Melissa Good - Terrors of the High Seas

64 Melissa Good KERRY EXHALED IN relief as she saw the big vessel drop a little further behind them. “Excuse me.” She gently eased past Charlie, who was still in the doorway to the cabin. “This is getting very icky.”

“No shit.” Charlie eyed the big boat. “What the heck did you girls get yourselves into?”

“I wish I knew.” Kerry strode into the cabin and went to the storage chest, flipped the seat up and pulled out a long, black case.

She set it on the table and undid the catches, lifted the lid and laid it back. Inside rested a powerful, blued black shotgun, giving off the very distinct scent of gun oil.

“Ah.” Charlie was at her shoulder. “Shoulda figured Dar’d have one of these.”

Kerry pulled the gun out and opened the stock. “It’s not Dar’s,”

she murmured, flipping open a door in the case and removing shotgun shells. “It’s mine.” She glanced up at the surprised man.

“I’ve been shooting since I was eight.” She closed the shotgun and pocketed a handful of extra shells, then headed for the door.

She’d never really liked guns. Handguns, in fact, scared the daylights out of her, as she’d realized when they’d been faced with one in Chicago. But Kerry had realized that she hated the feeling of being helpless even more, so she’d gone out and gotten herself a gun she at least had experience with.

Kerry was pretty sure her father had never intended his forced familial skeet lessons to have this particular result. She had always found it ironic that of all her cousins and siblings, she was the only one who could hit anything smaller than a Volkswagen Microbus with any regularity. She still remembered those frosty fall days with reporters in full attendance, watching as adolescents barely able to lift the damn rifles gamely plugged away at skittish, fleeting, clay plugs.

She stood next to the door and peered out, holding the shotgun close to her body. If she squinted, she could just see figures moving out onto the bow of the larger vessel, one manning the annoying searchlight and two others approaching the railing.

Charlie limped up behind her and shut off the light in the cabin, affording them a better view. “No sense putting up a target,”

he commented. “Wonder what they’re after?”

“I have no idea.” Kerry inhaled sharply as she realized the bigger boat was gaining on them again. She made a grab for the doorframe as the Bertram heeled over, then accelerated again in a new direction. “Jesus, Dar.”

Being in international waters, there wasn’t anyone, really, they could call. They could, Kerry realized, get into very real trouble out there and it would be weeks before anyone knew about it. “Dar?”

“I know!”

Terrors of the High Seas 65

Kerry exhaled.

“Ker?”

“Yeah?”

“This could get nasty!”

Kerry stepped out onto the stern and worked the shotgun mechanism. “I’m armed.”

“Great.” Dar felt more than a little frazzled. “Here I am playing Captain Kidd, and I’ve got Wyatt Earp on the stern.”

Bud leaned over the edge of the console and regarded Kerry’s wind buffeted form. “She know how to use that thing?”

Dar grunted, focusing on her route. Ahead of her, the sky no longer held stars, and as she stared ahead, lightning fluttered, outlining huge thunderheads. She pointed. “That the storm you were telling me about?”

“It’s astorm,” Bud stated. “You figgering to head into it?”

“Not exactly.” Dar looked behind her. The big boat was definitely gaining on them now. “But it could get a little rough.”

She plotted a course and then settled herself, wrapping her legs around the captain’s chair. “Kerry, stow it! I’m gonna be moving!”

She heard the cabin door slam. “All right, asshole. Let’s see if you can stick with me.” Dar headed between two tiny, uninhabited islands. The Bertram raced over the waves, which were now perceptibly choppier. The searchlight zapped over their heads. Dar felt its glare on her neck and she pulled the boat into a gentle arc, first one way and then the other.

A popping sound brought her head up and around. Both she and Bud ducked as a flare seared past their starboard side. Dar spent an unfruitful moment wishing like hell her father was beside her, and then directed her full attention to threading the boat through the narrow channel.

“Getting shallow,” Bud offered.

“I know.” Dar kept one eye on the depth meter, and the other on the blinking buoys the marked the route. A roll of thunder rumbled overhead, almost obscuring the sound of the engines.

Another flare screeched by, this time on the port side. “Next one’s coming right up our backs, I’m guessing.”

“Inta the engine cowling,” the laconic ex-sailor stated. “Fastest way to stop you.”

“Thanks.” Dar’s eyes narrowed and she inched her route slightly to her left. Then without warning, she spun the wheel, sending the boat into a rapid curve. She straightened out and then went right again, daring their pursuer to follow them.

She heard their engines rev as they accepted her challenge, and with that sound, Dar smiled. “Gotcha,” she whispered, ramming the throttles home and skimming down a specific line in the sea with a light, precise touch on the controls.

66 Melissa Good Bud was gripping the console, his eyes wide. “Dar, you’re gonna bottom.”

Dar watched the depth meter. “C’mon…c’mon.” It sounded a warning, and she kept her fingertips on the wheel, mentally crossing other body parts and just wishing. The Bertram threaded a tiny line down the center of the meter, the klaxon blaring louder and louder as the sounds of their pursuers also got louder.

“Jesus Christ!” Bud yelled. “You have all lost your damn minds!”

“Nah.” The boat flashed over a section of water, then the klaxon cut off, just as they heard a horrific crunching sound behind them. Dar chanced a quick look behind her and saw the big boat heeling off to one side, its engines dying and panic on the bow. She faced forward again, into the rain now hitting the shield around the console. “I just play a mean game of chicken.”

Every nerve in her was alive. Dar could see her own grin reflected in the glass, and she just barely kept herself from letting out a wild yell of triumph. “All right,” she was proud of the even tone in her voice, “now let’s get outta here.”

Bud unglued his hands from the rail. “Whoinhell taught you to drive?” he growled.

Glinting blue eyes reflected back in the windshield. “My dad,”

Dar replied, savoring the moment. Then she keyed the mic for internal communications. “Kerry?”

“Here.” Kerry’s voice sounded a little out of breath. “Holy shit, Dar!”

“Yeah.” Dar trimmed the engines, which now labored against the rising seas. “Out of the frying pan… I’m gonna circle back around and see if I can get past this storm and come back into the island from the other side.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Monitor the radio. See if you can pick up those bastards calling for help. I want to know who they are.”

“Right.”

Dar clicked the mic off, and clipped it. “Board me, will you?”

she muttered. “I don’t think so.”

KERRY PUT THE mic down, but left her hand on it for a long moment as her nerves steadied. “Okay,” she finally said, gathering her composure and pushing away from the wall. “Glad that’s over.”

“Me, too,” Charlie agreed. He was seated securely in one of the chairs bolted to the deck. “Now, whatinthehell was it?” He got up and peered out the window. “Sumbitches bottomed, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kerry walked over to the galley and removed a bottle of Gatorade, popped the top and sucked down several mouthfuls.