Chapter 13 - The Cold Passage
The small aluminum boat hammered violently against the whitecap waves, cold spray washing over the windshield like sheets of glass. Behind them, the flashing red and blue lights of Berth 7 shrank into tiny, insignificant pinpricks of color against the industrial skyline of the harbor.
Inside the small, enclosed cabin, Sarah sat on a damp bench, cradling Lily tightly in her lap beneath a heavy wool emergency blanket they found in the storage locker. Lily was finally asleep, her breath rattling softly against Sarah’s collarbone, completely exhausted by terror.
Mark stood at the helm, his knuckles white against the wheel, guiding the vessel through the unmarked secondary channels between the cargo islands. The adrenaline that had sustained him for the last three hours was beginning to bleed away, leaving behind a crushing, bone-deep exhaustion. His torn shoulder throbbed with every pulse of his heart, and his clothes were still stiff with drying salt.
Evelyn stepped into the wheelhouse, closing the rear hatch to keep out the wind. She leaned against the instrument console, watching him.
"Coast Guard is sweeping the main shipping channel," Evelyn said quietly, tapping the vessel’s marine radio. "They think Mercer’s crew fled south toward the interstate bridges. We have about forty minutes before they realize a maintenance boat was stolen from Berth 7."
"We aren't going south," Mark said, his voice flat and hoarse. "There's an abandoned marina near Indian Cove, three miles north. We ditch the boat there and walk to the highway."
Evelyn nodded, then crossed her arms. "And then what, Mark? Mercer is in custody. He’s looking at life for kidnapping and racketeering. But the people he answered to—the investors who lost money on your project—they aren't going to forget."
Sarah looked up from the bench, her eyes dark with unspeakable fear. "We can't go back to the house, can we?"
Mark didn't answer immediately. He stared out through the salt-sprayed glass into the pitch black of the sound. The comfortable, quiet suburban life they had built—the manicured lawn, the school district, the front porch where Lily played—was gone. It had evaporated the moment Mercer’s car rolled down their street. Returning to that house meant living behind drawn blinds, waiting for another shadow to cross the window.
"No," Mark said softly. "We can't go back."
Sarah lowered her head, a quiet sob escaping her lips, but she tightened her arms around Lily. "Where do we go?"
"We disappear," Mark said. "I have contacts from the old unit in Montana. Remote land, off-grid, no paper trail. We take what we have in the car and we keep driving."
"And what about me?" Evelyn asked, her eyebrow arching in a cool, steady challenge. "I'm an accessory to three homicides now, Mark. I can't exactly go back to my agency office tomorrow morning."
Mark turned to look at her. Despite the bruises on her cheek, her gaze was clear, sharp, and resolute. "You said Mercer took someone from you. Who was it?"
Evelyn’s jaw tightened. "My younger sister. Five years ago. She was an accountant for his shipping firm. She tried to go to the state attorney general. They found her car in the river." Evelyn looked out at the dark water. "I didn't take this job because Sarah hired me. I took it because I knew Mercer would come for you eventually. I used you as bait."
Sarah gasped, but Mark remained completely still.
"You got your pound of flesh," Mark said quietly. "Mercer will die in a federal penitentiary."
May you like
"That's not enough," Evelyn replied, meeting his eyes. "The men who ordered her death are in the boardrooms downtown. They're the ones who bankrolled your development project, Mark. And they won't stop until everyone who knows the transaction details is erased."
Before Mark could reply, the boat’s engine sputtered, coughing violently as the fuel gauge dropped into the red.
