Page 37 of Not This Soon

"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 saltyspray 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 softthud. 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.

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