“You’d feel plenty safe if you weren’t sneaking around at half past three in the goddamn morning!” Jun said, voice booming and scary angry. “You could have blown my head off. You could have shotyourself!”
Geez. I wasn’t just skating on thin ice; it had cracked underfoot and I was drowning. “I discovered what was missing,” I tried desperately.
Jun narrowed his eyes. “Out,” he said, his tone dropping low and frankly proving to be even scarier than when he shouted. “We’re going home now.”
“Jun, we can’t. There—”
“Aubrey. Don’t.”
I swallowed. I didn’t move, didn’t say a word as I stared at him.
Taking his gun…. God,fuck, what was I thinking? I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes as the very real fear of Jun breaking up with me and leaving immediately settled like a rock in my stomach. I tried to apologize, but nothing came out. My throat was dry, parched like I’d been stranded on an island with no well. I reached out for Jun, and he stopped me, beginning to push my hands back before he froze.
Jun turned his head at the same time I looked around him toward the open closet door and the third-floor landing. Halfway up the steps, staring at us from between the banisters, was Captain Smith. Only a second or two passed between the three of us, but I swear it might as well have been an hour. Jun and I staring at him, Smith staring right back. He was as real and solid as the first run-in I’d had with him, and now Jun saw exactly what I’d been hysterical about.
My knees buckled, and I grabbed at the nook. I used my hold on the wall to keep myself sort of standing, while my cataplexy fought to drag me into a useless heap on the floor. “S-Smith!” I sort of slur-shouted.
It was hard to make out details in the near dark, but I knew Smith froze. A ghost had no reason to be on alert. So an intruder. A living, breathing human. For some reason dressed as Captain Smith.
“FBI,” Jun said in a commanding voice. “Freeze!”
Nope. Smith turned and bolted down the stairs, feet pounding and the house shaking as he made a mad dash for safety. Jun took off after him, flying down the steps and vanishing from sight.
“Fuck, wait! Jun!”
I let go of the wall and grabbed my phone before I staggered and stumbled to the stairs. I looked to the second floor and saw Jun race along the hall and make a sharp turn before continuing down the next flight. I gripped the railing and tried to hurry after the two without killing myself. At the second floor, I had to stop and give my muscles a moment to gather strength before I continued to the main floor. I was halfway down the next set of stairs when I heard the parlor window slam open and bodies scramble out of it.
Come on, come on!
The cataplexy wasn’t as awful as it could have been, and by the time I reached the parlor, I was okay, but alone in the house. I ran for the window and all but dove out of it to try and catch up to Smith and Jun. I jumped off the back porch steps and turned to my left in time to see Jun vanish into the surrounding heliconias and leap over the picket fence.
I was in no shape to do that—I’d only just given up smoking! Damn it! I tore off into the gardens, reached the fence, and hoisted myself up before landing hard on the sidewalk outside the property. I wiped my palms on my pants, turned around, and looked for them. I saw Jun racing down Greene Street, so I took off after him.
Smith was at least a block ahead, with Jun closing in on him. I pushed myself harder, blood pumping and adrenaline racing. Our feet pounded the pavement, echoing along the empty street. We ran by a sushi restaurant, a hot sauce shop, and half a dozen bars, all shuttered and silent. A chicken startled somewhere nearby, squawking and flapping its wings.
A trash can was overturned ahead of me by Smith, the metal rattling loud enough to wake the dead. I watched Jun leap the obstacle with ease, but no way were my short legs taking me over it. I’d end up face-planted in a half-eaten cheeseburger for sure. I dodged sideways, barely missed tripping over the lid, and kept going. My lungs were burning, and I had a stitch in my side now, but Smith hadn’t stopped and neither had Jun.
We reached the boardwalk, and Smith didn’t hesitate to run up a set of stairs and along the winding path. If Jun hadn’t been so close on Smith’s heels, he might have gotten lost in the dark twists and turns. The few drunk people still hanging around, maybe waiting for the sunrise, let out shouts of surprise as we ran by. The only immediate thought I had at this point wasJesus Christ, I’m going to die. Not even back in high school gym class had I ever run like this. But somewhere in between wishing for sweet death, I thought,Jun should have some sort of FBI logo on his body. Not that a T-shirt or jacket would protect him any better, but anyone could claim to be something, you know? I could claim to be Santa Claus, but without the beard and suit, I thought I wouldn’t be taken very seriously.
I didn’t want to see Jun hurt because of the fuckup I’d made.
Sea Shack was looming in the distance, a shadow against the darker sky. The boats docked to the left bobbed and rocked in the gentle coming and going of the waves. I stumbled when I dared to glance at the water and crashed to the ground, bruising and scraping my knees. I swore loudly and gripped my scratched, bloodied hands.
When I finally looked up, hissing through clenched teeth, I saw Smith jump into one of the boats. An engine turned over and failed.
“Out of the boat!” Jun shouted. He stopped running and took a firing stance.
Then a shot pierced the quiet of the island.
Jun ducked and ran for cover.
Oh God, oh God. Jun hadn’t fired—Smith had!
I scrambled to my feet as the boat’s engine turned over again and another shot seemed to shatter the night like a hammer to a mirror. I dove behind a trash can and peeked around the side. I watched Jun lean out from behind a small white building that housed the electrical controls for the pier’s lights, but he didn’t have a chance to fire before Smith took a third shot.
The engine sputtered once more, and then it seemed like Smith gave up, climbed back onto the dock, and shot in Jun’s direction as he began to run again. Jun fired back this time, and Smith clutched his bicep and stumbled forward but kept running. Now it was official. Jun would have to account for that bullet. I’d gotten the FBI involved when all the poor man wanted to do was enjoy a little R&R in a tropical paradise.
Instead?
