Page 40 of Stone Coast

Tyson inquired about Olivia, and I told him everything I knew. He was suspicious of everyone, and rightfully so.

We chatted for a little while, and I did my best to unwind. Eventually, I crawled off to sleep in my stateroom. But it was a nervous, sweaty sleep. I tossed and turned, never really leaving the conscious world behind.

I woke with the sunrise as amber rays pierced the portholes.

Tyson wasn’t below deck.

A quick spike of adrenaline rushed through my veins. I didn’t think he would abandon me. I climbed the companionway and opened the hatch.

Tyson sat in the cockpit, sipping coffee, keeping a watch on things. He looked as bright-eyed as the night before.

“Have you been out here all night?”

“Mostly.”

“That’s dedication.”

He shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Well, thank you,” I said in a heartfelt voice.

A slight grin tugged his face. “My people did some digging.”

“Cobra Company?”

“I’m pretty dialed in with the sheriff’s department, in case you forgot. There is a guy named Carter Wallace who is connected to Isaiah Jordan and has been arrested multiple times. He fits the description of the second assailant that gotaway. Same height and body type. I think you should have the local authorities look into him.”

“I don’t have the most confidence in the local PD.”

Tyson frowned, and I got the impression he didn’t hold the Pineapple Bay Police Department in the highest regard. “Pineapple Bay is in Coconut County. I can look into this.”

“You’ve got your own life and your own cases. You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s not a problem. But I do have a prior commitment. I’ve got business out of town tomorrow. So, take advantage of me while I’m here.”

It sure was tempting. But I don’t think that’s what he meant. In a slightly naughty voice, I said, “What do you have in mind?”

20

“This is your car?" I asked as we approached a 1979 Light Blue Metallic Porsche 911 SC.

“It’s Jack’s. You never met JD, did you?"

"I wouldn't remember if I did."

Tyson grabbed the door for me, and I slipped into the sport seats. The door closed with that unmistakeable clunk. Tight like a bank vault. The car was pure nostalgia. The smell of leather and oil filled my nostrils. Built like a tank, it was understated elegance. Subtle, but certainly not for someone trying to fly under the radar.

Tyson hustled around the vehicle and climbed behind the wheel. He cranked up the engine, and the exhaust roared.

We pulled out of the lot and headed across town. With the windows down, classic rock pumped through the speakers, and the wind tousled my hair. I didn't mind. I didn't mind at all. It was a moment of escape. I was a passenger in a car inparadise. I could pretend that I was a tourist, just visiting, enjoying the sun and sand.

Iwasa tourist.

My whole life was undiscovered country now.

Carter Wallace lived in Bayshore Heights. I'd come to realize that anything with heights in the title was hit or miss. It was either super affluent or below the poverty line. Let's just say that Bayshore Heights was not a place I wanted to visit after dark without a gun. And even then, I could find better places to spend my time.

Carter lived in the Pelican Breeze apartments on Elmwood Drive. Tyson pulled to the curb, and we hopped out and made our way toward the apartment building. It was one of those drab, cinder block buildings with eight units up and eight units down. The teal blue paint had long since faded, and the building was covered with years of dirt and grime. A few withering palm trees dotted the premises, and the sidewalks were in need of trimming. A bicycle lay in the grass near one of the apartments, but it wouldn’t be there long. In this neighborhood, anything that wasn't locked up was at risk.