More of the shit Jun dealt with on a daily basis.
Dead bodies. Criminals. Shootouts. Just… you know, instead of chasing suspects down smelly back alleys in New York, Los Angeles, or Boston, Jun was doing it with the ocean on his left and palm trees to his right. It really wasn’t much of a consolation prize, though.
“Jun!” I shouted, slowly standing.
Jun came out into the open and took sure strides toward the middle of the walkway, looking at where Smith had vanished down another road toward a residential area. “Stay where you are,” he told me before going to the boat.
“Like hell,” I called, hurrying after him, ignoring the burning pain of my scraped knees.
I could hear sirens nearby. The shots had roused at least one Good Samaritan.
Jun got to the dock’s edge and peered into the boat, gun aimed and ready if there was anyone inside.
“Jun,” I said again, reaching his side and then freezing when he held his hand out to stop me.
I peered into the boat and saw the cause for concern.
Peg Hart—dead.
Chapter Thirteen
THE SIRENSwere right behind us.
I turned away from the boat to see police cars pulling into Sea Shack’s parking area. Jun turned as well, gun now aimed at the ground in a nonthreatening manner. I could practically feel him vibrating at my side. I looked and caught a stain on his shirt and arm.
“You’ve been shot!” I exclaimed.
Jun shook his head tersely. “Just a scratch,” he replied.
“Drop the weapon!” an officer called out, standing behind his car door and aiming a gun at us.
I put my hands up.
Jun slowly set the gun on the ground. “I’m a federal agent,” he said as a few officers approached. “I have identification in my back pocket.” He put his hands behind his head as one of the officers roughly grabbed him and started searching Jun for more weapons.
“For Christ’s sake,” I called when the second officer ordered my hands behind my head. “He’s FBI,” I told the first guy. “You going to buy him breakfast after that frisk?”
“Stop, Aubrey,” Jun said firmly.
The first officer finally pulled Jun’s badge from his pocket and opened it. “Special Agent Jun Tanaka.” He looked back and, after a beat, handed Jun the badge. “My apologies.”
Jun tucked the badge away and collected his gun, giving the officer who was checking me a hard look. “He’s with me.”
I lowered my hands when the cop backed away.
The first officer extended his hand to Jun, who briefly shook it. “Officer Brown. We got a call about three suspicious men seen running along the boardwalk and multiple shots fired,” he stated.
“Four shots were fired by the subject I pursued here on foot,” Jun answered. “I returned one shot after I was hit.” He turned a bit to show the blood soaking his T-shirt sleeve. “Mr. Grant was unarmed and ran for cover,” Jun finished, pointing at me.
“I’ll call for an ambulance,” the second officer said as he tilted the remote speaker on his shoulder and began reporting the situation as he walked back to the vehicles.
“I chased the subject from the Smith Historical Home,” Jun said.
“That’s pretty far,” Brown said, impressed.
Yeah, and I felt every cigarette I ever smoked the entire way.
“I believe the subject to be involved in an ongoing homicide investigation headed by Detective Tillman out of Stock Island. However, my current cause for concern is what’s in the boat the subject tried to escape on.”
