“The helicopter can get Trent to the hospital fastest,” Oliver said. “But we need to move now.”
Brooks nodded, still communicating on the radio. “I’ve got another helicopter meeting us at the house. We can establish a command center there and coordinate the search for Amy.”
Nash felt his control slipping.
Amy was out there somewhere, at the mercy of men who had already shot Trent without hesitation. The woman he’d just found again after eight years, the woman he was falling in love with all over again, might be …
“Hey,” Porter said, gripping Nash’s shoulder firmly. “We’re going to find her. All of us. The Ferrantes made a mistake taking one of ours.”
Colt nodded grimly. “They have no idea what they’ve just brought down on themselves.”
Nash took a shaky breath, drawing strength from his family’s unwavering support. “Okay.” He thought of what Amy said about looking for miracles every day. He bowed his head and said a prayer for help.
As they carefully transferred Trent to Oliver’s helicopter, Nash caught sight of the blood on theStone Cutter’s deck—evidence of how quickly everything had gone wrong. But he also saw something else: Amy’s notebook.
He grabbed it. It was still open to the pages where she’d been tracking their dive progress, her neat handwriting documenting every detail. She was meticulous, intelligent, and stronger than she knew. If anyone could survive whatever the Ferrantes had planned, it was Amy.
“We’re coming for you,” Nash whispered.
CHAPTER 21
Amy’s wrists burned where the zip ties cut into her skin as the speedboat cut through the choppy waters. The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions, with no sign of land or rescue. Her captors—two men in tactical gear who moved with military precision—had said nothing during the first ten minutes of their journey.
The bearded man, who seemed to be in charge, sat across from her. His cold eyes studied her with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. He was older, with graying hair and scars that spoke of a violent past.
“Dr. Martinez was very helpful,” the man said finally, his voice carrying a slight accent that Amy couldn’t place. “He told us you’re the key to understanding something that belongs to my family.”
Amy’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she kept her voice steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He reached into a waterproof case and withdrew a rolled document, handling it with reverence. “Your father stole this from the Ferrante family twenty years ago,” he said, unrolling what appeared to be an old map. “It cost him his life.”
Amy stared at the yellowed parchment, her mind reeling. “What? My father had a map?”
“Oh yes,” he said, his smile cold. “Michael Roberts was very thorough in his investigation of our family’s business. He thought he was so clever, copying our records, stealing our heritage.” His expression hardened. “He was looking for gold, wasn’t he? Our gold.”
The words hit Amy like a physical blow. All these years, she’d believed her father was investigating the Ferrantes’ criminal activities.
But he’d been treasure hunting?
“This map has been in my family for generations,” the bearded man continued. “It shows the location of a cache that rightfully belongs to us. Your father thought he could use it to destroy us, to trade the information for protection from the FBI.”
Amy’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “That’s why you killed him.”
“We defended what was ours,” he said without emotion. “Sure, he did witness a killing. But he took the map. And now, Professor, you’re going to help us reclaim it.”
Amy looked at the map spread before her, its surface covered in faded ink markings, symbols, and what looked like geographical notations. Despite everything, her academic mind automatically began analyzing the document—the paper quality, the ink composition, the style of cartography.
“I won’t help you,” she said firmly.
The man nodded to his associate, who pulled out a tablet and tapped the screen. “Perhaps this will change your mind.”
The tablet showed a live video feed from what was clearly an aerial view. Amy’s blood turned to ice as she recognized the boat with Nash and the others gathered.
“We have a helicopter positioned not far from your friends,” the man explained casually. “One word from me, and they will open fire. Your boyfriend and his family will be dead within seconds.”
Amy’s breath caught in her throat. Through the grainy video feed, she could make out Nash’s distinctive silhouette as he stood near the boat’s railing, completely unaware of the danger.
“You’re bluffing,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
