Chapter 5 - The Net ClosesI locked myself inside the captain’s bridge before Aidan could reach me, throwing the heavy steel deadbolts into place.
Outside, I could hear them pounding frantically on the reinforced glass, screaming curses and desperate pleas. Aidan was hammering his fists against the porthole, shouting that I was insane, that they were family, that they would explain everything to the authorities.
I ignored them. I sat down in the captain’s leather pilot chair and reached for the maritime radio console.
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday," I spoke clearly into the primary emergency broadcast mic, transmitting on all international frequencies. "This is private luxury yacht Sterling Star, currently operating in international waters at coordinates 24.5854° N, 78.2528° W. We have experienced a man-overboard emergency and an active internal security threat. Requesting immediate Coast Guard interdiction and federal law enforcement intercept."
"Copy that, Sterling Star," a crisp, professional voice crackled back through the static within seconds. "This is United States Coast Guard Cutter Hamilton, supported by private security asset Vance Tactical. We have your transponder locked. Maintain your position. Intercept in five minutes."
I leaned back in the chair, letting out a long, shuddering breath that finally released the crushing weight of the past three days.
Through the massive front windshield of the bridge, cutting straight through the driving sheets of rain and dark ocean swells, two blinding walls of searchlights pierced the night.
A massive Coast Guard cutter loomed out of the storm, its gray hull cutting effortlessly through the mountainous waves. Trailing right behind it was a sleek, tactical helicopter bearing the emblem of Marcus Vance’s security fleet, hovering low over the yacht’s upper deck with deafening rotor blades spinning a hurricane of wind.
On the aft deck below, I watched through the security cameras as Aidan and Fiona tried to run toward the bow, only to be cut off by a squad of heavily armed federal marshals and Marcus’s elite tactical team who fast-roped directly from the hovering chopper onto the teak deck.
Fiona screamed as heavy zip-ties were snapped around her wrists. Aidan raged and thrashed, shouting about his political connections, until a tactical officer pressed him firmly facedown onto the wet deck.
The bridge door behind me rattled violently, followed by the authoritative rap of a heavy boot.
"Chloe? Open up, it's Marcus."
I stood up, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the door open.
Marcus Vance stood in the doorway, wearing a tactical bulletproof vest, soaked from the rain but looking like an avenging angel. His eyes swept over me quickly, checking for injuries, before he exhaled a sharp breath of relief.
"You're shaking," Marcus said, stepping inside and wrapping a heavy tactical jacket around my shoulders.
May you like
"I'm fine, Marcus," I whispered, though my knees finally buckled, and he caught me before I hit the floor. "Get them off my boat. And check the wake—Flynn went overboard thirty minutes ago."
Marcus’s expression hardened. He tapped his shoulder comm-link. "Rescue team Alpha, deploy the high-speed Zodiacs. Search the wake for a male subject, civilian, blonde hair, wearing a white linen shirt. Bring him up dead or alive—preferably alive so the federal judges can look him in the eye."
