Chapter 13 - Ambush on Narragansett Bay
The run back toward Boston was never intended to be peaceful.
By four in the morning, the gale had overtaken Narragansett Bay. The thirty-eight-foot armored pursuit launch *Valkyrie*, piloted by Owen Pike, sliced through five-foot swells near the passage between Conanicut Island and Dutch Island. Rain lashed the reinforced Lexan windshield in blinding sheets, while green water crashed over the low-profile composite bow.
Inside the heated wheelhouse, Mara sat strapped into the navigator’s bucket seat, her laptop tethered to the marine GPS and the encrypted satellite feed from Commercial Wharf.
Behind her, Dominic stood braced against the grab-rail, his eyes scanning the radar screen.
“They’re flanking us,” Owen announced calmly, tapping the green display. “Two high-speed tenders running without AIS transponders. Four hundred horsepower outboards on each transom. They came out of Wickford Cove.”
“Silas Thorne doesn’t learn,” Dominic said. His voice was entirely devoid of fear—only cold, tactical calculation. He reached into the weapons locker beside the helm, removing two short-barreled tactical shotguns and checking their actions with a crisp *clack*. “He knows if we reach Boston with the Vance papers, his assets freeze before breakfast.”
“Owen, look at the bathymetry,” Mara called out, zooming in on the hydrographic survey map on her monitor. Her training as a cartographer took over, overriding the pounding of her heart. “The western passage around Dutch Island looks deep on commercial navigation, but there’s a submerged granite reef extending two hundred yards past the bell buoy. It’s silted over at low tide. In twenty minutes, the water depth drops to three feet.”
Dominic looked from the screen to Mara’s eyes. A look of fierce respect passed between them.
“You heard her, Owen,” Dominic ordered. “Kill the stern running lights. Cut hard to port toward the Dutch Island passage. Make them think we’re trying to run the shoal to reach the open sound.”
“Copy that, boss,” Owen grunted, throwing the dual throttles forward and cutting the navigation beacons.
The *Valkyrie* surged through the chop, her twin supercharged diesels roaring like caged beasts.
Behind them, the two dark shadows of Thorne’s pursuit boats surged in pursuit, their searchlights suddenly cutting through the gale with blinding intensity. Bullets began to strike the armored composite hull—sharp, vicious *cracks* that spider-webbed the rear safety glass.
“Down!” Dominic barked.
In an instant, he threw his body over Mara, pressing her down into the footwell of the navigator’s station. His heavy frame was an impenetrable shield, absorbing the violent rocking of the vessel. Mara smelled the rain on his hair, felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek, and felt an overwhelming wave of fierce, unshakeable trust.
“Stay with me, Mara,” Dominic whispered against her ear, his hand cradling the back of her head.
“I’m right here,” she gasped back, her fingers clutching the front of his tactical sweater. “Lead them thirty yards past the red spar buoy, Owen! Not an inch to the north!”
Owen spun the heavy stainless-steel wheel with brutal precision.
The *Valkyrie*, drawing only thirty inches with her stepped racing hull, skimmed over the frothing shallows like a skimming stone.
Behind them, the lead pursuit boat, heavier and deep-drafted, charged at forty-five knots directly into the invisible granite teeth of the submerged reef.
The sound that tore through the storm was catastrophic.
The lead tender struck the rock shelf at full speed. Its fiberglass hull was ripped open like a tin can, launching the vessel ten feet into the air before it crashed sideways into the foaming shoals, its outboards screaming as they chewed through stone.
The second pursuit boat swerved frantically to avoid the wreckage, lost steerage in the breaking surf, and grounded hard onto the mudbank of Dutch Island, its engines stalling in a cloud of white steam.
In the sudden quiet inside the wheelhouse, broken only by the hum of the *Valkyrie’s* engines and the roar of the surf, Owen eased the throttles back.
“Both targets immobilized,” Owen reported, checking his mirrors. “Coast Guard Station Castle Hill has already been pinged by the automated distress beacons. Response time is six minutes.”
Dominic slowly sat up, his hands checking Mara’s face, her shoulders, her arms, with frantic, tender precision. “Are you hit? Did anything catch you?”
“No,” Mara breathed, her voice shaking slightly as the adrenaline surged through her veins. She reached up, framing Dominic’s face with both hands, feeling the cold rain on his cheeks and the heat of his skin beneath. “I’m completely whole, Dominic. We did it.”
Dominic closed his eyes for a single, raw moment, pressing his forehead against hers. His breath came ragged. “If anything happened to you on these waters, Mara, there isn't a family in New England I wouldn't burn to the waterline.”
“Nothing happened to me,” Mara said softly, her lips brushing his chin. “Because I’m with you.”
Owen cleared his throat loudly from the helm. “Boss, as much as I appreciate the romance, we have a federal marshal convoy waiting at the Fall River state pier, and the tide is turning.”
May you like
Dominic opened his eyes, a brilliant, possessive warmth breaking through his austere features. He helped Mara to her feet, his arm wrapping around her waist, holding her tight against him as the *Valkyrie* turned north toward Boston.
***