He cupped Riven’s elbow. “Now or never, sweetheart. We’ll be right behind you.”
Riven eyed the gap, mouth pinched tight. She surveyed the surface, looked as if she’d rather just swim, before pushing down her shoulders. She moved back a few steps, then sprinted ahead, launched herself off the end of the pier. She reached forward, managed to catch the metal gunwale as she slammed into the boat, boots scrambling to find purchase.
McGuire tensed, mapped out five different ways to leap over without landing on her — give her a boost — when she heaved her body up and over the edge. The night crept in around them, the spot on the barge where she should have surfaced still empty as the vessel gained another foot of separation.
He took a step, readied himself to jump when a thud carried on the breeze a moment before she stood, waved them over.
Patch shook his head, grinned, then leaped, making the nine feet look easy. As if he’d merely stepped off a curb. McGuire waited for his buddy to signal when two clicks sounded in his ear.
He dropped, tried to find the cause when a guard appeared at the rail, cigarette glowing in the dark, gaze searching the shadows. He stared over the edge, paused, then tapped the ashes into the water before turning, his footsteps crushed beneath the increased whine of the engines.
McGuire stood, eyed the gap. Nearly ten feet, now, the rail already ghosting into the fog.
He drew a breath, took off. Five running steps before he threw himself toward the barge, hands outstretched, knees pulling up to gain some momentum. He hit the side hard, the metal slamming into his ribs, crushing out his breath on a harsh rasp. Dots flickered across his vision, pain closing in on his chest before he shifted, hooked his leg over the side.
His rifle caught on a misaligned seam, every roll of the barge choking the strap around his neck. He clawed at the band, finally slipping it off before the next roll dragged him off, dropped him into the churning water.
Patch grabbed his vest a second later, hauled him onto the deck before pulling him under a tarp — right beside some cartel asshole who McGuire suspected Riven had downed. That thud he’d heard before she’d given them the all-clear. Why she’d taken so long to resurface.
They settled in as voices sounded nearby, footsteps quickly eating up the distance. Boots stopped in front of them, the heels visible beneath the narrow gap.
Patch readied his weapon, muzzle aimed center mass. The man muttered something in Spanish, stamped out a cigarette butt with his boot, then ambled over to the stern. He didn’t move, just hovered there as if watching the shore slowly shrink.
Riven huffed, slipped out before McGuire could grab her — hold her back. He followed, slinking under the tarp, rising off to her left, as she crept along the shadows, body primed, gaze focused. She didn’t rush, just inched closer, nothing but the hum of the tug sounding around them.
She got within several feet, then bolted. Barreled forward, arms braced across her chest, hands fisted at her shoulders. The guy turned as she rammed into him, riding her arms up his torso as she went — using her momentum to drive him onto his toes, then over the edge. He inhaled, limbs flailing, hands grabbing at air before he tumbled over, disappeared beneath the churning surface.
Riven caught her balance on the rail, took a second to shake everything out, before turning, motioning McGuire back to the tarp.
Patch shook his head as they both ducked under, once again settling the fabric around them. “I’m glad you two found each other because you’re both fucking nuts.”
Riven tsked. “Please, I can take care of a fewsicarios.”
Patch arched a brow. “Just remember that, as good as I am, I can’t raise the dead.” He blew out a slow breath. “I’ve got the tracker. Looks like the crate you tagged is on the tug.”
McGuire grunted. “Shit. Though, it makes sense. If Keane needed to blow them, he’d want everything and everyone to be eliminated.”
Patch nodded. “We’ll clear the barge, first. Worry about the tug if we’re all still breathing. Which means checking every crate — finding the ones with the UV marks and see if they’ve got one of our three bombs.”
A click, then Stone’s voice. “You’re nearing the middle of the channel. Once you round the far bend, we’ll be sidelined. You’ve likely got about twenty minutes. The tug’s moving slow, but Keane’s boat is all around that barge like a bad rash. Keep your damn heads down. I’ll call again before I lose you.”
McGuire grunted. “We’ve got twenty minutes to end this. If we lose our overwatch…”
Patch nodded, slipped toward the front of the tarp. He paused, peeked out, then slipped onto the deck. McGuire fell in behind him and Riven, constantly checking all sides as they crept along the platform. The pallets stretched out before them like a maze, the explosives hidden within the mass of brown wood.
An engine growled just off their starboard side, Keane’s boat gunning it across the water. They dropped, waited for the boat to pass, when a spotlight split the darkness, the large circular beam bouncing across the crates.
Riven shifted in next to McGuire, her shoulder pressed against his, her breath soft against his skin. He savored the momentary contact — how her presence eased something thick inside him, despite the danger, the real possibility they wouldn’t make it out alive.
They hunkered down, holding their breath as the light passed mere inches above them, advancing, then retreating until it finally panned away, Keane’s boat charging back toward the bow. Shadows moved along the stern, more men patrolling where the tug pushed the massive barge.
McGuire sucked in a quick breath, then motioned to the pallets. They had one shot to disarm the receivers, call in the taskforce team. All before eitherMartilloor Keane discovered they’d snuck aboard.
And the countdown had just begun.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The massive boat creaked as it swayed side to side, the lights on the shore lost to the fog and the drizzle. The tug’s engines chugged in the background, the whine an ever-present vibration up through the metal flooring.
