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Back Deception Cove
Chapters (78)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Forty-Three
  50. Forty-Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Fifty-Four
  61. Fifty-Five
  62. Fifty-Six
  63. Fifty-Seven
  64. Fifty-Eight
  65. Fifty-Nine
  66. Sixty
  67. Sixty-One
  68. Sixty-Two
  69. Sixty-Three
  70. Sixty-Four
  71. Sixty-Five
  72. Sixty-Six
  73. Sixty-Seven
  74. Sixty-Eight
  75. Acknowledgments
  76. Discover More
  77. About the Author
  78. Also by Owen Laukkanen

Harwood stayed as low as possible in the cockpit of the Grady-White. The boat was aground; they’d survived the ride somehow, but he couldn’t imagine how the hull would react if he tried to reverse back into open water.

Dale was gone too. He’d disappeared over the side and hadn’t come up, and Harwood figured the odds were pretty good he’d drowned.

At this point he had bigger things to worry about. Like a pissed-off ex-marine putting 5.56 NATO rounds through the hull of his boat.

“Sweeney,” he called back to the stern, where Cole was ducked low, his rifle lying forgotten on the other side of the deck. The deputy was spitting blood, but he looked okay otherwise. He locked eyes with Harwood, and his vision was clear, if a little bit terrified.

“Pick up that rifle and give me covering fire,” Harwood told him. “We have to get off this boat.”

They had to get their asses in gear, is what they had to do. Every second they stayed here was another yard Jess Winslow could close with that rifle of hers, and Harwood didn’t want to be on the beach when she showed up at the tree line. They needed to get to the forest before she cut them off, then find somewhere to hide and regroup, take advantage of their numbers and mount a counterattack.

Mason Burke was out there somewhere too, Harwood knew. He didn’t know what the ex-con was up to, but he had a hunch the guy would show up at the least opportune time.

Sweeney crawled across the deck and retrieved his rifle. Crawled back to the starboard side and hesitated there like a private too scared to climb out of his foxhole. Harwood gave him a look, nodded toward the forest, and Sweeney swallowed and looked pale and did as instructed, laid his rifle across the gunwale and began laying down fire.

Harwood was moving as soon as he heard the shots. Grabbed his M4 and some spare ammunition, and then he was crawling to the port side of the Grady-White, away from where Jess’s shots were coming from. He muttered a quick prayer and climbed over the side, threw himself down to the water below, his rifle aloft to keep it out of the spray. He landed hard, wincing and swearing, the rock cutting through his clothes, the water soaking them, waves trying to drag him farther into the bay.

He circled around to the bow of the boat and aimed his own rifle toward Jess’s patch of forest.

“Come on,” he told Cole, who dropped back just as soon as he heard Harwood begin shooting. Pretty soon the deputy was crouched in the water beside Harwood, his hands bloody and clothes shredded from another hard landing.

Harwood locked eyes with Joy, who remained in the cockpit. The Nigerian had been shot, but he wasn’t quitting the fight.