Page 80 of Her Wild Coast Promise

I get him in a choke hold, but a hot pain breaks my skin—teeth. The fucker’s biting me? My surprise gives him enough time to lunge free, but I get him around the waist, and we crash to the floor.

Brian races over, and in seconds, we get the guy on his face with his wrists cuffed. By now I can see that he’s not Walsh.

Breathing hard from our tussle, Brian nods at me. “I got this. Go.”

I lunge to my feet and race for the exit. Outside, the wind blasts from the ocean, bringing salt spray with the waves crashing against the pilings and the rain slices like needles. Ahead, a figure in a black parka and work pants is climbing the railing. It’s Walsh.

No! No! No!

Hunter and Lucas are right behind me.

“He’s going to jump!” I call out.

I sprint, focusing every ounce of energy on acceleration. “Freeze! Police!”

A blast of icy, wet air from the sea blinds me for a terrifying second. The man in the black parka lifts one leg over the railing, his eyes darting between me and the choppy ocean below. Time seems to slow as I leap forward and he drops out of sight. I snatch at the air, my fingers curling around fabric. The force of his freefall pulls me off my feet and into the metal bars. My shoulder and both kneecaps erupt in pain. Below, dangling by his parka, the man jerks and kicks as he tries to wrestle out of his coat, his boots slicing the wavetops.

Hunter reaches down and nabs one of Walsh’s flailing arms by his bicep. “Got him!”

Together we heave the man up. In his struggle, he cracks his head on the railing. My shoulder feels like shredded glass and my grip is slipping. I can’t hold on much longer when he’s resisting like this.

When we get him level with the pier, he plants his feet and tries to leverage off, yanking my shoulder muscles to the brink. To my relief, Lucas gets him by the belt and with one last heave, we get Walsh tackled on the pier. He’s struggling and swinging and soaking wet, making this final step feel like I’m wrestling an octopus.

I roll him facedown on the wood planks and plant my knee on the middle of his back.

Straddling his waist, breathing hard, Hunter unhooks his cuffs and slides them around Walsh’s wrists.

Hunter rocks back on his feet and the two of us hook Walsh by the biceps and pull him to standing.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Walsh looks straight on, his jaw set. Hunter and I walk him down the length of the pier. Lucas sprints ahead so he can meet us at the curb with his rig. Only when Walsh is in the back with the doors secured do I exhale a full breath. Hunter and I walk to the entrance to the arcade where Brian is tucking the other man into the back of a black SUV.

I only get a glimpse of the guy’s profile, but it’s enough to fire a match in my memory.

It’s Kristov Stoll.

My thoughts cartwheel and ideas spin together faster than I can make sense of them. Kristov Stoll and Russel Walsh meeting in a deserted location can mean only one thing. I huff a full breath, which stretches my shoulders. Wincing, I massage where I’m tender. My suit and the shirt underneath is torn and slick with blood. Damn it. This was my best suit.

Brian shuts the door and thumps the roof with his fist. The SUV pulls onto the road, and Brian trots over.

He gives Hunter a teasing look. “Thinking about a swim?” he nods at his unzipped coat.

Hunter cocks his head. “I wasn’t letting that weasel off the hook that easily.”

I clap him on the back, but the motion is like a dagger in my shoulder. “Glad it didn’t come to that. Do you know how fucking cold that water is?”

Hunter gives a shrug, but there’s mischief in his eyes. “A little cold water immersion is good for the soul.”

“This is the perfect example of why we need a marine unit,” I say. “If he’d gone in, and I hadn’t been able to keep you on land, things could have gone south pretty fast.”

“Sounds like a decent agenda item once you become sheriff,” Hunter replies, then nods at my wound.

“Who got you?” Brian asks me.

“The other one. Kristov Stoll.”

Brian frowns. “You know him?”

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