He untied the lines, then studied the controls. The lever standing upright would be the throttle. He wiggled it slightly and heard it click. That would be neutral, he thought. He pushed in on the key, and the engine cranked for several seconds before catching. He figured there should be something to shift gears with, and something to feed fuel to the engine, but there was only one lever. Maybe the throttle and the shift controls were on the same handle. He experimented and found that appeared to be the case, so he pulled back on the lever and allowed the motor to idle for a moment before giving it enough to pull away from the dock. He continued to let the throttle out, slowly at first, to get a feel for it. When he felt he had control, he pushed it gradually. He sure wished this thing came with instructions written where he could see them. He'd lost precious time figuring out how to start the damned thing, but he knew better than to jam the engine too quickly. Motors were motors, and once this one flooded, who knew how long it would be before he could get it started again?

Nick headed upriver, speed building along with his anxiety until he heard the motor up ahead. He was used to asphalt under the wheels, not water under the hull. He held his breath until he closed the distance between them enough to know for certain this was the right boat. Within minutes, he was close enough to read the boat's name: Follow Me.

You bet your ass I will.

As he drew closer, the driver of the other boat sped up. Nick drew more from his engine, not knowing if he had enough fuel to keep up or what his strategy should be.

What would he do if he was behind the wheel of a Viper, hot on the heels of a Porsche that he absolutely, positively had to stop?

He'd run the Porsche off the road.

Nick pulled to the left of the Follow Me and yelled to Emme to get down. At first, he wasn't sure she heard him, but there was no mistaking that she understood his intent when he eased the boat closer. She slid to the deck, and Nick got his first look at the man who, if he won this race, would take Emme from him forever.

The man at the wheel wore dark glasses and a Ravens cap, brim backwards, a dark red sleeveless T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and a sickening smile. Nick pulled the gun from his waistband and yelled over, “Slow down and head for shore or I'll shoot.”

The man at the wheel laughed out loud, and gave his boat more juice. Nick kept up, but could feel his engine struggling. If the Follow Me went much faster, he'd likely outrun him. The bay lay up ahead, and even Nick knew that the small boat he was in probably wouldn't be a good match for the choppy waves of the Chesapeake.

His index finger on the trigger, Nick aimed as steadily as he could, thinking he'd need to hit something on the boat that would hinder its performance. The truth of it was that he didn't know enough about boats to know where to do the most damage, short of hitting the driver. But an out-of-control boat-one with Emme in it-could be deadly.

The gun probably was not the best idea right now.

He stuck it back into his waistband and edged the boat more to the right. The driver of the other craft was still laughing, as if having the time of his life. Nick swung closer still, until the bows were less than five feet apart. The Follow Me put on more speed, and Nick knew he'd lose him if he didn't act quickly. With a quick twist of the wheel, he smacked into the side of the larger boat, and both vessels careened from the impact. The Follow Me rocked unsteadily, but maintained its speed. Nick took a deep breath, and drove the bow of his boat into the side of the other, trying to force it toward shore. Two more whacks and speed propelled the bow partially out of the water and in the direction of the gravelly river bank. Nick waited for the man in the cap to pull back on the throttle, but he never did. With his heart in his mouth, Nick watched the Follow Me barrel toward the shore. Right before it hit, the driver of the boat bailed over the side and disappeared into the dark water.

The Follow Me slammed onto the bank bow first in a sickening crash, the motor screeching when it hit the sand. Nick pulled up on his motor and steered toward land. The driver could drown for all he cared. He just wanted to get to Emme. When he was ten feet from the shore, he cut the engine and dove into the water. Almost immediately, something grabbed his legs and pulled him under.

The driver of the Follow Me was younger and stronger than he'd looked while standing at the wheel, but Nick was taller and equally strong. The two men battled for advantage under the water. Twice they broke the surface to gulp air, and twice they went back below. Finally, Nick was able to get a grip around his opponent's neck, and swam to land with his arm locked tightly around his throat. Gasping for breath, Nick struggled to drag the man with him to where the Follow Me had landed on its side.

“Emme!” he called, but there was no answer. With his free hand and with one good push with his foot, he righted the boat, and saw Emme on the stony beach. She moved awkwardly, and he realized her limbs were constrained. He found his pocket knife and cut the tape from her hands.

“You okay, Em?” He was still holding on to her abductor and wasn't about to give the bastard a bit of slack.

Emme swallowed hard and nodded, then screamed as she ripped the tape from her mouth. “Damn, that hurts!”

“Are you all right?” he asked again.

“I don't think anything's broken, but I think I'm going to be damned sore. Everywhere.”

He handed her the knife and she cut the tape that wound around her ankles. She rubbed at her wrists, then wiped the blood from her cheek where the skin had torn away.

“I see you met JJ. Gardner. My, my, won't daddy be proud.” She took a moment to catch her breath before grabbing the side of the boat and pulling herself up unsteadily. “J.J., meet Nick Perone. Belle's uncle.”

J.J. glared.

“Your cuffs are in my back pocket,” Nick told her. “Fish them out and you can have the honors.”

She reached into his pocket and tugged at the cuffs. Nick turned J.J. around so she could snap them on his wrists.

“Is that my Glock I saw you waving around?” she asked.

“It is.”

“Thanks for not losing it.” She pulled it from his waistband and pointed it at J.J.'s groin. “Now, J.J.-Justin to us folks on the message board, right? I'm not in the best of moods right now, so why don't you just tell us where you buried the girls so we can get on with the business of digging them up?”

He smirked at the Glock. “If you think that scares me, you're dumber than you look. That gun was under water. It isn't going to-”

She pulled the trigger and shot a round into the side of his boat.

“You were about to say something?”

He went white.

“Talk about being dumber than you look.” She smiled at him and held up the handgun. “Here's something you may not have learned on TV. One of the beautiful things about the Glock is that it has all these plastic parts, see? And the ammo's in this nice, tight, dry clip. You can swim with this sucker and it's still going to shoot. So tell me, J.J., where are they? Where are your sisters?”

“They're not my sisters,” he snarled.

“Right, technically, they're only half sisters.”

“They're nothing to me. That whole donor sibling thing, that's such a stupid sham.”

“Clever of you and your sister to climb on that bandwagon so you could see what was going on, though. How'd you find out about them, anyway?”

“Avery found some papers in my dad's desk and she showed them to me.”

“Avery?” Nick asked.

“My sister. Ava.” JJ. rolled his eyes. “She called herself ‘Ava’ on the board because she thought it was funny.”