Brent grinned. “Maybe even ten.”
It was 2:20 a.m. as they approached Menauhant Yacht Club, reached via a single-lane road barely wide enough for the semi. Leafy yards and trees on either side, with well-spaced houses and families who were hopefully fast asleep.
“Could’ve put these suits in a van if we’d known,” grumbled Noah as Gabe’s thralls performed a seven-point turn and maneuvered into position at the pier, the night frequently interrupted by the truck’s beeping as it reversed.
Cally texted Eve an update and got a reply straight back. Confirmation she already knew, along with a dozen shocked-face emojis.
The converted fishing trawler had a crane and more thralls on board, and there was nothing to do while they loaded. First the suits, then crates of equipment they’d ‘liberated’ from the warehouse. The wait strained Cally’s nerves, and she tore at a nail with her teeth.
At last, the loading was done.
Gabe strode over to say goodbye. “Ryan will go with you. I’ll catch up before you reach Antoine. My yacht is a lot faster than this old tug.” He fixed Brent with a stare. “You keep her alive.”
Brent shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, boss.”
Gabe nodded to Noah and Zoey, and climbed into an SUV that sped off down the road.
“Let’s go,” Noah said. “Damn, I hate boats.”
It was bitterly cold as they chugged out past South Cape, with no letup from the wind. The two hefty diving suits stood lashed on the aft deck, secured with heavy-duty ratchet straps and tarped until they were out of sight of land. It gave Cally a break from Brent, but nothing to occupy her mind.
The sea was rough, tossing the boat, and Cally had to cling to the rail. The occasional wave threw up icy spray, making her wish for her hoodie. She watched the lights on the coast drift by, alone with her thoughts.
After days of studying Alvin’s training manuals, she felt she had a handle on that. At least she wouldn’t die if she got it wrong. This was far worse, and Brent’s constant fearmongering didn’t help.
If she died, Antoine would never get out. Even if the others somehow managed it at some future date, without Cally to feed on, he’d never recover.
Getting him out was only half of it. They still had to manage a feral vampire.
How long would it take him to regain control? How did that even work?
She should’ve asked Gabe. Maybe he knew.
The boat rounded Chatham, its lighthouse flashing twice every ten seconds, and then the coast was left behind. Shivering with the cold, Cally passed hand-over-hand along the rail, making her way to the cabin in search of warmth.
Noah looked up as she entered, green around the edges.
“Rough out there,” she muttered, wiping spray from her hair.
Ryan huffed a dry chuckle. “This isn’t rough, this is barely choppy—the waves are only six feet. We got lucky.”
“Lucky is good,” Brent said. “We need some of that.” He rose from the bench he was sharing with Noah. “Are you ready to work?”
“Sure.”
“Take Lewis and Amir,” Ryan said. “You’ll need help getting the tarps off.”
Brent nodded and followed her back out to where the suits waited. Despite Ryan’s assertion that it wasn’t rough, Cally gripped the rail as she waited for them to uncover one of the two machines. They opened a rear hatch in the torso, revealing a cramped cavity of metal and padding.
“Climb in,” Brent said. “Careful on the ladder, and don’t stand on anything important.”
Right.
It wasn’t graceful, and the sway of the deck didn’t help, but she made it. Her legs slid into padded shells, like wearing thick pants.
“Good. Now, straps go across chest, hips, and thighs. Tighten until it’s too uncomfortable, then back off a notch.”
She had barely enough space to breathe, let alone move.
