Staring after the yacht, Charlie berated himself. He had come too late. He had come too late and now Mia was in the hands of killers and he had no way to follow her. His voice tight with urgency, he radioed dispatch. “Tell Harbor Patrol I need that unit to meet me on the northernmost pier. We have an active kidnapping situation.”
He was still releasing his thumb from the button when he heard footsteps pounding toward him. Sucking in a breath, he pivoted while grabbing for his gun. A man was running toward him, swinging a long metal boat hook.
Charlie was aiming for center of mass when he realized who it was. Eli Hall. He let his arm fall by his side. Panting, Eli dropped the hook. Then he leaned down and braced his hands on his knees.
“You’re too late,” Charlie said. “They’re gone.” He gestured at the sleek white yacht, which was speeding out of the harbor. “And they’ve got Mia.”
“You’re the one who told me to keep back,” Eli said between gasps. “By the time I got here that guy was marching her down the ramp and into the yacht that used to be here. I went to find something to use as a weapon.” He lifted his head to glare at Charlie. “If I hadn’t listened to you, I might have made a difference.”
“You also might have got Mia killed,” Charlie said. Then he realized how stupid it was to stand here arguing. “Did you get a name or a number off the yacht?”
Eli shook his head. “I didn’t get close enough.”
They both turned at the sound of the Harbor Patrol. It was a sleek aluminum craft, the high bow cutting through the waves, the word POLICE written on the side in four-foot-tall black letters. It entered the far side of the harbor and raced toward them, sirens sounding and lights blazing. As it got closer, Charlie could see two cops on board.
Instead of stepping back, Eli was sticking right next to Charlie. Acting as if he had become part of things. Charlie shook his head. “Oh no. You’re staying here.”
“No, I’m not.” Eli was just as adamant. “And you don’t have any time to argue with me. We don’t have time to do anything but go after her.”
Charlie’s only answer was a growl, but Eli was right. There wasn’t any time to waste.
The cop at the helm, a tall black guy, cut the motor and expertly glided in next to the end of the pier. The other cop, a redhead with masses of freckles, leaned forward to offer Charlie a hand.
“Charlie Carlson, Homicide,” Charlie said as he clambered aboard with Eli right on his heels. Eli even introduced himself as if he were central to the process. The first cop was named Johnny Crashaw and the second Gordon Ploughman. The four of them moved into the bow of the boat. Charlie pointed out across the water. “A yacht just left here. There’s a hostage on board. She’s a King County prosecutor. And there are two suspects with her. Maybe more.”
“And at least one of them is armed,” Eli added.
“Who is this guy exactly?” Gordon asked Charlie with a frown, staring at Eli.
“Eli Hall. He’s a witness,” Charlie said. What Eli really was, was a nuisance.
Eli said, “I’m also the hostage’s boyfriend.”
“What?” Charlie jerked his head around. Was Eli serious? There hadn’t been any hint of a relationship between them when they interviewed Jackson. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. There was no time to think about what Eli had just said, or about why his own first reaction had been jealousy. For right now, he had to keep his feelings about Mia compartmentalized or he wouldn’t be any good to anyone.
They were now out of the harbor and in the open water of the sound. The boat skipped over the waves, the powerful engines thrumming.
Charlie squinted. “There it is.” The police boat was so fast it made the yacht look like it was standing still. Then he realized it really was. Two men were standing on the back deck, but Charlie didn’t see Mia, and the portholes were too small to reveal anything.
He was so focused on finding Mia that at first he didn’t notice that the two men on the yacht both had guns in their hands. At the sound of the Harbor Patrol’s approach, they turned and began firing.
“Get down!” Gordon yelled at Eli. While Charlie and Gordon drew their guns, Eli dropped to his knees and scuttled into the cabin, where Johnny was grabbing a handheld microphone.
“This is the Seattle Police,” Johnny said. His words were broadcast a split second later. “Come out with your hands up.”
Instead, the two men on the yacht—Charlie could see now that one of them was Turner—opened the door and both of them ran down into the yacht’s main living quarters.
They were alongside the other craft now. Johnny cut the engines and ran out on deck. All three of them had their guns drawn.
Where was Mia? Charlie was frantic with worry. Was she tied up inside the boat? Had they hurt her? He moved into the bow and leaned closer to the yacht, squinting as the Harbor Patrol boat bobbed up and down. Through a porthole he saw movement, but it was too hard to tell what he was seeing. He just prayed that she was still alive.
He looked down. Their bow was right next to the yacht’s back deck, which was about the same size as his bathroom at home and had cement blocks stacked in one corner. The waves were two or three feet high, maybe more. That meant the two decks were moving as much as six feet up and down from each other.
Even if Charlie had been a twenty-two-year-old Olympic athlete, the idea of trying to land on the yacht was ridiculous.
He took a deep breath.
And then he stepped over the rail, bent his knees, and jumped.