Page 42 of Stone Coast (Tyson Wild Thriller)
“ I ’m not going to ask you if you did it,” Olivia said. “But blink twice if there’s anything I need to know,” she said with a wink.
I gave her an incredulous look. “I didn’t do it!”
Her skeptical gaze persisted.
“I swear.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” she replied before taking another sip of her frozen margarita.
I had battled the horde of media outside the Intrepid , hopped on my bike, and successfully ditched the vultures—at least for now.
We sat at the bar at the Tipsy Turtle. It was a reclaimed wood shack on the water near a marina.
It looked like it was slapped together over a weekend by a drunk carpenter—a bean fart away from falling over.
There wasn’t a right angle in the place, and that was by design.
The next hurricane would probably take it out.
But, according to Olivia, they had the best margaritas on the island.
So far, I couldn’t argue. They were liquid felonies that hit like a sledgehammer.
Made with enough tequila, after one sip your breath could strip paint. Halfway done, and my cheeks tingled.
The place smelled like salt, tequila, and popcorn shrimp.
This was the kind of place that you could stumble into on a Tuesday and wake up Friday on a dinghy with a new tattoo and a missing tooth.
A few regulars loitered around, and southern rock flowed from the jukebox.
The walls were plastered with bits of Americana—road signs, pictures of sunburned tourists making asses of themselves, life preservers, photos of big catches, and a few shark jaws.
A replica sea turtle hung over the bar. At least, I think it was a replica.
“So, what are you going to do?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know.”
“We could go on the run,” she said, excitement sparkling her eyes. “You, me, a convertible, and a .45. What could go wrong?”
I laughed. “That’s got trouble written all over it.”
“Sounds like a good time. We could be reckless, make poor life choices, fall in love with questionable men.”
“This isn’t a movie. We’re not going to pick up Brad Pitt hitchhiking to California.”
She frowned. “Well, I think Tyson’s right. You need to get out of town, clear your head, lie low for a while.”
“If my head were any clearer, it would be transparent. ”
That earned another frown. “I don’t think Pineapple Bay is good for you right now. Tyson said you could stay on his boat, right?”
I nodded.
“So it’s settled. We’ll make a little road trip down to Coconut Key. Call it a girls’ weekend. We’ll have fun, relax, do a whole lot of nothing. See what kind of trouble we can get into.”
“I’m in enough trouble already.”
“You gotta loosen up. You’re never gonna make it if you stay wrapped this tight.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said, thick with sarcasm.
“Look, let’s stay within the county. It’s not like you’re violating any conditions of your release.”
I considered it for a moment. “Okay,“ I said with a sigh, finally relenting. “I’ll call Tyson and make sure the offer still stands.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed, but he didn’t pick up.
I sipped my margarita, waiting for Tyson to call me back.
Somehow, Olivia convinced me to have another one.
She could be persuasive. By the time the glass was empty, I could hardly stand.
The Tipsy Turtle lived up to its name. The shack wobbled and was about to fall into the ocean. Or maybe it was just me.
I took a few steps toward the door and realized I wasn’t going anywhere .
Olivia laughed at my predicament. “When did you become such a lightweight?”
I gave her a flat look.
“How long are you gonna make that excuse?”
“It’s not an excuse.”
We staggered outside, and the bright sunlight squinted our eyes. Better judgment prevailed, and we decided to catch a cab back to Olivia‘s. Our renegade road trip to Coconut Key would have to wait.
By the time I got back to Olivia’s apartment, I realized I was well and truly hammered. I dove onto the couch, saying something about how I was just going to close my eyes for a minute. That minute turned into a few hours.
It was dark when I woke up with a throbbing headache, mouth open, drooling on the sofa.