“No. I think I prefer dry land.”
Dylan led her to the center of the small craft, where there were three rows of benches, each with a handrail in front of it. “When we get up to speed, you’ll need to hold onto this.”
“Back in the day, I used to take tourists on excursions along the coast and to Aruba and Curaçao. My boat would be full—five trips a day.” With the boat free of its pilings, Paulito climbed on board and headed for the cabin. “Now, there are no tourists. I take whoever can pay me.”
“I’m sorry, Paulito.” Gabriela felt sorry for him, and yet he was one of millions who’d lost their livelihoods. So many lives changed, so many ruined, so many lost. “Let us hope things change soon.”
He started the motor and began to pilot the craft away from the pier.
Dylan knelt beside her, spoke for her ears only. “I’ve turned my phone on and notified Cobra of our location and heading. They’ll be tracking us now. If we run into trouble, you take shelter in the cabin.”
“Where will you be?”
“Shooting back.” He kissed her, stood. “Let’s go.”
Gabriela watched the water glide by then looked up at the distant hills that surrounded the harbor. All at once, it hit her—she was leaving Venezuela.
Heart breaking, she stood, made her way to the stern of the boat, looked back toward Coro, her throat tight, tears filling her eyes. The sob caught her by surprise, and she covered her mouth to stifle it.
A hand came to rest against her lower back.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “I was so focused on escaping that it didn’t dawn on me until now. I’m leaving a country I love, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to return. You should have seen it before, Dylan. It wasn’t perfect, but life was good. But now … I never got to visit my Abuelita Isabel’s grave.”
He drew her against him, kissed her hair, held her while she wept. “I’m so sorry, Gabi. Maybe one day, things will be different.”
“Is your wife okay?” Paulito called back to them.
“She’s fine.” Dylan stepped back, wiped the tears from her face, his eyes looking into hers. “We’re about to leave the shelter of the harbor. You might want to sit.”
A heaviness in her chest, she walked back to the bench and sat, a stiff breeze blowing through her hair as the boat gained speed.
Dylan stood off to the side, his gaze on what lay ahead of them. “We’re coming up on some six-foot swells. The boat’s going to start bouncing, so hold on.”
She was about to ask what he meant bybouncewhen the boat did just that—once, twice, three times. She grabbed the bar, held on. “That’s not so bad.”
“Listen to you. Already a pro.” Dylan grinned, looking as handsome as sin in his new black T-shirt and jeans. Somehow, he managed to keep his footing without holding onto anything. He was in his environment, a SEAL finally back at sea.
The thought made her smile.
Then her heart, which was already hurting, constricted.
In a little more than an hour, they’d be in Curaçao, and this would be over. She’d just said goodbye to Venezuela, and soon she would say goodbye to Dylan.
You knew this would happen.
Yes, but that didn’t make it easy.
They moved along the coast for a while, Dylan talking with Paulito in the cabin. Venezuela was still a shadow on the horizon, fishing vessels coming home with the day’s catch, a lone oil tanker heading toward Cuba. Then Paulito turned the prow north, and they headed out into open water, picking up speed.
Whump! Whump! Whump!
The boat seemed to bounce over the waves, landing hard on the water. Or was that concrete? No, it was water.
Dylan stood outside the cabin, holding on with one hand, his feet wide apart as he kept watch for navy patrol vessels.
He shouted, pointed. “On the port beam!”