Page 82 of Viper

“Will you? I hate to put you in an uncomfortable position . . . but if there’s any chance we can locate him⁠—”

“All right,” she said curtly. She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and tapped the screen a couple of times. After six rings, voicemail cut in.

She hung up and her lip trembled. “He always answers my calls. If he can’t for some reason, he sends a text immediately.”

Troy looked at the screen. It went dark with inactivity. Trepidation rolled down his spine. “Do you want to call again?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I don’t even want to hear his voice. Just please . . . leave.”

As she spoke the words, the guys came up from the basement. Havoc gave a brisk nod, confirming they were done.

“Thanks for your time, Lettie. We’ll see ourselves out.”

He stood and jerked his head at his team. The guys followed him out the door and into the warm, sticky air.

“What’d you find?” he asked, pinning Striker with his gaze.

“Nothing of use, but someone was clearly staying in the basement.”

Reaching the sidewalk, Troy stared at the cruiser. “Spencer came home in his cruiser and took their personal vehicle somewhere. She said he was going to be back in an hour, and it’s been two.”

“Did you get a plate number?”

Troy retrieved his phone and sent the information to Havoc’s email address. “Check your inbox.”

“We’re on a fecking wild goose chase,” Wraith grumbled.

Troy got in the driver’s seat of his truck and slammed the door shut. His friend was right. This latest breadcrumb had to lead somewhere.

Or they’d be too late.

Chapter Twenty-One

The boat bumped and roared over the water, jarring and deafening. Vomit slammed against Paige’s palate with every jostle. With her hands tied, she couldn’t hang on to anything to mitigate the aggressive motion. All her focus was on digging her heels into the floor of the boat to keep from tipping off the bench.

She tried to pay attention to how much time had passed, to gauge her location from shore to some degree. Approximately forty-five minutes of nonstop traveling. Not that knowing this would help much, given that she didn’t know which direction they were going.

Paige wriggled her wrists back and forth. Her skin screamed. She didn’t stop. The zip tie cut into her flesh, but she wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at survival without her hands free.

Spray kicked up from the side of the boat, soaking her face. She jumped, but the salty taste reminded her that this was her element.

If she could make it overboard and get far enough away from the boat, she might just make it out of this alive.

But she couldn’t swim without the use of her hands.

Craig cut the motor, and the sudden silence was like a kick to the chest.

They’d reached their destination.

The boat pitched in the wake, and she swallowed down another surge of nausea. Craig’s weight shifted the boat even more as he anchored them to the yacht.

After a minute or so, rough fingers pinched her bicep. “Stand up.” Before she could get her bearings, he yanked her to her feet.

“We’re going to tip.”

He shoved her forward. She careened off the edge, but instead of falling into the water, she landed on the swim platform. Without her hands to break her fall, her forehead banged off the back of the yacht.

Craig stomped onto the platform then grabbed her beneath her arms and lifted her upright. Her shoulders strained. She winced but got her feet beneath her, alleviating the pressure.