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Arryo took a deliberate pace toward shore. Devi packed up the camera while Nigel stayed alert for whales, longing for another visit, knowing that if Luna returned, the delay might put them at risk. Rain spattered over them, and Devi hustled to make sure their drybags were sealed, then she paused, head cocked, and glanced back. "The other boat."
The white boat lived up to its style, racing on a parallel path toward the harbor at Guerrero Negro. That speed would smooth out the waves, and make it hard to negotiate turns, if any. Arryo muttered something Nigel identified as a curse, even without knowing the dialect. "These men." Arryo shook his head, steering their own craft a little closer to shore to give the white boat plenty of room.
And Nigel spotted the shadow, rising beneath the growing waves. Luna. Curious about the boats, or just seeking the air—either way made no odds, if the white boat kept on as it was, it would slice right over her.
"Hey!" Springing to his feet, Nigel waved his arms. "Watch out!"
He gestured, pushing his hand away, trying to get the other boat to turn seaward rather than converging toward them. No reaction. Luna reared up into the coming storm, gray whale, gray clouds roiling in, white boat cutting like a blade toward her.
He braced his legs and cupped his mouth. "Come about, you idiot! There's a whale!"
Arryo's eyes flared, and he joined Nigel's shout as the white boat bore down on its oblivious target. Devi rose, her body tensed for action, but what could they do?
The pilot's hair whipped about in a frenzy of wind, then one of his companions, the man with the Marines tattoo, jumped beside him, grabbing the wheel and wrenching it hard.
The engines roared as the boat heeled sharply. Devi grabbed Nigel around the waist, both of them dropping to their knees in their boat as the wake hit them. Arryo wrestled their bow into the wake as best he could.
The white boat planed higher, heeling to port, the wind of the coming storm shoving the hull as if it were a rigid sail. With a yell from the men, and a ponderous groan from the hull, the white boat heeled too far, transforming from a slice of white to a sharp arrowhead aiming entirely the wrong direction. The wind, the water and their speed came together in a recipe for disaster. The boat rolled belly up, propellers churning skyward as the pilot house and canopy smashed down, taking the occupants with it.
Nigel and his companions braced for the fresh wave shoving toward them, sweeping over the whale as if she were nothing at all.
Arryo's boat surged upward, and his jaw set as he managed the craft, refusing to allow it to nose under the waves or strike the whale. Nigel and Devi stayed low, humbled by the power of the water below and the wind above. When they rocked again into the trough, he saw the white boat, floating inverted not far away, two men floundering in the water on this side, the Black man, and the pilot. Where were the rest?
Nigel stripped off his hat and shoes. His quick-dry clothes would do—they hadn't a moment to spare if any of those men—
Devi caught his arm. "What are you doing?"
"Bring us around, Arryo—we've got to look for the others."
"Belay that, Nigel. Do you have any training for this?" Devi demanded. Her own shoes joined his on the deck as Arryo grimly steered them in an arc back toward the capsized boat.
"I'm a champion swimmer—that's my sport. It's why the villa has a pool." Which, last time he entered it, had nearly been the death of him. He hadn't been sure how to face the water again—and certainly hadn't planned for it being like this.
Their eyes met, the rain falling harder. "Don't make me rescue you," she said.
"Likewise."
Arryo cut the engine, and together, Nigel and Devi dove into the stormy sea. Nigel believed himself prepared until his hands cut into the water, and it closed again over his head.