He turned and began to walk toward the shattered rear door.

I followed him closely, keeping my weapon steady against his shoulder blade.

Behind me, Isabella emerged from the companionway, holding Eli tightly against her side.

The cold air hit us the moment we stepped onto the open deck.

The wind was vicious, carrying wet snow that stung my eyes.

The harbor was a chaos of flashing lights and shouting men.

Down on the wooden dock, three of Kane’s guards were behind a stack of shipping crates.

They were trading shots with two police officers who had taken cover behind their cruiser doors.

The sharp cracks of pistol fire echoed off the metal walls of the nearby warehouses.

“Down!” I shouted to Isabella.

She pulled Eli to the deck, shielding his small body with her own.

A bullet chipped the white fiberglass railing just two feet from where we stood.

The yacht was still drifting, its stern scraping against the wooden dock.

The gap between the deck and the pier was about three feet.

It was a drop of four feet down to the icy planks.