“Next time, I ride that jet ski thing with you,” he grinned.
She shook her head. “I told you to stay in the boat.”
He chuckled. “You’re welcome. That was a nasty little spot you got yourself in, my dear.”
Adriana fought back her pride. “Thank you. But Martens got away. Did you see him?”
Diego shook his head. “He didn’t come this way. But I know where he’s headed.”
21
Adriana pressed the throttle lever forward, maxing out the Sea-Doo’s speed as it crashed through the waves. Diego held on for dear life to a few handholds on either side of the speeding watercraft. They’d hurried back to the beach and pushed the small vessel back into the water. Against her better judgment, Adriana allowed her father to come along even though she’d protested.
They hit a wave and surged through the air, landing smoothly in the down slope of the next swell. Getting around to the other side of the island where Martens kept his yacht had been quick work for the jet-driven watercraft. The Belgian had fled the scene of the showdown and was trying to escape, as Diego predicted. The villain’s yacht was large and heavy, though, and making a quick getaway wasn’t entirely possible.
Martens had a head start, however, and the yacht was already beginning to pick up speed as it plowed through the sea toward the Italian mainland. The blackish water churned white in the massive yacht’s wake.
Adriana squinted against the salty wind as she kept the throttle forward and sped toward the fleeing yacht, closing the gap rapidly.
“What exactly is your plan?” Diego shouted, barely audible over the sound of the Sea-Doo’s engine and the crashing waves.
She barely twisted her head to the right and yelled back. “I’m going to get close to his yacht and jump onboard.”
“You’re going to jump on a moving boat?”
She ignored his question. It was too loud and too late to have that conversation. Her mind was made up. Time to finish this.
A hundred feet from the yacht, she turned her head again and shouted at her father. “When we get close, take the throttle and keep it steady! Pull alongside his boat, and I’ll climb over!”
Time for questioning her was over. He nodded and readied himself to move forward. Their bodies swayed and jerked back and forth with each wave they crested as the watercraft narrowed the distance to Martens’s yacht.
Fifty feet. Forty. Thirty. Twenty.
Adriana shimmied forward and motioned for her father to take the left handlebar. He did as ordered and kept the craft heading in the right direction as she raised her leg over and sat sideways in the saddle. In the moderately sized waves, it was difficult to keep from flipping off the side, but she kept a firm grip on the right handlebar and throttle until they were ten feet from the yacht. The gap continued to close, and she eased off the throttle a tad to match the speed of the bigger vessel. She pulled the handlebar to the right as they came parallel to the yacht. The Sea-Doo veered at the massive hull, and at the last second Adriana jumped just before the two crafts collided.
She flew through the air. Her body hit the side of the boat, but her hands caught the shiny guardrails and held true. Diego kept the Sea-Doo next to the yacht for a few more seconds to make sure she got aboard. He watched as she pulled herself up and swung her leg over the rails, landing safely on the deck. Convinced she was okay for the moment, Diego eased back on the gas and guided the watercraft into the yacht’s wake, keeping close behind.
A man with a gun stepped out on the rear deck and fired shots at the little watercraft. Diego ducked behind the handlebars and dashboard, cutting left and right as he did to avoid the bullets.
Suddenly, Adriana stepped over to the gunman. Her knife flashed briefly before she rammed the tip through the side of his head. He dropped to the deck, killed instantly from the blow.
She looked back at her father and nodded before disappearing through the cabin’s rear door.
The yacht’s enormous interior was decorated better than most millionaires' homes. Four black leather couches faced into a square, black coffee table in the center. The floor was made from pale bamboo, contrasting the dark colors of the furniture. Above, the white ceiling and lights were offset by a section of black that formed a triangle over the coffee table in the middle of the room. The walls were made of a shiny black material that Adriana couldn’t identify right away. At the far end, a bar with lights over the mirror housed a variety of high-end liquors, mixing containers, and utensils. The scent of leather mixed intoxicatingly with the sea air, and she hurriedly closed the door.
No sooner had she done so than Adriana sensed movement to her left and jumped forward as the gun raised and fired where her head had just been. Another guard.
She lunged at him, plowing her shoulder into his torso and driving him against the wall. He was muscular and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. He recovered quickly and smashed his elbow down into her back. She crumpled under the blow but still held her knife in hand. Adriana jammed it forward, sinking the point deep into his abdomen until the handle stopped its progress.
The guard grunted but kept his firm grip on her shoulders with one elbow as he lifted the other and tried to point the gun at the back of her neck. She pulled out the knife and stabbed again, slightly higher, but still not weakening the guard enough. Wiggling free from his grip, she left the knife in his torso, put her hands on the ground, and in the next second, did a handstand. She flung her feet over her head and grabbed the sides of the guard’s head then whipped them backward. The leverage was too much for him to overcome, and he flipped forward over the couch and face-first into the edge of the hard coffee table. He slumped over on his side, and when she stood up, Adriana could see that he’d hit the table right under his jaw, knocking him out cold.
She stepped over, picked up the weapon, and made sure he would stay down by putting a bullet through his temple.
Over to the right, a set of stairs led up to the next level where she assumed the yacht’s bridge was located. She held the gun in front of her shoulder and proceeded up the steps, taking them slowly, one at a time. As she cleared the lower edge of the landing, she could see two sets of feet on the other side of the room. Based on the pants Martens had been wearing earlier, she knew one of the pairs belonged to him. The other must have been the boat’s captain.
Adriana climbed over the last step and raised the pistol, aiming it straight at Martens’s back.
“Is she dead?” he shouted out, assuming it was his guard that had just fired the shot downstairs.
“Not yet,” she answered.
Martens spun around and stared into her eyes with disbelief. His breathing quickened as she took a step forward.
“You messed with the wrong family.”
No drama. No silly talk. Short and to the point. Then she squeezed the trigger.
Martens sensed the gunshot before she fired and in a desperate move, grabbed his boat’s captain and jerked him closer to use as a human shield. The bullet struck the man in the chest, and a second later, his white uniform began to stain red. Before she could fire again, Martens grasped the wheel and spun it hard to the right. The yacht lurched hard to starboard, and the sudden movement sent Adriana falling to her left.
She crashed into a cabinet but held onto the gun. The barrel blazed twice more, sending rounds through the windshield, missing her target as he scrambled toward the port-side exit. Her balance off, she squeezed the trigger again but missed as Martens escaped through the door. She regained her stability and rushed ahead, chasing after the fleeing Belgian.