The Harbor

Thirty-Four

Bruce came in as close to the cove as he could without grounding his boat, and J.B. jumped into the water, gun drawn, never mind that Kyle Castellane had called to him that it was okay, he had things under control.

Nothing was under control.

When he reached him, the kid's fingers were so cold and stiff from shock, he had trouble letting loose of the gun. He was sitting on a rock with Teddy Shelton down in the sand, complaining about bleeding to death. J.B. did a quick check of Shelton 's wounds, but he didn't appear to be in imminent danger.

"He's got Zoe," Kyle said. "Stick-the fuck. He put a gun to her head and took her with him in the Zodiac. He wanted to kill me and Shelton, but I had the gun and he couldn't risk it."

J.B. nodded. "Did you see which way he went?" "I couldn't with the fog, and I was afraid to take my eyes off Shelton." "It's okay. You just have to hang on for another few minutes." He gave the kid an encouraging smile. "The cops are on their way by land and by sea."

"Zoe-if Stick killed her father, he'll kill her, too."

"I know."

Teddy moaned. "I hope you kill the fuck. I should have done it a year ago."

Kyle tilted his chin up, and J.B. could see the kid was trying to be brave. "I was wrong about everything. Why don't you go? Give me the gun back. Shelton 's in no shape to make a move on me, not with a bullet in his leg and another in his shoulder."

But J.B. wasn't leaving Kyle alone with even a wounded Teddy Shelton. He could hear the police moving closer, and he had his badge out when they arrived and informed them he wasn't sticking around. "Tell marine patrol Sutherland Island. An old boathouse on the north end. Stick Monroe 's been planning his escape for a long time."

They'd have to contend with the fog. He was close to Sutherland Island. He had Bruce and knew he'd be game to navigate among the islands. As far as J.B. was concerned, he had no other choice. He had to act or Zoe would be dead.

He splashed back out to the lobster boat, Bruce hauled him in, and they were off.

" Sutherland Island," J.B. said.

"My great-great-grandmother was born on that island."

"Mine, too."

Bruce glanced at him. "The fog's a bitch. I can't make any promises."

"If it's a bitch for us, it's a bitch for Stick."

"A bigger bitch. I know what I'm doing. Stick doesn't."

Stick hadn't counted on the fog. He even told Zoe so after he dumped her into the speedboat he had hidden in the boathouse, paid for with the money he'd gotten off Luke to keep his bumbling gun deal secret. Zoe didn't think Stick had been honest about having reformed.

Apparently he had another boat waiting farther north, thus creating two additional hurdles for the police. They'd expect him to go south. He'd go north-and change boats.

But he didn't know the islands, and even on a good day, the currents and swirls and underwater ledges would be treacherous for an experienced boater. On a bad day, an inexperienced boater like Stick Monroe was way over his head on this one small stretch of Maine 's southern coast.

Zoe heard him muttering that one island looked like another. Good. She hoped he was lost. It'd give the tac unit and J.B. more time to find her.

Her hands and feet ached. Her cut from yesterday had opened up again.

The distinctive purr of a lobster boat off in the fog roused her. She didn't know if Stick had heard it, too. They were hugging the shore of what he apparently thought was still Sutherland Island, but it wasn't. It was one of the two smaller islands.

The lobster boat came around the tip, just barely visible in the milky fog.

She knew it was Bruce's. She knew J.B. was on it.

Stick swore and gunned the engine, going too fast for the conditions. He was coming to a narrow passage between the two tiny islands. In low tide conditions, it would be mud, impassable. "I can't see in this goddamn fog. Once I get out of these islands-"

"You want to avoid the narrow passage between the two small islands out here," Zoe said, trying to play on his confusion. "It's right up there. It's treacherous- nothing but mud and tide pools at low tide. There's a deep channel near Sutherland, but I hope you get lost and end up stuck in the mud."

He ignored her and glanced back, the lobster boat gaining distance on them. Zoe knew J.B. wouldn't do anything precipitous. It was a hostage situation. He'd isolate them and get the tac unit in there.

Unless she made it not a hostage situation.

Stick turned the boat, and Zoe heaved herself to her feet. Without hesitation, she rolled over and dropped into the water like a hunk of bad bait.

The water was cold and deep, and she sank, in case Stick decided to waste time trying to shoot her. His boat could outrun the lobster boat. All he needed was enough time to disappear into the fog.

No shots.

Zoe concentrated on not drowning. Moving mermaid style, she thrashed her way to the surface, gulped in air and tried to stay afloat.

"Just pretend she's a fish," Bruce was saying somewhere in the fog. "Hook her and pull her in."

"Go after Stick." She spit out saltwater, her hands and feet numb. "Don't let him get away. I can float."

But Bruce maneuvered his boat alongside her as if she were a stray lobster pot, and J.B. had a long metal pole that he managed to shove between her bound hands and the small of her back.

"Don't try to be gentle," Bruce told him. "Just snap her on in like a big, fat fish. Mind her head."

J.B. hauled her to the side of the boat, then he andBruce grabbed her by her hands and feet and waistband and pulled her in, coughing, spitting. Her stomach ached where Stick had kicked her. Bruce handed J.B. his Leatherman to cut the ropes on her hands and ankles. Zoe tried to get to her feet, but her elbows hurt from having been bent back for so long and the blood was still rushing back into her fingers and her feet.

J.B. managed a smile at her. "You'd have aced drown-proofing, babe."

"Stick-"

"I'm on him," Bruce said, back at the wheel. "The dumb-ass went up West Passage." Zoe nodded, shivering. "It's mud at low tide."

J.B. winked at her. "Even I knew that." Bruce pulled his boat as close to the mud flats as he could without running aground himself.

Up ahead, through the swirling fog and mist, Zoe saw that Stick was in his boat, trying to get it to move in the mud, only digging himself in deeper. She could hear him cursing, as if he of all people was entitled to get away.

J.B. had his gun out and called to him. "Freeze, Monroe. FBI. Put your hands up." Stick complied. He was maybe thirty feet away. "Don't move," J.B. ordered. "Keep your hands up where I can see them." Bruce radioed the police. He glanced back at Zoe. "Did you steer him into the mud flats?" "Misdirected," she said. "I knew he wouldn't believe me."

J.B. didn't take his eyes off Stick, and she was vaguely aware of thinking that if she was J.B., she'd do the same. She wouldn't shoot a man with his hands up. She wouldn't shoot him even if he was the man who'd killed her father.

"How long before the tac unit gets here?" she asked. "As long as it takes," J.B. said without moving. "I can spell you." "I'm good." But Stick didn't last. He went for his gun, and J.B. shot him.