“Okay. A yacht.”

A red Siesta fishing boat rocks against the slip, tied too loose. If memory serves, the Siesta is fast. And she’s here. One quick scan at the center console, and if my nerves weren’t frayed, I’d laugh. Some dipshit left his keys, along with a floatable buoy, in the ignition. I don’t even need to hotwire it.

“Radio the Coast Guard. What time did she board the boat?”

“Ahm… Hold on.”

I crank the engine on the Siesta and rush to untie her.

“The boat’s called El Capitan. Exited the harbor at two forty-six.”

Shit. Ten minutes ago.

“Can you see which direction she turned?”

I gun the engine and catch irate glares in my direction. Fuck the no-wake zone.

“Looks like she headed straight out. Hey, I’m texting with Patel. She said Jordan entered the marina. He’s going to follow you for backup.”

Minutes later, I’m out in the ocean. The Siesta flies from crest to crest, sending gales of sea spray out to her sides. I scan the horizon. If she’s as big of a boat as Erik says, she should be visible. I scan the horizon and see white.

“I think I see her.”

“Wolf. I’m looking at this footage, and it looks like she went willingly. Maybe he’s just taking her for a boat ride.”

“And she threw her phone onto a neighboring boat? And Lucca is dead?”

“Good point.”

Behind me, a small jet boat bounces over the waves. It’s Jordan. I give him a thumbs-up.

This borrowed Siesta is one of the few boats that can outrun the Coast Guard. She’s a fishing boat with speed. I’ll overtake the El Capitan. It’s only a matter of time.

“Any idea why Wayne would take her?”

The wind combines with the boat’s engine. Fishing rods rock in holders. An unsecured cooler slides across the boat floor.

“Probably the same reason he’d kill Larry Reyes. Eliminating loose ends. Did he steal that boat he’s on?”

“Doubt it. We knew he owned a boat. He’s got a credit card solely for gas at marinas. Like ten-thousand-dollar purchases.”

“You didn’t think to mention that?”

“It’s not a crime to own a boat. Shiloh said she mentioned it to someone within the FBI. They’d already looked into it, and Wayne and his wife like to vacation on their yacht. If he’s on his boat, then it’s owned by an LLC, but again, not a crime. Just smart tax strategy.”

Boats are notorious vessels for gun and drug smuggling. Why the hell wasn’t Ryland all over that?

As I gain on the yacht, details take shape. She’s a beauty. I’d guess between one hundred eighty to two hundred feet. European build. American flag off the back.

Wayne Killington steps out on the back deck. Dark glass blocks all interior views.

Wayne raises an assault rifle.

The noise of the engine combined with the wind and slamming of the boat on waves mute any external sounds. As a precaution, I crouch.