“A boat?” Phil shouted over the phone. “Where?”

A strong salty wind whipped Sam’s hair, and he brushed it out of his way. “Shelby keeps it at a local marina off of Davis Island, no less.” Carla had given him all the information on Shelby’s new purchase, including its location. “I’m here at the marina now, but the boat’s gone. According to one of the workers, the boat’s named, The Gambler. The guy said he saw two women and two men board a while ago. From his description, the second woman might have been Jenna.”

“Did he say if one of the women was being held hostage or anything?”

“He said the woman with Shelby looked drunk.” Sam’s jaw tightened. Jenna might drink a beer, but not more than one. Drinking gave her a headache.

“Probably drugged is more like it.”

Sam steeled his mind against the horrors Jenna might be going through. “He actually chatted with Shelby because she took on a lot of supplies. He was curious where she might be headed, especially with a sick woman on board.”

“Did she tell him?”

“Mexico.”

“Damn it to hell.” From the loud bang that came over the receiver, Phil must have slammed his fist on something. “Let’s hope to God Marlon doesn’t plan on dumping Jenna’s body in the middle of the Gulf.”

The moment Phil put the terrifying thought into words, panic gripped Sam. “Don’t even think that.” Drawing on his special forces training, his rapid pulse slowed.

“You’re Mr. Navy Seal. This rescue mission should be right up your alley. What do you suggest?”

“You’re asking me? You’re the cop.” Or ex-cop.

“You have the training for a sea rescue.”

“I only half completed the course, so I’m no Navy Seal, but I did train long enough to know how to deal with this kind of situation.” His mind raced through the options, discarding most as too dangerous for Jenna. His logical mind latched onto an idea. “Get me near the boat and I’ll take it from there.”

“How near do you need to be?” Sam appreciated the vote of confidence.

“Drop me off about a half mile away. It’s dark. Marlon, or whoever is involved, probably won’t think a boat that far off is a threat. Just don’t have the name Coast Guard blazoned on the side of whatever you find.”

“You want to swim in?” Phil sounded incredulous.

“With a tank, it’ll be easy. I don’t want anything motorized as sound travels.” He listed a few extras he’d like to have.

“I’ll see what I can do. It’ll be Christmas morning in a few hours. This might be tough to get everything set up in time.”

“Jenna needs our help. Besides, you’re Phil, the superhero, remember?” At least that’s what Gina always called him.

“I’m hardly superhero material, but I’ll find something. Don’t worry.”

The stench of dead fish hit him, and Sam turned his back to the wind. “If you can’t get the scuba gear, I’ll swim.”

“Got it. I’ll call Lucas and get back with you.”

It was times like these he wished he smoked or drank to take the edge off. The waiting and uncertainty might kill him before he was able to hold Jenna in his arms to tell her how foolish he’d been and how much he missed her laughter. “Hurry.”

Chills racked Jenna’s body. The big man who’d come in to check on her had been nice enough to let her use the head. Most likely, her captor was worried about having to clean up any messes if he hadn’t let her go. The man stood outside the door until she was done, claiming he wanted to make sure she wasn’t injured with all the rocking. Right. As if she even had the strength to climb out the porthole above the toilet, or head, or whatever the hell it was called.

Her host even provided her with something to eat and drink. While Jenna wasn’t sure what caused her abdominal pain and fever a half hour after eating, she suspected her captor might have put something in the food. She’d run the gamut of being so hot she could barely breathe, to feeling like someone had doused her veins with ice water. She didn’t remember the man giving her any more needles, but hallucinations had a way of changing reality.

Unless she’d caught some horrible disease whose symptoms mimicked the black plague, the jerk had to be responsible for her disturbing condition. Only what would he get out of it? Was his game to make Jenna as miserable as possible? Weren’t the ropes enough?

If her captors wanted to do away with her, why wait? Or were they hoping she’d die from this disease and an autopsy would exonerate them? Her mind couldn’t focus long enough to come up with a plausible answer.

The door opened to Jenna’s small cabin—a cabin where the room was ninety percent bed. “How are you feeling, Jenna?”

That voice. She knew it. “Shelby? What you are doing here?”

“Didn’t Marlon tell you?”

Marlon was here? Shit. So Kathy was right. Her brother had lost his mind. “Tell me what?”

“That he and I are seeing each other.”

Okay, none of this was making sense. “I thought you just had a baby.”

“I did. She’s Marlon’s.”

“But you’re married.”

She chuckled, but there was no joy in her tone. “You’re more naïve than I imagined.” Jenna choked on her saliva and Shelby rushed over. “You okay? Are you coming down with a cold?”

“Cold, hell, you drugged me.”

“It wasn’t my idea to bring you here.”

How stupid did Shelby think she was? “So Marlon is behind all of this?”

“For the most part.” She waved a hand. “But we need to get you some help. Let’s call your boyfriend.”

Her mind fogged. “Sam? Why would you call him?” Jenna wasn’t going to mention they’d broken up.

“Who else would come out in the middle of the Gulf to save you? The manifold, or something to do with the engine, broke, and we’re stuck here indefinitely. I don’t want my poor kids to spend Christmas alone, and I’m sure you want to get off this boat for more than one reason.”

Shelby was making no sense. “Call the Coast Guard. They’ll save us.”

“On Christmas?” She waved a hand. “Let’s call Sam. What’s his number?”

As if Shelby didn’t know. Jenna’s mind wouldn’t allow her to think through her options. More chills wracked her body, and an intense abdominal pain took her breath away. She needed to hear Sam’s voice. “You don’t have to wake him. Wait until tomorrow morning.”

“You need help now.”

Was Shelby for real? Jenna would do anything to have Sam by her side. “It’s 813-555-9837.” Jenna’s breaths turned shallower as fear pushed her heart faster. What was happening to her?

Shelby smiled and punched in the number. Her smile turned upside down. “Sam? It’s Deidra’s sister, Shelby. Did I wake you?...I’m so sorry. We have a problem.”

Is that what she was? A mere problem? Jenna strained to hear his reaction. “Sam?” Jenna panted. She stretched out her hand for the phone, but Shelby waved her away.

“You hear that? Jenna can barely talk. We went out for a cruise and Jenna must have eaten something bad. She’s quite sick. Can you come and get her? I think she needs to go to the hospital... I wish I could, but my engine died, can you believe it? I have three little ones at home waiting for Santa, and I’m stuck in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico... I know you don’t have a boat, but I’ve figured that out. I’ve called my mechanic already. He was on his way down to Punta Gorda for some fishing but was willing to take a little detour. He’s heading into Clearwater now to pick up some parts.” She gave Sam the address of the marina. “When I told him I planned to call you, he said for you to come with him. ...What’s that?... He said he doesn’t have time to take her to the hospital, but he’s willing to drop her off at the docks if you’ll babysit her while he heads back.”

Shelby actually made sense. They were stranded. Her mechanic, who must have asked for an extraordinary amount of money, was willing to come out here in the middle of the night—on Christmas Eve no less—and save them. She didn’t blame the poor man for not wanting to take care of her.

Apparently, Sam agreed and Shelby disconnected. “Well, that’s settled.”

“I don’t understand.”

“About what?”

“If you get your engine working, why not take me back to shore yourself?” She knew the answer. Neither Shelby nor Martin had any intention of taking her or Sam back to land. They’re goal would be to dump them into the sea. Poor Sam. It wasn’t fair he had to be mixed up in this mess.

“I don’t have time to go back. I have a date in Mexico.”

Jenna’s mind latched onto the tropical paradise—sandy beaches, Mayan pyramids, great food, and peace. She’d never been there, but she bet she’d like it. “What about your kids?”

Jenna’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and dozed off without hearing the answer.

“Sorry it took me so long.” Phil wheeled down the ramp to where Sam and four other officers congregated. “Mr. Pomerantz’s personal yacht will be escorting you just as soon as it arrives.”

The H and P in HOPEFAL were named after Henry Pomerantz. The man was a true altruist. “Please thank him for me. Did you get any gear?”

“State of the art scuba gear is on the boat.”

“Awesome.” Sam nodded toward the bank of clouds rolling in. “The fog will help camouflage our arrival.”

“Let’s hope the weather stays that way.”

Now he’d have no problem reaching Jenna and saving her. Hopefully, she’d still be alive.

Sheldon Meyers, Larry Bernard’s partner, drove up and raced down the gangplank. “What do you need me to do?”

“Pretend to be Sam,” Phil said. “You’ll go with the mechanic instead of Sam, assuming the man shows up at all.” Phil turned to Sam. “You said Shelby has never met you, right?”

“Right. Sheldon and I are about the same height, build, and coloring. In the dark Shelby won’t realize there’s been a switch. I’ve got a cap in my car that has the HOPEFAL logo on it. Sheldon, the visor will help cover your face.”

“If Marlon is on the boat, he’ll know what’s up,” Sheldon said.

Phil shook his head. “By then Sam will be on his way to the boat. Just keep them busy until he arrives.”

Sheldon held up his hand. “I’m armed to the teeth, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Phil tapped the arms of his chair. “Good.”

Sam raced to his car, returned with the hat, and handed it to Sheldon.

“Thanks.” Sheldon slapped it on his head.

“I’ll be damned. You two could be twins,” Phil said with a smile. “T

The sound of an engine rounded the corner and Phil sobered. “Everyone but Sheldon take cover.” He pointed to Sam’s stunt double. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam pushed Phil in his wheelchair up to the parking lot where they hid behind his car and waited. The other four men with Sam scattered. One would hide on the trawler, while the others would make sure the repairman was on the same page before they hopped on The Pomerantz with Sam.

A beat up trawler pulled into Shelby’s vacant slip. A man in jeans with a scruffy beard and thick around the waist, jumped off the boat. He ran a line to the dock.

Sheldon jogged up to the man. “Hey. You going out to Mrs. Vivaldi’s boat?”

“You Sam Bonita?” the guy asked.

“Sure am.”

“Then hop on. I want to get something from my storage shed. I keep spare parts and other tools there.”

Once the owner disappeared, Phil motioned his men to get into position. The tall, muscular cop, dressed in a black vest and helmet, jumped on the boat and slipped into the cabin. Sheldon climbed on board and paced the small deck, looking like an expectant father. Sam had to hand it to him. A casual onlooker would believe this man was Sam Bonita, a man worried about his sick girlfriend.

The boat captain/repairman returned with a duffle bag. Phil waved to the remaining men on the dock. In a flash, two officers came up behind the mechanic and grabbed him.

The scuffle was short-lived with the officers the victors.

“What the hell is going on here?” The mechanic continued to struggle despite being outnumbered.

Phil wheeled down the ramp and flashed his badge. “Can I see what’s in the bag?”

“No.”

“Arrest him.”

“For what? I’m just taking this guy to see his woman.”

“How do you know Shelby?” Phil asked.

“I worked on her boat a few times. That’s all.”

Phil nodded to the bag. “I’ll ask once more. What’s in the bag?”

One of the officers drew the mechanic’s hands behind his back and cuffed him, his bag dangling from his fingers. “My tools. Aw, shit. Here.” He dropped the bag and stepped to the side.

Phil scavenged through the contents but acted as though nothing appeared out of order. “Tools.”

“Told you.”

Sam couldn’t help but wonder why the man fussed so much at showing the bag. Before he could question the mechanic, the sound of a large yacht motored toward them.

“Sam, your ride is here,” Phil said.

Sheldon emerged from the cabin and hopped off the boat. “I’ll need the keys.” He held out his hand to the mechanic.

The mechanic, if indeed he could fix a boat, handed them over.

“Uncuff him.” Phil nodded and the officer obeyed. “Let’s go.”

“Why do you need me if you got him on board?” The captain nodded to the tall cop.

“I imagine Shelby would become a little suspicious if we pulled up and you weren’t on the boat,” Phil answered.

He curled his lip. “What’s to prevent me for giving away your little cop-on-board operation?”

“If you’re not guilty, why would you?”

The man shrugged. “For the record, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m trying to fix a boat.”

“How much is she paying you?”

“Two grand. No one else would give up Christmas Eve to fix a boat.” He shrugged. “I ain’t got any family, so I don’t care. The money’s good.”

“Did she give you coordinates of her location?” Phil pulled out a pad and pen.

The man shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here. I already programmed this into the GPS.”

The beat up boat didn’t look sophisticated enough to have that kind of equipment, but looks often were deceiving. Before he had a chance to check out the man’s claim, Sam went aboard The Pomerantz.

“Good luck,” Phil said, as he waved to the crew.

Sam stood at the stern as they motored away from the marina. He bet it killed Phil to stay behind. Sam imagined once a homicide detective, always a homicide detective. The need to help never left the soul.

Once the two boats passed the last buoys, the powerboat sped up. They would reach their destination long before the trawler, giving Sam time to swim to Mrs. Vivaldi’s boat. The yacht would drop him off and pretend to head out to sea, and Shelby Vivaldi would never suspect a thing.

The scuba gear was stretched out on the back deck. Without saying a word, Sam took the tank and suit below to begin his rescue mission.

Blackness shrouded Sam’s vision. He swam close to the surface and headed for the small bobbing light in the distance. The quality gear kept him warm, but his nerves made him shiver. Ten years was a long time without training. Sure, he might run every day, but that didn’t keep him in Navy Seal shape.

Maintaining even breaths, Sam blocked out the possibility of failure and pictured sweet Jenna.

Swim to Jenna. Swim to Jenna.

Lights from the trawler cast an eerie glow as the boat moved closer to The Gambler. Needing to time his arrival for when the two boats made contact, Sam pushed harder, his strokes smooth. Two people, with their backs to him, stood at the stern, obviously awaiting the mechanic’s arrival. The short, round person, was probably Shelby. The man next to her was at least six four, but thin, even with his bulky sweatshirt. He’d seen Marlon Giombetti once, and he wasn’t even six feet. That made at least three people on the boat. So where was the cop?

Sam dove about two hundred feet from the boat and resurfaced as he arrived at the bow. The trawler’s lights reflected off the water as he drew near. The mechanic called out something, but Sam couldn’t quite hear over the rumbling engine noise and the slap of the waves.

“Everything okay?” Sweatshirt Man said to the trawler captain.

“Yup.”

Sam prayed the ruse would play out as planned. With Shelby and her accomplice distracted, Sam studied his options. He glanced to the cabin area, but no lights glared. Was Jenna asleep inside or up on deck? He refused to ponder she might be dead.

Treading water, he removed a state-of-the-art grappling hook and attached rope velcroed to the side of his leg and opened the prongs. With a toss, the rubber claw latched onto the metal railing on the first try. Yes. He hadn’t lost his touch. Sam gave a good tug to test its stability. It held. Good.

A large swell lifted him up, and then down, making maneuvering difficult. He submerged, lifted off his tank and shot back to the surface. After tying the tank to the end of a rope, which dangled five feet below the hull, he repeated the process with his fins. Now for the hard part. Hand over hand, he inched his way up the thin line, his rubber shoes helping with the grip on the side of the boat. Half way up, he swallowed a groan from the exertion.

“You hear something?” Shelby said. Sam froze and dangled on the side, his hands slipping.

“Hear what?”

“Like something scraping against the boat.”

“It was probably a fish. Why don’t you get Jenna from below?”

Jenna’s alive! His heart sang, but Sam didn’t move a muscle until the cabin door banged open.

With renewed energy, he hoisted himself up the rest of the way, hooking a leg over the rail to leverage his body onto the walkway. He stilled, and then listened to see if any of them had noticed his arrival. When no one sent out any warning shouts, Sam crawled toward the bow, away from Shelby and Sweatshirt Man, believing at least one other person was on board—Marlon Giombetti.

He didn’t worry about the trawler’s crew giving him away as TPD’s finest would keep a keen eye on the mechanic. Sam slipped a small stun gun from his waist, ready for action. The loud chatter at the stern made moving around easier. He decided to stay at the bow and wait for the right moment to spring Jenna.

Footsteps, followed by a groan, caught his attention. On his belly, Sam slithered along the cabin roof to look through the windshield. Covered in black neoprene from head to toe, Sam had blackened his face with grease paint to avoid detection. Except for the whites of his eyes, he should be virtually invisible to those on deck.

Shelby’s accomplice held Jenna up by the armpits, moving her toward the trawler. What was going on? The mechanic jumped aboard Shelby’s boat and smiled. Something wasn’t right.

Jenna’s head lolled to the side. Sweatshirt Man swore, lifted Jenna up in his arms and passed her over to Sheldon who’d come on board. In good undercover form, Sheldon kissed her forehead. Something inside Sam snapped despite knowing his look-a-like was only acting.

Jenna’s legs twitched, and Sheldon carefully stood her on her feet to face him. She appeared conscious. When she swayed, Sheldon wrapped both his arms around her waist. Her hands pushed on his chest. Oh God, he hoped she wouldn’t blow his cover.

Sheldon twisted her away from the prying eyes and whispered something in her ear. Her legs gave way and Sheldon scooped her up in his arms. “I’ll put her down below.”

Sheldon deftly leapt from Shelby’s boat to the trawler. Thank God, Jenna was safe.

The urge to run to her overwhelmed him, but Sam stayed put. Giving away his position too soon would jeopardize the mission.

Shelby’s motive for handing over Jenna made no sense. Shelby wouldn’t have given up this easily. Or had he misjudged her?

Sheldon came out of the trawler’s cabin area after placing Jenna in the cabin and picked up the mechanic’s duffle. “You need this, don’t you, to fix Mrs. Vivaldi’s engine?”

Smart, Sheldon. He was testing the captain to see if he was for real or a fraud.

The mechanic held up his hand. “In a minute.” He moved across to The Gambler, lifted the engine hood and banged on the metal with some of the tools he’d carried over with him. He tugged on a few wires and made more noise than Sam thought necessary.

“Hey, Sam?”

Sam jerked at hearing his name. Thank goodness he didn’t respond. Sheldon did. “What do you need?”

“I can use the bag now.”

Sheldon tossed it over to the mechanic. Just then, someone else came up from the cabin. From his height and size, Sam guessed it was Marlon.

“What are you doing?” Marlon asked the repairman.

“Fixing the goddamn engine.” He held up a wrench. “Hold this.”

Marlon obeyed. The mechanic wiggled two of the wires. “I think I found your problem. Start the engine.”

Marlon moved the controls and turned the key, and the engine jumped to life. “Well, I’ll be,” he said. “We didn’t need a new engine after all.”

Shelby turned to Mr. Sweatshirt. “Be a dear and pay the man.”

The tall man stuffed an envelope into the mechanic’s large duffle that contained his tools. He handed the bag back to Sheldon who’d been watching intently from the trawler.

The mechanic stood. “You’ll all set, Mrs. Vivaldi. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Shelby chirped back.

The mechanic unhooked the rope connecting the two boats and slid into his Captain’s chair. He waved, acting as if all were well. In less than ten seconds, they were off. Thank God Jenna was safe.

Confused what had transpired, Sam slid back toward the bow and waited until Marlon and his colleagues went below. The cabin lights illuminated the interior, giving Sam further protection from being spotted. On his belly again, he took hold of the grappling hook and lowered himself into the cool water. After unhooking his scuba tank from the rope, he headed back towards The Pomerantz. Before he’d gone a quarter mile, a loud explosion rocked his world, and a huge light lit the night sky. Wood showered the sky and he swallowed a mouthful of seawater from the huge wake.

Oh, my God. The trawler had exploded.