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I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head.Did you?
She nodded slightly.
Oh yeah, I could read my girl.
She shot Tommy.
Celeste was holding the gun, but Wren shot Tommy and she was proud of it.
***
Ten minutes past the breakwater, Vander spotted a yacht of sufficient size traveling quickly south along the coast, possibly headed toward Mexico to drop off its passengers. With high-powered stabilizing binoculars, he identified and confirmed it as the Illusion.
A tri-level yacht with no visible passengers, the pilot was probably on the second level. The chopper tilted forward, closing in quickly to give us as much of an element of surprise as was possible with a helicopter. The plan was to fast rope onto the deck—Fontaine first followed by me, Vander, and Steel. Talon and Kane would provide cover from above.
Remy descended and hovered steadily over the yacht. Onshore wind from the southwest. Position was good.
Fontaine gave a thumbs up and jumped. He shimmied down the rope quickly, landed, removed the harness and gave another thumbs up. Textbook technique. Okay, so maybe he was a skilled operator.
Kane and Talon covered me as I jumped behind Fontaine. It had been a long time since I'd fast roped onto a vessel from a helo, but there were some skills you never forgot.
The wind whipped me too far west, and I had to wait until it swung back around to descend. My boots hit the deck hard, and we froze to see if anyone noticed us. Nothing.
Crouching low, Fontaine and I moved stealthily toward the cabin door. The deck was deserted; everyone was below. Still no sign yet that we'd been detected.
He covered me as I eased the door open. We slipped inside and rushed the cockpit. The pilot noticed us then, but it was too late. My arm locked around his neck, pulling him back and up. A brief struggle—a grunt, a kick—then the pilot slumped, unconscious, in my grip. I didn't kill him because we hadn't confirmed yet that we had the correct vessel.
I lowered him to the floor just as Vander and Steel entered. Vander zip-tied his wrists and disarmed him. Steel took control of the helm.
Vander, Fontaine, and I took the stairs to the lower deck, weapons ready. This was all going too well. Trouble was around the corner. I knew enough to guarantee it.
Below deck, the women screamed when they saw us, giving us little time to assess the situation. It looked like five men plus Kenny and about thirty women and girls crammed into a small space.
"FBI. Hands up!" Fontaine called.
Four of them put their hands up. One of them drew a weapon.
I engaged him in the head and the exiting bullet shattered the glass behind him. He fell to the ground with the shards of glass. The women gasped and screamed then a tense silence fell over the cabin.
"Anyone else wanna try something?" I asked the other four guys and Kenny.
No one moved.
"On your knees," Fontaine ordered. "Hands up."
Everyone in the room moved to their knees.
Except Kenny.
He raised a fist and began to snap his fingers.
So I shot his hand.
He dropped and disappeared. His last magic trick.
Fucker.
Vander took my six down to the lower level while Fontaine secured the cabin.
