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The Coast Guard had rushed a cutter to the scene from where it had been patrolling farther west. For twenty long minutes she had waited, hovering fifty feet from the boat and staring at her father in silence.
His smirk had grown.
When he took a hand off the windshield, as if to scratch his head, Lola sent a round whistling past his ear to slam into one of the engines. The force of the 30 mm shell actually ripped it off the mounting and sent it plunging into the ocean depths.
The hand re-clamped to the windshield and the smirk went away.
Lola considered dropping the crew chiefs on the deck to secure him. But didn’t want to risk her team. She knew how fast his hands could deliver pain. No one would ever be exposed to that again, especially not her crew.
Her crew. They were her crew
