Chapter 10 #2
“What were you looking for on my phone?” There was no amusement or impatience in his voice now. His tone held only danger. There was no semblance left of the charming man she’d been to dinner with.
Her instinct was to gulp and a spark of self-preserving fear went through her. She had to say something because it was clear she’d run out of time. She waited a beat too long to respond.
He lifted her from the wall and threw her across the room in a sudden outburst that was scarily under control. She stumbled to the floor and scrambled to find her gun, but he followed after her. She was about to kick his legs out from under him, but she never had a chance.
The hotel door flew open and Cap charged in, gun drawn with his good arm and aimed center mass at Glen Peck. He took in the scene and yelled, “Hands in the air. Don’t move.”
Peck was having none of that and took a gamble when he lunged to grab Shana to her feet and hold her in front of him. Then he started talking fast, back to his reasonable law man persona. The momentary glimpse of the monster had disappeared.
But this man was just as dangerous.
“Put that gun away, Captain Lynch. I’m arresting Ms. George for assault and interference in an FBI matter.”
“The hell you are.”
“She attempted to steal—”
“That’s bull. It’ll be your word against hers and I’m taking her word for it,” Cap said. He stood in the commanding Statie stance and for once wore his official hat, which somehow made him look more intimidating. If it weren’t for his right arm in the sling, he’d be more convincing.
Peck paused for a tick.
Since Shana had no intention of waiting for the war of words to settle matters, she took advantage of the opening. She gathered herself and aimed well this time, kicking backwards with the spike of her heel, driving an elbow to his gut and then spinning to jab her knee into his groin.
He yelped and let up his hold. The second she escaped from his grasp, she gathered up her things, including her gun and her phone, and ran with Cap out the door. They ran all the way to his unmarked car, jumped in and drove like hell to the beach shack.
Shana felt like she hadn’t breathed until she heard their tires crunching on the crushed shell driveway.
“Damn,” Cap said and they got out of the car, taking a deep shaky breath. They waited for Dane to let them in, not wanting to take a chance on getting tasered, but she was impatient.
“I owe you, Cap. There’s something wrong with that man.”
“I know.” He paused a beat and said, “I wonder what’s taking Dane so long.”
That’s when they heard a rifle shot coming from the harbor out back.
* * *
Shana ran like a bolt from a thundercloud out back and down the lawn to the small dock and realized the Jet Ski was missing. She saw a boat speeding away in the distance with the Jet Ski on its tail.
Cap was right behind her. She’d drawn her gun but there was nothing she could do from this distance and in this light but watch the Jet Ski execute wildly evasive maneuvers as it closed in on the boat.
“They’re headed to the Vineyard Haven Marina,” Cap said. He grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, Shana. There’s a police boat over there.”
Her arm shook, everything in her shook, and she was sure Cap felt it as he pulled her from the dock and they ran back to the car.
“Call the Coast Guard,” he said as they got in.
She’d already slipped the phone from her broken bag and dialed the number. Using all her concentration she summoned the most professional voice she could as she told the Coast Guard Captain on call about the armed boat chase.
They knew who she was. This wasn’t her first merry-go-round with the Coast Guard. Last summer she and Dane had been involved in another armed boat chase. And the Coast Guard remembered very well.
“On it right now,” Captain Tony Vendi said. “Don’t worry.”
She felt like a fool. Her voice had given her away. She was supposed to be a professional. Cap had just as much to lose—he knew Acer and Dane. They were his men from the unit. She was only some Johnny-come-lately with no right to be unnerved by the danger to her partner—no more than anyone else.
She took a deep breath as Cap peeled out. He glanced at her.
“It was the sniper—he’s the one who got shot. If anyone,” Cap said.
He was so calm and so confident that she wanted to believe he had some magic mojo way of knowing it.
“How can you be so certain?” She didn’t care that the despair in her voice showed. This was Cap. He knew.
“Because in spite of what Dane said about Acer, he happens to be the best shot in the entire armed services—best ever in competitions and in the field.”
She raised a brow and felt her spirits lift.
“In fact,” Cap said and paused. “I think there may be a connection between him and the sniper, Wally White—I’ll have to check, but I think Mr. White may have lost to Acer in the last competition he won. That would explain some things.”
“Like why he’s doing this?”
“Maybe. But maybe it explains why he missed.”
“You mean because he’s not that good a shot?”
“No, I mean because he is that good a shot—and he missed on purpose,” Cap said as they screeched into the lot at the marina.
* * *
They were closing in on the Vineyard Haven Marina although they were outside the no-wake zone. This guy did not have a well-conceived plan. He hadn’t planned on being chased. Dane maintained his evasive maneuvers and sure enough he saw the sniper take up his rifle to take another shot.
“Brace yourself.” Dane estimated the trigger pull perfectly and jerked the Jet Ski to the left more sharply than before as they heard the rifle report and saw the flash. Luckily neither of them felt the bullet.
“Hold her steady,” Acer said.
Dane did as he asked.
“You have about six ticks while he gets control of his boat back.” He felt Acer prepare for his shot behind him, maneuvering the rifle into place and steadying as best he could against his back. Dane held still as death and prepared for the report.
The whole Jet Ski jerked, but not enough for Dane to see the hit—not of the sniper, but the boat. A bull’s-eye right in the outboard engine, followed by a flare and then full-out flames.
“Hang on,” he called to Acer and gunned the Jet Ski to close in before the sniper jumped overboard.
No telling what kind of swimmer the guy was.
They were out of luck if the man had SEAL training.
They got close quick enough for Dane to take a shot with his Glock before the sniper decided to abandon his rifle and jump.
Dane pulled the trigger, but aimed high as a warning shot since the man was presently unarmed. The sniper jumped overboard. Dane handed his Glock to Acer.
“You drive. Take control of the boat.” The flames were already dissipating.
Dane stood on the seat and dove into the Atlantic, aimed at the spot where he’d seen the sniper go in. The cold water didn’t shock him. He knew these waters. Unfortunately it was dead black, so he’d need to find the guy by feel while he was under, or by sight when he breached the surface.
There was no way this guy had any kind of SEAL training as it turned out because he wasn’t far.
When Dane popped his head above water, he saw the guy within five yards and sputtering, struggling to swim to the shore.
Dane caught up with the guy with ease and grabbed him from behind.
He needed to knock the guy out so he could drag him back to the boat then fish him out.
No way was he dragging him all the way back to shore. Dane caught the guy’s collar, spun him around and punched him once. That’s all it took to get him into submission. He towed him back to the boat where Acer had the Jet Ski alongside and a fire extinguisher in hand. The flames were nearly out.
“Someone must have called the Coast Guard or they heard the shots,” Dane said. He recognized the big boat heading their way from shore.
“Cap called them,” Acer said.
“Shana called.”
“You’re on.”
Dane knew he’d win this bet and he let the moment drive the cold from his soul and felt the freight train speed rush of adrenaline slowing down. Even the thought of Shana was like a Zen miracle in his bloodstream, flooding him with a sense of calm.
* * *
The Coast Guard Response Boat reached them in short order.
They’d decided to let the sniper relax in his dazed state and didn’t bother questioning him.
They’d have time for that when he was more alert back at State Police headquarters.
Acer kept a pistol trained on him. There was hardly a need. Dane still packed a good punch.
The boat drew close enough so that Dane could see Shana’s hair billowing even in the relative dark.
“Ahoy there,” he called. “Permission to board.”
The guy with the bullhorn didn’t bother using it, but shouted back instead. He threw a line and Dane pulled their speedboat alongside, angling to where there was a gap in the metal rail and a ladder hung over the edge along the side of the boat.
It wasn’t much of a climb and he hauled himself over the bumper-like railing.
This wasn’t the Coast Guard’s big cutter that had come to Dane and Shana’s aid last summer.
It was their medium sized Response Boat, the RB-M 45675.
It was designed to take people up over the side.
They’d have no trouble getting their suspect on board.
“We got a call saying that you were in distress—looks like you had a fire,” Coast Guard Captain Tony Vendi said.
Dane knew him from the surfing fiasco over the summer. He didn’t want to have this conversation shouting back and forth.
“I’ll tell you all about it once we’re on board. We’ll need a hand with some cargo.”
He and Acer hefted the sniper up off the boat bottom and ushered him to the ladder. He was alert enough to grumble about being manhandled, but Dane heard the fear in his voice. Dane went first and hauled him up, climbing one-handed while Acer forced him forward from behind.