Chapter 8

The water was cold and rough. I reached the stern maintenance hatch as the yacht turned into the channel. Rain blurred the deck lights. I pulled myself up, cut my palm on a barnacle, and crawled through the hatch into the engine room.

The auxiliary diesel was throbbing. I found the fuel shutoff and the ignition relay. Vivian had left the engine running on autopilot. That was her mistake. She was a matriarch, not a mechanic.

I pulled the relay, then crimped the fuel line. The engine coughed and died. The yacht drifted, lights swinging toward the breakwater.

Above me, footsteps hammered the deck.

I climbed the ladder and came up behind the salon. Through the rain-streaked glass, I saw Vivian in her cream blouse, soaked and wild-eyed, holding Micah against her chest. One security guard stood by the helm. Micah was crying, his little yellow raincoat bunched around his shoulders.

The guard saw me first. He reached for his belt. Hector's voice crackled on my radio: "Coast Guard is two minutes out. I'm at the breakwater."

I stepped into the salon. "Let him go, Vivian."

She spun. Her perfect chignon was gone. Her pearls were scattered on the carpet. "You did this," she hissed. "You ruined everything."

"You bought a stolen baby. You hid his name for thirty years. You tried to steal my son."

"Micah is a Rourke!"

"Micah is Caleb's son. Caleb was Rosa's son. You don't get to keep him just because you paid for his father."

The guard moved. I swung the wrench into his wrist and heard the bone crack. He dropped. Vivian screamed and ran for the side door, dragging Micah with her.

I caught her by the arm. She clawed my face. I shoved her against the bulkhead. Micah slipped from her grip. I caught him before he hit the floor.

"Mommy," he sobbed.

"I've got you."

Vivian scrambled for the rail. I kicked the door shut. She turned, breathing hard, and for one second I saw the truth in her face: not grief, not love. Fear. The fear of a woman who had spent thirty years building a life on a kidnapped child.

The Coast Guard boat pulled alongside. Deputy Ruiz came over the rail with two officers. Vivian was handcuffed on the deck, rain lashing her torn blouse, mascara running down her cheeks. Micah clung to my neck.

Rosa Delgado arrived at the dock ten minutes later. She was soaked and shaking. I walked down the gangway with Micah in one arm and Caleb's hospital bracelet in my other hand.

"This was his," I said. "Mateo's."

Rosa took the bracelet and pressed it to her heart. Then she looked at Micah, and she wept.