They were taking Quinn away. They were too late.
By the time they reached the end of the dock, the Cassidy Lynn was accelerating into the night.
Twenty-Eight
Bruce was already on his phone. “They’re leaving the marina,” he barked. “I don’t know,” he added, squinting into the night.
In anguish, Cassidy watched the white yacht get smaller and smaller as it headed into the protected channel created by the breakwater. While Bruce bantered with whomever was on the other end of the line, she hurried along the side of the nearby yacht. I won’t let them take Quinn.
Something caught her eye.
She paused at the back end of the boat where a gunmetal-gray Zodiac was tethered by a rope. Behind her, she heard Bruce call her name. She reeled in the Zodiac, then jumped aboard.
The engine started easily, and then she was untying its tether.
“Cassidy?” Bruce yelled in alarm from somewhere behind her.
But Cassidy was already steering the Zodiac along the back ends of the boats, her fist gripping the tiller.
“Cassidy!” Bruce cried out while chasing her down the main dock.
Cassidy twisted the throttle and braced her feet as the boat accelerated. She rounded the last slip and aimed for the breakwater.
A second later she saw a flash of color. Bruce landed in the boat, knocking her down. They landed in a heap on the cold floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce cried.
Cassidy struggled to her feet and regained control of the tiller. “I can’t let them get away, Bruce!”
He stared at her from his position.
“You can either hang on or get off. I’m not going back.”
Bruce grimaced. “Cassidy, they’re coming. The chopper is fifteen minutes out. We have to let them do their job.”
“What if they fail?” she shouted as tears sprang from her eyes. They reached the end of the long breakwater and Cassidy turned the bow into San Francisco Bay.
“This boat isn’t even safe for the open sea, Cass. We don’t even have life vests. If we fall in or the boat capsizes, we’ll die in a matter of minutes.”
Cassidy ignored this. She had already accepted the risks. “If he dies, I might as well die too,” she said as the wind burned her eyes.
“We’re putting them at risk by going out here,” he said, getting to his feet. He looked into the black night. “We have no idea where they’re going. How far.”
“There they are!” she said, spotting the yacht ahead of them, moving towards the Golden Gate Bridge lit up in white neon.
Bruce turned. “This is a bad idea, Cass,” he said. “We don’t know how many people are onboard. What’s to say they don’t just shoot us. Plus, this boat isn’t fast enough to catch them.”
“It’s fast enough to keep them in sight,” Cassidy said.
“Turn around, Cassidy!”
Cassidy ignored him.
“What’s your plan? Do you think they’re just going to let you onboard? You don’t even have a weapon.”
“I still have the notebook,” she said.
Bruce groaned. “What if they have ten armed men aboard that boat? We’re sitting ducks.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do!” he shouted. “This is suicide!”
“Then you should have stayed behind. I’m not going back.”
She felt Bruce’s searing gaze on her but didn’t unlock her attention from the distant boat. The boat crested bigger and bigger swells the closer they moved towards the channel. A steady breeze sent a constant mist of sea spray into her face.
Shaking his head, his face tight in a grimace, Bruce grabbed one of the bow lines for balance. They passed the banks of the Presidio. In the lights from the Golden Gate Bridge, she could just make out waves firing at Fort Point, marching forward like lines of silver, their white spray detonating against the reef as they broke. The little boat strained against the strengthening current now that they were in the narrowest portion of the channel. Cassidy knew of boats suddenly flipping in the powerful eddies or getting swept out to sea on an ebb tide. Bruce was right; without wetsuits and life vests, they wouldn’t last long in this freezing cold water. If that didn’t get them, the powerful waves would.
From the tug of the current, she knew the tide was ebbing, meaning that millions of gallons of seawater were speeding out to sea like a river. Ahead of them, the yacht passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, and seemed to accelerate. The currents caused sections of swell to break like standing waves. Cassidy swung to avoid them, afraid of capsizing. But there were also huge boils to avoid, and eddylines. In the center of the channel, the Zodiac surged forward as if on a conveyer belt. The sea spray from the rollers and the current clashing had soaked her t-shirt and skin, and a layer of water sloshed around her feet, drenching her sneakers.
“There they are,” Bruce said just as she heard the sound of helicopter blades. Her heart lifted at the same time her gut clenched tighter.
A large, white powerboat with a spinning red light circulating from its bridge shot into view, aiming straight for the yacht. Cassidy watched it pass beneath the bridge, its bow angled high as it cut through the waves.
“Coast Guard,” Bruce confirmed.
A giant wave slammed into the bow, knocking Cassidy back. Bruce’s knees buckled, but he held on. Cassidy was undeterred. There were too many variables. What if Preston Ford’s guards shot the helicopter out of the sky? Or the Cassidy Lynn was too fast for the Coast Guard? She wouldn’t rest until she had Quinn off that boat.
Waves crashed against the cliffs to her left, erupting like claps of thunder in the darkness. She realized that they were now passing the area in front of Preston Ford’s Sea Cliff mansion. Had the FBI team moved in to secure the scene yet? Were they watching them right now through binoculars? Would she be held liable for killing Preston Ford and ruining their chances
