Bracing herself against the pitch of the deck, Bree shot at the oncoming boat once more. Stephanie was almost on top of them. One of Bree’s bullets must have hit something, because the boat finally swerved. It passed close enough that Bree could see Stephanie at the wheel. Next to her, Dylan gripped the dashboard.
As the boat passed, Bree fired a few rounds at the engine.
The deck rocked harder as Stephanie’s wake reached them. Bree kept her weapon pointed at Stephanie, but the boat was pitching too violently for her to take aim. She grabbed for a rail but wasn’t quick enough. She lost her footing and went down. Her ass hit the deck, and pain sang up her tailbone. She lunged to one knee and leveled the rifle again. No shot.
Juarez lunged across the deck, grabbed the wheel, and gave the engine some gas. He turned the boat so the approaching waves hit the bow at a forty-five-degree angle and the hull was better able to absorb the wake. He yelled back at Bree, “Are we going after them?”
Bree hurried to Todd. He looked rough but his life didn’t appear to be in immediate danger. As unprofessional as it felt, she wanted to hug him. After she’d worked with—and trained—him for the last seven months, Todd felt like a little brother. She held back for fear of hurting him. “How badly are you hurt?”
Matt lifted seats and opened little cubbies all over the boat. He came back with a first aid kit and a folding knife. He cut the ropes binding Todd’s wrists and ankles. Todd fell back, relief seeming to exhaust him. Shaking, he lay on his side and rubbed his wrists. “Go!” he croaked. “Don’t let them get away.”
“You’re sure?” she asked.
Todd shivered, coughed, and gestured toward the retreating boat.
Matt opened the first aid kit. Sitting on the floor of the boat, he dug in it for Mylar blankets, which he wrapped around Todd’s shoulders.
“I’ll live.” Todd’s teeth chattered. “Let’s get them.”
Bree considered his condition for two seconds. Hypothermic. Beaten. But no gushing blood or obvious broken bones. The chance of internal injuries gave her pause, but the determination in his eyes made her decision. She tapped Juarez on the forearm. “Go after them.”
Juarez’s face split in a feral grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you catch her?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juarez gunned the engine. The boat leaped forward.
Stephanie had a head start, but the boat they’d commandeered had more horsepower. Juarez wasn’t timid about speed once everyone was settled and secure in the boat. They gained steadily.
Bree kept one eye on Todd. Wrapped in two Mylar blankets, he gritted his teeth. The ride was smooth on the flat water. Juarez was following Stephanie’s wake, staying in the center of the V. But Todd was freezing. She suspected sheer determination was keeping him upright. He should be headed for the ER.
Damn it. She didn’t want to let Dylan and Stephanie get away either.
They drew closer.
In the moonlight, Stephanie looked back. Her boat sounded like it was already at top speed. Dylan was at the back of the boat, watching the deputies gain on them. Stephanie lifted her hand and pointed behind her.
“Gun!” Juarez crouched behind the windshield.
“Get down.” Bree ducked, even though they were too far away for an accurate shot with a pistol. Stephanie could get lucky.
A muzzle flash blinked. Dylan toppled over the stern and into the water.
Bree recoiled. Stephanie had shot Dylan. What the hell? Bree shook off her shock.
“Hold on!” Juarez tugged the wheel. The boat cut right so he didn’t run over the man who’d just pitched into the water.
Bree lost her footing and tumbled ass over feet. Her shoulder crashed into the center console. Todd and Matt slid across the floor.
Bree levered to her feet. “Where’s Dylan?”
Juarez eased the throttle back. “In the water. She shot him.” He jerked a thumb behind them. “I’ll swing around.”
Bree wanted to catch Stephanie. Could she leave Dylan to drown?
No, she couldn’t.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She watched Stephanie’s boat race away. Yeah. No doubt about it. Stephanie was lucky.
Juarez steered the boat in a wide arc and slowed.
Bree spotted something pale in the water. “He’s at one o’clock.”
Dylan was floating facedown. Dead? Bree wanted him alive—to answer questions and to answer for his crimes.
The boat circled. Juarez eased up to him, and Matt hauled him out of the water. Bree knelt next to him and checked his pulse. Nothing. She gave him rescue breaths. Matt started chest compressions.