Behind him, he heard Marshall, Trey, and Hunter following, but Nash’s entire focus was on reaching theStone Cutter. He hauled himself over the side, water streaming from his wetsuit as he rushed to Trent’s side.
Trey and Hunter and Marshall were right behind him.
“Trent, what happened?”
Trent fell into Hunter.
Trey grabbed the radio and tried to call for help.
Nothing.
“Professionals,” Trent managed, rasping out. “They knew exactly … what they were doing. One shot from another boat,another from a guy who took Amy.” He wheezed out a breath. “Tried to … to call for help.”
Hunter ripped off Trent’s shirt.
Marshall inspected. “We gotta get him help, ASAP. One in shoulder, one in the chest. Maybe a lung.”
Nash’s head spun. “Where’s Amy?”
Trent’s eyes fluttered open, pain evident in his expression. “They took her,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Three boats … came out of nowhere. Jamming … all communications.”
Nash’s world tilted. “Who took her? The Ferrantes?”
The sound of another boat’s engine grew louder, and Nash looked up to see Brooks, Porter, and Colt approaching fast in theLiberty. Brooks was already on the radio, his FBI training evident in his controlled but urgent tone.
“This is Agent Brooks. I need medical evacuation at Bird Island immediately,” Brooks spoke into the radio as their boat pulled alongside theStone Cutter. “We have a gunshot victim and a kidnapping situation.”
Porter and Colt were already moving, Porter leaping onto theStone Cutterto help with Trent while Colt scanned the horizon with military precision.
Porter cursed. “Our signals were jammed. We got here as fast as we could.”
“How long?” Nash asked Trent desperately. “How long ago did they take her?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Trent replied, his face pale but determined. “They were heading north. Fast boats.”
Nash felt panic clawing at his chest. Amy could be anywhere by now, in the hands of people who had already proven they were willing to kill.
“We need to—” Nash started to say, but he stopped as the distinctive sound of rotor blades filled the air.
A helicopter appeared over the island’s ridge, moving fast and purposeful. Nash’s heart sank for a moment—were the attackers returning? “Who is that?”
Trey looked up and laughed. “Dang, the women must have called the calvary.”
“Who?” Nash asked.
Marshall grunted. “Oliver Browne is going to save our butts again.”
The helicopter touched down on the island’s only flat area, sand and debris swirling in the downdraft. As the rotors began to slow, Kensi and Cheyenne stepped out; Oliver followed close behind them.
“Ava radioed me,” Oliver called to them. “Told me what was going on. I came as soon as I heard.”
Nash had never been so grateful to see anyone in his life.
“They took our friend,” Trey said. “But first we have to get Trent medical care.”
“I’m fine,” Trent protested weakly, though the blood loss was clearly affecting him.
“You’re not fine,” Hunter said firmly.
