1
The sea never gives back what it claims...”
Her father’s voice echoed through her thoughts, gritty and sharp—like the wind whipping around her and the salt cutting into her cheeks early on this Monday morning. Cressida Valentine stepped back inside the wheelhouse where Captain Everett “Salty” Malloy stood at the helm of theMariner’s Gambit—an older-than-time fishing trawler.
Next to Malloy, she curled her fingers around the binoculars and peered at the dense marine fog chasing them along the Washington coast. Uneasiness pressed down on her as she scanned the mist-veiled horizon. Her father had spent his life chasing secrets buried in waters too deep and too dark to trust.
And here I am,chasing them too.
Out of the white rolling cloud, a speedboat emerged, and it headed straight for theMariner’s Gambit, startling her. “Looks like someone’s coming toward us,” she said.
“Let me see those.” Malloy took the binoculars she offered—they were his, after all—and peered through.
Then he swore under his breath. Gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
His reaction wasn’t a good sign. “Who is it? What’s going on?”
Captain Malloy handed the binoculars back, then stepped to the helm. Despite the early morning cold, sweat beaded his temples, his knuckles white on the wheel. A man on a mission to escape?
“Doesn’t matter.” The tension in his jaw said otherwise.
“What do they want?”
He didn’t answer.
Not good enough. Cressida grabbed his arm. “Captain—”
“Not now.” He shrugged out of her grip and shoved the throttle forward, and theMariner’s Gambitgroaned as it accelerated, slicing through the swells. “I need to get away from them.”
“In this?” She bit her lip, regretting the question. They’d traveled between five and ten knots around the Olympic Peninsula from Port Angeles because fishing trawlers were built for endurance, not speed, Malloy had informed her.
Granted, the old trawler had been updated, boasting modern electronics and “smart” instruments on the dashboard. A necessity, he’d said, since he and his thirty-something son, Dax, were the only ones to crew the sixty-five-foot fishing and sightseeing charter vessel.
He didn’t respond to her comment.
“Why is that boat headed straight for us?” She peered through the binoculars again, hoping to see if Malloy had put more distance between them.
“I don’t want to find out.” He suddenly turned the wheel, and the boat veered hard to port, into a fifteen-foot swell, throwing her sideways against the wall. She lost sight of the pursuers.
“This can’t be happening,” she whispered.
But it was.
She wanted to trust Malloy, to believe him, but he wasn’t making it easy.
Her mind raced through the possible scenarios and outcomes—the good and the bad. When the trawler suddenly decelerated and the rumble of motors dimmed, Cressida looked out at the fast-moving fog. “We’re slowing down?”
“They gave up the chase.”
“I’m impressed. I didn’t think the trawler had enough speed to escape.”
“I only had to beat them to Hidden Bay. They wouldn’t have followed me in. But that’s not what happened.”
The roar of another engine sliced through the chaos. Cressida turned toward the horizon—and froze. A massive Coast Guard cutter loomed in the distance, its white hull cutting through the waves. Relief washed over her, so sudden it left her knees weak.
Malloy exhaled sharply. “TheKraken.”
“I’m sorry ... what?” Visions of a mythical creature rising out of the ocean depths, long tentacles flailing, emerged in her mind.
