“Wait.” Nolan caught Fynn’s elbow. “You already know him? What’s his name?”I should’ve asked more questions.
“Harrison Quenby. He was the department head in my lab at ZomaChem. My project manager’s boss. Very linear thinker and a giant snob. Trained as a molecular biologist but he was total management by then. We called him Harry behind his back, because he insisted on Harrison or Dr. Quenby.” Fynn mimicked a pompous tone on the names. “He talked about his real estate investments all the time. We figured he was making high six figures, plus he had some kind of personal wealth. Family money. I was barely worth his notice, except to yell at if I deviated from his precious schedule.”
That’s where the guy’s familiar from.Oliver had set up a file with photos of everyone even remotely on his suspect list, including everyone Fynn had worked with at ZomaChem. Nolan had last looked through the file a week ago.Obviously not carefully enough.
He called Oliver while darting looks around the quiet marina. If this was a set-up, the threat wasn’t obvious, but he couldn’t overlook the possibility. “Hey, I’m at the Southwinds Marina.” Still holding Fynn’s elbow, Nolan steered him over beside a small maintenance hut to provide some cover. Fynn stared but let himself be propelled along. “I have Charlie on the way, but get someone else headed over here. Micah’s meeting with Harrison Quenby, who’s on your list—Shit!”
A splash down by the boats marked Quenby being toppled into the water by two men in dark clothes and medical masks. The men grabbed Micah by both arms and hustled him onto a modest-sized motorboat with a low cabin.
“Hey!” Nolan yelled, despite the distance. “Police. Freeze!”
Fynn yanked his arm free of Nolan’s grip and charged down the path. Nolan leaped after him.
The two men ignored his shout and their running approach, although other passersby paused, staring at Nolan or at the dripping-wet Quenby, shouting and splashing in the water. No one did anything about the motorboat pulling away from the wharf with Micah now out of sight down in the cockpit.
“Stop that boat!” Fynn yelled, sprinting faster than Nolan would’ve thought he could.
Oliver’s voice crackled over the phone in Nolan’s hand as he worked to catch up to Fynn. “What’s up?”
“Call 911,” Nolan told him. “Kidnapping. Micah Dempsey. Two male perps, black clothes, surgical masks, in a speedboat leaving the Southwinds Marina. White boat, blue trim.”Fuck, I don’t see a name and I know nothing about boats.He could identify make and model of most cars, but not this. “Harrison Quenby’s in the water but I bet it’s a distraction. Make sure the cops don’t let him leave.”
Fynn skidded to a stop at the open mooring where the motorboat had been, staring out after it. “They have Micah!”
Nolan grabbed his arm to keep him from following Quenby into the drink. “Oliver’s calling 911.”
“It’s a boat! Shouldn’t we call the Coast Guard?”
“Chicago PD has a marine and helicopter unit. The chopper might be the best bet to chase them.”
“But how will they know who to chase?” Fynn stared out at the retreating boat as it headed for the open lake and the dozens of pleasure craft enjoying a warm, breezy Saturday on the water. He pulled away from Nolan’s hold and dodged back past him. “Come on.”
“Wait!” Nolan skidded on some loose gravel as he turned. “What are you doing?”
Fynn bolted down the next jetty and up to an even smaller boat, bending to untie the rope at its front. “Get in.”
“What? No way. You’re not going after those guys.”
“Yeah, I am.” Fynn tossed the rope down inside, then turned to one at the back, yanking on the slip knot violently. “You don’t have to come.”
“You’re not going.” Nolan grabbed for Fynn and missed as Fynn vaulted over the side into the boat.
“Last chance.” Fynn pushed away from the jetty, open water appearing between them.
Nolan jumped, landing awkwardly near the back end and rocking the boat. He grabbed for a handhold.
“Glad I remembered my keys this time.” Fynn flipped through his ring of keys, shoved one into the ignition, fiddled, did something, and then a motor behind Nolan roared to life. Fynn told him, “Hang on.” The boat churned half-sideways, cleared the rear of the sailboat tied ahead of it, then lurched forward as Fynn turned them toward open water. They picked up speed, the front end rising and a big pennant on a pole snapping in the breeze.
“This isn’t smart,” Nolan told him. “But okay, all right. If we follow them, we can direct the cops. Make sure the perps don’t get lost in the crowd.” That should be safe enough. He grabbed the rail around the side as the boat leaped forward. “Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?”
“Positive.” Fynn peered forward as they rounded the end of the harbor wall. “Crap, where are they? There’s a lot of people out today.”
Nolan went to stand by him, scanning the water ahead. He might not know boats, but he could identify shapes and relative sizes and trajectories. “That one.” He pointed at a white boat well ahead, cutting a straight line out toward deeper water.
“I think you’re right.” Fynn opened up his throttle farther. “Bastards aren’t getting away with my brother.”
“Stay back,” Nolan warned him. “We don’t want them to realize we’re behind them.” He pulled out his phone and called 911. Reception wavered between one and two bars.Good enough.
The emergency dispatcher wasn’t very helpful. She kept telling him to wait for patrol officers to arrive, and he kept telling her they were in a boat on Lake Michigan, which would make that impossible. “Connect me to the marine and helicopter unit,” he insisted for the fourth time. “We’re in a small water ski boat flying a flag with a big apostrophe-C-B logo.” For once, Micah’s love of promo might be useful.
