Tsunami Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  “If you don’t kill me, I will become a threat bigger than Jackson Storm. I’ve studied stalkers, wife beaters and murderers, and I will use that knowledge to hunt you down and kill you. So shoot me or be a hunted bitch.”

  Mr. Gun seethed. Stale alcohol burned her nostrils. “You have a death wish, is that it?”

  Beth grinned, splitting her face. It felt manic. It felt awesome!

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I do have a death wish. But it’s not for me…it’s for you.”

  His upper lip curled back, exposing pale gums. “You think you have the power to take me down?”

  “I know I do.”

  He shook his head and let out a whoop of laughter. “Are you still delusional, Beth? You should get that checked out.” He lowered the gun to his side. “I’m going to walk off this beach and live a life of wealth, once I get my money for killing your husband. And I won’t ever have to worry about you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said with a hint of smugness. She had more resources at her disposal than he could ever imagine. She had a whole police department backing her up.

  Mr. Gun tucked his gun in the back of his jeans. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your life, Beth.” He turned his back on her. “I know I’ll enjoy mine.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” she muttered.

  Movement at her feet.

  The muffled sound of shoes crunching into stiff, wet sand.

  Fingers brushed hers; she clutched the hand that was offered.

  Donovan stood beside her, unharmed thanks to the bulletproof vest with exploding dye packs.

  She lifted her chin and called out to Mr. Gun. “One more thing…”

  He laughed. “What? Have another shell to throw at me?”

  She waited until he turned to her before saying, “We aren’t so easy to kill.”

  “No,” Mr. Gun whispered. And then on a scream, “No! I killed you. I fucking killed you!” He reached behind his back. “You’re going to stay dead this time.” He surged toward them. Rage came off him in waves. The rabid look in his eyes was like that of a shark with the scent of blood.

  Beth stumbled into the surf, dragging Donovan with her.

  Mr. Gun pulled out his weapon. As he leveled it at them, terror slammed into Beth’s chest. Her heart ceased beating and plummeted to her bowels. Oh no. Panic made her hyperventilate.

  Where’s Thorn? Why isn’t he shooting? Why isn’t he shooting?!

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the bullet coming, and gripped Donovan’s hand. Her mind was impossibly blank. She didn’t think about the things she wished she could’ve done. No flashbacks dominated her thoughts. No regrets. She was empty, as if she already was a corpse, a skeleton, ashes in an urn. Then she heard a grunt. Her eyelids flipped open. Mr. Gun dropped to his knees. A foot away from his body, his gun lay in the sand. He face planted, revealing a patch of red on the back of his white T-shirt.

  Thorn and several other undercover officers burst out of their hiding places and stormed the beach with their weapons drawn. Their mouths were moving, but she couldn’t hear their shouts.

  Beth stood in shock as they rolled Mr. Gun onto his back and checked his vitals.

  Thorn approached them. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Beth nodded. Her gaze flitted to Mr. Gun—unmoving and unable to cause any more harm—then back to Thorn. “Thank you.”

  He squeezed her chin with his thumb and forefinger before joining the other agents.

  Strong hands turned her. Donovan cupped her face and peered into her eyes. “You were brilliant.” She smiled although her knees hadn’t stopped shaking. “But…” His eyes darkened. “Would you really want to die if I wasn’t alive?”

  She nodded as tears filled her eyes.

  Donovan pressed his lips to her forehead. “So would I,” he whispered.

  “It was smart of Thorn to think of putting the exploding dye packs under our shirts,” she said when she finally found her voice. “Does it hurt?” Her hand molded around his side, wanting to feel his bruises and aches.

  “A little,” he admitted. “The bullet hit the vest, but knocked the wind out of me. I’ll be bruised and sore, but I’ve dealt with worse.”

  She recalled his fractured ribs from a year ago and knew he was right. He could barely move then, but he took the pain like a gladiator.

  My gladiator.

  “Can you hug me?”

  His eyes softened. “I’m not that hurt, Beth.” He slipped an arm around her waist and brought her close with a hand at the back of her head. She hid her face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent. The feel of his solid body and the smell of his skin were comforts she could wallow in forever. She wanted him. She wanted their home. She wanted their life together.

  “Can we go home?”

  Donovan kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, we can go home.” He steered her around the officers.

  Several feet away, she scooped up the shell she had chucked at Mr. Gun’s head. “I think we should frame this.”

  Epilogue

  Beth’s favorite spot on a plane was always the window seat, but she gave it to Donovan for their flight home. During the takeoff, she closed her eyes, and Donovan knew why. She didn’t want to risk seeing any of the tsunami’s aftermath from a bird’s eye view. She wanted to put what happened on the island behind her. Starting immediately.

  He picked up her hand and pressed his lips to it when the clouds obscured the land. “It’s okay to look.”

  She opened her eyes and looked straight ahead for a few seconds before turning a weak smile to him. Her gaze briefly drifted to the window, her curiosity too great. When she couldn’t see anything, she relaxed into her seat.

  During the flight, Donovan’s excitement grew. They were returning to Florida, and he was taking them to their new home. He had thought about this moment for months, and it was finally happening. His happiness was brimming to the top, like the froth atop a good mug of beer.

  Beth gently poked him in the cheek. “Your dimples are showing. Why are you smiling for no reason at all?”

  “Oh, I have a reason.” He kissed her cheek. “And it’s a good one.”

  She arched a brow, a sign that he had her hooked. “Care to share?”

  “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

  Her eyes widened. “A Donovan Goldwyn surprise? I’m even more curious. Tell me,” she begged.

  “Patience.”

  She gasped. “That’s cruel. You know that’s the one thing I don’t have.” She gave him a teasing smile. “So I don’t get a hint?”

  “It’s my wedding gift to you. You’ll get it once we land.”

  “But you are my wedding gift, Donovan. I don’t need anything else. I’m just happy to be going home, and that we’re both alive.”

  Her words warmed him. “So am I. You’re all I’ll ever want or need, but this gift is something I’ve been wanting to give to you since Hurricane Sabrina.”

  She grinned. “Floaties?”

  “An inner tube.”

  She laughed. “All right. I guess I’ll have to wait.”

  When they landed, they met Thorn at baggage claim. “I’m going to go home, take a shower, and then I have to talk to Chief Cormac. But I wanted to tell you something, Beth, before I go. It’s about Mr. Gun.”

  Beth stiffened.

  Donovan wanted to deck Thorn for dredging up bad memories within minutes of being home.

  “His real name was Bruce Grosswiener.”

  Donovan felt a chuckle rising up his chest. He peered at Beth. Her face twitched.

  She mashed her lips together in an effort to keep her laughter at bay, but it was too strong. A closed-mouth giggle escaped. She fought hard to keep her face placid, but her shoulders bobbed up and down. Another sound came out. Her face contorted. Then she threw back her head and released the laughter beating inside her.

  “Oh my gosh.” She pressed her hand to her chest.
“Seriously? His name was Bruce…Gross…wiener.” She could barely get his name out.

  Thorn grinned. “I knew that would make your day. See you around.” He gave them a two-finger salute before wandering off.

  Beth wiped away figurative tears. “That is great. I feel so much better.”

  Donovan smirked. “I’m glad. Let’s go home.”

  In his truck, he stole glances at Beth. When they went in the opposite direction of their apartment, she returned the stare but didn’t say anything. She even kept her questions stifled when they entered the old city where she grew up. But the second he turned down the street where she lived when Hurricane Sabrina hit, she faced him.

  Curiosity bloomed across her eyes. “Donovan, what are we doing here?”

  “This is your gift.”

  She shook her head, not understanding. “What is?”

  He slowed in front of the lot where her childhood home used to be. Except it wasn’t an empty lot anymore. A two-story house of brick and wood sat on the lot with a large covered porch and an extra-wide garage and driveway.

  He pulled his truck into the driveway and cut the engine. “This…” He gestured to the house. “I’m bringing you home, Beth.”

  She shook her head. “No. Donovan, I sold the land.”

  “I know.” He smiled as he took her hand. “I bought it.”

  Her mouth peeled open. She stared at the house through the windshield. “So the money we got was your money all along?” He nodded. “The money you got from your grandfather’s Will paid for this?”

  “Every last penny.”

  “Donovan…” Her voice was a breath. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  Her words confused him. “Do you want to look at it?” He pulled the keys from the ignition and selected a silver key. “I have the key.”

  She followed him to the front door. He inserted the key, unlocked the door, and let her in ahead of him. She moved through the first floor, which he had designed specifically to look like the home she used to know, but with some adjustments like the fireplace where he imagined setting up a fire during the rare, cold Florida days. And the two downstairs bedrooms had been transformed into a gym and a guest room. Upstairs was a master suite with a vaulted bath and walk-in closet. Two extra rooms shared an adjacent bathroom.

  Beth paused in the middle of the master suite. When she looked at Donovan, he felt giddy, like a boy at Christmas. At the same time, he was apprehensive. She hadn’t said a word since stepping over the threshold.

  “What do you think?”

  Her mouth cracked open. A tiny sound came out. She closed her mouth, swallowed, and tried again. “I think you’re the best husband in the universe. I already feel at home here.” She shook her head. “I love you with all my heart.”

  Donovan went to her, framed her face with his hands, and kissed her with all the feelings he had pent up inside—excitement, anxiety, happiness, and fear.

  “You’re too good for me,” she murmured between his lips.

  He shook his head and lifted her face so she’d look into his eyes. “I’m as good as you’ve made me, Beth. This…” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “This is what I pictured when I proposed to you. My money was collecting dust anyway, so don’t for one second feel guilty or undeserving.” He looped an arm around her and brought her closer. “We met in this very spot. It only makes sense to spend our forever here. This house is going to be where we raise our children and tell them about their grandparents and the hurricane that brought us together. We’re going to grow old together here, and then, we’ll pass it on to our kids. It’s going to be an heirloom of our love.”

  Tears coursed down Beth’s cheeks. He swiped them away with his thumbs. “Will you live here with me, Beth? Love here with me? Grow old here with me?”

  She nodded as more tears ran down her cheeks. “One hundred times yes.”

  Donovan’s fear and anxiety dissolved with her words. His shoulders lowered. He kissed her as he did on their wedding day, with promises, hopes, and dreams on his lips.

  “Just one thing…” Beth inched back and peered up at him. “Did you make this house disaster proof?”

  A word about the author…

  Chrys Fey is the author of the Disaster Crimes Series, as well as these releases from The Wild Rose Press: 30 Seconds Before, 30 Seconds, Ghost of Death, and Witch of Death. She is an administrator for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group and an editor for Dancing Lemur Press.

  When Fey was six years old, she realized she wanted to be a writer by watching her mother pursue publication. At the age of twelve, she started writing her first novel, which flourished into a series she later rewrote at seventeen.

  Fey lives in Florida and is always on the lookout for hurricanes. She has four adopted cats that keep her entertained with their antics, and three nephews who keep her entertained with theirs. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and through her blog, Write with Fey. She loves to get to know her readers!

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