"Relax. This is a good thing. You can't argue with the results."
“I can argue with the method.”
"Don't give me that. You're just as ecstatic as I am. You just don't want to admit it."
"What I don't want is for either of us to spend the rest of our days in a jail cell for accessory to kidnapping."
"When did you get so uptight?”
Tyson laughed. "Give it time. You’re rolling on a month of life experience. You’ll be jaded, cynical, and uptight in no time.”
I frowned at him.
"I'm serious. I don't want you throwing in with those guys."
"They've come through for me every step of the way. You forget, I'm still facing a murder charge."
"I haven't forgotten.”
"Let's just celebrate the moment,” I said. “It's a victory. Take it. Right now, nobody's trying to kill me. That's a good thing in my book.”
"That's a good thing in my book, too.“
"I know what you’ve done for me. You’ve put your life on hold and crossed your own boundaries. You've done things for me that I didn't have a right to ask for. Don't think that doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated.”
A slight smirk tugged Tyson's lips. "I'm not uptight."
I laughed. "Well, I can always help relax you," I said in a sultry tone. I moved my lips on a collision course. I figured I could spark up one more trip around the sheets to show my appreciation. Tyson was good at what he did.
Alec Stratton would face the music. The attempts on my life would stop. I was feeling good, though I wasn't out of the woods yet. It seemed like all the puzzle pieces were coming together. Maybe I could move forward without uncertainty or fear. The murder charge was a weight over my head, but I knew I was innocent. The truth would have to come out eventually, or so I hoped. I let everything go and just settled into the moment.
It was a nice moment.
But that moment turned into a nightmare around 4:00 AM. I had another nightmare or a prophetic vision—whatever you want to call it. I woke in a sweat and sat up in bed, Tyson beside me. My heart thumped my chest. The boat was dark and silent. My eyes scanned the room, coming back to reality, trying to make sense of my dream. I looked into the shadows of the stateroom, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. Was it all my imagination?
I nudged Tyson and whispered. "There's someone on the boat.”
64
Tyson sprang from the bed and grabbed his pistol from the nightstand. "There's a backup in the drawer," he said. “On second thought, don't take the gun. I don't need you shooting anybody on my boat."
I frowned at him and grabbed the pistol anyway, press-checked it, and hovered by the hatch to the stateroom. Tyson checked the sliding glass doors to the bridge deck aft. He hovered by the bulkhead and peered across the deck.
The area was clear at the moment.
My heart pounded my chest, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. Maybe it was all my imagination. Just a bad dream. But I had grown to trust these premonitions.
Tyson grabbed a tablet from atop the desk and launched the security app. He studied the surveillance camera from the aft deck, the main salon, and the helm station, but didn't see anything.
He moved like a ninja cat across the deck and joined me at the hatch. In a whisper, "Are you sure?"
I shrugged. "I'm not sure of anything.”
Tyson cracked open the hatch and peered down the hallway.
It was clear.
He moved forward, and I brought up the rear, keeping an eye on our six. We cleared the compartments along the way to a centerline stairwell that spiraled down to the main deck and up to the sky deck. Tyson cleared the companionway, then crept down the steps to the main deck.
