Page 64 of Stone Coast (Tyson Wild Thriller)

T yson sprang from the bed and grabbed his pistol from the nightstand. "There's a backup in the drawer," he said. “On second thought, don't take the gun. I don't need you shooting anybody on my boat."

I frowned at him and grabbed the pistol anyway, press-checked it, and hovered by the hatch to the stateroom. Tyson checked the sliding glass doors to the bridge deck aft. He hovered by the bulkhead and peered across the deck.

The area was clear at the moment.

My heart pounded my chest, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. Maybe it was all my imagination. Just a bad dream. But I had grown to trust these premonitions.

Tyson grabbed a tablet from atop the desk and launched the security app. He studied the surveillance camera from the aft deck, the main salon, and the helm station, but didn't see anything .

He moved like a ninja cat across the deck and joined me at the hatch. In a whisper, "Are you sure?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure of anything.”

Tyson cracked open the hatch and peered down the hallway.

It was clear.

He moved forward, and I brought up the rear, keeping an eye on our six. We cleared the compartments along the way to a centerline stairwell that spiraled down to the main deck and up to the sky deck. Tyson cleared the companionway, then crept down the steps to the main deck.

I kept watch behind us, my heart thudding, pulsing in my ears.

Muzzle flash lit up the night.

A bullet from the forward starboard passageway rocketed toward Tyson. The copper minion of death screamed through the air and pelted the bulkhead.

He returned fire with a quick double-tap.

An agonizing groan, followed by a thud, filled the air as the thug tumbled to the ground. Crimson spurted from gaping wounds.

Another gunshot erupted from the starboard passage that lead to the salon.

This time, the bullet hit Tyson.

My heart leapt into my throat .

The impact tumbled him back against the bulkhead in the stairwell, smearing it with crimson.

Tyson returned fire, the barrel spitting like a dragon. The deafening cacophony bounced off the bulkheads, ringing my ears.

Footsteps filled the salon as the bastard took off. He escaped through the glass doors, sprinted across the aft deck, and clambered over the passerelle. He hit the dock and ran to the parking lot, leaving his fallen comrade behind.

Tyson slid down the bulkhead, leaving a smear of blood. His face twisted with pain. He clutched his left shoulder, trying to stem the tide of blood seeping through his fingers.

I rushed down the companionway to give him aid.

“Call 911,” he growled.

I pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed emergency services. I filled them in on the details and gave the address of the marina. Tyson stayed on the line with them as I advanced to the fallen thug, kicked away his weapon, and checked for vitals.

He was long gone.

The operator wanted him to stay on the line, but Tyson knew better than to let them keep recording. He ended the call, handed me the phone, and told me to take pictures of the assailant.

I pulled off his black balaclava to reveal his hard face. Recognition flashed in my brain. Brief glimpses from my past. Snapshots. I knew this man. But I had no idea who he was or how we were once connected. More images flickered behind my eyes.

I snapped photos, making sure to get clear close-ups of his face. Then I sent the images to my burner.

“Get rid of the gun,” Tyson said. “Put it back in my drawer. You can’t be anywhere near a gun, given your current situation.”

He was right. It would violate my bail and put me back in lockup.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my worried eyes surveying him.

Tyson looked at me like it was a stupid question. “Other than the hole in my shoulder, I’m fine.”

He grimaced with pain.

I hustled up the steps, stashing the pistol I’d borrowed from the nightstand drawer.

By the time I returned to Tyson, the distant sound of sirens warbled.

I moved into the salon, then stepped to the aft deck to greet the emergency responders as they arrived.

I waved them in as they hustled down the dock.

“Where’s the victim?” an EMT asked in an urgent tone as he boarded the boat.

I led him through the salon to Tyson, who was sitting on the steps, still clutching the wound. I stood back as they treated him. They checked his vitals and attempted to stop the bleeding, then started him on an IV.

Moments later, squad cars pulled into the parking lot, lights flashing. The boats in the marina flickered with red and blue .

Soon, the sheriff and two deputies were aboard the boat. Sheriff Daniels surveyed the scene with a grim face. He was a good ol’ boy from Texas with a straw hat, steely eyes, and a no-bullshit attitude.

“Is he gonna live?” Daniels asked.

“Through and through,” a paramedic said. “No bone. No major arteries.”

“What about brain damage?”

The paramedic looked confused.

“That’s right. It’s a pre-existing condition.”

Tyson shrugged innocently. But it hurt to shrug and caused him to grimace again.

“Don’t move,” the EMT chastised.

By the way they teased each other, it was easy to see he was close to the sheriff. You’ve got to care about somebody to trade insults like that.

“You wanna tell me what the hell happened here?” Daniels barked.

“Two ass-clowns thought it’d be a good idea to board the boat in the middle of the night,” Tyson said.

“I only see one.”

“The other one got away.”

“Judging by the blood trail across the salon, I don’t know how far he’s gonna get.”

Tyson smiled. “You never know. ”

“Any idea what they wanted?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Tyson said, not wanting to go into details.

The sheriff looked at the dead body near the forward passageway. “Who’s the stiff?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The sheriff’s annoyed eyes found me. “And who the hell are you?”

“That’s Savannah,” Tyson said. “Savannah, meet Wayne Daniels.”

“Nice to meet you, sheriff,” I said, extending my hand.

He took my hand, and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed me. “You seem like a smart girl. What are you doing with him?”

I shrugged. “Just rotten luck, I guess.”

He stared at me for a moment. “You’re the one whose boat burned down last night.” He’d obviously gotten wind of the report.

I cringed and nodded.

“Now this happens.”

I nodded sheepishly.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s complicated,” Tyson said.

“It’s always complicated with you, Wild.”

Once Tyson was hemodynamically stable, the EMTs attempted to transfer him to a gurney .

“I don’t need a gurney. I can walk out of here.”

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, and your blood pressure’s low. You could pass out if you try to stand.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass,” Daniels growled. “Get on the gurney. They’ll get you to the hospital and take care of you. You’ll be out in 24 to 48 hours.”

Tyson’s face tightened. He didn’t like the sound of that. If it were up to him, he’d slap a Band-Aid on it and call it a day.

“Tyson, you need to go to the hospital,” I said. “And you need to behave.”

“I’m fine.”

It was my turn to give him a stern look and a lecture. “If you’re done being a tough guy, get on the fucking gurney so we can all call it a night.”

“Yes, dear,” he said in an annoyed tone.

The sheriff looked impressed. “I’d think she might be a good influence on you, if she didn’t have a murder charge pending.”

I cringed again. He’d no doubt dug into my history after last night’s inferno.

The EMTs transferred Tyson, strapped him in, and rolled him through the salon to the aft deck. An EMT said to me, “We’re gonna take him to Coconut General. Do you want to ride with us or follow?”

“I’ll follow,” I said.

I caught up to Tyson and got the keys from him. As they rolled him away, I asked if he wanted me to bring anything. On his list were the phone, the charger, and a bottle of whiskey. I didn’t think they’d let me bring the whiskey into the hospital.

It was worth a shot.

The sheriff said to me, “I’m gonna need a full statement.”

“Sure thing,” I replied, trying to hide my unease.

“And by full statement, I want to know everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

We stepped into the galley for privacy and sat at the breakfast nook.

“I know Tyson pretty well by now, and he’s a straight shooter. I don’t think he’d be hanging around a murderer if there weren’t something to the story. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out. I take it personally when somebody comes after my boys. I want to know what’s going on.”

It was easy to see the sheriff was much more than a superior officer. They were like family.

“Before I begin, I just want to say I was set up.”

“That’s what every convict says.”

“I’m not a convict yet,” I said.

“Well, the fact that you were charged in Pineapple Bay by the PD makes a setup plausible.”

He had no love for the PBPD, it seemed.

I shot it to him straight, starting with the amnesia and catching him up with the flaming Intrepid . I left out the part about the vigilante group and the kidnapping of Alec Stratton.

I tried to give him the short version.

He stared at me for a long moment, processing everything. Maybe he sensed I was holding a few details back. “That’s it? That’s all I need to know?”

“That’s everything.”

“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.