of a dark schooner, its sails all tied down for the night.
He stared up and reached for the boat’s rail.
Maybe.
10:34 P.M.
Elena maintained her post on the deck, not that she had any choice. Kadir loomed next to her, but at least the giant had shifted his grip to her arm. He had finally let go of her ponytail, but only because Nehir had ordered it. Still, his fingers squeezed hard, bruising down to the bone.
Nehir stood at the rail with a radio gripped in one hand. With her other, she held binoculars up to her eyes.
A tiny voice, speaking Arabic, rose from her radio. “Found the watercraft floating among the boats. Abandoned. The flotation vest’s still hanging by its lanyard.”
Without lowering her binoculars, Nehir lifted the radio to her lips. “Search the nearest boats, sweep wider if you have to. Also watch the waters in case he tries to swim for shore.”
Elena knew Joe could never swim all the way to the beach, not weighted down with those chains.
Even Nehir must have realized it. “Be thorough. Turn over everything. Break into cabins, if you have to. Don’t leave anything to chance.”
Elena stared at the scatter of lights on the water. She hoped Joe was smart enough to find a good hiding place and stay out of sight. The hunters couldn’t search forever. Eventually they’d have to give up.
She sent a silent message to Joe.
Don’t do anything stupid.
10:35 P.M.
Kowalski had no confidence in his plan, relying on his usual bullheaded stubbornness to keep moving. He knew Gray would’ve come up with something clever. Find some way to ambush the hunters or hot-wire a speedboat.
Instead, Kowalski paddled one-armed through the dark water. His other limb remained hooked through the ring of a life preserver. He had stolen it from the dark sailboat he had bumped against. As he paddled, his legs hung straight down, the chains now anchors.
He strained his ears, listening for any threat. So far, it sounded like the hunters were over by where he’d abandoned the jet-ski. He assumed they were searching nearby boats.
Keep looking, assholes.
He moved as silently as he could, trying not to splash, keeping low in the water. He edged row by row toward shore. A jet-ski suddenly revved louder. He heard it speed away—then come back round again.
Back and forth.
In a search pattern.
Uh-oh.
Knowing he didn’t have long, Kowalski paddled harder, even tried to dolphin kick. He rounded the second-to-last row of boats and struggled across the gap toward the rocking hull of a large Cobalt cruiser tied to the final line of buoys.
As he reached its shadow, the hunter came into view with a screaming whine.
Kowalski took a deep breath and let go of the life preserver. The anchor around his ankles dragged him into the depths. He plummeted meter after meter. Overhead, the wake of the jet-ski swept past without slowing. At least, he hadn’t been spotted.
Finally, his feet hit sand.
Standing there, he fought to get his bearings. The dark bulk of the Cobalt hung overhead, faintly illuminated by a fiery glow.
Kowalski turned toward the source of that fire.
Looks like I’m walking from here.
He set out, holding his breath, the salt stinging his eyes. He dragged one weighted foot, then another. Step by step. He waved his arms to help him along, not that it did much good.
Slowly the diffuse glow ahead separated into distinct pools.
But too slowly.
His chest burned with the effort to hold his breath. Still, he plodded on, doggedly determined. Eventually, waves began to jostle his upper body. A few more steps and he got his nose above the water. He blew out a lungful of stale air and drew in a fresh batch, taking in some seawater with it as a wave crashed over him. Choking, he fought forward again, until he could get his head fully above water.
Gasping, he turned to check the buoy field.
The whining continued to echo from there.
Good enough.
To play it safe, he ducked down and crossed the final distance underwater. He reached a bevy of swimmers, their legs kicking, arms splashing. He heard the thump-thump of loud music, muffled by the water.
At last, he crawled on his hands and knees out of the sea and onto shore, dragging his chains through the sand. He headed toward the nearest bonfire, just as a young man leaped over it. The partier landed in front of him.
Kowalski looked up.
The youth babbled in Italian at him.
Whatever, dude.
Waving a weak arm, Kowalski rolled onto his back, sure he looked like