Page 27 of Stone Coast (Tyson Wild Thriller)

I hopped off the bike, drew my pistol, and approached the driver from behind.

The exhaust rumbled, the car still in gear, ready to launch. The tail lights glowed red, his foot on the brake pedal.

Both windows were down, and rap music filtered from the car. The car vibrated with every thump of the subsonic bass.

“Out of the car, now!” I shouted.

That was probably a dumb move.

A pistol emerged through the driver’s side window. Muzzle flash flickered from the barrel, and bullets spewed.

I dashed for cover and returned fire.

The perp stomped the gas, and tires squealed. The engine roared. Exhaust howled as the muscle car sped out of the parking lot, leaving his accomplice behind .

The commotion distracted the accomplice inside. As the thug glanced to the parking lot to see the getaway car vanish, the clerk pulled a baseball bat from behind the counter and cracked the dirtbag in the skull.

He hit the floor, out cold.

By that time, I stormed into the liquor store, keeping my weapon aimed at the scumbag. I kicked his pistol away as I approached and barked at the clerk. “Call 911!”

He didn’t waste any time.

It took a few minutes for the perp to come around. He moaned and groaned and tried to push himself off the floor.

“Stay on the ground, dipshit!” I shouted.

He took one look at the barrel staring him in the face and thought better of it for the moment.

Five minutes went by…

Then ten…

Still no sign of the PBPD.

The clerk had moved from behind the counter and lorded over the perp with the bat cocked back, ready to go.

“Man, you ain’t’ cops,” the perp said. “You can’t keep me here. This is like kidnapping.”

“Citizens’ arrest,” the clerk shouted.

“Fuck you. You can’t arrest shit. What you gonna do? Shoot me?”

He tried to stand up, but the clerk cracked him again in the ribs .

The perp rolled onto his side and groaned. “Okay, okay!” He caught his breath, “Man, ya’ll is some sadistic motherfuckers. I ain’t do nothing.”

“Bullshit,” the clerk said. “It’s all on video, my friend.”

Finally, the warble of distant sirens drew near. Around 20 minutes in, a patrol car screeched into the lot, lights flashing.

Two officers hopped out, drew their weapons, and advanced. They stormed inside, and an officer aimed at me while his partner focused on the perp.

“Put the weapon down!” the pudgy one shouted at me.

“Not her, you dumbass!” the clerk shouted.

With slow, cautious movements, I complied, then raised my hands in the air.

Pudgy’s partner handcuffed the perp, then pulled off his disguise. He read the dirtbag his rights, then escorted him outside to the patrol car and stuffed him in the back.

“Who works here?” Pudgy asked.

“I do,” the clerk said in an annoyed tone.

Pudgy looked at me. “And who are you?”

I told him my name.

“Are you a customer?”

I told him the story.

“So, you discharged your weapon? ”

“After I was fired upon.” I gave him a description of the getaway car and the plate number.

Pudgy collected my firearm, demanded ID, then got on the radio with dispatch.

It didn't take long for a news crew to arrive. A camera crew hopped out of the van and soaked up footage. Tessa Vaughn was a tenacious reporter that I recognized from the night Grayson was murdered. I’d seen her on TV a few times since then.

She was a striking brunette with glacial eyes and elegant bone structure. But she was no wallflower.

A curious crowd gathered outside. Patrons of the liquor store began to stack up.

"I'm going to need a full statement from you,” Pudgy said.

"I already told you what happened.”

"I want you to tell me again.”

"Is there any confusion about who the bad guy is here?”

He gave me an annoyed look.

“She is the one that saved my store from these fucking assholes,” the clerk said.

I smiled at him with appreciation.

It was about that time when Detective Scarborough pulled into the parking lot. He hopped out of his Camaro and strolled inside.

Pudgy backed off and had a brief conversation with him. It was clear Scarborough wanted to take over. He stepped to me and gave me a look of disapproval. "You again. I guess trouble just seems to follow you around. ”

"I guess it does.”

"Officer Carlson tells me that you shot at the getaway driver. Did you hit him?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. But you might want to keep an eye out at the local hospital for anybody who shows up with a GSW.”

"What were you doing at the liquor store?”

"It's a free country.”

He exhaled a frustrated breath. "Are we going to have a problem?”

“I don't know. You tell me.”

“You shot a home intruder. You took matters into your hands with a county deputy and investigated a suspect. Now you’re shooting at liquor store thieves. Do you want to apply for a job with the PD?” he snarked.

"Not particularly.”

"Then why don't you lay off this citizen vigilante thing?”

I laughed. “The first shooting was in self-defense. I guess you would prefer if I just sat back and let this happen.”

"You’re lucky it turned out the way it did. Innocent people could have gotten hurt.”

I stifled an eye-roll. “I’m not the bad guy here. Take it up with the guys knocking off liquor stores. Aren’t you homicide? Don’t you have something better to investigate?”

“When I heard your name was involved, I just couldn’t resist. ”

“Have you talked to Carter Wallace yet?”

“No. He won’t talk to us.” Scarborough changed the subject. “What were you doing here?”

“I was on my way home from the range.” I changed the subject back. “What’s your next step with Carter?”

“There is no next step.”

My eyes burned into him.

“I have no probable cause. And you guys spooked him.”

“What if someone paid him and Isaiah to assassinate Grayson?”

Scarborough gave me an incredulous look. “Assassinate?” He chuckled. “Why would anyone want to assassinate your boyfriend?”

“Fiancé,” I said with a tight jaw.