Page 94 of Jenna's Protector

Blake kneels down, his keen eyes examining the ground around the tire marks. His fingers brush over the disturbed earth, tracing the edges of a footprint.

“Footprints, scuff marks. Multiple individuals.” He looks up, his face grim in the shadowed light. “They were in a hurry.”

My heart pounds faster, adrenaline surging through my veins. We’re close. I feel it in my bones, a prickling sense of anticipation mixed with dread.

Ethan signals us to move in, his hand cutting through the air like a blade. We approach the boathouse cautiously, our weapons drawn and ready. The weight of my weapon is familiar in my hands, a cold comfort in the face of the unknown.

But as we draw near, Ethan raises a fist, signaling us to stop. Another quick succession of gestures explains the rest.

We’re getting wet.

We move to the edge of the water, the cool breeze hitting our faces like a slap. The water is dark and murky but calm.

I take a deep breath before slipping into the water. The cold shocks my system like a thousand icy needles pricking my skin, but I push through, focusing on the mission.

On Jenna.

Blake and Walt follow, their movements smooth and controlled. They cut through the water like shadows, leaving barely a ripple in their wake.

We swim silently, the water muffling our movements as we approach the rear of the boathouse. The structure looms above us. Large doors hang above the waterline.

Ethan gestures for us to line up, preparing to enter simultaneously. We position ourselves beneath the doors, treading water as we wait for the signal.

With a sharp nod, Ethan gives the go-ahead. As one, we slip beneath the doors and into the boathouse. The water is inky black, the only light coming from the faint moonlight filtering through the cracks in the walls. From the night vision in my HUD, I see it all in shades of gray and green.

The boathouse is silent and empty.

Ethan signals the all-clear, and we move forward, pulling ourselves out of the water and onto the wooden planks. Our clothescling to our bodies, the fabric heavy, cold, and wet, but the discomfort is a distant thought.

My mind is focused solely on the task at hand.

We move cautiously, our footsteps light and measured. We keep our lights off, not wanting to alert anyone who might still be in the area. The darkness is thick, broken only by the faint gleam of moonlight through the dusty windows.

The walls are lined with shelves, hooks, boating equipment, and coiled ropes scattered haphazardly. The air is thick with the scent of gasoline and salt water, a heady mix that makes my head spin.

We fan out, each of us taking a section of the boathouse to investigate. I move toward the dock, my eyes scanning the water for any sign of the boat that was launched.

Blake moves to the edge of the slip, his keen eyes taking in the details. He points to the fresh scrapes on the dock, the wood pale and raw.

“They launched a boat,” he says, his voice low and grim. “Recently, by the looks of it.”

My heart sinks, a cold dread settling in my gut. We’re too late. They’ve taken her by water, putting even more distance between us.

“Mitzy,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “Please tell me you have eyes on that boat.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment that stretches into eternity. Then, Mitzy’s voice crackles over the comms.

“Drones are in the air. I’ve got a visual. It’s heading toward a large yacht, moving fast. And…”She pauses and static hisses in my ear.“Carter, I’ve got a positive ID on Jenna.”

Relief crashes over me, so strong it nearly brings me to my knees.

She’s alive.

She’s there.

We found her.

But the relief is short-lived, chased by a renewed sense of urgency. She’s not safe yet. Not until she’s back in my arms.