Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 33

Once in the cockpit out of the line of fire, Grace's legs stopped working. She slumped to the deck, her heart drumming in her chest. She refused to think about Nick's reaction to what he would undoubtedly consider treachery. She'd deal with him later. It was easier to request forgiveness than to beg for permission. At least he'd be alive.

Grace finally understood how it felt to see someone she loved in danger of dying through recklessness.

Kneeling, she slowly raised her head until Marcia came into view. She was thrashing around on the stern deck. It took both Grace's hands to heft the gun. Pointing the muzzle in the right general direction, she closed her eyes, and jerked the trigger. The recoil nearly kicked the sucker loose, but she held on and squeezed again, more gently this time.

Several return shots indicated she'd missed her target.

Relief caused a rush of blood to Grace's head. Ignoring the momentary weakness, she lined up the struggling form in her sights. This time, she'd make sure she hit the mark. With vengeance in her heart, she tried her damndest to shoot. Hell, she wanted to shoot. Her trigger finger refused to cooperate. Slowly, she lowered the gun. What was wrong with her? She couldn't be as boneheaded as Nick, unable to shoot a woman in cold blood.

Apparently, she could.

Nick's frenzied shout pierced the night. Grace imagined him fumbling with the shim pick. "I'm okay," she yelled. "Stay down."

His next words were lost in a fusillade of shots.

Grace peered cautiously over the ledge surrounding the cockpit. Marcia had slipped closer to the water. Favoring her ankle, Grace crept onto the deck and scanned the waves. In spite of a trailing mast, God's Promise sped toward a breakwater. If someone didn't stop the motor, her hull would rip apart.

In a crouch picked up from watching Jean-Claude Van Damme movies with her brother, she approached the boat's bridge. On reaching the wheel, she reached up and groped for the control panel. Was there a key to turn the sucker off? A lever?

Note to Self: Learn more about boats.

Half expecting a bullet, she bobbed up again to scan the control panel, spotted a likely looking knob marked with red grooves. Ducking to safety, she groped with one hand for what she hoped was the throttle. When her fingers made contact, she gave an experimental jiggle. The motor responded with a roar. Propellers bit deeper into the water. They surged forward.

She'd found what she was looking for—and screwed things up even more.

Under the increased pressure, the cable attached to the mast gave a mighty twang as it snapped. Twisted wire whipped across the deck. Grace jerked her head up and checked on Nick. Two figures were locked in combat. He was still alive.

Marcia's howl was audible over the clamor of the engine. Grace smacked the throttle with the palm of her hand. The engine dropped to a barely audible rumble as the boat settled in the water.

Grace checked out Marcia's position. Her stomach lurched into her throat, where it stayed. The Glock lay abandoned on the deck. Marcia clung to the damaged railing with both hands, fighting the pull of the mast, which now floated free, surrounded by a network of twisted cables, lines and wires. Any second now, she would free-fall into the Intracoastal Waterway, dragged behind the mast like trailing bait.

"Don't let go," Grace yelled.

Marcia bared her teeth in a snarl. "Do I look like fucking Wonder Woman?"

Grace gave a resigned sigh. "I'll find something to cut the rope."

"Toolbox under the helm seat," Marcia gasped. "Hurry."