Cressida narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you want me to steal something from the Wicked Witch of the West? Evelyn Monroe isnota wicked witch.”
But Diggins? He was the man pulling the strings from behind the curtain.
Braden couldn’t have imagined this exchange and was riveted, but another noise up top drew his attention. The waves or the wind or something nefarious?
He wanted to hear Cressida’s response, but he couldn’t wait. He crept halfway up the steps again while trying to listen to their conversation. Intuition warned him of imminent danger, leaving their discussion behind to head above deck.
Bright pinks and oranges on the horizon stunned him like the sunrises had on the East Coast decades before when Dad would leave on his fishing expeditions. Braden focused on his surroundings. Taking in all the sounds—the wind rustling through the boats, some with sails, the ocean lapping against the hulls. Seagulls and their endless calls.
Though they were anchored in the bay, the chop was rough as the wind picked up. Braden palmed his gun, and from the shadows, he took in everything. Others on the nearby boats hung around outside doing chores. Someone whistled an old sea shanty. The aroma of grilled fish wafted toward him.
He didn’t feel comfortable walking around the boat and leaving Cressida and Diggins exposed down below, so instead he would remain at the entrance. Let danger come to him. He was prepared.
A creak.
Then another.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He held his handgun at the ready. The sun cast the last rays, and the shadows were long. He sensed movement and shifted to face his attacker, aiming his S&W. “Freeze.”
Pain sliced across his back. His knees buckled and he dropped, then rolled away from the dark figure standing over him with an iron rod. Braden fired his weapon at the same time the man dodged away, expecting to be fired upon.
Braden scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain.
Footfalls pounded on the steps, and Diggins and Cressida appeared above deck.
“Go back down,” Braden commanded.
Cressida took a couple of steps down, but Diggins came all the way onto the deck, holding a shotgun.
“I’m not going down below,” he said. “Come on. You and I will chase them off. Gotta get them off my boat.”
He growled. Determined, he stomped around, looking down the barrel of his shotgun.
On the horizon in the facing sunset, Braden spotted a speedboat slipping away. He couldn’t exactly go after them in his skiff. Was that the assailants getting away?
“They’re gone now. No catching that,” Diggins said.
Braden started for the skiff.
I can’t let them get away.
“Braden, wait,” Cressida called. She’d come above deck. “Are you okay?”
The care, concern in her eyes, when she looked at him pulled him back from the edge.
“Yeah. Just...” The throbbing in his back wasn’t something easily ignored, after all. He never should have allowed someone to get at him like that.
“We need to get you to the hospital.” She looked at Diggins. “I don’t know how far it is.”
“I can fix you up,” Diggins said.
Braden wasn’t entirely sure that was the best idea, but he’d take immediate attention and then deal with the rest later. “It’s just a bruise, but you can check it to make sure it’s not bleeding. And we’ll look at your head too, Diggins.”
“Fine,” Cressida said. “But what if they come back?”
“They’re not coming back tonight. Come on.” Confident, Diggins started belowdecks.
