Chapter Eleven

Liz bolted upright in bed. She jerked her eyes away from the midday sun shining through the porthole. What had she heard?

“Drone! Drone!” echoed loud and clear from somewhere up above, along with a pulsing buzzer.

Pressing her eyes tightly together, she covered her ears, trying to muffle the screech. The sound ceased a half second before a pounding fist hit her door.

“Liz. This is real. Open the door,” Mitch shouted.

She jumped out of bed, flicked open the lock, and turned the handle. Before she finished, he’d pushed himself into her doorway. He looked fierce, his gaze intense, every muscle straining against an unseen enemy. A gun clenched in his hand.

“Get dressed,” he said as he chambered a round and turned away. “And stay quiet. No matter what happens. Stay quiet.”

“What’s happening?”

“What part of quiet do you not understand?”

She figured he didn’t want an answer.

Grabbing the stack of clean clothes from the small dresser, she quickly shucked the oversized men’s T-shirt she’d slept in then pulled on her clothes. All thoughts of decorum had gone by the wayside. But that hadn’t mattered, because his focus was entirely on the stairs at the far end of the boat’s main cabin.

Obviously, Mitch had jumped right out of bed and taken up position at her door, because all he had on were a pair of black boxerjock briefs. The stretch of the material only served to accentuate his body but, trying to focus her nerves, all she could do was stare at the red waistband.

A loud thud sounded on deck, and Reese and Drake shouted a loud laugh and hoorah. Had they caught someone? Who? She took a step toward the porthole.

“Stay away from the window.”

“Please tell me what’s happening,” she whispered, moving close behind him once again. If he could talk, so could she.

“Onboard air detection must have picked up a drone flying into our space.”

A drone? Out here? How had anyone been able to track them down in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico? She’d been involved in working with drones for some of her magazine articles. They made easy work of what used to be dangerous climbing to get the right view or close-ups of a nest of endangered birds. But she didn’t like being on the receiving end of the close-up.

“Why?”

“Someone’s watching us?” he said.

Nodding, Mitch halfway glanced in her direction while keeping his eyes, and gun, trained on the hallway. “Reese and Drake are doing their best to convince the drone guys this is nothing more than a charter boat.”

Okay, she got that. Kind of. “So, what was the thud?”

“Drake landed a really big fish on deck. Now he and Reese will take a moment to do some big-time celebrating like guys do.”

“Lucky for us, a big fish grabbed onto his line so fast.”

“You are something else, Liz. I tell you what, when they cook that fish, you watch out for the remote control.”

Some things he said were so far above her realm of thought, she just let them pass. She’d ask for specifics later. Assuming there would be a later. The seconds slipped into minutes, slipped into a quarter hour. Finally, she sat down on the side of the bed.

Suddenly she heard Drake and Reese laughing and joking, coming down the stairs into the cabin. Their chatter abruptly stopped, and she heard what sounded like the whoosh of a sliding panel.

“Where the fuck did that drone come from?” Drake asked.

Lowering his gun, Mitch stepped into the hallway then joined the other men in the cabin area. “Better question, how did they even find this boat in the middle of the Gulf?”

“Got anything on sonar, Reese?” Drake asked.

“Looks clean. They must have bought the fishing routine.”

Still waiting in her stateroom, she wanted to shout for joy. Yet all she could manage was a long exhale. Steadying her hand against the doorframe, she realized her chest seemed unwilling to release the tension of fear that had bitten into her for the past few minutes. But for all Mitch’s words about her worthless ass, he’d been there to protect her. He’d stood in front of her, ready to face whatever came down the stairs. She’d never forget that. Never.

He motioned her to join them in the cabin, so she slipped out of her stateroom. Breathing in the fresh brewed coffee aroma, she headed straight for a cup. From the looks of Drake and Reese, they could have really been two guys out for a day of fishing.

As for her, she needed caffeine. Caffeine and answers. She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the small table.

Technology seemed to have run rampant on the far wall of the boat’s cabin as Reese stood in front of an embedded screen. He increased the radius of the search on the radar. Farther and farther. “That had to be one high-speed drone. There’s no sign of it on radar anymore.”

Mitch picked up a tech-band from the counter then glanced at Drake and nodded. “Maybe they got what they wanted. Ditched the bird in the water.”

From her limited experience, something seemed to be missing. “What about the sound? The hive-of-buzzing-bees sound drones make?”

“What do you mean?” Drake asked.

“I know we weren’t up on deck, but I think we’d have heard the buzzing.”

Drake shook his head. “The hum was low. Really low. Means they put a lot of money into that baby.”

“Maybe they saw Mitch and me in the stateroom.” The men were better informed than her, but still she wanted to toss out all the simple things they might have overlooked. “I mean, if they’re using all this advanced technology, wouldn’t they have used infrared imaging? Or thermal?”

The corner of Mitch’s mouth quirked as he tightened the tech-band on his forearm. “Good questions. Bottom line, this boat was built with up-to-date specs. That includes cutting-edge test material. The kind that blocks imaging.”

“Scrambles sound, too. Wouldn’t want any eavesdropping on our conversations.” Reese input more codes on the keyboard linked to the tracking screen.

She rapidly realized her knowledge was like first grade, and these guys were like they’d graduated with a doctorate in drones and evasive maneuvers.

Watching the way Mitch never took his eyes off the tracking screen, she wasn’t surprised when he and Reese began an intense, rapid-fire, whispered conversation. Mitch pointed to the edge of the screen. Reese keyed in more codes. The images altered. Mitch tapped a button at the side, and what had been one screen changed to a split screen.

The one on the left stayed as the radar tracking screen, the screen on the right showed a satellite view. With a couple more taps, the colors changed. Again, the two men began pointing and pegging images. The more they talked, the less she understood. Evidently, they were speaking OPAQUE jargon.

Mitch raised one eyebrow. “Call for backup, Drake. The drone may be gone, but they’ve got us targeted.”

“Looks like there’s a large yacht trolling the waters.”

“Vacationers?”

“Don’t think so.”

Mitch almost growled with his heavy sigh. “From what I’m getting off the satellite feed, that doesn’t look like a family on vacation.”

“Keith was the elite team expert on the sonar/radar gig, but best I can tell”—Reese pointed at the screen—”that looks like four PWCs zipping away from that boat.”

Liz couldn’t sit still any longer. She stood. She knew she was in the way. She couldn’t help that. She was afraid. Afraid that…

Never taking his eyes from the satellite feed, Mitch reached out and pulled her close to his side. “They’ve got a smaller boat being lowered into the Gulf. Looks fast. Damn fast.”

Drake slammed his fist on the table. “How long till they get here?”