kiDNApped (A Tara Shores Thriller) by Rick Chesler Page B

“Gun!” but it was too late.
    He felt a stinging sensation on the pinky finger of the hand holding the wheel. A thin trickle of blood flowed from the top of the finger, but the digit was still in one piece. It had been grazed by a bullet.
    I’ve been shot! The phrase echoed around his head like a racquetball on a court, until the boat’s unruly motion told him that they were now off course. Quickly he put his hand in jeopardy again to correct their heading according to the compass.
    Tara fired two shots at the RIB, causing the vessel to drop back. Still, the black boat continued to follow them.
    Knowing that the shooter would try to repeat the success of his last shot, Dave again went shopping around underneath the console while Tara knelt by the rail, Glock ready to spit fire again. Dave found what he needed in the form of a length of manila line. He looped one end of the rope through the steering wheel and pulled it tight to lock the wheel onto the needed compass heading. Then he tied it off around the base of his seat.
    Freed from his immediate piloting chores, and with Tara maintaining an armed defense, Dave looked around for Lance and Kristen. No longer on the open deck, he could see that they had sought the shelter of the boat’s small cuddy cabin. Lance cowered in the forward-most compartment, hands over his head.
    Kristen was kneeling on the floor with her laptop open. She looked up and locked eyes with Dave, jiggling the flash-drive on its lanyard.
    “I’ll copy whatever’s on it,” she yelled, glancing down at the machine as she waited for it to boot up. Her words were barely audible over the din of their own engine at full throttle along with that of the RIB. The black boat was now almost up to them again after Dave’s rapid start and Tara's return fire had momentarily caught them off guard.
    Dave saw Kristen saying something else, but he could no longer hear her as the RIB drew near. He wanted to join them in the cabin, but first he needed to make sure the boat was under control. The compass heading was good. His steering wheel rig had worked. But how close to shore were they now? Tara was relying on Dave to navigate, focusing her attention completely on their pursuers.
    Dave knew that many of the boats closer to shore would be lying at anchor, not expecting a speedboat to plow through their midst without slowing. Also, he knew that there was a cut in the reef that was the only path in. He had to find it, otherwise their craft would be shattered across the shallow coral shelf. He considered having a look over the rail, but thought better of it when a bullet ricocheted off the console somewhere above him. He heard Tara return fire. Then an idea came to him.
    A mirror...
    With a jolt, Dave thought of the small signal mirror he carried in his scuba vest pocket. It was a simple emergency signal tool in case he was ever stranded at sea. Realizing he could use it now to save his life in a way that was never intended, he belly-crawled over to his scuba gear which lie in a heap on deck.
    Glancing up, he saw that the men on the RIB could see him due to their close proximity to his boat and the fact that their vessel rode high on a plane through the water. The craft bounced off their wake at this speed, though, and Dave could see that the shooter was having a difficult time steadying his firearm while having to duck behind the console to avoid being hit by Tara's fire. Dave was grateful for the agent's presence. He doubted they would have survived this long without her. He was impressed by her calm demeanor in the face of danger.
    He shot a hand into his vest pocket and retrieved the mirror. Then he crab-walked past the console, grabbing a pair of vice-grips as he passed, making sure the steering station blocked him from view.
    Dave gripped the mirror with the vice-grips, raising it above the rail so he could see over the side.
    It worked.
    The mirror showed him that they were much closer to shore now. He could