Page 134 of Ford

“I got a ping on Ford’s phone that placed you in Bautino,” Ham said, climbing up the ladder, a protective eye on her. “I figured that you’d probably jump a ferry or a freighter, and did a search. Not a lot of electronic records, but there were also a handful of freighters leaving port, and I followed a hunch.”

“I’m not entirely sure that I wouldn’t have ended up in some Russian port, sold to the highest bidder,” RJ said. “Lots of Russians on the ship, a few who eyed me like…so let’s just say that I stayed in the pilothouse the entire time.”

They entered the salon, the air conditioning lifting gooseflesh. A map of the Caspian Sea was spread over a teak table. Scarlett shivered under the blanket, not sure she should sit on one of the white leather sofas.

RJ sat on a chair. Trini came into the salon. He’d stripped off his slicker.

Nez closed the door behind them, still wearing his wet suit, the top pulled down to his waist. A towel hung around his neck. “When Ham started contacting ships, I tapped a guy who helped us before in Azerbaijan. It seemed like the best thing to do in order to stay under the radar was to get out here and head for the Kazakh port.”

“We need to backtrack theNavoo’s path, follow the currents.” Tate turned and stared out the window into the darkness.

“I’m on it,” Trini said. “We’ll follow the current, see if we can pinpoint where he might have floated.”

“Or swam,” said Nez. “He’s a strong swimmer.”

Scarlett didn’t want to disagree, but she’d been in that storm. Her throat still burned, raw from the briny water.

“What we could use is a drone,” Ham said.

A man came down the stairs. Dark hair in a tight man bun, black pants, a dress shirt rolled up past his forearms. “I have a drone.” He turned to Scarlett. “Tyrone Stavros. Your friend saved my daughter two weeks ago. Wewillfind him.”

Scarlett stood up, pulling the blanket tight. “You fly the drone. I’ll read the screen, and yes, we will find him.”Whatever happens, I will show up for you, Ford. Always.

Blackness. The current had his legs, tugging, hungry, and Ford kicked hard, thrashing, fighting.

Not. This. Way.

The chill rattled his bones, turned them brittle, his body stiff as the water turned him. He found air, gulped it in, and went under again.

Muscles burned, cramped, fists in his gut.

More air.

He slammed against rock, clung, fell away. Again. Pain spiked up his shoulder.

Air. He gripped the rock. The waves fought him.

Pried him away.

Heavy.

His air spiraled out, the water closing over him.

Are you done yet?

A voice, hot and bold.

No.

Shivering, sand in his ears, the surf crashing over him. Stinging his eyes.

He broke again to air, floated.

Ice in his core. Pinpricks of light burning through his eyes.

Briny water on his mouth, in his nose, coughing.

Are you done yet? Ring the bell!

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