“You okay, kid?” Miguel asked.
She nodded and pulled loose strands of her hair from her face. Thought about how good an icy bottle of water would feel on her raw throat. Nick’s team was being so quiet that she felt she should be, too. In fact, tension radiated off the men. Easy had his gaze peeled off the stern of the boat. The guys seated up front appeared braced for a fight, muscles rigid, eyes on a constant scan. Nick was on top of the guy on the floor, gun still jammed in the man’s back.
Thankfully, Canton was close to the mouth of the harbor. They passed Fort McHenry on the right, the historic site that inspired Francis Scott Key to write the Star-Spangled Banner, and then they were out into more open water. Miguel picked up speed. It was a beautiful day, no waves or wind, and the fishing boat glided gently through the dark green-blue water as they passed Baltimore’s industrial areas and boatyards, then went under the last bridges that officially marked their entry into the Chesapeake Bay.
“Open water, gentlemen,” Miguel called over the twin engines. “Coming right up.” He pushed the lever forward again, and the boat shot out over the calm bay.
Becca wrapped her arms around herself and hugged tight. It wasn’t cold, but her bones rattled in her skin, her throat ached, and her head throbbed. Now that they had the guy, how were they going to get him to tell them what they needed to know?
Chapter 21
Rage and a healthy dose of deadly intent flowed through Rixey’s veins. What he’d most feared had very nearly come to pass—Becca being hurt, kidnapped, or worse. This motherfucker had manhandled her. Twice. At this point, he’d happily bathe in the guy’s blood and dance on his bones.
“Check him for ID,” Nick said, still using his weight to make sure the asshole didn’t try to get cute.
Shane and Marz went through his pockets. “Bingo,” Marz said, lifting the guy’s cell phone and a black leather wallet. He flipped the billfold open. “Hello, Mr. Tyrell Woodson. I’ll just hang onto these.” Marz slipped both into his pocket.
From his position on the deck, Nick didn’t have a good visual of their location. He glanced up to Shane, who gave a tight nod, confirming they were out in open water.
“Start. Talking,” Nick growled, giving an extra shove of his gun into Tyrell’s kidney.
“Fuck you,” the punk said.
Rixey heaved the guy’s upper body off the floor and slammed it back against the fiberglass. “Wrong answer,” he said as groans spilled out from under the hood. “We know you work for Church. Tell us why Church is after the Merritts and where Charlie Merritt is being held.”
“I’m not telling you shit.” He struggled under Nick’s grip.
“Since you’re going after his sister, I’m guessing Charlie said something similar, huh? What did you do to try to convince him, I wonder.” He glanced to the team surrounding him. “Masks. I want Tyrell to see what I’m about to do.” Bracing his feet against the boat’s motion over the waves, he grabbed his full tactical face mask from his jacket pocket and slipped the thin black fabric over his head again. The other men did the same, leaving only their eyes uncovered. “Grab his arms and legs.” Rixey pulled the blade free from his ankle holster and cut the plastic band binding the man’s wrists.
Asshole struggled momentarily, but Shane, Marz, and Beckett made quick work of restraining him and flipped him to his back.
Kneeling, Rixey spared a glance to the cockpit. Becca had moved to the gangway next to the cockpit, in full view of their interrogation. He really wished she wasn’t watching this, but she deserved to know everything they learned.
Marz tapped on Nick’s shoulder and held up his iPhone. “Video,” he mouthed.
Nick nodded, waited for him to indicate he was ready, and ripped the hood off their captive. Bruises and cuts covered his dark skin, like somebody had beat the shit out of him. Rixey was momentarily jealous that someone had gotten to this piece of shit first. Breathing so hard his lips puffed out on each harsh exhale, the banger’s bulging eyes skittered here and there and squinted as he attempted to focus on Rixey kneeling above him.
“I open my mouth, I’m as good as dead,” he squeaked, sounding more like a piss-scared teenager than a bad-ass banger.
“You’re already as good as dead.” Beckett’s voice was icy cold as he restrained an arm.