Page 157 of Rescuing You

He froze in the pitch-black room. No movement. No alarm.

The howl of the wind, the crash of the waves, the pummeling of the rain—all of it faded in the roar of the engine.

In his ear, Stone said, “You’re in?”

“In. Hold.”

Michael turned on his phone flashlight and scanned the small, hidden space. The engine wasn’t much bigger than the one that’d been on the boat Dad had when they were kids. Daniel, Michael’s older brother, had never had any interest in learning how it worked, but Michael and Sam had helped Dad tinker with it. It’d always needed repair or maintenance.

Dad had told them that understanding how engines worked would come in handy someday.

Right again, Dad.

Before Michael did what he came to do, he angled the flashlight to the wall on the opposite side of the closet-like space, seeing a hatch that must open into the cabin. This was a small enough boat that he doubted there were multiple rooms belowdecks. Meaning the twins were most likely right on the other side of that door.

He scanned the ceiling again, and the walls, but there were no other ways in or out of the engine room.

Two entrances. He’d only be able to defend one. But he’d need to get to Leila and Jasmine. So…

He searched the floor. Dad had always kept tools in their boat’s engine room. Sure enough, Michael found a tool box and, inside, a long screwdriver and a small pry bar.

He stuck the pry bar into his back pocket, then wedged the screwdriver through the handle in the ceiling hatch and against the ceiling. That should keep the hatch closed for a few minutes.

Maybe it would be long enough.

He found a spot to wedge his phone, aiming the flashlight out so he’d be able to see.

“Starting now,” he said.

Stone’s response: “Moving in.”

He slid the waterproof bag off his arm.

There were two ways to disable a diesel engine. The first was to cut off the fuel. Problem with that was getting it running again would be a simple matter of reconnecting the fuel line.

Well, first shooting Michael and then reconnecting the fuel line, which would give the terrorists a chance to escape.

The second method caused more damage. It wouldn’t render the engine unfixable, but it would take some time and expertise to get it going again.

He doubted any of the men on board had the expertise. Even if they did, with the team so close, they definitely wouldn’t have time.

He found the air intake and shoved the waterproof bag in front of it to block it.

Only a few seconds passed before the engine sputtered and died.

Bringing profound quiet.

Voices rose from above, Arabic, but loud enough that he caught most of what they were saying.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

Someone else shouted, “Go check!”

Cursing and footsteps, easy to make out as the boat slowed, pitching this way and that on the waves.

Michael hurried to the cabin hatch, gun at the ready, and inched it open.