that edged the beach. I was turning back north when I saw the car coming at us again. A second car had come into the parking lot, blocking my exit.
I brought my Explorer to a stop at the edge of the beach.
'Get out!' I shouted. 'Now.'
Logan was already unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. The window on the hatch of the Explorer exploded, pieces of glass flying into the front seat. I heard Logan grunt in pain as he dove out the open door.
I followed, diving for the ground. More shots were fired. I crawled to the front of the Explorer, putting it between the shooters and me. Logan was already there, breathing hard.
I touched him on the shoulder. 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah. Who are these assholes?'
'I don't know. Who've you pissed off this week?'
'Nobody that I can remember.' He pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his shorts. 'We need to get out of here,' he said.
I heard the sound of men moving up, cautiously. The voices were low, restrained. They didn't know if we were armed, so they were being careful.
'Let's go,' I said.
We inched back toward the beach, keeping the Explorer between the bad guys and us. Human shadows flickered in the glow of the sparse security lights from the nearby snack stand. Four men had spread out, trying to get an angle on us.
Logan was murmuring into his phone, trying to get help, as we inched backward on hands and knees. As we neared the dunes, he closed his phone and said, 'Help's coming.'
We reached the dunes and rolled behind the nearest one. We got to our feet and began to run, crouching so that we were not visible above the sand hills. We headed north, keeping low. Gunfire erupted behind us. We'd gained a lot of space, but now they were coming on the run. We were too far away for an accurate pistol shot, but we certainly weren't out of danger.
The shrill sound of a siren cut through the night, getting louder, coming our way. One of our pursuers shouted something, and the shooting stopped. I glanced over my shoulder as the men scrambled over the dunes, back toward the parking lot.
The police wouldn't know exactly where we were. The beach parking area is a half-mile long, and all Logan had been able to tell the 911 dispatcher was that we were at Coquina Beach. The sirens had spooked the shooters, so we were safe for the moment. On the other hand, I didn't want an overzealous cop to start shooting at us.
I motioned to Logan. 'Let's stay here until the cops have the area under control,' I said.
We sat on the sand and waited. A quarter-moon hung over the Gulf, a shaft of light illuminating the dark water. The sea air carried a hint of dead fish, the result of the red tide that had left us the week before. The sand was still warm from the sun, and the only sound was the voices of the officers in the parking lot, punctuated occasionally by the static of a police radio.
Blood was running down Logan's forehead, looking black in the moonlight. 'You're hit,' I said.
'I took a piece of your rear window. No big deal.'
After a few minutes, a loud voice erupted from behind the dunes. 'Bradenton Beach Police. Is anybody here?'
I shouted. 'Matt Royal and Logan Hamilton. We called this in. We're coming over the dunes, hands up. We're unarmed. Okay?'
'Come on, slowly.'
We rose and crossed the dunes, hands in the air. One cop kept his weapon trained on us as another frisked us. He took our wallets.
'They're clean,' he said.
Another cop, wearing lieutenant's bars on his uniform shirt, walked up. 'The Explorer is registered to Matt Royal,' he said. 'Is that one of you?'
'I'm Royal,' I said.
He took my driver's license from the cop who had frisked us, looked at it, nodded, and handed it back to the officer. 'What the hell happened out here?' he asked.
'Don't know, Lieutenant. We were on our way back to Longboat, and somebody started shooting at us.' I told him how it had happened.
A paramedic arrived and put a bandage on Logan's brow as I talked. He asked us if there were any other injuries, and then went back to his ambulance.
The lieutenant had a skeptical look on his face. 'We'll have to process your vehicle for evidence,' he said. 'I'll have one of my men take you to the station for statements. Somebody will take you home from there.'
CHAPTER SIX
The Bradenton Beach Police station was small. It nestled between a boatyard and the approach to the Cortez Bridge. The waiting room was tiny, with a couple of green vinyl and metal armchairs sitting next to a table that held year-old magazines. The walls were painted in light beige, a color intended to soothe the fears of those who visited. A civilian sat behind a partition near a glass-enclosed opening, working on something on his desk that I couldn't see. The room was chilly, the air conditioning cranked up too high for this time of year. A large round clock on the opposite wall told me it was nearing nine o'clock.
The lieutenant had escorted Logan into the back of the station to take his statement. He told me he would be with me as soon as he finished with my friend. I assumed he wanted to make sure that I wasn't influenced by what Logan had to say.
Time moved slowly. The room was quiet. The occasional crackle of a police radio slipped from behind the glass of the receptionist's area. The faint sound of a siren came from the bridge, a signal to motorists that the span was about to open for boat traffic. Probably a large trawler coming from the north, heading for the fish houses that lined the bay next to the Coast Guard station.
When the clock read nine thirty, the lieutenant appeared with Logan, and asked me to step back to his office. Logan grinned and winked as he passed me. The lieutenant caught it and looked a little miffed. Maybe he thought Logan wasn't taking this thing seriously enough. He didn't know that Logan seldom took anything seriously.
The lieutenant's office was small, with barely enough room for a desk and two chairs. The top of the desk was cluttered with loose documents, a couple of wanted posters, and a framed picture of a pretty young woman holding a blonde girl of about three years old.
'Why would someone try to kill you on my island, Mr. Royal?' he asked.
'I wish I knew.'
'I know who you are.'
'Is that good?'
'I know about some of your escapades on Longboat,' he said.
'Then you know I'm one of the good guys.'
'Yeah. I already called Chief Lester. He vouched for you.'
'He always does,' I said, smiling.
'This happen a lot?'
'No. But when it does, I can always count on Bill Lester.'
'I know you've been involved with law enforcement in the past,' he said, 'and that you killed some bad guys. Is this shooting tonight related?'
'I don't see how it could be. There wasn't anyone left from the last fiasco to come after me.'
'Did you ever think that practicing law might be safer than your retirement?'
'Lately, I have. But I don't go looking for trouble. It just seems to have a way of finding me.'
'Where were you today?'
I told him about our visit with Jake Yardley, and what I had learned from Chris at the Sea Club. I explained why I was looking for Peggy, and told him I didn't think there was any reason for anybody to try to kill me because I
