Page 116 of Duty Unbound

“Almost there,” Logan whispered, his powerful strokes cutting silently through the water as he paddled. “Ty, keep us steady.”

We’d been tracking that boat for the past eleven hours, ever since Jace had pulled off his technological miracle. After discovering that Tommy Fitzsimmons was the one who’d taken Mel—facial recognition software had confirmed he’d been at over a dozen tour locations in the past month—we’d deployed every resource we had.

“Still picking up the coffeemaker’s signal.” Jace’s voice camethrough our waterproof comms. “Target hasn’t moved in the last twenty minutes. Must have dropped anchor for the night.”

The absurdity wasn’t lost on me. We were tracking a kidnapper using his coffeemaker because the son of a bitch had been smart enough to avoid using phones or computers. But he hadn’t thought about the digital signature from his high-end espresso machine—the kind that automatically ordered new beans when supplies ran low and brewed different strengths of coffee based on weather.

“Should be less than a quarter mile from you now,” Jace continued. “Ready for extraction once you have the package.”

Nova had spared no expense getting us here as quickly and as prepared as possible. She hadn’t hesitated when I’d explained what we needed—an ocean-capable vessel, no questions asked, and immediate availability. The charter captain we’d hired had claimed to be “familiar with discretion,” which I took to mean he’d done plenty of shady shit before. I didn’t care about his past as long as he was ready to pull us out of the water when we had Mel.

“Any additional thermal readings?” I asked, keeping my voice at a whisper.

“Still showing two heat signatures on board. One’s been stationary in what appears to be the cabin area. The other moves between there and the bridge.” The faint clicking of keys carried through the comms.

We were on our own. Since we had no proof Tommy was the kidnapper, the red tape of law enforcement would take time Mel didn’t have, and I wasn’t fucking waiting.

Still, Detective Corey Hollis had once again come through, pulling strings we didn’t even know existed. Local police had checked all of Fitzsimmons’s properties—his estate outside Baton Rouge, the mountain house in Vail, even the apartment in NYC. All empty. The Airstream trailer had proven to be a dead end too. That had left the boat.

When the Coast Guard confirmed they’d received an emergency beacon distress ping from an EPIRB registered to Tommy’s vessel yesterday evening—followed by his radio call claiming it was a false alarm—I knew without a doubt Mel was on that boat. And that she’d tried to signal for help.

“Visual contact,” Ty murmured, pointing ahead.

The small, sleek yacht materialized out of the darkness, floating silently on the calm waters. White hull, darkened windows, high-end but not ostentatious. The kind of boat that cost serious money but didn’t scream it.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” I asked, checking my waterproof bag. Inside was my Glock, secured in a vacuum-sealed pouch. “We board silently. Locate Mel. Extract her without confrontation if possible.”

“I’m a little bit hoping it’s not possible,” Logan said. The man loved a good fight.

We paddled closer, maintaining silence. As we approached within fifty yards, the cabin lights on the boat suddenly illuminated. I raised my fist, signaling an immediate halt.

“Down,” I breathed.

We pressed ourselves flat against the bottom of the raft as the cabin door opened. Two figures emerged onto the deck—one unmistakably female in what appeared to be some kind of light-colored clothing, the other male and slightly taller.

“Targets on deck,” I whispered into my comms.

“Visual confirmation on Mel?” Jace asked.

I squinted, trying to make out facial features. The woman’s hair was dark, her build matched Mel’s, and though I couldn’t see her face clearly, something in the way she moved sent recognition surging through me.

“It’s her,” I confirmed, my chest tightening. “She appears uninjured.”

From this distance, I couldn’t see if she had any visible bruises, but she was walking on her own and, most importantly,she was alive. The sight of her sent relief crashing through me like a fucking freight train, followed immediately by a fresh wave of rage at the man standing too close to her.

Tommy said something we couldn’t hear, his hand moving to Mel’s lower back. She stiffened at his touch. My fingers tightened around the edge of the raft, the urge to leap into the water and swim directly to her almost overwhelming.

“Easy,” Logan whispered, reading my tension. “Wait for them to go back inside.”

The pair stood at the railing for a few minutes, Tommy gesturing at the night sky, playing the role of romantic host while Mel stood rigid beside him. Finally, he led her back toward the cabin, his hand never leaving her back. The cabin door closed behind them, the deck plunging back into darkness.

“Move,” I ordered. I was not leaving her with that bastard one fucking second longer than necessary.

We paddled the remaining distance, approaching from the stern to minimize the chance of being spotted through the windows. Ty maintained position in the raft while Logan and I silently hauled ourselves onto the swim platform at the back of the boat.

I unzipped my waterproof bag, extracting my weapon and checking it quickly. Logan did the same, his movements economical and practiced.

“Remember, nonlethal if possible,” I reminded him. “Tommy needs to face charges.”

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