cookies from the counter jar hadn’t gone as hand in hand as she’d hoped as a kid, but she’d learned. She had to in her profession.

  “I need you to pull around back for a minute,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

  Kenzie cocked her head, her wavy blond hair slipping over her shoulder. “Dare I ask?”

  Gabby smiled, loving being in her element. “You’ll see.”

  Kenzie shifted the car into Drive and did as Gabby asked, positioning the Rover parallel to the hangar and centered under the first window.

  Kenzie shook her head. “Not even going to ask.”

  “That’s why I love you.” Gabby winked. Exiting the car, she hopped up onto the hood, then onto the roof. She lifted up on her tiptoes and managed to push the window open. Stretching to her full length and clasping her fingers over the windowsill, she heaved herself up and in. Ungracefully, she dropped. Her elbow and entire left side collided with the concrete floor. Pain ricocheted up her arm.

  Kenzie’s motor hummed as she moved back around to the side of the building. Gabby smiled despite the pain as she got to her feet. Her sister was still a great partner in crime.

  Swiping the dust from her hands across her jeans, she turned her attention to her surroundings, rotating her now-stiff shoulder and shaking out her achy arm.

  A Cessna sat in the center of the hangar, its nose facing the front sliding hangar doors. The rest of the space was lined with tall metal shelving units filled with blue Rubbermaid tubs, their lids fastened in place.

  She walked the length of the shelves, curious why they stood so far out from the wall. Pulling out a tub, she found another behind it. The tubs were lined in double rows. Setting both on the floor, she inspected the back of the shelf. Corrugated cardboard lined it.

  She narrowed her eyes. The shelves looked exactly like the ones Kenzie and Mark had in their garage, but theirs had nothing nailed to the back.

  She studied the backing again. It’d most certainly been added postpurchase.

  It took some finagling, but she found a small wedge between the last shelf in the row and the one perpendicular to it.

  Gab
by nibbled her bottom lip, then tugged on each metal shelf, hoping she’d find one that moved. She’d nearly given up hope when she tugged at the bottom shelf and it slipped out of place, opening the unit like a hidden door. She stepped into the narrow passageway between the two sets of shelves. Her jaw slackened at the sight before her.

  sixty-eight

  Finn prayed the Coast Guard rescue unit arrived soon—and that they would easily see their beacons strobing. It was his first time on the other side of a rescue.

  “Hang on, Noah. I’ve got you,” he said. Gritting his teeth, Finn cast his gaze on the horizon.

  Soon he heard the sweet chop of copter blades thwacking through the air. A slight measure of relief washed over him. Help was on the way, but with the amount of blood Noah had lost, he feared greatly for his welfare.

  A cable lowered the rescue basket. It swung back and forth inches above the rocking waves. Finn swam Noah to it, praying his shoulder held out. Rolling Noah into the basket, he secured him into place. He circled his finger, and they retracted the cable, lifting Noah up.

  Once Noah was safely inside the copter, they lowered the basket back down for Finn. He climbed inside, the experience new as he’d always been lifted by cable after rescues.

  Swinging up over the ocean, the cable retracted until he was level with the copter’s open bay door. Brooke pulled him in and slid the door shut.

  Hurrying to unbuckle, Finn rolled out of the basket and rushed to Noah’s side as Brooke knelt to assess him.

  Blood and water soaked through his wet suit, and Brooke swapped out the makeshift tourniquet for a sturdier, more sanitary one.

  She lifted her chin at Finn. “You did good. You saved his life.”

  He prayed so. Prayed they weren’t too late in reaching the hospital, where Noah would no doubt have to undergo surgery for what Finn was betting was a severed femoral artery.

  Still shaken that Marv had been the man who’d sliced Noah, he worked to restrain his rage, focusing on his boss instead. An occasional wince and tense jaw were the only outward signs of pain Noah expressed.

  “Hang on, boys,” Dean called back. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride. Wind shears have intensified. We’re looking at gusts up to eighteen miles per hour.”

  Reaching the helipad of Wilmington General for Finn’s second time in a matter of days, with yet another teammate on the brink of death, weighed heavy in his chest. They’d lost Sam, but they wouldn’t lose Noah. They couldn’t.

  Dr. Blotny was once again the one to greet them with a gurney. “It’s going to be all right, Noah,” she said, shifting her gaze to the medic. “Thanks for the call in, Brooke.”

  Brooke nodded, having conveyed Noah’s vitals and status via radio prior to their landing so Blotny and her team could jump right in. “Trauma room one,” Blotny ordered as the team rolled the stretcher across the roof and into the hospital.

  Brooke remained at Blotny’s side, apprising her of Noah’s status, and Finn followed closely behind as a sense of déjà vu washed over him. He’d walked through these very doors with Sam just minutes before they lost him.

  Fear tracked through him.

  He prayed for a very different outcome.

  sixty-nine

  Magnificent jewels lined the black velvet trays running nearly the full length of the wall. Gabby stepped to the first tray. Emeralds, sapphires, and rubies donned the various earrings and rings. In the center of the display sat a stunning diamond necklace.

  She longed to hold it, but knew she had to leave everything untouched to preserve the forensic integrity.

  She reached for her phone to call Finn and snap pictures to text to him, but her back pocket was empty. Either she’d left her phone in the car or dropped it on her climb into the warehouse.

  Dropping to her knees, she slid out the tub closest to her and lifted the lid. Inside were doubloons, like Rissi and Noah had discovered at Marv’s, and . . .

  She used the edge of her sleeve to lift the lid of a large cherrywood jewelry box. Nestled inside was a decadent, old-world gold crown, embedded with jade and ivory. She gently shut the lid and slid the tub back into its spot. What was going on here?

  Footsteps shuffled, voices emanating from the front of the hangar.

  The doors cranked open and light spilled through the narrow cracks between the shelving.

  It was only a matter of time before whoever it was saw the sliding shelf unit ajar.

  She moved away, tiptoeing around the corner opposite where she’d entered, praying there was another way out.

  Hurrying, she scampered down the corridor as light spilled over the top of the shelves.

  Footsteps padded on the other side of the shelving, the men’s voices growing louder . . . closer.

  “I want this shipment ready to go tonight,” a man said.

  Gabby stilled. She knew that voice. It couldn’t be.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea, when—?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, sir. I just thought—”

  “Leave the thinking to me. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Better. Now, all the jewels from the Santa Allegra go to the buyer. Except the crown. That I want for my collection.”

  “And if he asks . . . ?”

  “He has no idea what Marv and Mo found out there. Any piece of the treasure is mine to keep if I decide so.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll prepare the shipment for transport.”

  Footfalls moved toward the back of the hangar.

  “Kill him and handle the shipment yourself,” the man who was clearly the boss said to a third man. “No one questions me.”

  Certain she recognized the man’s voice but unable to believe it, Gabby crept forward, leaning over a waist-high crate to peer between two crates in front of her.

  “Yes, sir,” the third man said. “Consider it done.”

  “Then prep the rest of my inventory for transport. I’m relocating the operation.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gabby peered through the slit. A dark-haired man moved toward the rear of the building, walking slowly toward the man who had been ordered to the back of the hangar. He approached, raised his gun, and two hushed shots dropped the man.

  The dark-haired man stood over him and fired again for good measure.

  The light shifted, and she blinked as the man who’d ordered the hit moved into her line of sight.

  Paul? She gasped. It had sounded like him, but she hadn’t believed it could actually be.

  His head whipped in her direction.

  She pushed back from the crates and stumbled.

  “Someone’s here!” Paul yelled. “In the back row!”

  Pounding footsteps rushed down the jewel-lined aisle toward her.

  Scrambling to her feet, she turned and started running. Please let there be a way out.

  A horn blared out front. Kenzie.

  “Get her!” Paul roared.

  Gabby rushed for the row’s end, praying for a way out.

  “I hear you,” Paul said. His voice sent chills rippling in waves along her skin as a cold sweat beaded on her brow.

  She ran, tripping over the edge of a large metal crate. She tumbled forward, bracing her hands on the front door of the black crate. A low growl—or was it a deep purr?—resonated inside.

  She swallowed as the shadow of movement crept toward her. Two yellow eyes stared out as the panther lunged for her.

  Dear God.

  She flung herself back, knocking into the shelf unit behind her. A small crate tumbled down, its door popping open as it collided with the floor. A needle pierced her calf. Scorching heat burned up her leg. She looked down at a green-and-black snake slithering at her feet, poised to strike again.

  The dark-haired man rounded the corner, and she ran straight for the shelving unit, barreling into it shoulder first. The unit rocked.

  The man lifted his gun, and she rammed into the unit again. A bullet whizzed
past her as the unit crashed forward. She fell with it, crates of animals falling around her.

  The horn honked again. The engine roared.

  Her gaze locked on Paul coming around the Cessna, and then he blurred as searing pain spread through her chest.

  She fumbled out the hangar doors, gasping for breath.

  She managed to tumble into Kenzie’s car before her vision blackened.

  “Sn . . . ake.”

  Kenzie’s eyes widened at that, but Gabby had to tell her more.

  “Diii. . . .d yoo . . . u see . . . hhh . . . i . . . m?” she slurred. Why was her tongue so thick?

  The world spun as Kenzie floored it and tore out of the lot. “See who?”

  She tried to say Paul’s name, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate, so she tried something else. “Co . . . Co . . .”

  Her world went black.

  seventy

  Finn paced the hall connecting the ER with the trauma operating rooms, where Dr. Blotny performed emergency surgery to stitch up Noah’s femoral artery and hamstring. Finn had tried entering the room as they rolled Noah in, but Dr. Blotny wasted no time in ordering him out.

  If there was one woman he didn’t mess with—well, two—it was Dr. Blotny and Gabby. Neither was to be trifled with. Both were brilliant, driven, and fascinating in vastly different ways.

  Slumping against the wall, he braced his hand on his throbbing head.

  Please, Father, bring Noah through this.

  The chill of the ER seeped through his wet suit. Brooke had draped a blanket across his shoulders in the copter, but it must have fallen off when he’d leapt from the copter.

  Dean had patched him through to the station so he could apprise Caleb of the situation. He and Rissi were en route to the hospital now, but where was Gabby? Caleb said she and Kenzie had yet to return. He really needed to send someone to pick up Noah’s phone from the marina parking lot. Then he’d be able to track Gabby’s whereabouts.

  Caleb and Rissi burst through the ER doors, racing down the linoleum floor toward him.

  “I brought an extra outfit,” Caleb said. “I figured you could use it.” He handed him a T-shirt, sweat pants, and running shoes. “I hope they fit all right.”