Page 14 of Stone Coast
Jack knew an excursion with a beautiful woman in trouble could often take a detour.
I left the sky deck, hustled to my stateroom, grabbed my helmet and gloves, then jogged down the dock to the parking lot. I straddled my bike, pulled on my helmet, and cranked up the crotch rocket. The engine howled, and I revved the throttle a few times. The exhaust echoed across the marina. I eased out the clutch and rolled out of the lot. I cruised through town and took the highway north. With an open road, I hugged the tank and let her rip. Wind whistled through my helmet as I hit the triple digits. Adrenaline surged. The sportbike ripped up the pavement, turning the dotted white lines into a blur. At this pace, I’d be in Pineapple Bay in no time.
I couldn’t get there fast enough.
8
SAVANNAH
When Tyson stepped into the dim room, the fluorescent lighting from the hall backlit his muscular physique. My heart jumped again, and a thin mist of sweat slicked my skin. He was even more handsome in person than in the photo. And suddenly, I didn't want him to see me looking like this. But those deep, compassionate eyes fell upon me, and for some reason, I was glad he was here. I felt safer. He had that aura about him. Nothing bad was going to happen when he was around.
“It really is you,” he said, looking at me with amazement.
I shrugged.
"All things considered, you don't look too bad," Tyson said as he stepped close to the bed. "I mean, I've seen you look worse."
I remained speechless for a moment.
"If this is a sympathy ploy to get me to forgive you for running off and not saying a word…”
"I wish it was a sympathy ploy."
He surveyed me, looking over the bandages on my head. "You always were a bit stubborn. I guess being hard-headed paid off."
"I guess." I paused. "So, who are you?"
The wheels turned behind his eyes as he tried to figure out where to start. I got the sense that we had a lot of history.
“Who am I?” I added.
He leaned close and stared deep into my eyes. “There’s really nothing in there, is there?”
“Nothing.”
He moved back to the door, scanned the hallway, then closed it. He returned to my bedside, lifted his shirttail, and pulled out a 9mm pistol that was holstered in his waistband for an appendix carry.
My heart leapt into my throat.
Was he here to assassinate me?
I didn't get that vibe from him. Still, the sight of the weapon sent a fight-or-flight response through me. Adrenaline surged.
He pressed the mag release button and dropped the magazine into his palm. He slipped it into his pocket, then turned the ejection port to face the ceiling and cleared the chamber. A brass cartridge spun out, and he caught it in the air as it tumbled. He pulled the slide three more times to be sure,then visually inspected the chamber. He poked a finger inside the barrel to physically inspect it as well. Then he locked the slide in place.
Tyson moved with tactical precision. Fast and sharp. Lethal. This guy knew his way around a weapon. He was no hobbyist. With the pistol empty, he handed it to me. "Field strip that."
My brow knitted with confusion. "What?"
9
“You heard me,” Tyson said. “Field strip it and reassemble.”
“I don’t know how?” I said, looking at him like he was crazy.
“Just close your eyes and do it.”
“I don’t even know how to do it with my eyes open.”
