A hollow the size of the Grand Canyon opened in her chest. She cried.
A hard hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Eyes forward, Missy. Find this bag. You’re the one who tossed it. You’ll be next,” the Colombian threatened.
Her body trembled uncontrollably.
The Colombian released her.
Cap reached for her hand and held it as he steered the boat, watched the fish finder screen, and scanned the water for the bag.
His grip was solid and warm. It made her feel secure, but she knew her fate, and it wasn’t good. It grounded her, even if it didn’t change her odds.
She needed to find this bag.
Minutes passed. Cap angled the boat closer to shore. Noisy seagulls flew overhead. The air smelled mildewy, growing stronger the closer they got to shore. It’s funny how everyone in Door County wanted to live on the water, despite the horrid smell. The breathtaking views outweighed the stench.
Now that she had enough sense about her to watch for landmarks on the shore, she focused on the beach to see where she was, to see where they’d been in case she’d need to know that for any reason. More importantly, she could see on the screen to Cap’s right that their path was being recorded. She’d trust the equipment more than her own confused brain at this point.
The display showed the grid pattern Cap already established, so she knew he knew where Jonathan had gone in. Maybe knowing that would help…she swallowed hard…help them recover him later.
Still, she returned her gaze to the shore and noted the tall trees, short trees, and the houses and cottages.
She burned it all into her memory. The last place she saw Jonathan. She never wanted it to come to this.
There was a little chatter on the radio among the other captains, but the volume was low. Had Cap done that by design?
Cap’s hand tightened around hers, and he leaned toward the windshield.
Emma followed suit to find a boat fast approaching. It was gunmetal gray and threw a large wake behind it.
The Colombian guy leaned forward and peered through the windshield.
He pointed, “Who is that?”
Cap’s eyes were fixed on the approaching boat. “Sturgeon Bay Police boat.”
“It’s coming right at us,” the Colombian said.
“I see that.”
“Fuck! We can’t be here when that boat gets here.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do about it. We’ve no chance of outrunning them,” Cap said flatly.
“We’re out,” barked the ringleader.
He jumped down from the upper deck onto the lower deck and motioned sharply toward the cigarette boat. It pulled closer, and the two Colombians leaped aboard it.
“Oh my God, what about Carly? What are they going to do with her?” Emma squeaked out.
Cap squeezed her hand.
“We’re keeping your friend here. If that bag turns up, we want it. The bag for your friend. Keep your mouths shut with the cops, and your friend lives.”
“How will I contact you?” Cap asked steadily.
How could he be so calm?
The Columbian pointed at her.
