“You lied about tracking the storm,” Matt shouted at him. “Or maybe you just blew the navigation. Which is it?”

“Falmouth,” he said desperately. It was vital to focus on what they needed to survive, not this fool’s anger. “Falmouth. We can still get there in time.”

Matt shook his head. “I’m not pulling into any port on the Cape. What if the bitch called 911 in P-town before we caught up with her? They’ll be looking for us.”

“You’re crazy.” He turned furiously toward the gangway, finished with pleas and blame, but Matt moved faster, blocking his path. There was a gun in Matt’s hand.

He stared in disbelief at the Glock—all that blunt force ignorance.

The safety was off.

Where was Ashley?

“We’ve got one more meeting marked there on your charts,” Matt said. “Oak Bluffs.”

“No! It’s not worth the risk!”

A furious gust of wind hit Shytown’s flybridge, almost carrying it away.

Matt grinned and pressed the muzzle against his diaphragm. “Get us there.”