The roar of the engine drowned out the gunshots, but Pitt detected several faint thumps when a few rounds struck the hull. He waited a minute, then popped his head up for a quick look. The dock was lost from view among the trees as the boat skittered toward shore. Pitt slid into the seat and bumped the wheel over to keep them in deep water. Once on course, he pulled Ann up beside him. With all focus on their escape, he had ignored the throbbing pain in his leg, and the sticky wetness that told him he was now bleeding.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was a little too close for comfort.”

“It would have been even closer if I hadn’t had your crutch handy. Sorry to leave you off balance.”

“I was so scared, I didn’t even think about my ankle. I just saw it was downhill to the dock and remembered I had the house keys in my pocket. Fortunately, the boat keys were also attached.”

She unconsciously rubbed her ankle, now noticing the pain.

“Where to now?” she asked.

The wheels of justice had already been turning in Pitt’s mind. “Simple,” he said. “We head them off at the pass.”

There was only one road out from Heiland’s cabin. Pitt knew the thieves would have to pass through Bayview to escape with the stolen documents. They could be stopped, but only if he and Ann got there first. It was a race that would depend on a seventy-year-old boat.

Though long in the tooth, Heiland’s Chris-Craft was no turtle. The Custom Runabout was fitted with the company’s Model M engine, which churned out 130 horsepower. The old speedboat was as stylish as she was speedy, featuring a varnished mahogany finish, dual cockpits, and a rakish “barrelback” stern. A desirable boat when it had left the Algonac, Michigan, factory in 1942, it was now a prized collectible for classic boat lovers.

The elegant boat cut easily through the waves as Pitt kept the throttle down, mustering full speed from its inboard engine. Although they had a healthy head start, Pitt knew the gunmen would be desperate to escape and could travel the road back at nearly twice the boat’s speed.

A star-filled sky gave him ample light, and he nudged the boat near the shoreline to trim the distance. After a few minutes of hard running, a wide inlet appeared on Pitt’s left, and he angled the boat into it. The lights of Bayview appeared off the bow, twinkling at the far end of the aptly named Scenic Bay. Pitt glanced toward the shoreline road but didn’t spot any headlights.

“How do we stop them?” Ann shouted.