Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

She took a moment to absorb the digits, letting her abnormal memory file them away for later with perfect clarity. Like people with eidetic memories, she could recall images, sounds and objects with high precision. The difference was that normal eidetic memories faded after a few minutes. Any information Jenna focused on stayed with her forever. She also learned quickly, intuiting things that usually required instruction or training, recalling bits and pieces of casually remembered details suddenly made relevant by a new challenge.

“Great,” Mercy muttered. “In case of emergency, do math.”

Jenna shook her head. “These are navigational coordinates. At least the first two sets of numbers are. Twenty-five north latitude, eighty west longitude. That’s in the Glades, somewhere south of Miami.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I live on a boat.” She winced even as the words were uttered—Not anymore, I don’t—but she shrugged it off. “I better know how to read map coordinates.”

Mercy dug out her phone and began swiping the virtual buttons on the screen, and Jenna found herself craning her head around for a look. Although the Kilimanjaro had been outfitted with a variety of electronic devices, some necessary for navigation, others for the comfort of passengers, Noah had never upgraded to the latest generation of smart phones. When Jenna had asked him for one, he had mumbled something about becoming too dependent on technology. Noah himself avoided technology, and refused to even own a personal computer. The administrative side of his charter service had been handled by an outside agency, freeing him of the need to own a computer or maintain any kind of personal presence in the digital world. At the time, she had written it off as a lame excuse, but now it occurred to her that his anti-technology tendencies might have been motivated by a desire to reduce his exposure to potential enemies.

But they found him anyway.

Before Jenna could put these concerns into words, Mercy said, “You’re right. It’s just outside Homestead. Looks like the middle of nowhere.” She tapped the screen again. “Why would—”

“We should go there,” Jenna said, rising and tucking the strip of paper into a pocket. “Now.”

Mercy stared back at her, lips moving as if to form a question or perhaps an excuse, but then she nodded. “Okay. It’ll be midnight before we can get there, but we can grab a hotel room and head there first thing in the morning.”

Jenna was grateful that Mercy seemed to understand her urgency. She turned for the door, threw it open and nearly collided with the man that was ascending the steps.

It was Zack, and in the frozen instant that followed, Jenna saw that he had found a new gun.





11



7:52 p.m.



Jenna leaped back through the doorway and slammed the door closed behind her. She reached out for the deadbolt knob, but before she could twist it, the aluminum door shuddered, struck from the outside. For a fleeting moment, Jenna thought Zack was pounding on it with his fists, but that didn’t explain the holes, each as big around as her index finger, that were suddenly erupting with tufts of fiberglass insulation. Then she felt something burning along her left biceps.

She threw herself flat as bullets continued to punch through the door, passing right through the space where she had been a moment before.

Mercy overcame her astonishment and dragged her pistol from its holster. She seemed to be moving with exaggerated slowness, but Jenna knew this was merely a trick of her own heightened awareness. Mercy got the pistol up, holding it, Jenna saw, in what Noah had once told her was a Weaver’s stance. One leg was behind the other, body turned sideways, lined up directly behind the gun, right hand pushing the weapon out, left hand cupped around it and pulling back for stability.

Fire jetted from the muzzle of the pistol. The report was painfully loud in the enclosed confines of the trailer, and Jenna felt the heat of the round passing through the air above her. Mercy yelled something. Jenna’s ears rang, and she couldn’t make out the words, but the accompanying nod in the direction of the back door was easily enough understood. Let’s go!

“Not that way,” Jenna shouted. If Zack had managed to replace his lost gun, maybe he had replaced his dead partner. Someone might be covering the back, or worse, the door might be wired with explosives, just as the boat had been. She headed for the bedroom. “This way.”