by Tripp Ellis
I splashed into the murky water, and the goggles slipped down around my neck. I pulled myself deeper and swam under the boat, barely able to see anything.
Rain dotted the surface of the water.
There wasn't much room between the hull and the muddy bottom. I surfaced on the other side and drew a quick breath. I cleared my goggles and reset them.
The man looked over the gunwale and saw me and fired two more shots as I disappeared into the water.
The bullets pierced surface, and the forward momentum quickly dissipated.
I swam underneath the boat and pulled myself across the cove toward the Slippery Kitty. With the wind, rain, and the muddy water there was no way the assassin could see me.
I swam to the far side of the sailboat and surfaced for a breath of air. The wind blew the rain sideways, smacking me in the face.
I carefully made my way around to the stern of the boat and glanced at the Wild Tide, looking for the assassin.
I couldn't see him.
Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled. The rain splashed into the cove, and the wind howled.
I was completely defenseless. My knife, and my gun were back on board the Wild Tide.
To make matters worse, there was a crocodile looking for a meal.
I’m sure there was more than one out there in the murky depths.
I had to admit, the assassin was dedicated. This was no average hitman. He was experienced and committed. He’d chosen the perfect time to strike.
I wasn't expecting anything of the sort.
He must have followed me up here, or put some type of tracking device on the Wild Tide?
Somebody definitely wanted me dead, and I was pretty sure it had to do with my investigation.
It was apparent that Thunder Rain’s death in the alley outside of Forbidden Fruit was no random mugging. No jealous ex-boyfriend.
I didn't get a great look at the assassin’s face, but he matched the general description of the three men Isabella had sent me.
I climbed the ladder into the cockpit of the Slippery Kitty. As I did, several more shots zipped by me. A few peppered the fiberglass hull of the boat, making a loud thunk!
I hit the deck and yelled to Sandra. "Stay down. It's me. Tyson. We've got trouble!”
I'm sure she had no idea what the hell was going on. She probably thought I was crazy.
The hatch opened, and Sandra's curious eyes peered out. "What's going on?"
"I need your gun," I hissed.
"Why?"
Two more gunshots rocketed across the water, slamming into the hull of the slippery kitty.
"Stay down. There's a man with a gun on my boat."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Someone. Is. Trying. To. Kill. Me." I had to spell it out for her.
"Why are they trying to kill you? Are you an asshole in disguise?"
I clenched my jaw.
I crawled across the deck and slid in to the cabin as few more shots peppered the Slippery Kitty. I pulled off my goggles and closed the hatch behind me.
I urged Sandra to stay down and explained the situation as best I could in the shortest amount of time possible.
She grabbed her gun from the stateroom and handed it to me. I press-checked the weapon. There was a cartridge in the chamber.
It was a 9mm Krüeger-Schmidt. Lightweight and compact.
"You never know what kind of people you going to meet on the water," she said. "
"Ain't that the truth.”
I peered out the porthole, scanning the Wild Tide for the assassin. Rain and water smeared the viewport. It was hard to make out anything from the warbled image of the boat.
Two more shots blasted across the cove, webbing the polycarbonate viewport with cracks.
I ducked down after the first impact.
"What the fuck, man? That guy is seriously fucking up my boat."
"Sorry about that,” I said. "Don't worry. I'll cover any damages."
I moved to the hatch and opened it. A gust of wind and rain blew into to the cabin.
I attempted to peer around the hatch, but the instant my head poked through, two more bullets streaked in my direction, impacting the fiberglass just inches away.
My heart thumped.
Nothing like a little adrenaline to get you going.
This was a bad scenario.
I was pinned down, but I did have a few things in my favor. The odds of the assassin hitting anything at this distance with a pistol was slim. High wind, rain, and the rocking of the boats made for a highly inaccurate exchange of weapons fire. Still, this assassin was putting rounds uncomfortably close to his target.
Me.
I crawled to the starboard side, facing the Wild Tide, and crouched low. I reached my hand up and slid open a portal.
Two more bullets peppered the hull.
The minute I popped my head up, the goon fired again.
Wind whistled through the cabin, and plenty of rain spilled in from the open portal.
“Text Mark and Jen," I said. "Let them know we've got trouble and to stay down."
Sandra nodded, and began clacking away at the tiny digital keyboard on her phone.
I moved back to the hatch and crawled into the cockpit, keeping below the gunwale. I popped up and angled my weapon at the Wild Tide, trying to get an angle on the assassin.
The thug popped up and fired over the gunwale. Bullets streaked toward me, pelting the hull.
I ducked for cover.
Rain poured down. Gusts of wind rocked the boat.
I was no stranger to running special ops in wet, uncomfortable conditions. I was just at home in this kind of situation as I was on a bright sunny day.
Perhaps even more so.
I felt like I had an advantage. I had more combat training in the water than most. But I had a feeling this was going to get ugly.
33
Two gunshots blasted at the assassin from the Quicksilver. Mark had made his way into the cockpit and was putting his 9mm to good use.
But it gave me concern.
This was my fight, and I didn't want anyone else getting hurt.
The assassin twisted toward the Quicksilver and fired two rounds.
I popped over the gunwale and took aim. My finger squeezed the trigger twice, blasting across the cove.
I clipped the asshole in the shoulder.
The impact spun him around and sent him to the deck. Blood spurted from his wounded shoulder, and his weapon splashed into the water.
I couldn't see him. I had no idea if he was still alive, or bleeding out in the cockpit.
I waited for a moment, looking for any movement.
The wind howled, and the rain felt like bee stings on my skin.
I climbed over the gunwale and slipped into the water. I swam under the surface to the stern of the Wild Tide.
I emerged at the swim platform and drained the water from the barrel of the pistol. I cautiously climbed onto the platform and peered over the transom.
The assassin was gone.
All that remained was a small bloodstain that was quickly thinned by the storm.
I kept my weapon in the firing position and cleared the area. The bloodstains on the hatch to the salon told me the jackass went inside. Or, at least, that's what he wanted me to think.
It was getting hard to maintain my footing in this high wind. I carefully leaned over the gunwale and glanced to the bow on the starboard side, then moved to port, making sure the assassin hadn’t moved forward.
Then I pushed toward the salon.
I swept the area with my weapon as I entered. A trail of blood led to the stairs that ascended to the flybridge.
The boat creaked and groaned as I inched toward the steps, swaying and vibrating with the wind. Sheets of rain pelted against the hull.
At the stairs, I angled my barrel around the corner and took a step toward the flybridge.
As I started up the stairs, the goon emerged from the storage compar
tment just forward of the galley.
The blood trail to the flybridge was a diversion.
He sprinted toward me with a kitchen knife he had taken from the galley.
I spun around at the charging bull, but he tackled me before I could get a shot off. His meaty hand grabbed the pistol as we crashed down, and he stabbed at me with the stainless steel blade.
I grabbed his wrist, blocking the knife, inches before it pierced my flesh. The glimmering blade hovered millimeters from my carotid artery.
He was a big guy.
Crashing down against the stairs didn't feel great against my back.
We struggled over the weapon, blood oozing from his shoulder.
He snarled at me like a tiger, and his dark eyes burned into me like a man possessed. He somehow managed to press the mag release button, dropping the magazine. He racked the slide, ejecting the cartridge.
The weapon was useless for the moment.
I kneed him in the groin, then elbowed him in the face. I rolled aside as the knife stabbed down into the stairs. My finger jammed into the wound on his shoulder, and he groaned in pain. It made him release his grip on the knife momentarily.
I pushed his forearm aside, grabbed the knife, prying it from the deck, and backhanded it across the goon. The blade sliced his neck, carving a trench.
He staggered back, clutching his throat, blood seeping between his fingers. He gasped for air, and his chest wheezed.
I had opened a valley in his throat that cut clear through to his trachea.
He looked at me with wide eyes. The end had finally come. He tried to fight it, but it was inevitable. He dropped to his knees, still clutching his throat, gasping for air. He fell face down onto the deck and bled out, crimson blood oozing around his body.
I pushed myself off the stairs and grabbed my weapon and magazine from the deck. My hand jammed the magazine into the well, then I pulled the slide back, charging a round into the chamber.
I tossed the kitchen knife into the sink in the galley, then I cautiously moved toward the goon and checked for a pulse.
He was dead, alright.
I rolled the thug onto his back and took a good look at his face. He was definitely one of the assassins that Isabella had sent information on.
I jogged down the starboard stairs to my stateroom, grabbed my phone, and opened the images. Sure enough, he was a cartel hitman.
I ran back up the stairs to the salon, snapped a photo of the dead man's face, then slipped my phone into my pocket.
I flipped my weapon on safe and stuffed it into my waistband. Then I checked the man's wound, seeing if a slug remained in his flesh. The bullet had carved a trench in his deltoid and blasted clear through.
My hands grabbed the thug’s wrists, and I dragged him out of the salon, into the cockpit.
He was 230 pounds of dead weight, and my back felt every bit of it.
I heaved the big bastard over the gunwale, and he splashed into the murky water. It didn't take long for the crocodiles to take notice. Within moments, their razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaws were mashing at his flesh.
They'd make short work of him.
I pushed back into the salon and breathed a sigh of relief. We still had a hurricane to face. But at least there wouldn’t be anyone else trying to kill me tonight—unless there was another hitman out there, which I seriously doubted.
I texted Sandra and let her know I was okay and had taken care of the problem. I told her I'd return the weapon in the morning. I sent another text to Mark and thanked him for his marksmanship. He said he and Jennifer were okay, and they were glad the threat had been neutralized. I answered a lot of questions about who the hitman was and what happened.
Blood crusted the salon’s deck. I grabbed some cleaning supplies and mopped up the mess. It was good enough for now, but I'd have to give it a thorough scrub down when I got back to port.
Afterward, I took a shower, put on some fresh clothes, and waited for the full force of the storm.
34
It sounded like a helicopter thumping overhead, but it was just 153 mile an hour winds. They swirled around the boat, vibrating the craft like a freight train rumbling through the night.
It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least.
I had secured the boat with brand-new nylon-poly braided rope. I’d taken all the precautions. Done everything that you were supposed to do, and still I felt like I was a moment away from disaster.
I kept texting back and forth with Sandra all night. I could tell she was scared. Hell, I was scared. At 3:30 AM, we were getting the brunt of it, and I seriously questioned my sanity for staying aboard the boat.
I was so glad JD took Buddy. He’d be freaking out in the storm. I just hoped they were doing better in Orlando than we were.
After an intense battering of wind and rain, the tempest stopped. It was calm and serene. We were in the eye of the storm.
It was a surreal sensation.
The air was quiet and still. I figured it was a good time to go topside and check the lines and make sure everything was still holding tight.
I climbed out of bed, ascended the stairs, pushed through the salon and into the cockpit. The leaves had stopped rustling, and the trees were standing mostly upright—the ones that hadn’t been uprooted.
I moved around the boat from stem to stern, checking the lines. Everything seemed to be in good shape.
Sandra appeared in the cockpit of the Slippery Kitty, looking a little frazzled.
"You surviving?" I asked.
"I think so. But I can tell you this. I'm tempted to move inland."
I chuckled. "You say that now. But you won't be able to stay away from the sea."
She thought about it for a moment. "You're probably right."
I went back below and prepared for another onslaught. It took maybe 15 minutes for the eye of the storm to pass through, then the winds were back up to 150 miles an hour. The boat leaned hard as the skybridge caught wind. For a moment, I thought one of the lines had snapped, and we were going to capsize.
It was just an intense gust.
After a few hours, the storm moved through. Once it made landfall, it began to dissipate and was downgraded, but the storm stalled out and dumped a ton of rain.
I probably dozed off somewhere around 5 AM. When I woke up, the winds were minimal, and it was just an average, rainy day.
I texted Sandra, Mark, and Jen to see how they fared. I didn't get a response right away, and I figured they were still asleep. I climbed out of bed and moved into the cockpit. The rain didn't sting anymore, and the gray clouds didn't seem as ominous.
I scanned the cove, and all the boats were still secured and intact. The Wild Tide didn't seem any worse for the wear, except a few bullet holes.
By the time I made it back into the salon, Sandra texted: [I’m okay. You?]
[Haven't sunk yet.]
[Anybody else try to kill you lately?]
[No. But, give it time.]
She sent a laughing emoji back.
I made breakfast and waited for the remains of the storm to blow out. By afternoon, the rain had died down. I inflated the tender and attached the motor, then sailed over to the Slippery Kitty to return Sandra's gun.
"Permission to come aboard," I shouted.
She poked her head out of the cabin. "Permission granted."
I tied off the tender and climbed aboard. I dropped the magazine and ejected the round from the chamber, then handed the weapon back to her. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."
She was hesitant about taking back the gun. "You killed a guy with this. Is that going to come back and bite me in the ass?"
"I didn't kill anyone with that. I just shot him in the shoulder." Then I added dryly, "I killed him with a kitchen knife."
Sandra cringed. “Ew!" She grimaced. "Please tell me you're not a psychopath?”
“Define psychopath?"
A grim look washed over her face.
"I'm kidding. I'
m a trained professional."
“Were you in the military?"
I nodded.
"And you said you were a Deputy Sheriff, right?"
"Was a Deputy Sheriff." I forced a smile. "Just a civilian now."
She studied the gun for a moment. "I bought it secondhand, so it's not registered in my name, and I didn't have to fill out a 4473.”
"Don't worry. There are no slugs in the body. The round that I shot into the guy’s shoulder went clear through."
She breathed a small sigh of relief. "Good. Because I like this gun. And I wouldn't want to get rid of it." She slapped the magazine into the well, then pulled the slide back, charging a round into the chamber. She flicked the weapon on safe, stowed the gun in the master suite, then returned to the cabin. "You know who that guy was?"
"Cartel assassin."
She lifted her brow. "You make friends in high places."
"Comes with the territory. I pissed off a lot of people in the past."
She smiled. "Well, maybe they just haven't gotten to know you well enough."
I laughed. "Maybe they know me too well and that's why they want to kill me?"
She chuckled. "You don't seem so bad."
There was a long, awkward pause. I think she kinda liked me.
"So, are you going to report this?"
I shrugged. "Report what?"
Her eyes narrowed at me. "You killed a guy. Don't you think someone's going to ask questions about that?"
“Believe me, the world is a better place without that man."
She dropped the subject.
"I'll give you a hand untying the lines,“ I said.
"Thank you. It's almost too bad the storm is over," she said with a flirty glint in her eyes.
We untied the lines and took the tender over to the Quicksilver and assisted Jen and Mark.
None of us knew what we were going back to. The images from the news looked devastating. Everything in the storm's path had been demolished. I found a few video clips online that showed aerial views of the Keys. There were boats everywhere. Some had been picked up and moved on shore. Others were capsized. Dozens of boats crashed into one another.
It was pure chaos.
I didn't know if there was anything left of Diver Down or the marina. My mind drifted to Mr. Miller—as much of a pain in the ass as he was, I hoped he was okay. I didn't want anything bad to happen to the cranky old man. I wished he would have taken my advice. I should have made him leave, but that wasn't my place.
