Page 153 of Rescuing You

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Michael had lost his connection to his team awhile back, and a glance behind showed no sign of them. But they were back there, somewhere.

Between the darkness from the heavy cloud cover, sea spray, and drenching rain, the boat was barely more than a smudge on the horizon.

Michael was gaining on it, but the choppy water and high waves made the ride treacherous. He had to be careful, hang on tight. Not let himself get thrown.

If he got thrown, he’d be separated from the Jet Ski, and in these waters, he might not be able to find it again, much less swim back to it. He wore no life jacket. He’d end up treading water, praying for his own rescue.

Useless to Leila and Jasmine.

So, though he itched to go faster, he didn’t dare.

Cold seeped through his sodden clothes, chilling him through and through. His hands were frozen on the handlebar.

He feared he’d run out of fuel before he caught up, and all this would be for nothing.

Help, Lord.

He transferred all his questions and fears into prayers, never taking his eyes off his target.

Thirty minutes. Forty-five. An hour. Driving straight into the storm.

It didn’t let up. If anything, it got worse. The swells higher. The rain heavier.

Growing up near the Maine coast, Michael had heard stories of ships in storms. All the modern advancements weren’t a guarantee against shipwreck. Only a fool would be out here in the elements on a personal watercraft.

But the shadow got larger and larger until the boat took shape.

If Michael caught up with it, what was he going to do? Board it, try to take on all those men by himself?

How would getting himself killed help anything?

Brock and the team wouldn’t announce their presence. They had to be moving in, using the darkness to their advantage.

Finally nearing his target, Michael slowed, not wanting to be seen. He maintained his distance, praying somebody would come along to help soon.

And then from the north, a boat moved in fast.

Not the team. No, this boat was lit up like…

The town square at Christmastime.

The Hellenic Coast Guard, on track to intercept.

Shehab must’ve seen it because the boat turned south.

Michael heard a crackle in his ear.

“Wrong.” Stone’s voice. “You there?”

Yes! He tapped his earpiece. “Quarter mile west of the target.”

“We’re intercepting from the south,” Stone said.

“Coast guard’s coming from the north. Shehab just turned toward you.”

“We got him on radar. We’re about two clicks out.”