He would have abandoned the Hewes and called his efforts thus far sufficient if the lightweight flats boat wasn’t rocking loosely in the cradle. He couldn’t risk letting the hull get damaged. The Hewes was his ticket up the Saint Lucie River if the waterway to Kate’s parents’ house proved too shallow to accommodate the Black Bird. He had to get this resolved—and quickly.

  The ratchet-style straps they’d used to lash the boat into place, combined with a boat cradle that was less than a perfect fit for the Hewes, was a recipe for disaster in rough seas. The soaking-wet nylon straps had stretched against the strain of the bucking trawler, and with each rise and fall of the Black Bird’s hull, Spencer’s skiff was slammed back into place on the wooden rack with a gut-wrenching crunch. What had, at the time, looked like a decent job of securing the skiff in place during calmer weather was now obviously and woefully inadequate.

  Spencer wasn’t sure he could get the ratchet straps tight enough to make a difference in these conditions, but he had to try. His plan was interrupted, though, as another monster of a wave bore down on the portside hull, causing the boat to lean to the starboard side abruptly and without warning. Spencer hung on to the davit for dear life. Being washed overboard would be a death sentence with Rob at the wheel. The man would be more likely to run him over with the trawler than rescue him if the churning sea didn’t swallow him first.

  Spencer clung fast, eyes closed all but a crack, as the energy of the rogue wave blasted its way through the scuppers along the gunwale with a force equivalent to that of a firehose. The salty spray tore at his skin before the wave crested the rail and flooded the deck. Spencer found himself kneeling in several inches of water, with half a dozen life vests floating his way. There was a mesh bag secured to the rail of the main cabin, and the recent blast of water from the wave had broken it free, spilling the sun-faded PFDs from their bag.

  Spencer didn’t care if they lost them all—he’d brought the life jackets and safety gear from the Hunter aboard—but the loose PFDs did give him an idea. He grabbed the closest one as it floated by and tucked it under his arm. As the boat tilted back to port, he used the momentum to his advantage and made his way to the cradle. Placing his back against the hull of the Hewes, Spencer planted his feet firmly, wedging himself between the skiff and the trawler. With the next wave and roll to starboard, he leveraged the shift in weight and lifted with everything he had, pinning the skiff against the opposite side of the cradle. He filled the resulting gap with the life jacket, wrapping it around the part of the cradle that came into contact with the Hewes and securing it with the belt on the vest, all while being pelted in the face with stinging rain and trying to take a breath without swallowing a mouthful of water.

  Spencer got out of the way when the boat shifted with the rolling seas and was pleased with his idea when the skiff settled into the foam of the life jacket, cushioning the contact point between the small boat and the cradle.

  This will work. He glanced around, locating the rest of the floating life vests, and counted four still on deck and one partially sucked out a starboard scupper. He’d need to work fast, and not just because he wanted to get to the bridge and take control of the helm. Another couple of waves like the last one and the collection of once bright orange vests would be washed away. Spencer readied himself for the next break between swells, although nothing he’d experienced since the worst of the storm had caught the Black Bird could reasonably be called a lull.

  Spencer wished he’d told Rob to steer into the waves so they could have taken the worst of it from front to back, using the bow to smash their way through the breaking ten- to twelve-footers. But he wasn’t sure that was possible anymore due to the erratic nature of the storm. The waves appeared to be coming from all directions now, with rain falling so heavily that visibility had been reduced to little more than a ship’s length in any direction. There was a constant flow of water across the deck thanks to the downpour, and whitecaps broke over the gunwale as they were broadsided by incoming swells.

  This might not have been the worst weather Spencer had ever experienced at sea, but it was the worst he’d seen in a boat this small. The thirty- to forty-foot waves he’d encountered running to Bermuda had been weathered on a 210-foot cutter with a crew of competent sailors. That wasn’t the situation on board the Black Bird, a fact that made him feel all the more vulnerable out here on deck by himself without backup. No one would notice if he was swept overboard in the midst of this madness. Not being able to send a distress call was one thing, but in this moment, the realization that it was him against Mother Nature, with no chance for outside intervention or help, turned the warm salt water running down his back ice cold. Saving the skiff from being battered to pieces was up to him and him alone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Spencer used the troughs between the inconsistent swells as best he could, eventually managing to put four of the life jackets to use while only losing two overboard. That was enough, he thought, to evenly distribute the weight of the skiff to four points and, more importantly, prevent direct contact between the skiff’s hull and the cradle. But either way, it was a vast improvement over the terrible sounds coming from the inadequate setup he’d found when he arrived. He finished up by tightening the nylon ratchet straps as much as he dared while trying to hang on and avoid being swept into the ocean like the last two life jackets.

  He was exhausted. And he hadn’t made it anywhere else on the boat yet to make sure they weren’t taking damage. He’d hoped to tend to the skiff before things got too bad and then deal with securing the interior spaces, but he’d missed that window of opportunity by a mile thanks to the fast-moving weather system. Spencer clung to the hope that the storm system wouldn’t last for too long and that it would move out as quickly as it had come up on them. He also hoped that Nat had been able to secure the lower deck staterooms with some degree of proficiency before seeking shelter with Maya in the galley.

  Spencer could only imagine what the forward hold looked like right now, and here he’d wanted to clean the boat up before Kate had a chance to see it. Now he’d settle for making it to Stuart in one piece. At least the exterior was getting a thorough rinse; after this chaos subsided, there’d be nothing left up here that wasn’t attached or tied down, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

  Spencer decided to cut his losses and call it a win; he’d at least saved the Hewes from certain damage. His top priority was getting back to the helm and relieving Rob. He pushed off the davit, riding the energy of the last wave to heave the boat so he could reach the rail running along the front of the main cabin. He tried to look inside the galley to see if Nat and Maya had made it topside yet, but the rain was hitting the dirt-smudged windows with such ferocity that the backsplash was blinding.

  Hand over hand, Spencer worked his way around the outside of the cabin, trying his best not to get slammed up against the abrasive steel exterior of the trawler. Too much more of this and he’d need a tetanus shot. He was mere feet from the galley door and about to reach for the lever when another big breaker slammed into the boat, only this time, the surge of water came over the bow in an inky-blue torrent as the Black Bird’s entire foredeck was completely engulfed by the massive wave.

  Rob must have been off course, or the swell direction had changed. Either way, Spencer was glad they hadn’t taken this wave broadside; the ratchet straps holding the skiff in place did have limits, after all. Any sense of relief he felt quickly faded, though, as he faced a new challenge that would surely test his resolve.

  Spencer wrapped his arms around the railing and got as low as he could, pressing himself tightly against the bulkhead in an effort to streamline his body against the incoming surge. The several-thousand-gallon deluge of knee-deep seawater rushing over the deck in his direction confirmed that closing the main hatch inside before heading out to deal with the skiff had been a good use of his time. With any luck, Nat had remembered to close the smaller hatch after she and Maya had come through. He was sure she’d followed his instructions; she was smart, and so was Rob. They’d be all right without him on the trawler, wouldn’t they?

  Spencer held his breath, anticipating full submersion by the volume of heavy water approaching. But no matter how much he braced himself, nothing prepared him for the sheer weight against his limbs as the wave threatened to break his grip on the rail. His arms strained against the load, but he focused instead on keeping his interlocked fingers clenched together and did his best to ignore the pain of the rail’s rusty patches biting into his skin. He felt his legs wash out from underneath his body, adding to the already unbearable strain on his arms.

  Visions of Kate and Finn and then his parents flashed through his mind. He wished he’d had a chance to tell them all just one more time how much he loved them. His grip was failing, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt the roughness of the grab rail slipping from his arms. The salt water forcing its way into his sinus cavity burned his throat and made him choke and cough. He tried not to swallow, but his will was fading as fast as his remaining strength. He couldn’t hang on any longer.

  Spencer imagined himself being swept over the stern into the churning warmth of the ocean, the propeller sucking him under initially, where he might be minced to pieces or simply drown. But then he felt a large, firm hand grab hold of his wrist. The touch of another person sent a bolt of energy through Spencer’s failing muscles, and he was able to force his head up against the torrent of water to see Rob staring down at him from a partially opened doorway at the rear of the main cabin. Spencer had been washed all the way back to the stern without even realizing it.

  “I got you, man. Hang in there!” Rob shouted.

  Spencer used his remaining strength to grab Rob’s arm and get at least one foot planted on something firm.

  Spencer pushed, and slowly but surely, Rob managed to haul him inside the galley, where they both collapsed in a heaving, wet mess on the deck.

  Spencer’s head was spinning. The salt water trapped in his sinus cavity felt like acid burning from the inside out. He did his best not to vomit what he’d swallowed already as he coughed up what looked like a gallon of seawater. He tried to roll over onto his back, his arms lacking the strength to hold his own weight off the deck, but something was stopping him.

  It was Rob. “Easy. You’re all right now. Nat said to keep you face-down at first.”

  Spencer didn’t need much encouragement as he coughed out another half bucket’s worth of salt water. He had no idea he’d ingested that much.

  “Who’s… who’s…” Spencer couldn’t get it out thanks to another round of involuntary choking and coughing.

  “Nat’s got it, although I’m not sure if it matters.” Rob slicked his hair back and cleared the water from his eyes in one move.

  “What do you mean?” Spencer was still dazed by the recent close call and wasn’t comprehending what Rob was telling him.

  “She can’t do any worse than me up there. I mean, this is crazy. We’re getting the crap beat out of us.” Rob’s eyes were wide with excitement, fear, and a healthy dose of adrenaline from his recent heroics.

  There was no room for argument about leaving Nat alone at the helm, and after what the man had just done for him, Spencer had no right to complain about the decision. Spencer would be forever grateful to Rob for what surely amounted to saving his life, but there’d be time to thank him properly later, when they weren’t getting flung across the smooth vinyl flooring in the galley from one bulkhead to the other. Right now, all he could manage was a simple thanks as they both did their best to hang on to a support stanchion in the middle of the cabin.

  Rob nodded without a word. They were both still sucking wind.

  Spencer was sure that, with very little effort, he could get more water out of his system, but there was no time to lick his wounds. He had to reach the bridge and get the Black Bird under control or at least attempt to mitigate what was quickly turning into a disaster. Too many more waves like that last one and getting sick would be the least of his concerns.

  The sounds of dishes smashing in the galley, followed by the tolling of pots and pans against the deck, the ones Nat had washed this morning and left out to dry, were all Spencer needed to snap into gear. He and Rob got up at the same time, remembering only then that they were being watched by Maya and Finn, both of whom were hunkered down on the built-in couch along the rear bulkhead. Finn looked more concerned about the wild conditions than Spencer had ever seen him before, but this was, without a doubt, the worst the dog had ever seen. Spencer had never put Finn or Kate through anything like this in the Hunter before.

  Spencer used the support column in the middle of the mess deck to pull himself the rest of the way to his feet and stay there against the rocking boat. Rob did the same but slid to the couch next to his daughter the first chance he got. Maya had her face buried in Finn’s neck, peeking out occasionally to gawk at the unbelievable show outside with a mix of terror and curiosity. Finn was quivering and elected not to look beyond the mess deck by keeping his head below the backrest, with his tail firmly tucked under his body. He leaned into Maya as much as she was pulling him toward her. It was hard to tell who was comforting whom. But they were both in the best place they could be for this situation. It was time to get to the bridge.

  Rob whispered a few words to his daughter and gave her a kiss on the forehead before joining Spencer back at the column.

  “I’ll send Mom down right away. I promise,” Rob added.

  Spencer was already on his way to the ladder. “I’ve seen much worse, Maya. We’re gonna be okay. I promise. The Black Bird can take it.” Spencer forced a smile and fought off the urge to cough again, then turned for the bridge before his uncertainty about the trawler’s capabilities showed through.

  He was going to order Finn to stay put, but there was no need. He doubted the dog could make it across the slick floor even if he wanted to. The sounds of Rob bouncing off the bulkhead of the narrow passageway while he worked his way up the ladder behind Spencer let him know he wasn’t alone in taking a beating.

  “Spencer!” Nat cheered his arrival, her pale face showing a weak smile that soon disappeared as the pilothouse tilted a solid twenty degrees to port, forcing them all to one side.

  Ciro squawked from his perch in the corner, startling Spencer, who’d been pushed too close for comfort by the last swell.

  “Whoa.” Rob grabbed Nat and tried to hold them in place while Spencer clawed his way into position behind the wheel. “Forgot to tell you the bird came back.”

  But Spencer had bigger concerns than an untrustworthy raven. He grabbed the spoked wood and brass wheel, spinning it to port and then starboard as he tried to surf the face of a large wave and counter the rough seas, but the ocean had other plans for the trawler; it plunged her through another foaming peak and swamped the deck below.

  Spencer was forced to reassess his earlier estimate of wave height and storm rating, admitting he was looking at fifteen- to twenty-foot swells. There were breakers in every direction now, and it was getting hard to tell the difference between the driving rain and the windborne spray swept from the crests of the tumbling swells as they crashed on top of each other.

  Spencer glanced at his gauges; the vessel’s anemometer was clocking storm gusts at over fifty knots. That didn’t surprise him, based on what he was looking at and the sound of the whistling wind shooting through the bullet holes in the tempered glass windows. One of the windows had been shot out completely in the firefight yesterday, the one Ciro had been taking advantage of to come and go as he pleased, and Spencer was afraid the water blowing in through the opening would short out the instrument panel. Rob read his face, and despite sporting the complexion of a ghost, the man sprang into action and started working on a solution.

  Spencer continued wrestling the wheel, trying his best to soften the blows they were taking to the hull by countering the wild seas, but it was impossible to react to the washing-machine-like conditions. They were way off their bearing, but that was hardly important at the moment. And for the first time since Marathon, Spencer’s goal of reaching Stuart, Florida, fell to second place on his list of priorities, right behind keeping them all alive.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Spencer had the handles of the ship’s wheel to hold himself steady, but Rob and Nat had no such luxury as they struggled to get the shot-out window covered with an old towel and a piece of cordage. Nat was able to tie the cord around the protruding frame of the window while Rob held the towel in place. The result stopped the driving rain from reaching the instruments and cut down their intake of water to a thin trickle running down the bulkhead. The solution wasn’t permanent, but it would suffice for now and keep the electronics from getting fried.

  “You two should get below with Maya and Finn. There’s nothing more you can do up here.” Spencer’s voice shook in step with the shuddering hull.

  Nat and Rob both looked like they were on the verge of getting sick, and Spencer didn’t want to deal with that in addition to his current troubles. There would already be enough to clean up after this was over.

  Nat nodded and headed down the ladder, anxious to check on Maya, but Rob protested despite looking ill. “I should stay and give you a hand.”

  “With what?” Spencer braced himself against the wheel as another twenty-footer did its best to capsize the trawler. “If I get tired, I’ll call you. Now go be with your family. I’ve got it under control.”

  Rob nodded and started down the ladder.

  “Hey, Rob. Thanks again… for before,” Spencer added.

  Rob nodded back and did his best to force a smile. “Hey, we’re in this together, right?”

  “Right,” Spencer agreed.