She paused to gather her thoughts. She might only get one chance to call for help. “Mayday, mayday.” She gave Brookwell Island as her original location, along with her name. “I’ve been kidnapped. Held in this vessel. Mayday, mayday.”
She paused, listening first for any response overhead. No sounds of panic came back and there was no immediate reply on the radio, so she repeated her message. Then she activated the SOS beacon option. With any luck, someone would be close enough to come looking.
Now she had to decide next steps. Did she want to just get out of here? It would be easier to choose if she could be certain how many people were between her and freedom. Royer, possibly Corey. And there were likely others. Trent mentioned Royer hada crew and he couldn’t have been piloting this boat and attacking her at the same time.
She tried to judge the speed of the boat, worrying that if she waited too much longer she’d be too far away from the island. They clearly hadn’t taken her out through the marina or somebody would have sounded the alarm already.
Then again, maybe they had left the area without any trouble. Corey had been standing between her and the park, blocking the view. Maybe he’d convinced folks nothing was wrong. If so, she’d better help herself by being a problem captive.
Confirming that the SOS was on repeat, she started for the stairs, only to have the door at the top blow open as a man came barreling down. His tanned, leathery skin showed the evidence of years of exposure to sun and wind. With his wide stance, he rode the pitching boat with an ease that came from decades of experience on the water.
He swore when he saw her. She tried to scoot out of his reach, futile really in the tight quarters. Either he hadn’t seen the knife or didn’t care. But she raised it now. “Back up. I’m leaving.”
“Like hell, little girl. Sit down and shut up!” he shouted. “You’re making a whole mess.”
“I didn’t come voluntarily. But I’m leaving now.”
On an oath, he lunged for the knife. She brought the weapon up and heard him screech as the blade sliced his arm. It was a sickening feeling. And the smell. Ugh. She did her best to blot out the scent of blood in the air. “Let me go. I’ll swim back.”
He laughed at her and lunged again. This time she spun out of reach and raced for the steps.
He caught her at the waist and hauled her back. She kicked with everything she had and tried to stab whatever body part she could reach with the knife. The blade landed a few times, though he barely reacted. But she wasn’t ready to give up. Wriggling, she threw an elbow back and somehow connected with his ear.
The moment his grip relaxed she bolted. Scrambling to get away, she managed to get to her feet. She was halfway up the stairs when he caught her ankle. She tripped, but just for a second. She clawed her way up to the deck, determined to get off this boat. She could swim. Lakes, pools, and open water. It didn’t matter. She was far less afraid of the ocean than this man and anyone else on this boat.
Breaking out into the sunny afternoon, she discovered Brookwell Island was still in view. If she took her time and swam with the current… Her odds were excellent.
It didn’t matter if her odds sucked. Anything was better than staying here as a hostage. With her eyes on the island, she leaped up on the gunwale, only to get caught. Her feet went out from under her and she slammed down hard on the deck, landing on her hip and her elbow. The wind was knocked out of her, but the pain hadn’t set in yet. She didn’t have time to wallow.
Looking up, she saw Royer sneering at her. Kicking at his face, she managed to create some distance. She wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.
“Natalie, down!”
Trent’s voice sliced through her fear and desperation. She dropped flat to the deck and pressed herself into the side of the boat, trying to get as small as possible. She covered her head with her hands and willed it to be over soon.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and every breath she took seemed to be laced with needles. Didn’t matter. She was alive and Trent was here. It would be okay.
It had to be okay.
A jumble of voices shouted all around her, followed by a spate of gunfire. And then things got quieter. The boat shifted, listing. Taking on water. She couldn’t hear it. Could only feel it.
“Natalie, you can get up now.”
A warm hand rested on her shoulder. But it wasn’t Trent’s touch.
“We’ve got to go. Do you need help?” She blinked, focusing on the face in front of her, instead of the carnage that probably surrounded her. She recognized Boone Reynolds from around town, husband of Nina, who owned the flower shop across the street from the gallery.
“Hi.”
“There you are.” His smile was different. Tense. “Trent’s waiting.”
That news cut through the aches and pains that seemed to hold her entire body like a vise.
Boone helped her to her feet and guided her into a rescue boat. Fire Chief Miller was at the wheel. But she didn’t see Trent. A paramedic settled her on the nearest bench and wrapped a blanket around her. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore,” she admitted, craning for any glimpse of Trent.
“Okay, let’s sort that out.” He asked her questions about any injuries while she continued to scour the scene for Trent.
