Page 296 of Hidden Depths

“They don’t see the bend,” I said.

Piers lowered the binoculars.

“They’re following our wake.”

“Then we give them the wrong wake.”

Ward looked at me.

“What are you thinking?”

I pointed toward a place where the reef split.

“Grandpa called it the Devil’s Fork.”

“Why?”

“Because one channel leads through.”

“And the other?”

“Ends on coral.”

Calle smiled for the first time since the shooting started.

“Hold on.”

She turned sharply toward the false channel.

The fishing boat followed.

For ten seconds, we headed directly toward the coral shelf.

The depth alarm screamed.

Seven feet.

Six.

Five.

Ward stared at the water ahead.

“Storm.”

“Not yet.”

Four feet.

Calle’s hand tightened on the wheel.

“Storm.”

“Now!”

Calle spun the wheel hard to port.

At the same moment, she pushed the damaged engine forward.