Page 43 of Not This Soon

“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 punchedthe 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.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Midnight found Rachel sitting in a cruiser, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. Her expression was stoic, but her body betrayed how cold she felt. She shivered, though her jaw remained set rigidly.

Steam rose from a cup of coffee in her hand. She didn't drink it. It wasn't yet time for comfort; there were answers to be found. The cruiser's radio crackled, officers sharing intelligence about the cruise explosion, and discussing the trickle of information they’d received about possible cartel involvement.

Now, though, Rachel peered through the windshield where her breath fogged the inside of the glass. She reached out, wiping the condensation away with the back of her sleeve.

At her side, Ethan murmured to himself, muttering under his breath. “Morris’ wife swears he was at home during his daughter’s murder…”

Rachel had to strain to hear him. She glanced over, frowning, a single droplet of water tumbling from her bangs. She reached up with steady fingers.

These were the only calm thing about her. She'd learned over many years as a long-range rifle expert how to calm her hands even in the worst environments. It involved a series of deep breaths, stretches, controlling her heartbeat and cortisol levels and the knowledge that any tremble, any hint of uncertainty could mean the difference between hitting the mark and missing it entirely.

Though now, she applied this skill differently. To stifle her shivers. To steady her hand as she wiped away fogged-up glass. Because clarity was crucial, even in calamitous times. Especially in calamitous times.

Her focus returned to Ethan's muttering. His words breaking through her introspective silence. She leaned closer, her ears straining to catch what he was saying.

"...Alibi checks out," Ethan grumbled on, checking the GPS to make sure they were heading in the correct direction.

She didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the dimly lit road beyond the windshield. “It’s not him,” she said quietly.

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