Jake's back brushed the side of the office building, his palms grazing over the rough texture of the cement block exterior. He stopped at the corner, waiting for Sarah and Tony to catch up with him. The marina was quiet, lit by a pair of halogen lights, positioned between the small building and a stretch of pier that grew darker as it extended into the water.
Sarah joined him, touching his shoulder, obviously wondering what was around the corner as much as Jake. A casual glance revealed Tony behind her.
Sarah had a fresh change of clothes from an overpriced gift shop, a white spaghetti strapped tank top and a pair of peach colored shorts. They also picked up a few additional purchases for later. After that, they returned to the resort for the crumbled Land Rover to find it missing, a sure sign the men from the tiki-hut bar were onto them.
Jake suggested the need for another vehicle in case they needed to escape again. Sarah had a simple idea. She still had a key to the Ford Explorer and a phone number for the Royal Police in Nassau. After a call to Chief Inspector Reginald Cortez, help was on the way. He had two officers pick up a new battery for the SUV and deliver the vehicle to the resort. He made an offer for additional help in the future if the need arose.
With an hour of daylight left, they dined at one of the resort's low key establishments, which still had a certain level of class since it was on Paradise Island. Later, they approached the marina in the dark with the headlights off. The administration office was closed for the evening, but access to the pier remained open for anyone who made plans with the manager.
Their boat, the Saint Charles, waited for them, docked at the end of the pier.
Jake checked the path ahead, holding back Sarah at arm's length. She didn't discourage the touch, which forced him to concentrate even more on their next move and not the physical contact with his ex.
The security lights brightened the pier in even increments and left voids with isolated shadows. Most of the boats rested between those light and shady areas, making it difficult to discern if anyone lurked in the dark. Jake didn't like what he saw, so he urged them to stay put while he moved in closer.
He darted across the illuminated swath of pavement and sidled up to a thick piling at the pier's edge. Their boat's wheelhouse became visible above a line of other vessels. Jake studied the window on the starboard side, darkened a shade of gray with the poor lighting, trying to glimpse anything that would alert him to trouble.
Motion drew his sharpened focus, two people on the boat.
He turned to Sarah and Tony. "Hold up here. Someone's down there. It could be anyone. Just let me check it out first."
Tony stepped past Sarah. Clearly, he wanted to speak as quietly as possible, but his words came out heated, a notch louder than Jake's. "If you think I'm about to sit around while you get yourself killed, you've got another thing coming."
Jake didn't want Sarah left alone, and he didn't want to come out and say it in her presence. Instead, he extended a hand, backed up by a stern glare, and dashed down the wharf without giving him a chance to reply.
With a lanky stride, he clung to the right side where their boat was moored. The light, partially blocked by a tall vessel, cast a shadow on the quay's edge. He kept to its thin confines and knelt behind another piling, near another boat. One man was on the pier while the other was in the wheelhouse. Visible from behind the man on the pier, a short object protruded from his hand in the shape of a narrow tube, his fingers clutching the handle. Jake worked out a scheme in his head. He could do this, take out both men without risking Sarah or Tony, but he had to wait for the right moment.
The man in the wheelhouse appeared busy, combing through draws and cabinets. Jake took a step but hesitated... itchy nerves. Then he launched forward on a whim, tackling the skinny figure from behind.
The gun slipped from the man's grasp, skidded across the wood planks and teetered on the edge. Jake slammed his elbow into the back of the man's head and drove his nose into the pier. The body went limp, but something splashed nearby, followed by a wet ca-lump as an object sank below the surface. The man's foot had kicked the pistol over the side and into the water. Jake swore, his plan spoiled to apprehend the second individual with the weapon.
Heavy boots pounded across the rear deck.
Jake sprung to his feet and turned. The second man drew back—the butt of a pistol looming like a hatchet.
Jake stepped to the side, a last ditch effort, which lessened the blow, but the weapon still landed solidly on his temple. A flurry of lights streaked across his eyes and buckled his legs. Before he knew it, he was down on a knee with a gun pointed at his head.