McGuire smiled. “Anything else we should know about your fight?”
“Other than the bastard hits hard?” She sighed. “He’s not going to give up lightly. This is about more than catching an enemy. His pride’s on the line. If he screws this up, he’s as good as dead. Herrera doesn’t tolerate failure.”
“Sounds like you know that from experience.”
She shuddered, but he didn’t know if it was from the cold or his statement. “It was a long year.”
McGuire reached out, held her hand, as he tapped Stone. “Head for shore…”
His voice trailed into a curse asMartillo’sJon boat rounded theSanta Rina, wake breaking behind it, a spotlight bouncing along the waves. It skipped over the skiff, panned off, then circled back, catching glimpses of the boat as Stone rode the swells toward an adjoining river head.
“On second thought, take us into the river. We’ll try to lose the asshole.”
Stone hit the throttle. The skiff shot up, hovered with the bow high before it evened out, slicing through the incoming breakers. Stone banked toward a slash of black amidst the waves, lush greenery poking through the shallows on both sides. They crested the mouth of the river, then tore down the main passageway, the hull slapping the waves, engine whining.
Lightning forked along the horizon, the heavy roll of thunder breaking across the bayou as they banked down the channel, that Jon boat slowly catching up. A couple ofMartillo’smen opened fire, peppered the water with streaks of silver. Cross wove the skiff toward the shore, reeds and grass bending against the weight of the hull.
The rain picked up, sheeting out of the sky, adding a physical weight to the air. Another bolt ripped overhead, the resulting thunder shaking through the hull.
Stone glanced back, shook his head. “We’ll never outrun them in this. Hold on.”
He banked over, took a narrow branching path that looked more like wet grass than water. The skiff buffeted across the marshy stretch, propellor buzzing, that spotlight behind them growing bigger.
Martillostayed on a parallel course, cutting hard to starboard when he nearly beached the vessel on a hidden sandbar. The constant hum of his engine dimmed, that light winking out for a moment before it snapped back as Stone rejoined the wider channel.
McGuire shifted over, hugged the gunwale as he grabbed Cross’ rifle off the seat, notched it against his shoulder. He steadied his breathing, riding through a series of bucking waves before caressing the trigger, gently squeezing.
The recoil slapped him back as his shot hit home, cracked the spotlight, cutting offMartillo’sadvantage. McGuire cycled another round, metered his breathing, then fired again as the fork reflected off the water.
This one hit dead center of the console — sent sparks shooting into the air. The engine chugged, coughed, but kept growling, a hint of smoke rising from the cowling. The noises dimmed a bit, but the boat kept closing in on them.
Riven snugged in beside him, her hand warm on this thigh. “I don’t think not having a light’s slowing him down.”
McGuire nodded, chambering another bullet, when Cross cursed.
He waved at something in front of them, looking at the water as if he expected it to surge up and drag him down. “Hold on, things are about to get tight.”
Stone didn’t slow, shooting into the ridiculously narrow channel a second later. Cypress roots clawed at the water like jagged teeth, red eyes bobbing along the surface only a foot from the boat. Spanish moss dragged across their backs as Stone blew through the twisting path, guiding the boat by sheer power of will.
McGuire grunted. “Patch, brother, hit him with everything you’re got. You don’t need to land any, just make the fucker flinch.”
Patch moved closer to the stern, Riven slipping out, hugging the other side. They drew their weapons, alternated rounds. The boat didn’t veer off, but they gained a bit of distance, each second a small victory.
McGuire yelled to Stone when the next flash highlighted a low-hanging cypress branch. “Everyone get low. Stone, scoot under the branch.”
Stone angled it impossibly closer, chipping off some of the bark as the skimmed beneath the branch, McGuire grabbing ahold long enough to bend it back, load a bit of momentum.
He let go a moment before it cracked, the green branch snapping back like a pendulum behind them. A satisfying crack filled the air, angry shouts rising a moment later. McGuire smiled as the lightning illuminated the scene a heartbeat later — half the console pushed in, the windshield nothing but an afterthought.Martilloshouted at his men, got that damn boat moving, again. Slower, with it sitting low on the port side, but it kept coming.
Patch shook his head. “I gotta give thisHammerasshole some credit. He’s relentless.”
McGuire raked his hand through his wet hair. “Maybe we need to play to his pride. Stone, as soon as it’s wide enough, spin this baby. Let’s see who flinches first.”
Stone arched a brow but nodded, keeping up the speed until the channel widened, the tree-choked shore giving way to more reeds and ferns. He held firm, waited until he’d traveled a few boat lengths, then dipped the skiff hard to starboard.
It whipped around, anything not tied down tumbling against the ribs as water shot out the opposite side. He brought the boat around, then hit the throttle, jumping the skiff ahead as the propellers dug into the water.
Martillo’sboat loomed large in front of them, the men all shouting at once beforeMartillojerked the wheel, banking them hard to starboard.
