At Wallace’s instruction, Natalie endured a rough pat down from a guy whose dinner had been heavy with garlic.Every time he leaned in close to give her a command, her stomach soured.Or maybe that was the motion of the dock.It most definitely wasn’t nerves, because she didn’t have those.Couldn’t afford them.
The minute Garlic Breath ended his demeaningly thorough inspection and finished waving a bug detector over her shivering body, she used her tongue to nudge the rubbery disc between her teeth.A faint but satisfying click sensation indicated that she’d bitten down hard enough to turn it on, and now she simply had to trust that it was working.
Once she boarded the boat, ’roid-jacked goon number two motioned her to a little well of padded seating at the bow of the boat while he and his twin sat behind the windshield at the center helm.She sank onto a vinyl bench, the jittery feeling she’d suffered since learning of Erik’s kidnapping replaced by an odd sense of seething calm and a crisp clarity.
The fact that if she fell overboard she’d probably drown?Irrelevant.
The slice of human scum in the form of Harrison Wallace had been responsible for thousands of deaths, and since the courts wouldn’t hold him responsible, the Night Herons had exposed him and let the world play judge.And the world had judged him harshly.
Dallas and Nolan had tracked down as many of his legitimate and offshore assets as possible and funneled them to the impacted families.School scholarships, unexpected life insurance payouts, and lottery wins wouldn’t bring back their loved ones, but the extra money eased some of the financial strain and stress.
In addition to a nice chunk of his money, Wallace had lost his job, his family, and his reputation.His desire for revenge didn’t surprise Nat.The fact that he’d figured out who to targetdid.Her team was careful, but they must’ve left behind some clues along the way.And someone had either been paying very close attention, or had some serious resources available to narrow the field to her and Emma.
The only heartening part was that he wanted the rest of her network, which meant he didn’t currently have it.Now it was up to her to ensure he never got it.
This ends with me.One way or another.
She shivered in the thick breeze, sea spray stinging her cheeks and tangling her hair as the boat exited the harbor into the choppy open ocean.A sudden burst of speed pressed her into the vinyl seat, and the engine drowned out all other sounds.They passed a buoy where sea lions somehow lounged without rolling off the edge, and she turned to watch the lights of shore get smaller.
Ford was out there somewhere, probably walking a hole in someone’s carpet.Her stomach dipped.Would she see him again?
Either way, Nat couldn’t count on someone else coming to her rescue.Even if the tracker in her mouth worked, she had to assume she was on her own now.The bracing wind chapped her face, stung her eyes, and ignited her spirit.The odds were against her, butsomehowshe was going to show mother-fucking Harrison Wallace that he could not win.
The lights on the boat went out.
She gripped the edge of her seat, straining to see as they bounced over the swells.Slowly her eyes adjusted enough to register the sparkle of lights from land dancing on the water, and the marine layer overhead reflecting the shockingly bright glow of Los Angeles.
They left the bay behind, venturing into deeper water, and Nat had an interminable number of minutes to regret not bringing a thicker jacket.The boat followed the coastline at a distance, heading around toward San Pedro and the LA Harbor before hooking abruptly landward, zooming straight for a dark cove and a small yacht anchored on the outskirts, its lights blazing.
Becauseof coursethe asshole had a yacht.He should’ve been destitute at this point, but all these rich jerkoffs had assets registered in their wives’ names or held in a trust for their kids, money the Night Herons wouldn’t touch.
The ease with which guys like Wallace got away with fraud and murder—and lived the high life even after their reputations had been ruined and their bank accounts redistributed—made Nat ragey.If only her anger was enough to keep her warm right now.
When the boat finally stopped about fifty feet from the yacht, her gut lurched and her ears rang in the abrupt silence.Low voices rumbled on the other side of the windshield before a single light on the bow blinked on.
After a few minutes, a small dinghy motored toward her, another over-pumped figure in black at the tiller.Once he tied up to their stern, the handsy dick in head-to-toe tactical gear who’d frisked her earlier waved her through a swinging door in the windshield and on toward the back.Holding her head high, she pushed her gnarled hair out of her face and walked between the two guards, trying to relax her jaw enough to stop her teeth from chattering.
The dinghy’s driver held out a hand as she stepped onto the low platform at the back of the larger boat.She reached out with her good hand, a gust of wind blowing her hair into her eyes as she stepped across the gap.The firm surface she’d been aiming for dropped abruptly and she toppled forward, landing hard on her hands and knees between the two narrow seats.
Ow, fucking ow.Her not-fully-healed shoulder screamed at the jarring impact.Her stomach roiled and threatened to send up the dinner she’d picked at earlier.
Her sentry sat on a padded plank that served as a seat, and barely waited long enough for her to recover her equilibrium before accelerating toward the yacht.Huddled on the other bench in the tiny inflatable, gripping a handhold so she wouldn’t get bounced over the side, she reminded herself why she was here.To save Erik, protect her teammates, and destroy Harrison Wallace.
It was only as they pulled up alongside the yacht’s diving platform that she realized the GPS tracker was no longer in her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TEN MINUTES LATER Natalie sat on a cushy little sofa on the main deck of the yacht as it chugged slowly out to sea.
Harrison Wallace had given her a towel to dry off—probably more so she wouldn’t ruin his boat than anything else—and then handed her a blanket, which she had wrapped around herself with grudging gratitude.She didn’t think for a minute he cared about her comfort, only her cooperation.He wanted a weakened, easy target, and she’d be damned if she gave it to him, even if her chances of anyone coming to her aid had disappeared alongside the tracking bean.
Sitting across from her in crisp khakis and a striped button-down shirt that probably cost as much as her monthly rent, Wallace gave her a stern look from under thin gray brows, looking every inch the wealthy douchebag she remembered, right down to his shiny, sunburned head.Nothing had changed since the last time she’d seen him in person two years ago.
She’d been working undercover at his favorite country club in Des Moines, placing listening devices in his car, golf bag, and the flower vase on his lunch table.Not that he’d remember.She’d worn a disguise, and the help generally went unnoticed.
“Nice yacht.”She stroked the plush leather seat with mock reverence.“Does the rocking lull your conscience to sleep, or do you just not have one?”
His upper lip curled and she mentally pumped her fist.This man wasn’t used to being pushed or questioned or denied, and right up until the moment her team had laid bare his sins for the world, he’d never suffered any consequences for his actions.Not for the women he’d assaulted in college—and probably beyond—not for the insider investments he’d made, and certainly not for all the deaths caused by his fraudulent clinical trial data.
