Chapter 39

39

The hoist jerked and Caleb descended, buffeted once he was below the scant shelter of the Mohawk. Icy rain lashed any scrap of exposed skin while the turbulent sea shrieked beneath him. He narrowed his focus to the stricken yacht, its death throes sending up flares of white water.

"Swimmer descending into the hot zone!" Henley's's voice was methodical, following the drill. The one that had kept them safe on so many rescues. Caleb tuned his voice out, the familiar words fading beneath the blood booming in his ears as he visualized Grace down there, alive.

His boots spun above the lurching boat. The wideness of the luxury deck would make it a little easier to land. A little. He was under no illusions.

The instant his boots slammed onto the chaotic deck, another massive wave broadsided the boat, icy water ripping the breath from him as he fought to unclip himself.

"Caleb, this is Henley. You are now secured on the stricken vessel. Confirm your readiness to begin the rescue operation."

"Confirm readiness to begin rescue." Caleb swiped the water from his goggles.

"Copy that." Henley replied. "Swimmer is on the deck of the vessel. Swimmer reports a successful landing and is proceeding with the rescue operation. Maintaining visual contact and monitoring the situation."

Need to get to the bridge. Lift the anchor.

Caleb sucked air through gritted teeth, his lungs burning with the effort as he grappled his way toward the bridge. The deck heaved beneath his feet, slick with spray and rain, making each step treacherous. He hung onto the guard rails to stop himself from being swept over the side and into the howling water.

Finally, he reached it. The bridge door slammed backward and forward as he lurched inside.

His stomach dropped, a sickening fall that had nothing to do with the motion of the boat. The anchor control was mangled, the controls gouged and smashed. A fire ax lay abandoned on the floor, its blade glinting dull in the flickering light. The Far Horizon was doomed, paralyzed in the storm's destructive path.

Hudson had planned this all along—ensuring Grace went down with the boat. The storm would cover his tracks and no one would question his story.

"Henley. I'm on the bridge."

"Copy that, Caleb. What's the status of the vessel?"

"Anchor control is disabled. Looks like it was sabotaged. We're on borrowed time."

Caleb staggered back out onto the deck, bracing himself against the fresh onslaught of wind and rain. The deck pitched beneath his feet, tilting at a precarious angle that threatened to send him careening overboard. He gripped the railing with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes scanning the churning waves for any sign of life.

The raw terror of Marie's screams echoed in his head. He could feel the rigidity of her fingers as they slipped through his grasp, the dull thud of her head hitting the railing before the sea swallowed her.Bands tightened across his chest as the ghosts of his past swirled around him.

Enough. Grace needed him.

"I'm heading below deck!" Caleb shouted over the groans of the dying vessel.

Time to find his woman and bring her home safe.

He descended the steep steps of the companionway into the main cabin. The air grew brackish, the stench of diesel fuel clogging his nostrils. Emergency lights winked erratically overhead, casting eerie shadows that disorientated him.

Glass crunched underfoot as he found himself in the living quarters, the once-pristine room now a waterlogged mess. "Grace!" He strained to listen over the storm's relentless din, the crash of cabin doors banging. But the only reply was the shrieking of the wind and the groans of a dying craft.

"Henley. Do you still have a fix on the PLB signal?"

"Affirmative. Signal is strongest in the aft section, likely originating from a cabin in the stern."

Caleb grimaced at the closed saloon door on the far wall.

Through there. That's where she had to be.

He fought his way across the room, numbing water sloshing against his shins. Loose paper and a few coke cans rode the wavelets like flotsam. Once, this space had been luxurious, a testament to Hudson's wealth and power. Now, the rain-blown salt spray blasted through a shattered porthole, drenching the pristine white sofas and ruining their plush cushions.

He pulled the saloon door open, fighting against the pressure of the rising water, and climbed into a narrow passageway. She had to be here. She was here, according to the tracker.

One by one, he checked the rooms, his eyes raking the gloomy interiors with desperate intensity. But it was only in the fourth cabin he found anything, a clue that sent his heart lurching into his throat.

Floating under a bunk was the emergency transponder. He picked it up, the red light flashing at him in the gloom.

Gracie's last lifeline, abandoned.