Page 107 of Secrets Along the Shore
Crap. Tyler jerked Viktor’s pistol toward the Ruka standing in front of them. The movement made Viktor’s finger squeeze the trigger. That guy collapsed. Viktor’s fist punched Tyler in the face again, buying enough time to aim the weapon at Tyler again.
Struggling through the wave of pain, Tyler tried to force the Beretta away. It went off again, putting a hole in the monitor. The monitor flickered then blacked out. Another punch nailed Tyler’s ribs. He gasped for breath. The feeling of his ribs scraping against each other made him grimace. Viktor was stronger and not hurt. So he had the upper hand.
The pistol shifted to his face again. Tyler grabbed the top and shoved it down, angling it to the side. Viktor’s grip never wavered. It fired again. Keeping one hand on the weapon, Tyler threw a left cross into Viktor’s nose. Blood choked the mobster as it flooded his nose and mouth.
“Won’t win.” Viktor coughed.
Tyler pulled the Beretta toward him and twisted it out of the Croatian’s grip, breaking his trigger finger. He flipped his hold on it and held it on the man. Squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. The man sagged against the floor.
Taking a heavy breath, he sat on the floor beside the Croatian. He’d won. And the sound of gunfire outside the room said that Von had shown up with the team. Red-hot pain seared through Tyler’s abdomen and chest. He grunted, then frowned at the blood on the lower half of Viktor’s shirt. Tyler hadn’t shot him there. His hand drifted to his own abdomen. Warmth coated his hand. Crap.
“Tyler…” Elara whispered.
He glanced at her. Her hands covered her leg wound. Her face was almost white. He slid over to her, careful not to aggravate his injuries any worse than he had to. Another grunt escaped him as he reached for a shirt that Viktor had placed over a chair earlier. He snatched it off and then lifted Elara’s leg to slide it under. She cried out, her blood coated hands covering his as he wrapped it above the wound to cut off part of the blood flow. He pulled it tighter. The effort it took to tie off the fabric was concerning. His vision blurred.
He leaned back, supporting his weight on his right arm while his left pressed against the wound in his abdomen. His breathing grew more labored. His ribs hurt worse. His vision faded in and out. Okay. He needed to lie down. Pressing his back to the floor, he used both hands to cover his injury.
Elara’s form faded from his vision. Was he dying? The weakness in his body warned of a dark truth. Not good. He didn’t know if Von and her team had won. What if Viktor’s men showed up and shot them? He had to keep his guard up. His eyelids refused to listen, and it was all he could do to stay conscious.
Heavy footsteps brought someone into the room. “Oh, man. Hey, Elara, are you alright?” A hand pressed hard against Tyler’s abdomen, making him groan.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
“Alright, I got them. Both shot. They need a medic immediately.” Was that—that couldn’t have been Gage’s voice.
Tyler couldn’t open his eyes. He needed to get up. Needed to get out of here. But he’d lost control of his limbs. His blood soaked shirt stuck to his skin. He must have lost a lot.
Someone let out a sigh of relief. Von maybe? “Get Elara to the vehicles.” A softer hand replaced Gage’s over the bullet wound, but the pressure barely let up. “Go. Hurry!”
Elara cried out, then Gage hurried out of the room with her.
The sounds around Tyler were fading.
“Stay with me, Tyler. Help is almost here.”
“Okay. Let me,” someone else whispered. No. They wouldn’t be whispering.
“You did it, Tyler. You completed the mission.” That was the last thing he heard.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Seven Months Later
February 11
4:33 p.m., The Kimberley WA, Australia
The low rumbleof an engine and the crunch of loose rocks on the gravel driveway pulled Tyler’s attention from the Harley Davidson motorcycle he’d been trying to fix for the last ten months. It was probably a lost cause after not running for twenty years, and he wasn’t a mechanic. He pushed to his feet, snagged a rag off the plastic chair that had come with the rundown farm, and wiped the grease and sweat from his hands.
On the ground beside the chair, white and gray ears twitched while the shepherd’s expressive eyes stared at the gray SUV driving toward the small house several meters from Tyler. The dog’s body tensed, ready to meet whoever had shown up. She sprang to her feet as the vehicle came to a stop in front of the house.
“Tundra, sit.” Tyler tossed the rag aside. He rarely got visitors. But only two people knew where he lived. Koen. And his handler. As the driver’s door opened, he crossed the space between him and the vehicle, stopping at the step of his porch.
Von stepped out of the SUV and shut the door, her gaze driftingaround the property behind her dark glasses. She gave him a slight smile as she walked up to him. “Your last paycheck wasn’t enough?”
He rested his hands on his belt. Of course, she lived in a big, nice house. She expected him to live somewhere nicer. But his deserted farm served him fine. “The money was put to good use.” It’d been a decent amount of money so he’d donated it. He didn’t need anything.
