Chapter 57
Imade myself slim against the bulkhead. The haphazard shots whizzed past me.
The punk disappeared around the Portuguese deck.
I advanced, heart thumping. Nothing like getting shot at to spike your adrenaline.
The revelers on the foredeck froze with wide eyes, drinks still in hand, watching the chaos unfold.
I held up at the Portuguese deck, then angled my pistol around to the starboard side.
By that time, the punk had moved to the starboard side deck.
I edged my weapon around the Portuguese deck.
Trent angled his pistol around and fired off two more shots.
I ducked for cover as the bullets blasted. "Put the gun down, Trent. You're only making it worse."
"Fuck you!”
Erickson and Faulkner flanked him on the starboard side deck. Gunshots filled the night. It wasn't long before Trent was out of options.
He angled back around the Portuguese deck, moving forward. Trent squeezed the trigger, blasting off rounds at me as he advanced to a forward settee for cover. The U-shaped dining area was just forward of the sun pads.
I took cover around the Portuguese deck as bullets peppered the bulkheads.
Trent grabbed a girl and pulled her close. Her glass fell and shattered on the deck. She shrieked in horror, her eyes wide as Trent put the gun to her head. He crouched low with her on the forward side of the settee. "Back off or she dies. I want every one of you scumbag cops off the boat. Now!”
“Quit being a dick, Trent,” his friend, standing nearby, said. “Let Lauren go!”
That enraged the little punk. His jaw clenched tight, and his face flushed with anger. He pulled the pistol away from Lauren’s head and aimed it at his friend, who was standing nearby at the gunwale. "Fuck you, Travis!”
Travis raised his hands in surrender. "Take it easy, bro.”
At that moment, I had a clear shot.
"Fuck you!” Trent shouted. “All of you. Back off!"
"Dude, what happened to you?" Travis said, dismayed at the downfall of his friend.
Trent squeezed the trigger. The barrel flashed, and the bullet rocketed a few feet across the deck.
Somehow, it missed Travis.
I took the opportunity. My finger squeezed the trigger, and the rifle hammered against my shoulder. I sent one shot across the deck. It drilled into Trent's face and exploded out the back of his skull. His lifeless hand dropped the pistol, clanking against the deck as he fell back.
Screeches and squeals of terror filled the air as guests scattered.
Lauren scampered away, trembling.
I rushed to her. "Are you okay?”
She nodded.
I moved around the settee, kicked Trent's stainless pistol well out of reach, then knelt down and checked vitals. The punk was gone, but I had learned my lesson not to trust the dead.
Erickson and Faulkner advanced and joined me.
"Where is Rowan?” I asked the crowd.
Nobody answered.
I shouted the question again.
I still didn’t get any answers.
We rounded up the revelers and marched them into the salon. Daniels had called for backup, and more harbor patrol units arrived.
I shouted again, “Where is Rowan?”
The crowd was silent a moment, then a meek girl said, “I think he’s in his stateroom with Tabitha.”
She pointed to a forward passage that led to a VIP stateroom.
I advanced down the corridor with JD, Erickson, and Faulkner. We held up at the hatch to the VIP stateroom. I tried the handle. The hatch was locked. I banged on it and shouted, “Rowan. Sheriff’s Department. Open up!”
Commotion inside shuffled around.
“What are you going to do?” Tabitha hissed at Rowan.
“Shut up!”
“Rowan, open the door,” I barked.
We all flattened ourselves against the bulkheads in case he was armed and decided to blast through the hatch.
“Rowan, we’re coming in no matter what,” I said. “Trent is dead. Do yourself a favor and open the door.”