CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rachel stumbled and her hand snatched at the edge of the metal railing of the sinking yacht, the cool night air a momentary relief from the suffocating smoke. Chaos reigned as guests ran in every direction, their faces etched with fear. Some clutched life jackets, while others simply stood paralyzed, unsure of what to do, staring out across the harbor with longing gazes towards the docks.

"Everyone, to the lifeboats!" Rachel shouted, her voice cutting through the din. She scanned the deck, searching for the bright orange vessels. They were there, still secured to the yacht's sides.

Morris pulled against her grip, his eyes wide. "Let me go, Ranger. I need to find my wife."

Rachel tightened her hold, her gaze locking with his. "Your wife is smart. She's probably already on a lifeboat. We need to go, now."

She pushed through the crowd, her free hand waving people towards the safety vessels. The yacht groaned, the sound deep and ominous. Water lapped at the deck, pooling around Rachel's feet.

As they neared the boats, Rachel's eyes darted from face to face, searching for any more of Grant's men. She frowned towards a large, beefy fellow leaning against the deck. She approached, but as the man turned, she realized he was just a waiter, his bow tie askew and his eyes wide with terror. She held herself steady as the yacht listed again, causing people to clutch at each other for support.

"Now!" Rachel shouted to the crew manning the lifeboats. They began to lower the boats into the water, passengers scrambling aboard with rushed words of prayer.

Rachel spun around, scanning the crowd one more time.

“Morris?”

The pale-haired, stiff-postured owner of the yacht was nowhere to be seen.

The crackle of Rachel's radio cut through the chaos, Ethan's voice urgent and strained. "Rae, you there? I caught up with Grant’s man. Morris hired him, Rae. It was all Morris."

Rachel's breath caught in her throat. Chaos threatened to overwhelm her, but she paused, taking in a slow, deep breath. This was just another hunt.

Another big game hunt. Once, she’d tracked a mountain lion during forest fire season in the Chisos mountains. She’d been forced to keep her wits about herself then as well. So now, she inhaled slowly, drawing in the fresh sea breeze tinged by the billowing ashen fumes.

She counted to ten slowly, not moving. Allowing her body to relax, for the tension in her muscles to slowly diminish.

She pressed the button on her radio, her voice steady despite the turmoil around her. "Copy that, Ethan. I'm on the yacht. It's going down fast. Morris is here somewhere. I'm going to find him."

She released the button, her eyes scanning the smoke-filled corridor leading back to the helm. The yacht lurched beneath her feet, the angle of the deck growing steeper with each passing second. Screams echoed as people flung themselves into the safety boats, the sounds mingling with the roar of the flames.

Rachel pushed forward, her steps quick and purposeful, re-entering the corridor, and keeping in something of a crouch, head downturned to avoid inhaling smoke. She also held her jacket collar over her mouth to prevent inhalation, her eyes darting between doorways as she sought any sign of Morris. The hallway was a maze of half-open doors, fancy artwork barely visible through the smoke. Yacht rooms, guest rooms, storage rooms. She checked them all, quickly but thoroughly.

Rachel’s heart pounded in her chest as she moved deeper into the smoking vessel. Every creaking noise made her flinch, the image of the yacht sinking beneath the waves filling her mind. It was only a matter of time.

As she rounded the corner, a new sound reached her ears: the high-pitched whine of a motor. She frowned. The sound was coming from the opposite exit.

A motor… not the yachts. A smaller boat? The coast guard had been approaching from the east. A hunter was always attentive to their surroundings. So what was this sound coming from the west? She quickened her pace, bursting out onto the deck.

As she neared the edge, she heard the scrape of metal against metal, the sound distinct amidst the chaos.

She peered over the railing, her eyes widening at the sight below. Two men in dark hoods stood on a small platform, their hands grasping at a ladder that hung precariously over the water. And there, clinging to the bottom rung, was Morris. The two men stood in a small speedboat, hands tense as the vessel rocked silently back and forth.

Rachel's heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't let him get away, not now. She leaned over the railing, her voice cutting through the din. "Texas Ranger! Freeze!"

The hooded men jerked their heads up, their faces obscured by shadows. For a moment, they seemed to hesitate, their grip on the ladder tightening. Then, in a flurry of movement, they released their hold and leapt towards the wheel of the idled speedboat.

Morris let out a yelp, his hands scrabbling against the ladder as he swung out over the churning water. The speedboat's engine roared to life, the sound deafening as it pulled away from the yacht. The hooded men abandoned Morris, half clinging to the ladder, his legs kicking out over the sea.

Clearly, the thought of tangling with law enforcement frightened them. “Ranger, stop!” Rachel called.

But it was more of a bluff. She was simply leaning into what had likely scared them. Crooks? Cartel?

What the hell was going on? Why had Grant’s man said that Morris had hired him? Would Rebecca’s father have wanted to blow up his own yacht? Why?

She knew why… Or at the very least suspected why. Faking his own death would be a perfect way to dodge the murder charge. But that still left the question why Morris had killed his own daughter?

A question she was determined to see answered now. Her hunter’s instincts kicked into high gear.

She reached down, gripping the ladder with hardened fingers.

Rachel's fingers dug into the railing as she lowered herself down, the metal slick beneath her grip. The yacht groaned, the sound like a wounded animal. Water sloshed over the side, soaking through her jeans.

"Morris!" Her shout was swallowed by the roar of the flames. "Take my hand!"

Morris's head snapped up, his eyes locking with hers. For a moment, he looked like he might refuse, his pride warring with his fear. But then the yacht pitched again, and he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers.

Rachel strained, her muscles screaming as she hauled him up. Morris was heavy, his weight threatening to pull her over the edge. But she held on, her jaw clenched tight. With a final heave, she dragged him over the railing, both of them collapsing onto the deck. His face was pallid beneath his tan, his eyes wide with terror. He stumbled to his feet, coughing as smoke swirled around them.

"What did you do, Morris?" Rachel demanded, her voice stern and resolute amid the chaos. Her hold on him was like a vice, solid and unyielding. She had him in her sights now; she wasn't about to let him squirm away.

"Nothing!" he gasped out, his gaze skittering away from her piercing scrutiny. "I didn't... I didn't...”

"You hired Grant's man," Rachel cut in sharply, her eyes boring into his. "You had him plant the bomb on your own boat.”

She faced him now, backing him against the rail. He grimaced, his face twisted into an expression of fear.

She shivered, shaking her head as she did, stumbling against the railing as the boat continued to tilt. Now, the sound of the coast guard megaphones could be heard in the distance, corralling the evacuees. She could hear the sound of rescue boats drawing nearer. Ethan was on his game. He hadn’t wasted a second in calling in backup.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Rachel panted, pressing a forearm against Morris’ chest and pinning him against the rail until he leaned halfway over. "Who were those men—"

The dark speedboat and its masked occupants had already disappeared on the Texas

Gulf, swallowed by the darkness and mist. Only the faint hum of their motor carried over the water, steadily growing fainter.

Morris squirmed under her restraint, gasping in fear. "I don't know! They...they were just men I hired! From a bar! I swear!"

Rachel's gaze hardened. "A bar," she echoed, a quiet threatening undertone to her voice. She forced him to meet her inquisitive glare, his eyes wide with panic. “Why is Rebecca dead?”

The boat was sinking. Half the hull was submerged. They were much, much lower in the water already. She could hear the water lapping at the base of the ladder. But Rachel was relentless. Her eyes never left Morris, the hard set of her jaw indicating she was far from backing down.

Morris sputtered, his face pale and desperate, his breaths coming quick and shallow. "I didn't... I didn't want it to be this way," he whispered, his gaze flickering over Rachel's shoulder, as if looking for an escape route. But there was nowhere to go. The sea around them was a roiling mass of water and smoke.

Rachel kept her grip firm on him, refusing to let up the pressure. "Explain," she barked out, her tone leaving no room for argument or evasion.

This was a battle of wills. Not between Rachel and Morris. That battle was already won; she could see it in the eyes of the broken man.

The real battle of wills was between Rachel and the sea. She wasn’t going to radio for help until she had the answers she needed.

Her mind was already made up.

"I didn't...it wasn't me!" he pleaded, voice trembling as he met Rachel's icy stare. His face was pale against the flickering firelight, his eyes wide with terror.

Rachel slammed a hand against the railing next to his head, making him wince. "You're lying! You thought you could get away with it by staging your own death?"

"No! I swear!" His blubbering was reaching a fever pitch now, his pleas for mercy escalating as Rachel bore down on him harder.

“Why is she dead, Morris?”

“Come on,” he spluttered, trying to rise, but her forearm kept him trapped, braced against his chest. She pushed him back.

“Stay,” she said with a scowl.

“It’s sinking!” he protested.

"And you caused it!"

“Get off me!” he tried to rise again and his fingers grabbed at her wrist, trying to twist.

But she snarled, breaking his grasp with a swift motion of her own and driving her knee into his groin. Her pity had run its course. Now she wanted answers.

Doubled over, he loosed a groan, gasping at the ground. He released a long breath of air.

"Tell me why Rebecca is dead!" Rachel's voice was harsh, her gaze ruthless and relentless.

Morris gasped, his body curling in on itself. "I...I didn't want this...I didn't..." He began to weep, his sobs mingling with the sounds of the cracking hull and the roaring blaze.

Rachel's expression hardened, and she stepped closer to him, not caring about the heat from the flames or the rise of water around them. She had no time for his pleas or his tears. All she wanted were answers.

"Then why did it happen?" She demanded, her voice barely remaining steady. "Why did you hire those men? What was your plan?"

Morris seemed to shrivel under her gaze. "I...I can't..."

"You can and you will," Rachel snapped, her patience worn thin. The yacht lurched again beneath them, its balance more precarious than ever. They could hear voices shouting in the distance - rescue teams approaching fast. But Rachel held firm.

"I had no choice!" Morris's voice was ragged, his chest heaving. "They would have killed me!”

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Killed you? Why? What do they want from you?"

Morris shook his head, his gaze darting away. "I can't...I can't tell you."

Anger flared in Rachel's chest. She grabbed Morris by the collar, yanking him towards her.

Morris's face crumpled, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't...I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I thought I could handle it on my own."

"Handle what?" Rachel's grip tightened. "What did you do, Morris?"

"I made a deal." The words spilled out of him in a rush. "With the cartel. They said they could help me, that they had connections. I was in debt. Crazy debt. You don't understand—people were counting on me. You are counting on me. I needed the money, bad."

“So you went to the cartel?”

“I didn’t know who they were at the time. I swear. They just had some money. Interest was affordable. But it all went wrong. Rebecca...she was with me that night. She wasn't supposed to be there. She started asking questions. Like she always does… Too many questions—spooked them. But I didn’t kill her!”

“What night?”

“The night we met with them.”

“How long before her death?”

“A week! Maybe ten days. I… I don’t know.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he screamed, his face twisting, his expression that of an unhinged man.

The cartel.

So they were involved?

But no… none of this was adding up. She forced herself to focus, to push past the anger and the frustration. "What kind of deal? What were they supposed to help you with?"

But before Morris could answer, the yacht shuddered violently, the deck tilting beneath their feet. Rachel cursed, grabbing onto the railing for balance. They were running out of time. If they didn't get off the boat soon, they'd both be dragged down with it.

Rachel's grip on Morris's collar tightened as the yacht lurched beneath them. Water sloshed over the deck, soaking through her boots. "The names, Morris. I need the names of the cartel members involved."

Morris's face twisted in anguish, his breath coming in short gasps. "I can't...they'll kill me. You don't understand what they're capable of."

"I understand plenty." Rachel's voice was cold, unyielding. "And I'll make sure you're protected. But I need those names. Now."

Morris closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Guillermo Vargas. He's the one I dealt with directly. And his lieutenant, a man named Diego Sanchez."

Rachel nodded, committing the names to memory. "Sanchez. You're sure that's his name?"

"Yes." Morris's voice was barely audible over the creaking of the yacht's hull. "I'm sure."

The boat shuddered again, the deck tilting at a steep angle. Rachel stumbled, her hand slipping from Morris's collar. She could feel the yacht starting to listen, the weight of the water pulling it down.

"We need to move." Rachel hauled Morris to his feet, her eyes scanning the chaos around them. The smoke was thicker now, the flames licking at the yacht's superstructure. "If we don't get off this boat now, we're both dead."

Morris's eyes widened in fear, his gaze darting to the water. "But...but how? The lifeboats are gone."

Rachel gritted her teeth, her mind racing. She could see a coast guard boat in the distance, its lights flashing against the darkened sky. It was drawing nearer, heading straight towards them.

She felt a flicker of relief.

Only then did she reach down and depress the transmit button on the radio she’d pushed earlier.

Ethan had been listening to their entire conversation. She knew she could count on him, and he was proving it once again.

The boat lurched towards them over the water, cutting through breakers and angling towards where Morris trembled and sobbed, shaking his head and pleading.

“Who killed your daughter,” she insisted.

“I swear. I swear on everything. I don’t know. ”

She believed him. But she didn’t believe this meant he wasn’t at fault. Somehow, he was involved. The cartel had met with him and his daughter a week before? And then Rebecca ended up dead?

It wasn’t a coincidence.

“I thought you hated your daughter. Were estranged. Why was she at that meeting with you?”

“Dammit! The water is at my knees. Get me off this thing!”

“Answer my question.”

“Because!” he screamed. “She tricked me. She told me she wanted to reconcile. But she was just looking for another scoop! But I swear… I swear I didn’t kill her. They did. They must’ve.”

“The cartel? This lieutenant—Diego Sanchez.”

“He must’ve. He found a recording device on Rebecca. Almost shot us both there.”

“Who was Rebecca working for?”

“Her online magazine. Or whatever client she was still working for.” The bitterness was evident in his voice.

Water now sloshed at Rachel's thighs. A searchlight from the boat illuminated them.

“And why all this? Why blow up the yacht?”

“Diego’s idea! He said he’d tank our deal if I didn’t get off grid.”

“They would’ve killed you too,” she said quietly. “You know that, right?”

He released a slow sob, turning back, his gaze straining in order to see the rapidly approaching Coast Guard boat. "I know," he whispered, a tear streaking down his soot-smudged face. "I know."

Rachel stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. The yacht was half-submerged now, the water cold and biting against her skin. She glanced around, her sharp eyes taking in the wreckage and destruction. Fire still flickered amidst the remains of the yacht, feeding off the remnants of luxury and opulence that had once populated this floating palace.

Morris was sobbing openly now, the reality of his situation sinking in as surely as the water around them.

The Coast Guard boat was close now, its searchlight illuminating Rachel and Morris in stark relief against the darkness.

Ethan's voice crackled through. "Ranger Blackwood!" His voice carried urgency she didn't need to hear to understand. He was a professional, though; he knew not to panic.

She pressed down on her transmit button again—the signal for him that she was ready.

"Get us out of here," Rachel shouted into the radio. The words were barely out of her mouth when a life buoy hurtled towards them, splashing down just a few feet away. Ethan was a good shot; he never missed.

Rachel grabbed Morris by the collar, pulling him towards her as she reached out for the buoy with her free hand. The water was up to their chests now, the frozen liquid soaking them through. Morris was past the point of help, too terrified to do anything but hang onto Rachel.

She caught the buoy, wrapping her arm around it, keeping Morris pressed against her with her other hand. She punched the button on the side of the buoy, and it gave a little jerk as it inflated fully.

The sound of a winch spun into life - a grinding, mechanical noise that overpowered even the roar of the flames. A moment later, they were being hoisted up, water cascading off them in sheets as they were pulled away from the sinking yacht.

The fiery behemoth shuddered one last time before slipping beneath the surface of the ocean, disappearing with an audible hiss as cold water met hot metal. It left behind nothing more than smoke and debris on an otherwise calm sea.

Rachel kept her gaze fixed on it until it was gone, until all that remained was a singed spot in her memory. Then she pulled her eyes away and focused on keeping Morris conscious and alive until they reached safety.

As their feet hit solid ground again, a crowd of Coast Guards swarmed around them. Ethan was there too, pulling Morris out of Rachel's grip and starting to shout orders at his team. But Rachel couldn't hear him over the roar in her ears - a lingering echo from the explosion on the yacht.

The cartel was involved.

Rebecca was dead. She’d have to check Morris’ alibi, but she found she believed him. This unhinged man wouldn’t have pulled the trigger. Wouldn’t have used a rattlesnake. He was clearly too much of a coward for that.

But one of his associates?

Diego Sanchez, the cartel lieutenant. She turned this over in her mind. She'd need to find him and question him. But that would be like wading through a pit of rattlesnakes.