Crystal Blue (Buck Reilly Adventure Series Book 3) John Cunningham (psychology books to read TXT) 📖

surfaced, arms waving as they swam to the boat.

WHAP-WHAP-WHAP-WHAP!

Machine gun fire slapped through the water and caught the transom of the speedboat.

The second Diego and Boom-Boom were aboard I pressed the throttles forward and the speedboat jumped ahead.

“That the guy?” Diego said.

“You see any of my men?” Boom-Boom said.

I shook my head.

WHAP-WHAP-WHAP!

I ducked. “Can you do something about that?!”

Diego pointed his Kimber up toward the deck of the yacht and fired three rounds right next to my head—my hearing in that ear instantly became a loud ring.

We blew past the stern of the yacht and I cut the wheel hard to port. A fusillade of gunfire erupted behind us. I whipped the wheel and swerved figure-S turns, hoping to evade the bullets that streaked past us.

One cracked the windshield.

“Stay down!”

I tossed the machine gun I’d taken from the yacht to Boom-Boom, who immediately returned fire. Diego held the Kimber with both hands but with the increasing distance had no chance of hitting anything.

The sound of another engine rose above the steady drone of our boat’s inboard—over my shoulder I spotted the sister-ship to this one slicing through the harbor toward us, our S-turns making it easy for them to close the gap.

“Is Crystal okay?” John Thedford looked up at me from the bottom of the boat.

“Just worried about you,” I said.

“Jet skis coming from the other side of the yacht! Four o’clock!” Diego pointed out to our side. A quick glance caught muzzle flashes and four jet skis.

Thedford got up on one knee, Galey’s pistol in his good hand, and started firing at the oncoming jet skis.

The speedboat gained behind us. Two of the jet skis swerved toward the western point of the island to cut us off if we tried to head toward Jost Van Dyke.

Another round hit the transom and launched splintered fiberglass into my back.

“Hang on!”

I cut the wheel hard to port and dodged behind a moored line of catamarans, carving a path between them—

Whoa!

The boat came to a near stop. Boom-Boom and Diego crashed into the dashboard.

“We caught an anchor line!”

The engine whined, the tachometers surged into the red, but we went nowhere—

“Throw it in reverse!” Boom-Boom said.

The gears ground as I jerked the throttle lever backwards. The tachs redlined and I shoved it forward. The boat leapt ahead—the guys fell backward just as the other speedboat turned the corner, so close I could see the driver’s goatee.

They fired at us.

The mooring lines were impossible to see in the darkness. I swerved through catamarans and emerged between them at Soper’s Hole marina. Another roar exploded—a jet ski spewing gunfire was headed right at us. I pulled back on the throttle and the speedboat gained from behind—

“The hell you doing?” Diego said.

“I’m out of ammo!” Thedford yelled.

Gunfire from the front, more from behind—they closed fast. Our boat was turning to Swiss cheese.

“Reilly!” I didn’t know who’d said it.

I cut the wheel to starboard, gunned it. The chase boat and jet ski were fifty feet apart, heading full speed toward each other and spraying bullets—

The jet ski tumbled. Its driver flew through the air.

“Nice move!” Boom-Boom tossed the machine gun over the side, its clip empty.

I continued in a wide circle and the chase boat followed.

I cut the wheel hard away from where the jet ski had been. The speedboat followed us.

“Watch out!” Boom-Boom shouted.

I turned just in time to avoid an anchored sloop, spun the wheel back the other way then dodged behind another. Boats were everywhere—we lost sight of the chase boat.

“Valentine, I hope you’re calling for help!” I yelled toward the moon.

I was in the groove of cutting between the anchored boats, as if it were a ground course chicane back when I used to compete in Porsche Club rallies—

A flash, then acetylene agony—my left shoulder!

It knocked me sideways. A screech of fiberglass-on-fiberglass sent splinters everywhere as we sideswiped a dark green ketch.

I fell to a knee.

“Look out!” Boom-Boom said.

I spun the wheel just in time to see another jet ski streak past ten feet away, spraying machine gun fire over us as he bounced off our wake—

That face!

The jet ski driver dressed in black and soaked to the skin with his hair flying back was the same guy who tried to grab Crystal back in Key West.

My left arm fell limp. Blood soaked my shirt.

“Give me the wheel!” Boom-Boom said.

I fell onto the floor next to Thedford.

“You’ll be okay.” He put his bare hand on my shoulder and applied pressure. Pain surged like he’d jabbed a lit road flare in the open wound.

We flopped back and forth on the deck as Boom-Boom zigged and zagged. Nausea blurred my vision—more gunfire erupted behind us, it sounded close but my sense of hearing faded in and out.

The waves and defensive driving bounced me forward, halfway under the dash into the cuddy cabin, where I spotted a manna from heaven.

In a corner of my mind I knew I was losing a lot of blood. Hell with it—I clenched my teeth against the pain, then reached up and grabbed the AK-47 clipped to the ceiling of the small cabin.

Boom-Boom jerked the boat around like a bucking bull—I rolled and bounced between the seats until I tumbled to the transom, now peppered with holes and fiberglass hanging loose.

Boom-Boom’s eyes lit up when he saw the AK-47 clutched in my arms.

“Get ready! They coming up on the right!” I peered up over the edge, surprised at our close proximity—the chase boat flickered like a silent movie between the immobile sailboats.

The chase boat turned hard and came right at us, muzzle flashes blazing. I lifted the AK-47. Another row of boats were anchored to our right creating a narrow passage.

I scrambled onto my right knee—my vision blurred for an instant—and squeezed the trigger. The Russian machine gun jumped in my arms. The chase boat was close, coming in from the right. Diego fired his Kimber—the boat veered right into my line of fire, its windshield shattered.

The boat cut right, flipped onto