Chapter 7 - The Speedboat Chase and the Reunion
The ocean was rough, waves crashing over the bow of our boat, soaking us to the bone, the wind howling in our ears. The speedboat was faster than ours, but Mark was a better driver—he’d spent twenty years learning every channel, every sandbar, every hidden shortcut in Biscayne Bay. He wove between the big cargo ships, cutting through the narrow channels, gaining on them inch by inch.
One of the men in the speedboat turned around, raised a gun, and started firing at us. Bullets whizzed past our heads, hitting the side of the boat with loud pings. Mom grabbed the first aid kit from under the seat, pulled out a heavy metal flare gun, and handed it to me.
“Shoot the engine!” she yelled over the wind.
I nodded, leaning over the bow, aiming the flare gun at the speedboat’s outboard motor. My hands were shaking, the boat bouncing so hard I could barely keep my balance. I took a deep breath, squeezed the trigger.
The flare flew through the air, bright red, and hit the engine dead on.
It exploded.
The speedboat’s back end burst into flames, the engine dying, the boat slowing to a stop, spinning in circles in the waves. The two men with guns jumped overboard, trying to swim away, but Carter and the other agents were right behind us in a second boat, pulling them out, cuffing them before they could get ten feet.
Mark pulled our boat up alongside the burning speedboat. The girls were huddled in the front, screaming, crying, their clothes soaked, terrified. Mom leaned over the side, holding out her hand, speaking soft in the little Ukrainian she’d learned from cleaning ladies over the years.
“It’s okay,” she said. “We’re here to help. You’re safe now.”
One by one, we pulled them onto our boat—fifty of them, young, thin, their wrists bruised from being tied up, their faces streaked with tears. The last one was a girl, maybe twenty years old, with long brown hair and big brown eyes, who stared at Mom like she’d seen a ghost.
“Ms. Carter?” she said, her voice rough, like she hadn’t spoken in weeks. “It’s me. Anya. Maria’s daughter.”
Mom gasped, reaching for her, pulling her into a tight hug, sobbing. Anya was Mom’s best friend Maria’s little girl—the one who’d disappeared ten years ago, on her way home from school, the police saying she’d run away, that she was probably dead. Voss had taken her. Had kept her locked up for ten years, using her, passing her between his rich friends, like she was a piece of property.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Anya cried, holding Mom tight. “I thought I’d die there.”
We got back to the port as the sun was coming up, pink and gold over the ocean. The ambulances were waiting, the paramedics wrapping the girls in blankets, giving them water, checking them for injuries. Maria was there, too, running to Anya, falling to her knees, holding her, screaming and crying, the two of them clinging to each other like they’d never let go.
Voss was already in the back of an FBI car, his eyes bandaged from the bleach, his face swollen, cuffed hand and foot. He couldn’t see us, but he yelled as we walked past, his voice raw and broken. “You think this is over? I have friends in Washington! I have money! I’ll be out in a week! I’ll kill all of you!”
Agent Carter leaned down, smiled at him through the window, and said, “Not with the evidence we have. You’re going to a supermax in Colorado. You’ll never see the sun again. And the best part? Every single dollar you ever stole? We’re seizing it. Every penny. It’s all going to the girls you hurt. To the families you destroyed. You’re gonna die in prison, alone, with nothing. Just like you deserve.”
Voss screamed, kicking the door, but the agents just drove away.
I stood there, watching the sun rise, Mom on one side of me, Mark on the other, Anya and Maria crying a few feet away, the girls laughing for the first time in years as the paramedics gave them breakfast. For the first time since the wedding, since I’d first gone undercover with the Harringtons, since I was a little girl watching Mom work three jobs to keep a roof over our heads, I felt like I could breathe.
May you like
It was over.
But it was also just the beginning.
