Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
She trembled, but anger rushed through her. Okay. She’d have to tackle him and get that gun. The second the boat pitched, and it would in this storm, she’d make a move. She might survive a gunshot wound.
There wasn’t a choice.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Two vehicles sat outside Kyle Mercer’s rented mansion, a Buick and a newer truck. Small dots of red were visible leading around the side of the home, the rain splattering and spreading them. Ace swallowed, shoving panic away. “This way.”
He ran around the house with Christian at his heels, reaching the rear of the home near the river. The house was dark and quiet behind them. Tika whined, his nose to the ground.
That couldn’t be May’s blood. It just couldn’t be. Ace stared at the empty dock. The boat that came with Kyle’s rental house was gone. Shit. “There are no good reasons to take that boat out in this storm.”
Christian nodded. “Agreed.” Fury swirled in his green and black eyes.
Ace turned, scanning the area. Then he started to run, hitting rocky bank and going past the quiet houses on stilts. He ran over the slick dock to reach the pitching Cessna Caravan. Torrington should’ve secured her inside the boathouse. Ace jumped on the float and then careened into the pilot’s seat.
Christian hefted himself into the other seat and tossed Tika into the back. “Brock can be here in fifteen minutes. He can pilot this thing.”
“There’s no time,” Ace said, his brain clicking facts into place. “May is gone, and so is the boat. It’s storming, and Kyle’s making some kind of move.” Maybe Kyle thought he could get away with it because there was another killer out there.
Ace flipped on the master switch and ran through the startup sequence. His hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over as something old and cold tried to crawl up his spine. He forced it down.
This wasn’t the ocean, and he wasn’t spinning or falling. It was a wide river and a controlled takeoff. He had to get to May. Right now.
He engaged the starter and watched the Ng rise. At the proper percentage, he brought in fuel with the condition lever. The PT6 spooled with a rising whine, ITT climbing before settling as the engine stabilized into a steady, controlled growl. The vibration came through the floats and into his bones, causing his breath to freeze in his chest.
Christian shut his door. “All right, brother, but you know I’m no pilot.”
“I know.” Ace eased the throttle forward and nudged them away from the dock. The floats skimmed over the water as he taxied toward the center channel.
The river stretched ahead of them, broad and open. Ace pushed the throttle. Sweat slicked his hand, and he wiped it on his damp jeans. The engine roared louder, competing with the angry rain. The floats slapped rhythmically against the surface as speed built, and spray fanned out along both sides. The nose lifted slightly.
“Come on,” Ace muttered. The drag lessened and the slapping turned into a smooth hiss as they gained lift. The floats skimmed once more and then they broke free of the river cleanly, climbing through the rain.
“There,” Christian said.
Ace followed his gaze and locked onto movement upriver. He banked left and dropped their altitude to look closer. An aluminum river sled was already cutting upstream, its jet throwing a rooster tail of white spray behind it as it powered into the current.
He flew closer to see better.
Two men stood in it. Kyle manned the center console, one hand on the throttle, his features unmistakable even through the rain. Peter stood near the stern with his arm extended, a gun aimed straight down.
At May.
Ace’s stomach dropped hard.
She sat on the rear bench seat, soaked, wrists bound in front of her, a bandage wrapped tight around her head, covering her mouth. Even from the air, he could see her struggling with small furious movements as she tried to twist free.
At her feet, sprawled across the aluminum deck, was a body. Dark red streaked toward the scuppers and washed thin in the rain before the river carried it away.
“Jesus,” Christian breathed.
Peter kept the gun trained on her while glancing up at the plane overhead. Kyle shoved the throttle harder, and the boat surged faster into the wide, powerful river. He turned and shouted, his face red.
Stumbling, Peter moved toward Kyle and handed him the gun before taking over the throttle.
Kyle moved back toward May, his steps unsteady in the pitching boat, and pointed the gun at her head.
Rage surged up so hard Ace tasted copper.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Christian warned.
“I won’t,” Ace said, though every instinct screamed to dive. He banked wide instead, circling once to get a better angle. The boat was heading upriver, not down. Toward deeper bends and narrower channels where tree cover would make it harder to track from the air.