Deep and low, mechanical and menacing, the sound sliced through the night with brutal clarity.
Maya’s head snapped around, her stomach dropping as adrenaline surged through her veins. This wasn’t the wind or the sea. It was an engine—big, fast, and closing.
She twisted in her seat, scanning the dark water, her pulse pounding in her ears. The shape burst from the shadows. Another speedboat, sleek and dark, surged across the bay like a predator in pursuit. It bore no running lights, no hesitation, and no chance of being friendly.
Maya’s voice caught in her throat. “Sam—”
He didn’t need more. His hand had already pushed the throttle forward.
The wind tore across the deck, salty and sharp, whipping Maya’s hair back as she ducked low and gripped the rail. Their boat screamed through open water, heading for the only chance they had—Thatcher Pass.
“Hang on!” Sam barked.
The boat angled sharply left, veering into the pass—a narrow corridor flanked by Shaw and Decatur Islands, treacherous and unforgiving.
Cliffs rose around them, jagged and black, towering like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast. The water churned in every direction, thick with reefs and swirling eddies, nearly invisible in the dark.
Sam yanked the wheel hard to avoid a tangle of kelp and submerged rock. The hull caught air, hung weightless for a second, then crashed back down with a jolt that rattled every bone in Maya’s body.
Behind them, their pursuers kept coming. But they were coming in too fast, too recklessly.
“They’re not slowing down,” Miles said through clenched teeth.
Sam didn’t look back. “Then we’ll make them.”
Ahead, a pale shape emerged from the haze—a ferry, moving sluggishly through the pass, its steel bulk dark against the churned water. Sam’s eyes flicked to it, then back to the narrowing space ahead. It was a move with no margin for error—and it was their only shot.
He opened the throttle wider. The speedboat surged forward, engines screaming as its wake frothed white against the dark sea.
Behind him, Maya’s voice rose in disbelief. “No jodas. You’re not seriously—”
But Sam was already committed. He aimed directly for the ferry’s bow. The massive vessel loomed larger with every second, its engines rumbling, the current spinning in its wake like a snare waiting to catch them.
At the last possible moment, Sam cut hard to starboard. The boat tilted sharply, nearly on its side, as it sliced through a narrow channel of water just clear of the hull. Maya caught a glimpse of startled faces along the ferry’s deck—passengers turning to see the flash of spray and steel racing past them—but the image vanished in an instant.
They were through. The second boat wasn’t as fortunate. It had come in too fast and too close. At the last possible moment, the driver veered, but it wasn’t enough. A metallic shriek tore across the water as the bow scraped along the ferry’s hull. The impact spun the vessel sharply, sending it listing and bobbing through the churning wake.
Maya twisted in her seat and caught a glimpse of chaos—masked figures thrown off balance, scrambling to recover as their sleek pursuit craft fought against the water.
“We lost them,” she said, her breath catching.
Sam didn’t let up. “Not yet.”
They surged forward into open water, Rosario Strait widening ahead of them. The currents shifted beneath the hull, steady but deceptive, and for a moment it felt like freedom.
Then the second boat reappeared.
“They’re still coming,” Miles said, bracing a hand against the dash as Sam slammed the throttle forward again.
Spray exploded on both sides as the engines howled, driving the boat faster through the waves. Every jolt hit harder, sharper, the hull hammering across the dark surface.
“We need to lose them,” Maya shouted over the wind.
Sam’s eyes flicked to the south. Only one route remained—one that no seasoned pilot would take under conditions like these.
Deception Pass.
Abby saw the look in his eyes and went pale. “You’re joking.”
Miles shook his head, his voice quiet as he exhaled. “He’s not.”
Everyone knew what Deception Pass meant. A narrow, twisting gorge carved between cliffs, where tides surged at six to eight knots even on a calm afternoon. By night, in darkness this complete, it was nearly impossible.
“We don’t have a choice,” Sam said. His voice was steady, his grip locked on the wheel.
The cliffs began to close in around them, rising steep and black as the channel narrowed into a throat of swirling rock and water. The current twisted violently, pulling in unpredictable directions beneath the hull.
Abby gripped the seat beside her, her fingers white against the leather. “If we hit the wrong current—”
“We won’t,” Sam said, his eyes fixed ahead, his hands unmoving.
The boat surged into the pass. The water pitched beneath them, rising in dark, swelling crests. A rogue wave climbed from nowhere, but Sam was ready. He angled the bow just in time, riding the wave’s peak before it could break over them. The hull slammed down with a thunderous crash, sending a wall of white spray high into the air.
