Wood's Reach (7 page)

Chapter Eight

The woman struggled as they pushed her across the short walkway from the dock to the deck. Hawk yelled something to Ironhead, who finally lifted her off her feet and carried her aboard. A minute later, the screams were almost inaudible, muffled by the steel bulkheads of the cabin.

Grasping the bow rails and cleats of the docked boats, Mac pulled himself closer to the steel-hulled trawler. It was not like the fiberglass pleasure boats the name might bring to mind, but a heavy research vessel. The shiny paint job, deep green with yellow accents, concealed the heavy workhorse that it was. Though not fast, it was built for heavy work in big seas. The flared bow, designed to cut through big waves, towered over the low freeboard of the much smaller center-console, and he was able to use it to conceal himself as he moved to the edge of the neighbor’s dock and pulled the boat underneath the shadow of the bow. The center-console sat much lower in the water, but if he decided to board, he could reach the deck of the larger ship by climbing on the T-top. He was about to make his move when he heard the cabin door open and saw the shadow of a man on the deck.

Climbing onto the neighbor’s dock to get a better look, he moved behind the cover of a large mangrove branch. From here he could see Ironhead walk back to the dock and cross to the path. He lost sight of him there, but the opening and closing of a car door told him where he was. A minute later, he emerged again, carrying several bags. He handed them off to Wallace, who waited on deck and returned to the car for another load.

The cabin was quiet now, and Mac wanted a better look. Quietly, he slid back onto the boat and climbed the stainless tubing supporting the T-top. He slid onto the fiberglass cover, carefully avoiding the GPS and VHF antennae. Mac reached out for the railing of the larger boat, missing by only a few inches. Using one of the mangrove branches, he pulled the small boat closer, gaining the height he needed, then released the branch, ducking when it snapped back. The boats started to separate again, the strain of their lines pulling them back to their original positions. Mac didn’t waste any time. He rose and vaulted the rail, then flattened himself on the deck, waiting. He looked around at the foredeck. The only forward-facing windows of the wheelhouse were dark, making him confident he had not been observed. Slowly he rose to his knees and crawled around the structure until he could see into the large rectangular cabin windows.

He was about to move closer for a better look when he froze. The cabin door opened, and he heard activity on deck. Slowly, he moved past the dark windows and saw three men standing with their backs to him on the starboard side. There was a large bundle between them, and Mac expected the worst.

“Bring the boom over,” Hawk ordered in a low voice. “Quietly.”

That’s odd
, Mac thought.
Why would they need a boom to dump the body?

“Gear up, Mike,” he said.

Ironhead pulled a scuba tank, buoyancy compensator, and regulator from a locker by the transom and expertly set up the gear. He slid into the straps of the vest and waited while Wallace sprayed the mask with defogger, rinsed it, and handed it to him. His experience showed again when he silently moved to the transom and rolled into the water with a small enough splash that it would have given an Olympic diver a top score.

He heard a motor whir and looked toward the boom, where Hawk was at the controls lowering the cable. Wallace wrapped the heavy wire around the package, snapping the hook around the standing line. Mac crept a step closer, almost to no-man’s-land, to get a better look when he saw a glint of silver just before Wallace sealed the bags with duct tape. Curious now, he watched as the boom lifted the package from the deck. Hawk manipulated the controls, moving the arm past the gunwale to extend over the water and then lowering the package into the canal.

They had done this before, Mac thought. They were too organized and quiet for this to be the first time, and he wondered what else was down there. The narrow canals were somewhat of an illusion. As wide as a street, they were deeper than one would expect. Years ago, before it was made illegal, the contractors had dynamited them and excavated huge trenches, using the rubble as fill for the houses now sitting adjacent to the water.

Over the years, Mac had dove in many of the canals to construct and repair the bridges connecting the small islands. He knew there could be fifteen or twenty feet below the waterline — plenty of depth for a well-concealed cache.

An unfamiliar noise came from inside the cabin, bringing his attention back to more important matters—the woman. He moved back behind the structure, watching as Hawk and Wallace repeated the process three more times. The boom was back in place, and Ironhead was aboard, stripping and storing the gear. A few minutes later, the men were dismissed, and Mac waited for the car to start, following its lights as it backed out, and turn onto the small bridge ahead of them that led to the mainland.

It was just the three of them now, at least as far as he knew. This might be the only chance he had to save the girl. He needed a distraction to get Hawk back on deck. He saw the control box for the boom and slowly crept to the edge of the wheelhouse, slithering onto the rear deck. Lights were on in the cabin, but he was able to stay below the level of the windows, pausing when he reached the solid door to listen for any activity before crossing to the starboard rail and grabbing the control box. It was mounted on the boom, with about ten feet of electrical cable connecting the controls to the motors and hydraulic pump.

Studying the box in the low light, he found the toggle to raise the cable and flipped the switch. The motor whirred and slowly reeled in the loose wire. Once the slack was out of the line, the hydraulics emitted a high-pitched whine that turned into a screech as the mechanism struggled against the tension of the line. As he expected, the ship went dark when the power surge overloaded the motor and blew the main breaker.

It was time. Mac dropped the box and went to the port side, hiding behind the hinged side of the door. The beam from a flashlight could be seen in the cabin, and he readied himself. Looking around for a weapon, he found nothing—he would have to rely on surprise and subterfuge. The beam became more focused, and suddenly the lights came back on. Hawk had reset the main breaker. Now, Mac hoped he would investigate what had happened. Sensing the door opening before the hinges moved, he crouched down.

Hawk emerged from the cabin, his shadow visible on the deck before his body. Although Mac would rather have smashed his head in, he waited patiently for him to start across the deck. The minute Hawk moved to the rail to check the boom, Mac slid around the opened door and quietly closed it. Turning the lock, he inhaled deeply and started searching the cabin.

He found her bound and gagged in the forward stateroom locker, but before he could untie her, he heard Hawk struggling with the cabin door. She was scared and trying to yell through the gag. Mac put a finger to his mouth to try and quiet her. He heard voices outside and moved to the cabin door. Hawk was outside on his cell phone, screaming at someone. Time was running out, and he went back to her, not concerned about noise now. Fumbling with the knots on her ties, he finally released her, but it had taken longer than he wanted. Next, he pulled the tape from around her mouth, releasing the wadded washcloth they had used to gag her.

“What the hell is wrong with these people?” she started.

“Where’s Tru?” Mac asked.

“Back at the house. Bastards locked him up.”

“Okay. We’ll get him, but first we need to get out of here. I’m pretty sure Hawk’s called his muscle back,” Mac said, looking around the cabin for another exit besides the door leading to the deck. He saw the hatch above and jumped on the bed. It would be a tight fit, but he thought they could make it.

“Are you ready? Follow me, and don’t ask questions.” Hoping she could follow orders, he cranked the lever on the hatch and watched it rise. Seeing that it was going to be too small, he pulled the screen out, reached through the opening, and yanked the plastic cover off its hinges.

Scraping his sides against the frame, he hauled himself through the opening and paused to see if Hawk had heard him. From the corner of his eye, he saw the headlights of a car turn into the driveway, and he knew it didn’t matter.

“Hurry. They’re on the bow, getting away,” Hawk yelled at the men running toward the boat.

“Come on.” Mac reached down through the hole and pulled Pamela onto the deck. Without a word, he moved forward to the bow and jumped across to the T-top of the center-console. The fiberglass T-top roof wobbled under his weight, but he ignored it and turned back to help her. She was already in midair. Landing in a crouch, she followed him down the rungs of the stainless tubing.

The engine started, and he risked a look up at the bow of Hawk’s ship. There were two men standing above him. From this angle, they were shielded by the flare of the bow, but the second he moved away from the dock, they would be exposed. With no choice, he went back to the helm and pulled the throttle back into reverse. Wincing as the engine cowling slammed into the dock, he pushed the handles down. The boat moved forward while he cut the wheel hard to the left, smashing the cowling against the other piling. Gunshots were fired, and he ducked behind the console, pulling the woman with him.

He was moving away from Hawk’s trawler now, staying close to the boats docked on his port side, using them for cover as he followed the slight bend in the canal. They were almost clear when he heard the sound of an outboard coming toward them. By the volume alone, he could tell it was moving faster than the posted no-wake speed limit. Thinking back, he realized he had only seen Wallace on the boat with Hawk. Ironhead must be in another boat, trying to trap them. Just as he thought it, a cabin cruiser turned the corner, and he could see the unique shape of Ironhead’s torso at the helm, silhouetted in the moonlight.

The boat was bigger than the center-console, and Mac tried to judge its height off the water. It would be close, but it just might work if they could get past Hawk without getting shot. He pushed down on the throttles and slammed the wheel to the right, hoping the hull could make the hundred-and-eighty-degree turn without smashing another boat. A large sportfisher encroached into the canal, forcing him to waste precious time reversing and then straightening the boat for a better angle before proceeding.

“Hold on. This is going to be tight,” he said. Looking at her tall figure, he added, “And you better duck.” Without enough room to accelerate to full speed, he did what he could and slammed the throttle to its stops. The motor revved, and the boat jerked forward. Gunshots hit around him, but he ignored them, pushing the “bow down” buttons on the trim tab controls as hard as he could and hoping the boat would go on plane before it hit.

There was a loud smash as they cleared the bridge. He didn’t dare look back, but he knew at a minimum the electronics on the roof were gone. Disregarding the speed limit, he continued past the low bridge and turned right into another canal, hoping Ironhead would take the bait. There was only one exit from the maze of canals, and if this didn’t work, they could easily be trapped.

The reassuring sound of metal on concrete carried over the night air.

Chapter Nine

Mac pulled back on the throttle, knowing the chase was over before it started. He looked up and saw stars shining where the T-top once would have shielded them. The stainless steel tubing remained, but the fiberglass cover and the antennae for all the electronics were gone. The boat would surely be noticed if he didn’t get out of here, but he needed to find Trufante first.

“It’s only rock ’n’ roll, Mac Travis.” Pamela grinned at him. “But I like it.”

She was bopping to another song in her head, and now he saw what connected her and Trufante—the need for trouble. “You know where that house of yours is from the water?”

“Barely from the street,” she said. “Had to use the maps app on my phone to find it. Tru thought he knew where it was, but he—”

Mac cut her off. “Pull it up,” he ordered.

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometime—you get what you need,” she continued on her Rolling Stones tribute, handing him the phone.

Mac looked at the dark screen and handed it back to her. “Can you help out here?”

She took it back and swiped her finger across the bottom, and the screen lit up. After she pressed several buttons, the map appeared. “It’s here.”

He glanced over. “Can you zoom out so I can see the canals?”

She manipulated the screen until he saw a blue dot in the large turning basin they had just entered. The red dot, indicating the location of the house, was in one of the side canals not far from where they were.

“Got it,” he said. “Keep an eye out for anything you recognize.” He turned right into another unmarked canal.

She was humming “Can’t Find My Way Home” now.

The houses and boats passed by as they navigated the waterway. Glancing down at the phone sitting between them on the leaning post, he watched the dots converge until they were right on top of each other. “Anything look familiar?”

“That one. See? That’s Tru’s bike behind those bushes,” she said, pointing to a dark house.

Mac turned to port and coasted to a stop along the dock. He looked at her, about to ask for help with the lines, when he saw the fear in her eyes. “Hey. It’s all right. Tru always lands on his feet,” he said, moving forward to tie off the boat before the current could get a hold of it.

“It’s all my fault. He warned me about buying the house from the auction.”

He turned to comfort her but saw a pair of headlights turn onto the street. “We gotta get Tru first. Then we’ll talk,” he tried to reassure her. The lights went past the house, and he shut off the engine. “Come on.”

He hopped onto the dock and extended a hand for her. She looked scared, but she took his hand, her long legs making easy work of the transition. They climbed the back stairs to the house and found the patio door open. He jumped when she turned on the flashlight on the phone and went ahead of him to the bedroom.