Page 40 of Not This Soon

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 widewith 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?”

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