Chapter 8 - Cornered Predators
The salt air of Cape May hit my face like a slap as the unmarked tactical van pulled up near the perimeter of the historic marina. Fog clung low over the gray, choppy waters of the Atlantic.
Through the tinted glass of the surveillance van, I watched the marina docks. Tied up at Slip 42 was the *High Society*—Harold’s sleek, white luxury cruiser.
Even from fifty yards away, through high-powered tactical monitors, the drama unfolding on the boat’s rear deck was painfully obvious.
Harold and Evelyn were screaming at each other.
Harold was dressed in a rumpled windbreaker and sweatpants, his face gray with stubble and exhaustion, desperately trying to haul heavy canvas duffel bags containing his remaining personal possessions onto the boat. Evelyn was standing on the dock in her mud-stained designer coat, clutching her leather handbag, refusing to step onto the swaying gangway.
"Look at them," Miller muttered, adjusting his earpiece. "The facade is completely gone."
Thanks to the parabolic directional microphone pointed at Slip 42, their voices crackled through the van's speakers with crystal clarity.
"I am not getting on that filthy boat, Harold!" Evelyn shrieked, her voice shrill with hysterics. "The bank accounts are frozen! The police are looking for us! What are we going to do in the Bahamas with fifteen thousand dollars?!"
"We don't have a choice, you stupid woman!" Harold yelled back, his voice hoarse and raw. "If we stay here, we are going to federal prison! Do you understand what they do to seventy-year-old men in federal penitentiaries?! Get on the boat!"
"You promised me we were safe!" Evelyn wept, slapping his chest with her gloved hands. "You told me taking the child's money would fix everything! You swore she wouldn't fight back!"
"She wouldn't have fought back if you hadn't raised such a stubborn, treacherous brat!" Harold roared, shoving her away so hard she stumbled against a wooden piling. "She ruined us! She planned this! Now get your bags and get below deck before I leave you to take the fall alone!"
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Evelyn stared at him, her mouth agape, realizing in that single, brutal instant that the man she had enabled for forty years would discard her in a heartbeat to save his own skin.
"All units," Detective Miller spoke into his radio, his voice ice-cold. "Move in. Suspects are hostile. Execute the warrant."
