However, that wasn’t his biggest problem at the moment, which was that Blaine was mercilessly pummeling his midsection with fists the size of canned hams. Tyler threw his own punches, but because he was on his back and constricted on either side by the seatbacks and railing, he couldn’t get much power behind them.
Blaine’s face was so close that Tyler got a noseful of his fetid breath and saw that his attacker had the scarred remains of a disfigured left earlobe, no doubt the result of a previous fight. The man was a professional, not giving Tyler the opportunity to move his arms. There was no way for him to reach into his pocket and get to the knife on his Leatherman multi-tool.
A punch to the temple set stars whirling in front of Tyler’s eyes. Blaine bent over to retrieve the pistol so he could finish the job. At the same time, Grant juked the boat left, causing Blaine to reel backward. Seeing his slim opening, Tyler kicked out with both feet.
He caught Blaine in the stomach, which combined with the momentum of the boat, launched him over the side just as the boat passed another outcropping of rock.
Blaine crunched into the sandstone as if he’d fallen from a ten-story building. His inert crushed body flipped backward into the roiling water and disappeared beneath the wake of the jet boat.
Tyler, the adrenaline masking the effects of the pummeling, bent over and picked up the pistol, a.45 caliber Heckler and Koch. He checked the magazine. Six rounds left, including the one in the chamber.
The jet boat behind them had made up the distance while Grant had been maneuvering to help Tyler get rid of Blaine. Barely a boat length separated them.
Rounds thudded into the back of the boat. Tyler popped up and fired off three quick rounds from the HK, but the motion of the boats made it impossible to get a clean shot. His bullets missed, but the other boat swerved away, giving Tyler a chance to climb to the front.
Fay was belted in and leaning down in the seat as far as she could. Tyler squeezed her shoulder, and she replied with a thumbs-up.
“Where does this river go?” he asked her.
“It ends up in Lake Wakatipu. We can get all the way to Queenstown.”
That might have worked but for an ominous sputter coming from the rear of the boat. Black smoke trailed behind them.
“He hit one of the engines,” Grant yelled. “I’m shutting it down. Any rounds left in your hand cannon?”
“Three.”
They were coming to the end of the canyon. The river widened ahead, looping around low stretches of stone beach like the one at the dock, which would leave them fully exposed to gunfire from their flank.
“I say we turn around. Those tourists at the dock would have called the police. They should arrive by the time we get back.”
“Let’s do it,” Tyler said. “I’ll distract him with a couple of shots.”
“Got it.”
Tyler belted himself in, leaned out and squeezed off two rounds, causing Foreman to duck again. At the same moment, Grant twisted the steering wheel and Tyler’s stomach along with it. The boat did a 180, dug in, and then launched forward. Foreman didn’t have time to shoot, but Tyler saw him do his own turn. They left him far behind, but with two working engines on the pursuing boat, Foreman would likely catch them before they reached the dock.
They roared back up the canyon, the sound of the single engine echoing off the steep walls. Tyler peeked above the gunwales and saw the other boat gaining quickly, but he didn’t fire. With only one round left, he’d have to make it count.
More bullets raked the stern.
“We’re not going to make it,” Grant shouted. “Any ideas?”
“Keep sweeping back and forth. Make sure he can’t pull even with us until we reach the other side of the canyon. Then let him come up on the right. Remember the rock beach back at the dock? Maybe we can strand him on it.”
Grant nodded. “Better than nothing.”
Even at their slowed speed, it took no time for them to race back to the northern entrance of the canyon.
“Ready?” Grant yelled.
Tyler held up the pistol in response. Grant steered left and ducked down, and Tyler could hear the trailing boat pull alongside. Foreman was waiting until he was next to them before he dealt the
Tyler sat up and took aim. If he was lucky, his shot would kill the gunman.
He wasn’t. The shot went wide, but it was close enough to make Foreman flinch.
Grant rammed their boat into the other one. Because Foreman was holding the pistol, he had only one hand on the wheel and wasn’t able to react quickly.
Tyler saw the surprised expression on the gunman’s face when he realized he was headed directly for the rocky beach at full speed. Foreman tried to bump his way to the left, but Grant wouldn’t let him budge. At the last second, Grant spun the wheel, putting their boat into a slide and missing the beach by inches.
Foreman wasn’t as nimble. He went into a slide as well, but it was the worst possible decision.
Had he simply gone straight forward, Foreman’s boat would have slid up onto the beach and come to a stop. Instead, the skidding motion meant that the side of the boat’s hull hit the rocky shore at fifty knots.
The boat rolled spectacularly, the engines whining as they sucked air. The roll bar would have protected Foreman if he’d been belted in. Instead, he was ejected into the path of the somersaulting boat and crushed by the hull.
Grant eased back on the throttle and guided the boat toward the dock. Four policemen who’d been watching the chase covered them with rifles as they approached, shouting at them to put their hands in the air. Grant put his hands up and let the boat drift close enough for one of the policemen to tie them off. Tyler dropped the pistol onto the deck and raised his arms.
“It’s okay, Fay,” Tyler said. “You can get up now. Just do it slowly. Your local constables look like they have itchy trigger fingers.”
Fay sat up and peered at the men. Her eyes lit up when she recognized one of the officers. “For goodness sakes, Michael Brown! Stop pointing that thing at us. These aren’t the bad guys.”
The tension drained from Brown, and he lowered his rifle, signaling the others to do the same. Tyler followed suit.
“Mrs. Turia?” Brown said. “We had a report that you’d been taken hostage.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” She unbelted herself and stood. Tyler held her hand as she stepped out.
Tyler, his eyes still fixed on the policemen as he climbed onto the dock, heard a woman yell, “Nana!” She rushed past the policemen and threw herself into Fay’s arms. Tyler thought she could be the granddaughter Fay had mentioned, except that this woman had much darker skin than Fay. The two of them hugged tightly until the woman pushed back to hold Fay at arm’s length. “I was horrified when I heard about the fire at the house. Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Jessica, thanks to these young men.” She gestured at Tyler and Grant.
The woman turned, and Tyler got his first good look at her. Everything about her screamed athlete, from her drawstring pants and black hoodie stretched over her lithe build to the stylish shag of shoulder-length chestnut hair. She wore no makeup and none was needed. With creamy brown skin, rounded cheekbones, and full lips, she had no trouble drawing furtive glances from the young police officers.
Despite all that had already happened this morning, it was this moment that really shocked Tyler. He blinked a few times, not believing that he was seeing her for the first time in over fifteen years, half a world away from where they’d last seen each other.
Eyes like melted chocolate stared at him in surprise, and memories came flooding back like a cresting wave.
“Tyler?” she said. “What the hell is going on?”
Tyler opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He turned to Fay. “Your granddaughter is Jess McBride?”
