by Lucy Quinn
“I’m fine,” he insisted through chattering teeth, though he did accept a towel one of the servers handed him and used it to mop his hair and face. “What’s next?”
Cookie glared at him for a second, but it just rolled off him, as it often did. That was one of the things she’d learned about Dylan. He was like a rock, and not just because he was so strong and steady. He also just didn’t let emotional outbursts sway him. He didn’t get angry and push back. He just stood there and weathered them.
But Cookie also knew he wasn’t stupid so she grabbed the sweatshirt and loose pants a cook had brought over and shoved them in Dylan’s hands. She told him, “I won’t have you die of pneumonia on my watch.” That earned her a raised eyebrow, but he wisely chose not to question her logic and stripped off his wet shirt, much to her delight when she noticed the way his muscles rippled as he moved. She managed to croak out, “Okay, we have the token back. And we know where they’ve got Scarlett.” She frowned at Dylan. “How much do you know about the Barge?”
To her surprise, he broke into a big grin as he dropped his pants. Cookie managed to keep her gaze from following the wet slacks in order to stay professional, of course, as he said, “You mean besides the fact that I was a busboy there all through high school?” He actually laughed. “Trust me. I know that place like the back of my hand.”
“Good. Then you can tell us what we need to do.” She felt a wave of relief wash through her, and tried not to let it chip away at her anger. That was all that was keeping her going right now, rage and fear for Scarlett. But the fact that they wouldn’t be going into this situation totally blind was a huge help.
Dylan frowned and rubbed at his jaw. “Okay, what do we know?” he asked. “How many of them are there? Clearly they’re armed.” His expression had gone hard, which was a scary sight. It was like someone had flipped a switch, killing any emotion. “And do we need to take them alive?” The way he asked that question, Cookie knew he was completely serious about it and prepared to accept either answer.
Fortunately, Hunter took up the task of replying. On top of everything else that was going on, seeing Dylan go cold like that had thrown her enough that she needed a minute or two to process. “They’ve still got at least three guys,” Hunter replied. “All are definitely armed though I didn’t hear anything bigger than a pistol fired from that boat. And yes, alive is preferable.”
Dylan accepted that with a nod. “Be right back,” he said, already turning and making a beeline for the Salty Dog’s front door.
“Any idea what that’s all about?” Hunter asked once Dylan had gone.
Cookie shook her head. “I’m guessing we’ll find out soon enough.”
“You okay?” When she glanced up, she didn’t see Agent O’Neil in front of her. She only saw Hunter, her friend and former partner. The guy she trusted with her life, so she gave herself the time and the freedom to answer honestly.
“I will be once we’ve got Scarlett back safe and sound.” She shook her head. “It’s not much of a quiet country life, is it?”
He chuckled but then sobered. “This stuff,” he replied, waving a hand to include all the craziness she’d experienced since she’d arrived, “is an aberration. It’s got to be. How many crimes did this town have before you got here? How many murders?”
“No idea,” she admitted. “But probably not a lot. Ever.”
“Exactly. And although clearly you brought the crazy”—he waggled his eyebrows at her, which actually got her to laugh—“I have to think that’s just a temporary issue. I mean, hell, you’ve already dealt with drug dealers, art thieves, killers, blackmailers, and now embezzlers and kidnappers? What’s left?” He turned serious again. “This isn’t the place for me, Charlie. You were right about that. I’d go nuts in a town this small, this quiet. But you? You’ve blossomed here. You’ve grown more confident, but also more… centered? You just seem like this really is where you belong.” He shook his head. “I may not get the appeal, but I know when it’s right. And once this is all over and done, I have a feeling things will settle down for you. In a lot of ways,” he finished, his eyes rising to something past her.
Cookie turned to see that Dylan had returned and was hurrying back toward them. He was carrying a large black duffel bag.
“Right,” he declared as he reached them. He set the bag down on a bench built into the wall for people to sit on while waiting for a table. “I just had to grab my bug-out bag. So the thing about the Barge,” he explained, “is that it’s self-contained. No landline, no powerlines, no water mains, nothing. All its systems are built right into the ship. All they did when they first set up shop was swap out the engines for a generator, and voila. Electricity, water, heat, the whole package.”
“Which means they’ll have light,” Hunter rumbled.
“They will. But you know what was always a problem when I worked there?” Dylan grinned. “The smoke alarms. Stupid things were crazy sensitive. Even a cigarette in the wrong place could set them off. And, being a barge, it doesn’t exactly have the best ventilation.”
“So you want to set off the smoke alarms,” Cookie guessed. “Good distraction, sure.”
“More than just a distraction,” Dylan corrected, still grinning. “Because on a boat the absolute last thing you want is a fire. So it’s got crazy-strong sprinklers—the spray from those things’ll blind you for a good ten, twenty seconds. Especially if you’re not ready for them.”
“Okay, so we sneak aboard, set off the sprinklers, and take them out while they’re blinded,” Hunter summarized. “I like it. You know where they’ll be?”
Dylan nodded. He turned to the hostess station just a few feet away and grabbed a whiteboard from underneath. It showed the restaurant’s tables, with numbers assigned for the servers’ areas, but he wiped it clean. “The Barge only has three levels, including the upper deck,” he explained. “And the bottom hold is filled with sand to keep the whole thing solidly landlocked in even the worst storms. So we’re really only talking about the main hold. They knocked out all the walls there except the one at each end, so you’ve got the main dining area in the middle, the kitchens at one end, and a private dining room at the other, with a few bathrooms along the side.” He sketched the layout on the whiteboard. “They’ll have her in the private room, I’m betting. It’s the only secure room that’s got space for both her and a guard.”
Cookie studied his makeshift map and tapped the spot where he’d drawn the stairs. “So we’ve got to get onto the boat, then get to these stairs, make our way across this main room and into the private room. From there we take out whatever guards we run into and get all the way back safely.” She grimaced. “Piece of cake.”
“This might help.” Dylan unzipped his bug-out bag, rummaged around inside for a few seconds, then handed Cookie some sort of gun. Its body and barrel were both cylindrical, and the overall size was longer and narrower than her pistol.
“Is this a tranq gun?” she asked, hefting it but careful to keep it pointed safely down at the ground.
Dylan nodded. “Accurate to maybe eighty yards, though I wouldn’t risk it at anything over forty, just to be sure. It’s perfect for putting down anybody guarding the outside, and it works in seconds.”
Hunter was studying him. “Why are you walking around with a massive tranq gun?” he asked in a slightly strangled tone. “Is that thing even legal?”
“You think I’d do something illegal?” Dylan managed to look both amused and faintly insulted at the same time. “Of course, technically the tranq gun is for cougars, but that’ll be our little secret.” He returned to the bag and pulled out a dark, non-reflective, gray metal canister about the size of a soda can, with a large pull-ring at the top. He handed it to Hunter. “This is for you.”
Hunter stared down at the object now in his hand. “Is this a smoke grenade?” he asked. “It’s military-grade. What the hell?” His outburst was loud enough to make a few nearby patrons glance over, and he quickly q
uieted down but continued, “Who the hell carries tranq guns and smoke grenades in his bag?”
But Cookie thought she already knew the answer to that. “A former Navy SEAL might,” she said and felt a little starburst of warmth when Dylan nodded approvingly at her.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he admitted. “Really. But I’m not surprised you figured it out.”
“I knew you had military training,” Cookie said, pleased with herself. “And, considering the way you threw Hunter that one time, it had to be special forces of some sort.” Hunter glowered a bit at the memory, but he didn’t interrupt, just folded his arms across his chest and tried to look fierce. “Coupled with the way you retrieved Brayson’s body from underwater, I figured it made sense.” She shrugged. “But watching you go after that token just now and face down those guys on the boat and just shrug it off after? Had to be SEALs.”
“SEAL, huh?” Hunter said, studying Dylan in a new light. After a second of the two of them locking gazes, he nodded. “Hardcore.” Cookie didn’t think she was imagining the look of mutual respect the two men shared. Another small weight off her shoulders.
Which just left the big one—rescuing her best friend from a bunch of armed lunatics who were holed up in a self-contained structure with only a few entrances and no easy approach.
“So how do we get over to the Barge at all without them seeing us coming a mile away?” she asked, drawing the men’s attention back to their current dilemma.
Dylan raised an eyebrow in response. “That depends,” he said. “How are you two when it comes to bicycles?”
Cookie frowned at the question. “I know how to ride a bike,” she replied, and Hunter just nodded. “Why? What’ve you got in mind?”
“I just need to make a call,” Dylan answered, pulling out his cell phone. “But if we can get them in time, I have the perfect way for us to get to the Barge without the guards even knowing we’re there.” He smiled at Cookie. “Trust me?”
“With my life,” she answered without hesitation. And with Scarlett’s life, too, she thought to herself.
Don’t worry, Scar, Cookie called out silently. We’re coming for you.
And those guys are going to regret they ever laid a finger on you.
20
“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Hunter muttered behind her. “I feel like an idiot.”
“If it helps, you look like one, too,” Dylan called out from the front.
“Shut up and pedal, both of you,” Cookie growled from where she was bent over her own handlebars. Why, oh why, had she let Dylan talk her into this?
She had to admit, though, that Dylan had been right about one thing. There was no way Brad and his men would ever see this coming.
Hunter wasn’t done complaining, though. “Explain to me again why we couldn’t just take your boat?” he groused as he pedaled—no easy feat considering he was still wearing his suit but now had the added layers of waders and a poncho.
“Because the engine noise would’ve given us away,” Cookie said. “You know that, you’re just not happy about it.”
To be completely honest, she wasn’t all that thrilled about their current mode of transportation either. But Dylan had been so proud of himself when his friend Abel had pulled up in a motorboat and offloaded the three contraptions. And they really did fit the bill as far as quiet went. “They’re called Hydrobikes,” he’d explained at the time, completely unnecessarily since the devices had the name emblazoned on their sides in big letters. “No engine, no lights, so they’re perfect.”
Perfect. Sure. Except that they were basically bikes with small pontoons on either side and a pedal-powered propeller down the middle. So she was stuck on a typically uncomfortable bike seat, pedaling for all she was worth to force her way past even the mildest of waves.
Dylan, of course, seemed to be managing effortlessly on his. He had naturally taken the lead, since he was the only one who knew where they were going, and didn’t seem to mind that he was biking over the water in the dark. “We can’t risk a light,” he’d pointed out. “They’d spot that a mile away.”
As it was, Cookie was worried that the bikes, which had bright yellow floats and bright blue sides, might still stand out. But in the dark the bikes just looked gray, like floating logs.
At least she hoped that’s what the guards would think.
“Almost there,” Dylan informed them. “We’ll pull up onto the beach right below the pier, and then it’s a short sprint around to the gangplank.”
“I still think this plan is nuts,” Hunter declared just loud enough for Cookie to hear him over the waves and the ice cold wind. “Just for the record.”
“Noted,” she replied, knowing he wasn’t just talking about the Hydrobikes. At the last minute, they’d decided they needed a distraction and Cookie had reluctantly called Rain and asked for her help. “Don’t worry. If anyone can handle this part, she can.” Cookie laughed. “One thing Mom’s always been good at is drawing attention.”
“So that’s it?” Cookie whispered. She pedaled her bike up onto the sand, hopped down, and dragged it farther up onto the shore to where Dylan was waiting by the base of the short pier. All she could see of the former ship—turned restaurant—turned kidnapper refuge—was a big, blocky shadow with a string of lights shining steadily along the top.
“That’s it,” Dylan agreed as Hunter joined them. “And it looks like they do have sentries up there. Crap.” He turned to look at her, barely a shadow himself in the black poncho he’d donned before they’d set out. “That distraction of yours had better hurry the hell up.”
Cookie grimaced. “My mother never hurries,” she pointed out. Then she heard a ruckus approaching and smiled. “Yet somehow she’s almost always right on time.”
Sure enough, a pair of headlights was bobbing crazily down the dirt road that led to the Barge. And Cookie could hear music blaring from the truck that was rapidly approaching. A truck that was all too familiar.
“I really hope she doesn’t mess up my wheels,” Dylan grumbled. He pulled what looked like a short black rod from a pants pocket and, with a flick of his wrist, extended it into a slender baton. He started edging his way forward, crouching down to use the pier as cover, and called over his shoulder, “Come on.”
Cookie followed, and Hunter brought up the rear. She had the tranq gun out, and Hunter had his pistol ready. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” Hunter whispered to her as they snuck along.
“No,” she admitted readily. “But do you have any better ideas?” His silent scowl was answer enough. “Right. So let’s just get this done.”
“Hello?” she heard a familiar female voice call out from somewhere up ahead, just behind the blinding headlights. “Anybody home?” A blast from the horn followed the query.
“What do you want, lady?” a gruff male voice called down from atop the old barge.
“Oh, good, you are there!” Rain replied. “I’d heard we had new neighbors, so I wanted to come on over and say hi. Howdy, neighbor.” Cookie knew without having to look that her mother was doing her best vamp impression, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head, chest forward to show off her assets, eyes half shut in a sultry, come-hither expression.
The only question was would it work?
“Uh—howdy back,” the voice replied, sounding suitably confused, but also more than a little interested. Cookie had to swallow a laugh. Her mother was something else.
“Care to show me around?” Rain asked. “I’ve heard of this place but it was already closed before we moved here. I’d love to see inside.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, no can do,” the guard told her, and he did sound genuinely sorry. “It’s, uh, under construction right now. Not really safe to walk around in there.”
“Aw, that’s too bad!” Cookie could almost see her mother’s classic pout. “I was really hoping for a glimpse,” Rain sighed. “And it’s such a nice night out, too. Well, guess I’ll just take a walk along t
he shore instead, then.” There was a short pause. “Care to join me? I’d love the company.”
“Really?” The voice was noticeably brighter. “Sure. Hang on, let me just—”
“What the hell’s going on here?” another voice demanded. “Phil, what’re you doing? You’re on patrol.”
Dylan had eased his way around to the gangplank and ducked under it, straightening to his full height once he was safely in its shadow. He beckoned to Cookie, and she quickly followed.
“Aw, I was just—she came by to say hi and asked if I’d take a walk with her,” Phil answered. He sounded almost like he was pouting now, too. “I figured, what’s the harm?”
“What’s the harm?” the other voice dropped to a hiss. “You forgetting just what we’re doing here? Or what we’ve got down below?”
Hunter slid into the space beneath the gangplank as well. It was a tight fit for all three of them, but they managed.
“Shove off, lady,” the second voice continued, rising to a near-shout. “We’re busy here.”
“Well, that’s rude,” Rain replied with a huff. “I was just trying to be neighborly. Are you sure Phil can’t come take a walk with me? We won’t be gone long.” It was amazing, and a little annoying, that Cookie could tell exactly when her mother was batting her eyelashes.
“Yes, I’m sure,” the second guard replied. “Now clear out.”
“Maybe just for a little while?” Phil pleaded. “It’s dead quiet out here.”
“You wanna explain that to Brad if he comes out and you’re gone?” the other guard snapped. “No. Forget it.” There was a short pause, and Cookie readied the tranq gun before he continued, “Lady, you deaf? I said beat it!”
“Fine, I’m going!” Rain shot back. “Sorry, Phil. It’s a shame, too. It’s such a nice night. I think I might do a little skinny dipping—and that’s way more fun with somebody else along.”
“Aw, man!” Phil whined. And then Cookie heard it—the sound of heavy feet tromping down the gangplank, right over their heads.
