Cassidy forced her mind to focus. Save Quinn.
Ahead, the helicopter hovered over the yacht, its searchlights sweeping over the bright white deck, but the yacht showed no signs of stopping.
The Zodiac rode over the top of another giant swell then slammed down into the trough. The following wave broke over the bow, sending a wall of icy seawater into her face.
“My turn,” Bruce shouted, then took the tiller from her hands.
Cassidy was still wiping the seawater from her face and coughing from the spray that had forced its way into her mouth.
“You okay?” he asked.
She realized that her hands were bleeding again and wondered if she had just smeared blood all over her face.
“Watch for swells,” he shouted, pointing at the bow.
Cassidy wobbled her way to the pontoon’s tip and wrapped her stinging hands around the cord, keeping her eyes on the spectacle unfolding ahead of them.
The helicopter and Coast Guard boat appeared to have cornered the yacht. In the air, the helicopter swarmed like an angry insect, its rotors dipping dangerously close to the boat’s tower. She heard a loudspeaker but could not make out the words.
The Zodiac surged over another swell, but Bruce angled their landing, minimizing the amount of seawater splashing into the boat.
“They’ve stopped!” Bruce said as they rose up the back of the next wave, giving them a higher vantage. Cassidy allowed a moment of hope. What would happen next? Would snipers drop onto the deck and hunt down the guards? How could they do that and keep Quinn safe?
Bruce slowed the Zodiac. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking back at him.
“This is where we have to stop,” he said, “it’s too—”
A sudden explosion cut through the night. Cassidy was blasted backwards. Airborne, she watched in shock as the Cassidy Lynn disappeared in a giant ball of fire.
Twenty-Nine
Bruce landed on top of her, shielding her from the bits of debris falling through the sky.
She struggled to free herself so she could see what couldn’t be true, but her kicks and wildly swinging arms did nothing to ease Bruce’s hold on her. The cloud of smoke and fire rose steadily into the air as she fought him, fought against the rushing, sweeping pain thundering toward her like an avalanche.
No. Not this.
Bruce was saying something to her but she heard only a distant buzzing. Her head felt light and empty, her muscles burning from her efforts. She realized that she was gasping for air.
“Cassidy!” Bruce barked.
Her limbs were fighting and straining, her mind went to thoughts of Quinn. She saw the two of them walking Ocean Beach while waves slipped up the sand. She saw them at the bakery, the steam from their coffee curling into the chilly morning air. She saw him in her garage in Eugene, helping her sort Pete’s things. She remembered how he had paddled out with her to spread Reeve’s ashes. In a sudden rush of pain, she remembered the warmth of his last hug.
With no Quinn there was no life.
A cold sensation seeped into her body and all color drained from her mind. She must have stopped fighting because Bruce pulled her to him in a tight embrace. She felt limp, as if her strength had permanently left her limbs. She heard a choking sound and realized that Bruce was crying.
Bits of exploded boat material rained down on them and dropped in the water. An angry humming filled her ears and she looked to find the source of the sound. The helicopter hovered over the site of the explosion, its bright searchlight fixed on the choppy water.
Cassidy surrendered to the blackness, falling down, down, down.
Nobody will ever keep you from me, sis.
More images flooded into her. Of Quinn heading out for a run, of the way he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp dress shirts, revealing the sandy blonde hairs on his forearms, of his eyes, so blue and pure, like the sea.
Never again would she see those eyes sparkle at something funny she had said, or scoff at her B.S., or brighten with joy.
A realization snapped to the surface of her thoughts: I won’t survive this.
The helicopter was still hovering, its searchlight sweeping back and forth. What were they still doing here? A surge of anger surged through her. Why couldn’t they leave her in peace?
A wave passed under them, rocking the boat sharply.
“Cassidy,” Bruce said, his face cracking with agony. “We have to get out of here.”
The rational part of her brain would have agreed if it had been functioning. But the idea of going anywhere, much less to a place where she would have to talk to people and do mundane things like ride in a car and cook breakfast and brush her teeth confused her. How could she do any of those things in a world without Quinn?
No, better to continue out to sea, carried by the swift, cold current. Maybe the FBI would find their boat. They’d say it was too bad, that the elements got the better of them.
She realized that she was no longer sobbing but was now shivering uncontrollably.
“I’m not even sure this motor is strong enough against these currents.”
She heard the concern in his voice but he might as well have been talking to the air.
Bruce stroked the side of her face, his swollen eyes anguished. “I’m so sorry, Cassidy.”
She blinked, his words finding no purchase in her heart.
He placed her gently in the bow of the boat. She watched him look over his shoulder at the cliffs to the south. The current had swept them well past the location of Preston Ford’s house, the lights from his neighborhood a distant twinkle. Had he orchestrated this, even in death?
Bruce swung the boat in a U-turn, giving Cassidy a full view of the boat’s smoking wreck, lit up by the helicopter’s bright searchlight.
“If I cut at an angle, I think I can get close to that Coast Guard ship.”
Cassidy started to cry
