Page 123 of Stone Coast

“What about the stiff? You’ve never seen him before?”

“No,” I said. It was just one little lie, but I didn’t want to go into detail.

He considered it a moment. “I ain’t stupid. That’s probably about half of it, but it’s good enough for now. Get yourself to the hospital and take care of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And try not to get my best deputy killed.”

He slid out of the bench seat and ambled back into the salon.

“Yes, sir,” I said again.

While we talked, the medical examiner had arrived and examined the remains. The forensic photographer snapped photos of the dead guy, the shell casings, and the bullet holes in the bulkheads. The forensic team chronicled the scene. It was a madhouse for a bit.

I stayed behind to lock up after they left.

When it was all over, I got dressed and gathered a few things, along with some snacks. I locked up the boat,hustled down the dock, and climbed into the Porsche. I cranked up the engine and drove across the island to the emergency room.

Something told me this was going to be a long night.

65

Dr. Parker cleaned and debrided the wound, stitched him up, and gave him something for the searing pain. Tyson was admitted to the hospital overnight for observation. He’d gotten lucky with just a flesh wound. He’d likely be discharged in a day.

It was mid-morning by the time he got situated in a room in the trauma ward. Tyson wasn’t thrilled. He was ready to go home.

A monitor beside the bed displayed vitals and the peaks and valleys of his heartbeat. A bag of IV fluids dripped into his arm. He wore that silly green hospital gown with a snowflake pattern.

Tyson fiddled with his phone, texting one-handed.

“Just relax,” I said.

“I’m trying to ID the assailant, but my intel contact is not responding. I’m getting a little worried about her. This is unusual.”

“I hope everything is okay.”

“Me too. I’m concerned.”

“I’ve got my people on it,” I said.

He gave me a curious look. “Your people?”

“I sent the images to Piper. I’m kind of interested to see what the little hacker can do.”

Tyson’s drowsy eyes were full of skepticism. They’d given him some pain pills.

“I know you don’t trust them.”

“I don’t trust anybody. And they’re operating in a gray area. Maybe not so gray.”

“Life isn’t always cut and dry. You know this.”

My phone buzzed with a text from Piper.

“Speak of the devil,” I muttered.

[Hey, that guy is Dorian Stoica. Romanian. Associated with several paramilitary groups. Worked as a freelance mercenary, then recruited by Ravenwerks, a known contractor for the CIA.]