Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

When he got out of the car, the first thing he noticed was the quiet. The only sound was that of the stones and crushed shells crunching beneath his feet. He opened Emme's driver's-side door and leaned into the Honda. Her bag was on the front seat, her phone next to it, as if she'd taken it out to make a call. Hopefully to me , he thought.

Where was she?

There were no other cars in sight, but he walked up to the front door, which stood ajar by only an inch or so.

“Hello?” he called, as he stepped inside. “Anyone here?”

He made his way through the entire first floor, but there was no sign of life. He ran up the steps and quickly went from room to room, calling out, but the only sound was his own echoing footsteps.

Something was really wrong here.

Suddenly he heard what sounded like the sputtering motor of a boat that didn't really want to start. He went to the landing on the stairwell and looked out through an arched window that faced the back of the house. A stone patio surrounded a pool, and beyond that stretched a river that flowed into the bay several miles to the west. A dock ran along the edge of the property, and several boats were tied up. One was bobbing farther from the dock, and Nick shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted to take a good look. A man stood at the wheel, and a figure sat stiffly upright at the back of the boat. When the late day sun came through the clouds and the light danced off the back of the passenger's head, her identity was plain.

Who was driving, and where was he headed?

Nick ran down the steps and out through the front door, his phone in his hand, dialing 911. He reported his location and his suspicions as ran back to Emme's car. On the console was a release for the trunk, and his fingers found it quickly. Hadn't she once said something about carrying a handgun, not on her person, but in the trunk of her car?

Throwing the lid up, he searched quickly, and found what he was looking for wrapped in a blanket at the very back of the trunk. He pulled the blanket all the way out of the car and shook it, hoping to find some ammunition. A clip fell to the ground, and he picked it up and shoved it into the base of the gun. Cuffs that had been hidden in the blanket's folds fell out with a clunk and he stuffed them in his back pocket. He grabbed the tire iron for good measure, and took off for the water.

He was almost to the dock when the motor caught. The boat began to take off slowly before picking up speed. He jumped into the first boat he came to, praying he'd be able to start it without a key. He could hotwire a car with his eyes closed, but he'd never tried it with an outboard motor.

He fumbled at the wheel. There was no key. Was it even possible to start a boat's motor without one? He didn't have time to figure it out. He jumped to the next boat, and smiled when he saw the name on its motor. “Yamaha” said speed to him, and when he found the key in the ignition, he knew he'd made the right choice. Whoever was driving the other boat had a head start on him, and with Emme at risk, he needed as much horsepower behind him as he could get.

He untied the lines, then studied the controls. The lever standing upright would be the throttle. He wiggled it slightly and heard it click. That would be neutral, he thought. He pushed in on the key, and the engine cranked for several seconds before catching. He figured there should be something to shift gears with, and something to feed fuel to the engine, but there was only one lever. Maybe the throttle and the shift controls were on the same handle. He experimented and found that appeared to be the case, so he pulled back on the lever and allowed the motor to idle for a moment before giving it enough to pull away from the dock. He continued to let the throttle out, slowly at first, to get a feel for it. When he felt he had control, he pushed it gradually. He sure wished this thing came with instructions written where he could see them. He'd lost precious time figuring out how to start the damned thing, but he knew better than to jam the engine too quickly. Motors were motors, and once this one flooded, who knew how long it would be before he could get it started again?

Nick headed upriver, speed building along with his anxiety until he heard the motor up ahead. He was used to asphalt under the wheels, not water under the hull. He held his breath until he closed the distance between them enough to know for certain this was the right boat. Within minutes, he was close enough to read the boat's name: Follow Me .

You bet your ass I will .

As he drew closer, the driver of the other boat sped up. Nick drew more from his engine, not knowing if he had enough fuel to keep up or what his strategy should be.

What would he do if he was behind the wheel of a Viper, hot on the heels of a Porsche that he absolutely, positively had to stop?

He'd run the Porsche off the road.

Nick pulled to the left of the Follow Me and yelled to Emme to get down. At first, he wasn't sure she heard him, but there was no mistaking that she understood his intent when he eased the boat closer. She slid to the deck, and Nick got his first look at the man who, if he won this race, would take Emme from him forever.

The man at the wheel wore dark glasses and a Ravens cap, brim backwards, a dark red sleeveless T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and a sickening smile. Nick pulled the gun from his waistband and yelled over, “Slow down and head for shore or I'll shoot.”

The man at the wheel laughed out loud, and gave his boat more juice. Nick kept up, but could feel his engine struggling. If the Follow Me went much faster, he'd likely outrun him. The bay lay up ahead, and even Nick knew that the small boat he was in probably wouldn't be a good match for the choppy waves of the Chesapeake.

His index finger on the trigger, Nick aimed as steadily as he could, thinking he'd need to hit something on the boat that would hinder its performance. The truth of it was that he didn't know enough about boats to know where to do the most damage, short of hitting the driver. But an out-of-control boat-one with Emme in it-could be deadly.

The gun probably was not the best idea right now.

He stuck it back into his waistband and edged the boat more to the right. The driver of the other craft was still laughing, as if having the time of his life. Nick swung closer still, until the bows were less than five feet apart. The Follow Me put on more speed, and Nick knew he'd lose him if he didn't act quickly. With a quick twist of the wheel, he smacked into the side of the larger boat, and both vessels careened from the impact. The Follow Me rocked unsteadily, but maintained its speed. Nick took a deep breath, and drove the bow of his boat into the side of the other, trying to force it toward shore. Two more whacks and speed propelled the bow partially out of the water and in the direction of the gravelly river bank. Nick waited for the man in the cap to pull back on the throttle, but he never did. With his heart in his mouth, Nick watched the Follow Me barrel toward the shore. Right before it hit, the driver of the boat bailed over the side and disappeared into the dark water.

The Follow Me slammed onto the bank bow first in a sickening crash, the motor screeching when it hit the sand. Nick pulled up on his motor and steered toward land. The driver could drown for all he cared. He just wanted to get to Emme. When he was ten feet from the shore, he cut the engine and dove into the water. Almost immediately, something grabbed his legs and pulled him under.

The driver of the Follow Me was younger and stronger than he'd looked while standing at the wheel, but Nick was taller and equally strong. The two men battled for advantage under the water. Twice they broke the surface to gulp air, and twice they went back below. Finally, Nick was able to get a grip around his opponent's neck, and swam to land with his arm locked tightly around his throat. Gasping for breath, Nick struggled to drag the man with him to where the Follow Me had landed on its side.