Page 47 of Wild Tempest

The blast rang my ears.

Paul hadn’t hesitated a bit. Pure impulse.

I took the opportunity to lunge for the weapon. I pinned Paul's arm to the bulkhead and jammed an elbow into his nose. It shattered, spewing blood.

I stripped the weapon from his grasp and tossed it down the corridor. I didn't know the status of the weapon. That could have been the last bullet in the gun.

A kick to the groin doubled him over, then I took him to the deck with an arm bar take down. I drove his face into the deck and wrenched his arm behind his back. I slapped the cuffs around his wrist, then secured the other cuff to a grab bar on the bulkhead.

Tempest peered out of the cabin again.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded, tears filling her eyes.

Her father grunted and groaned, rambling on about how he was going to kill us. It must have been hard for Tempest to see him like that. But at least he was alive.

I moved away from Paul and collected his weapon. I dropped out the magazine and surveyed it. There were at least half a dozen rounds left in the magazine, plus one in the chamber.

My ear still rang from the gunshot.

Tempest trembled with nerves. She had stepped out of the cabin and inched closer to her dad. "It's me, Tempest,” she said, her eyes filling. “Don't you remember me?"

Paul glared at her. "I don't have a daughter. Stop trying to deceive me."

"You named your boat after me, remember?"

Paul continued to look at her like she was the crazy one. “You’re here to steal it.”

“I’m here, looking for you,” she said in a gentle voice.

“You’ll never take it from me. And you’ll never get off this ship.”

“We’re going to get you some help, Dad. You’re going to be okay.” Tears spilled as she said it. Tempest wanted to believe it.

She backed away, wiped the tears from her eyes, and hugged me.

“What are we going to do with him?”

“He’ll be fine here for a minute. Let’s check on Dale.”

I grabbed my weapon from the stateroom, then looked in on JD. He was still crashed out in his bunk.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Like roadkill," he grunted in a scratchy voice.

I stepped into the cabin and approached the bed. I put my hand on his forehead. "You’ve still got a fever."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Let me see your eyes."

"Now, how am I supposed to sleep if I've got my eyes open?"

I kept standing there.

Jack finally peeled open his eyes and looked at me. I examined his pupillary response.