CHAPTER TEN

Rachel squinted against the glare of the setting sun reflecting off the yacht's polished hull. Ethan stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, his brow furrowed in thought.

The scent of the bay wafted in with the cool evening breeze, a salty reminder of the city's close relationship with the sea. Rachel stood atop a hill overlooking the bay, binoculars pressed against her eyes. The sky was a canvas of brilliant hues - orange, pink and purple - as day gave way to night. Below, the city shimmered with a million lights reflecting off the calm waters. Yachts, sailboats, and cruise liners dotted the harbor like stars in an oceanic galaxy.

They’d tracked Robert Morris to this harbor. His company was sponsoring a night-time Yacht cruise around the Texas coastline. A lavish event meant to wine and dine potential business partners and wealthy investors.

Rachel watched as Morris, a tall, silver-haired man in a crisp white suit, mingled with his guests on the yacht's deck. He seemed relaxed, charming even, as he laughed at something one of his guests had said. But Rachel knew better than to be fooled by outward appearances.

Beside her, Ethan's phone vibrated on the hood of the patrol car. He picked it up and glanced at the screen. "It's from forensics," he announced, turning the phone so Rachel could see the message. "They've confirmed it was a rattlesnake bite. And the venom matches that of a Western Diamondback."

Rachel didn't need to ask further. She knew big game and also the slithering types. The Western Diamondback was a common species in Texas – its potent venom fatal if untreated.

“Do we have anything placing Morris near the scene?" Rachel asked, already knowing the answer.

Ethan shook his head, scrolling through the messages on his phone. "Nothing so far," he admitted, a note of frustration in his voice. “But you saw him in the interrogation. He hated his daughter.”

Rachel didn’t disagree.

As they watched, the tall man with the navy background stood near the railing of his private yacht, peering out at the harbor. His posture was ramrod straight, his hair cropped close to his scalp. He moved with a purposeful stride, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of his surroundings.

Rachel nudged Ethan, her voice tight with anticipation. "Doesn’t look too sad over his daughter’s recent death."

Ethan frowned, studying the man more closely. "How can you be sure?"

"Call it instinct," Rachel replied, her gaze locked on the newcomer. "He's too neat, too precise. Nothing is bothering him.”

Robert Morris exchanged a few words with the crew member at the gangway before disappearing back onto the deck, mingling with the small crowd. The other guests on the yacht were dressed to the nines, their designer clothes and jewelry catching the glint of the setting sun. A live band played a soft melody, its notes carried away by the wind.

“So… what do you make of the pendant left at the scene, then?” Ethan said quietly.

"I'm not sure the cartel is our answer," she said, her words measured. "We need to dig deeper into Morris' business connections. His partner, Grant, was in organized crime. So maybe Morris is associated with a cartel."

“And you think he hired someone to kill his daughter?”

“Someone unhinged. To murder someone by rattlesnake then sniper bullet? There’s more than one loose screw upstairs.”

Ethan nodded, his eyes still fixed on the yacht. "You still think Grant's involved, even after that polygraph?"

"I think he knows more than he's letting on," Rachel replied, her jaw tight. "And I intend to find out what."

As they watched, a figure suddenly emerged from the shadow under the prow of the yacht, his step brisk and purposeful. He walked away from the dock, his head held high, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rachel's heart skipped a beat. She knew that face: a thick-set, beefy man with a scowl and slicked-back hair. A golden chain tangled in black chest hair catching the dying light of the sunset. His meaty hands shoved into his pockets as he walked away.

"Isn't that..." Ethan trailed off, squinting as he followed Rachel's gaze.

"The receptionist from Grant's office," Rachel finished, her voice cold and hard like steel. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Ethan was already on his phone, typing out a message to their contact at the precinct. "I'll have them run his plates, see if they can trace him."

Rachel didn't respond. Her mind was racing, piecing together connections that were rapidly forming a deadly picture.

"He left without boarding," she muttered to herself. Suddenly, her eyes widened in realization. "He planted something!"

Rapidly, she keyed on her radio to local police: "This is Ranger Blackwood - we have possible explosives on a civilian vessel departing at the Bay Harbor! I repeat: possible explosives on board!"

Suddenly, the yacht began to move.

“Shit,” Rachel said, under her breath, already swinging open the door to the car. The binoculars tumbled discarded to the ground.

Rachel's gaze darted from the yacht to the speedboat tied to the dock, a plan forming in her mind. She turned to Ethan, her eyes fierce with determination.

"Ethan, go after Grant's goon," she said, her voice low and urgent. "I'll take the boat and follow the yacht."

Ethan just gaped at her, his eyes wide in horror. His jaw unhinged, and he opened his mouth briefly before closing it again. “Wh—what the… no !”

She didn’t wait to listen. When Ethan got into his mother-hen mode, she found this was generally the best policy.

Rachel didn't waste another moment. She sprinted towards the speedboat, her boots pounding against the weathered wood of the dock. The salty air whipped against her face, stinging her eyes, but she didn't slow down.

As she neared the boat, a grizzled older man wearing a bright, white sun hat stepped onto the dock, his arms laden with gear. He looked up, startled by Rachel's sudden appearance.

"Sorry, sir," Rachel called out, her voice breathless. "Texas Ranger. I need to commandeer your boat."

The fisherman's eyes widened, his mouth falling open in surprise. He fumbled with his keys, holding them out to Rachel with a shaking hand.

Rachel snatched the keys, her fingers curling around the cool metal. She leaped into the boat, her movements swift and precise. The engine roared to life, the vibrations thrumming through her body.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Ethan disappearing into the shadows, hot on the trail of Grant's goon. One thing could be trusted, Ethan was reliable if reluctant. A flicker of worry crossed her face, but she pushed it aside. She had to focus on the task at hand.

Rachel gunned the engine, the boat surging forward with a powerful jolt. The wind whipped through her hair, the salty spray stinging her face. She leaned into the wheel, her eyes fixed on the yacht scything away from them.

Questions swirled in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last. What was the receptionist doing on the yacht? What was Morris hiding? And what did it all have to do with his daughter's death?

Rachel gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the wheel.

The speedboat sliced through the dark waters, leaving a churning wake behind as Rachel closed the distance to the yacht. Her heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins. She squinted against the wind, the yacht's gleaming white hull looming larger with each passing second.

As she drew alongside the vessel, Rachel cut the engine, letting the speedboat drift towards the yacht's stern. She scanned the deck, searching for a way up. Her gaze landed on a metal Jacob's ladder, its rungs glinting in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, Rachel leaped from the speedboat, her hands grasping the ladder's cold metal. She hauled herself up, her muscles straining with the effort. The waves slapped against the yacht's hull, the sound echoing in her ears.

She climbed higher, her feet finding purchase on the narrow rungs. The salt spray clung to her skin, her clothes damp and clinging. But Rachel barely noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand.

As she reached the top of the ladder, Rachel swung herself over the railing, landing on the deck with a soft thud . She straightened, her hand instinctively reaching for the gun at her hip.

The captain's helm stood before her, its windows glinting in the dim light. Rachel strode forward, her boots echoing on the polished wood. She reached for the door handle, her fingers curling around the metal.

With a deep breath, Rachel wrenched the door open, stepping inside the helm. The captain spun around, his eyes wide with surprise. "What the hell-"

"Turn the boat around," Rachel demanded, her voice low and steady. "Now."

The captain hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I don't take orders from-"

"There's possibly a bomb on board," Rachel cut him off, her words sharp and urgent. "We need to get everyone off this yacht before it's too late."

The captain's face paled, his hands trembling on the wheel. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "A bomb? How do you know?"

Rachel stepped closer, her gaze boring into the captain's. "I'm a Texas Ranger. And I have reason to believe that the people on this yacht are in danger. Now, turn this boat around before it's too late."

The captain's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a skeptical frown. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the helm's control panel. "A Ranger? I'm going to need to see some identification before I do anything."

Rachel's jaw clenched, her patience wearing thin. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out her badge. The metal glinted under the helm's lights as she held it up, her eyes never leaving the captain's face. "Satisfied?"

The captain's gaze flicked from the badge to Rachel's face, his expression still wary. He took a deep breath, his fingers tapping against his arm. "Alright, Ranger. But if this turns out to be some kind of joke-"

"It's not." Rachel's voice was flat, brooking no argument. She tucked her badge back into her pocket, her hand resting on the butt of her gun. "Now, turn this boat around. Every second we waste puts lives at risk."

The captain hesitated a moment longer, his eyes searching Rachel's face. Finally, he nodded, turning back to the helm. His hands gripped the wheel, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he began to turn the yacht.

Rachel let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She stepped back, her eyes scanning the helm's instruments. The yacht's engines thrummed beneath her feet, the vibrations traveling up her legs.

But before the boat could complete its turn, the helm's door burst open. Rachel spun around, her hand flying to her gun. A man stood in the doorway, his white suit gleaming under the lights. Robert Morris.

Morris's eyes widened as they landed on Rachel, his mouth falling open. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice rising with each word.

Rachel's fingers tightened on her gun, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, the world exploded into chaos.

The yacht shuddered beneath her feet, a thunderous roar filling the air. A powerful force threw her off balance, sending her sprawling to the floor. The lights flickered and died, plunging the helm into darkness.

Rachel gritted her teeth against the pain shooting through her body. She pushed herself up, her hands grabbing onto the helm's console for support.

"Everyone outside!" she yelled over the sound of alarms blaring and people screaming.

As if on cue, the emergency lights flickered on, casting an eerie red glow over everything.

Morris stumbled forward, his face pale with shock and fear. "What happened? What was that?" he stammered, his eyes wide.

"It was a bomb," Rachel said bluntly, her gaze fixed on Morris as she scrambled to her feet. "Just like I warned."

But there was no time for recriminations now. She had to get everyone off this boat before it sank, or before a secondary explosion turned them all to a crisp.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in her side, Rachel barreled out of the helm and onto the deck. Panic had erupted amongst the guests; people were running in every direction, their voices shrill with terror.

"Get to the lifeboats!" Rachel shouted at them, pointing towards where they were stored on each side of the ship. "Move!"

She glanced back at the helm just in time to see Morris emerge, his face ghostly white in the red light of emergency lamps. She moved swiftly towards him, grabbing his arm.

Smoke filled the air, acrid and thick. Alarms blared, their shrill wails piercing Rachel's ears. She blinked, her eyes watering as she tried to orient herself. The yacht listed to one side, the angle growing steeper with each passing second.

Rachel's mind raced, adrenaline pumping through her veins. The bomb had gone off. She pushed herself upright, her gaze locking with Morris's. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.

She hesitated, cursed, and then hastened back to the wall just inside the helm. The scent of ash was heavy on the breeze. Rachel pressed the intercom button, her voice commanding as she spoke. "This is Texas Ranger Rachel Blackwood. There has been an explosion on the yacht. Everyone, proceed to the nearest lifeboat station immediately. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill."

She released the button, her heart pounding as she turned to face Morris. He stood frozen, his white suit now smudged with soot. Rachel grabbed his arm, her grip firm. "We need to get off this boat now."

Morris resisted, his eyes narrowing. "What did you do, Ranger?" His voice was low, accusatory.

Rachel shook her head, her jaw clenching. "I didn't do anything. But someone did, and we need to move before this whole yacht goes up in flames."

She pulled him towards the door, her steps urgent. The yacht tilted further, the angle becoming more pronounced. Rachel's boots slipped on the polished wood floor, but she maintained her balance, dragging Morris behind her.

Smoke billowed through the open helm door, the air growing hotter with each passing moment. Rachel's lungs burned, her eyes stinging. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The sound of panicked voices echoed through the yacht, mingling with the blaring alarms.

Rachel pushed forward, her focus singular. She had to get Morris and the other passengers to safety. Questions raced through her mind, but she pushed them aside. There would be time for answers later. Right now, survival was all that mattered.