The man dropped to his knees beside me and held up his car keys. That confused me until a white light shot out of it and blinded me. He tilted my head from one side to the other.
"I don't see a wound, operator." he said with more than a little panic in his voice. "What do I do?"
He listened to the answer and leaned over me. "Miss? Where are you hurt?"
I ran through my body parts. Other than some minor aches from being crushed under Ty I didn't feel hurt.
"I..." I swallowed heavily. My mouth was as dry as cotton. "I don't feel shot."
He passed that back to the 911 operator before running the light up and down my body. "I don't see any more blood. Under the light there isn't even that much on her neck."
I struggled to a sitting position and tried to think. If it wasn't my blood... A blast of adrenaline shot through me. "Ty! Ohmigod! Ty's shot!" I grabbed the man's arm. "You have to help me find my friend!"
"Just lay back down," he said soothingly. "The police are on the way. They'll find your friend."
"Screw that," I snarled, making him recoil. "Ty could be dying."
I struggled to my feet and ignored his startled squawking. He tried to block me but I scrambled around him. The shock was gone and I could move again.
"Tyrone Walker, you better answer me," I shouted.
"Keep your panties on," his voice called tiredly back from the trees. "I'm coming."
The lighting was good enough for me to see him walking slowly out of the trees in front of me. He was moving slowly but he was moving under his own power.
I ran around the confounded rescuer and beat feet to Ty's side.
"Are you hurt?" I asked anxiously. "Are you shot?" My eyes devoured him, searching for blood in the gloom.
He gestured at his left shoulder. "Just a scratch. I'm fine. Whoever it was got away," he said, his voice dripping disappointment.
I grabbed his right arm and pulled him quickly to a seat. "Sit down and let me look at your shoulder." My heart was thundering in my chest as I fumbled at the buttons on his shirt. "Light. Bring that light over here," I called out to the Good Samaritan.
"Here," the man said, holding it out to me.
"Point it at his shoulder," I said. "Thank you for coming to help me. It was very brave."
His cell phone chittered at him and he yanked it back to his ear and started bringing the operator up to speed.
Under the light I could see Ty's left sleeve was soaked with blood. I was afraid to touch it. Afraid I might hurt him worse.
He chuckled darkly and slid the sleeve down with a hiss of pain. The wound was more than a scratch but better than I'd feared. It was a cut, almost a groove, on the outside of his arm. A cut that was still bleeding sluggishly.
I ran to where I'd dropped my purse and brought it back at a run. Carelessly, I dumped the contents on the ground and found what I was looking for; a sanitary pad I kept on hand for emergencies. With an apologetic smile, I ripped it open and pressed it over the wound.
"Sorry, it's all I have."
He shook his head and smiled a little more widely. "I've carried them into combat myself. Sterile and easily available. Who could ask for more?"
The rest of the beach-goers had regained enough courage to join their braver companion. They surrounded us and talked to each other loudly, wondering what had happened. I'm sure they were talking to me, too, but I ignored them to focus on Ty. That's probably how I missed the arrival of trouble's second wave.
She probably got all the information she needed under the cover of the chatter all around me because the first I knew of my mother's presence was when she appeared at my side.
"Fancy meeting you all the way up here," she said calmly as she twisted the top off a water bottle and soaked a handkerchief.
I slumped a little. "Crap. I'm busted."
With smooth, quick strokes she cleaned my neck. "Thank God. None of this is yours. You're okay." Her eyes glittered with tears of relief.
"I'm afraid that's mine, Linda," Ty said. "I think I kept Candy safe."
Mom's gaze became cool and serious and she considered both of us. "I've picked up enough to know there was gun play. You two were following me and someone shot at my little girl. You both have some serious explaining to do, if the police don't arrest you both."
"It's my fault," I said. "Ty was following me. I was the one following you."
"And someone followed him to shoot at you?" she asked. "This is getting a little complex for me. Rest assured, we are all going to sit down and have a conversation about this as soon as Ty sees someone about this." She focused on Ty. "Is it bad?"
He shook his head. "It hurt worse when I got my tattoo."
I frowned at him. "You don't have a tattoo."
He grinned at me. "You just haven't looked in enough places yet."
I flushed when I realized the only available locations left to search. That only made him grin, the rat.
The crowd was starting to thin out, being cleared by Hyatt security. The flashing lights of one police car, quickly followed by two more, appeared on the other side of the bridge leading back to the Hyatt complex. My mother refused to leave my side. Her dinner companion filtered out of the dispersing crowd to stand beside her, as well.
He wasn't only young, he was quite a bit younger than I'd thought. I pegged him at about twenty-five but the light here still wasn't the best. Tall and trim, he had a handsome face that was filled with concern. He nodded at me but didn't speak.
Then the police were there and demanding answers.
* * * * *
The next few hours involved me telling several different cops what the hell happened. After several repetitions, the cover story sounded almost natural. Ty was questioned separately while the EMTs treated him. It was interrupted when they hauled him off to the hospital. Since I insisted on going to, they had to question me on the move.
Detective Sergeant Davy September drove me in his car while my mother and her as yet unnamed lover followed us. Unlike the other cops I'd told the story to, he wasn't shy about sharing his opinion of my intelligence with me.
"Have you lost your mind?" he snarled. "I don't care if the Sheriff and all his merry men think that guy's death was an accident. Even if it had been, painting a big target all over yourself like this is retarded."
"That's not very politically correct," I said dryly.
"Screw political correctness," he said succinctly. "You've stirred a hornet's nest now. Unless your boyfriend has pissed off someone recently, you've motivated a killer to try and silence you."
"I don't get it, though. He or she went to all the trouble of making Armstrong's death look like an accident. Why throw that away when it's only me making waves? Shooting at me is just going to make the police look at everything again."
September shrugged. "Panic. Stupidity. Who knows? That still doesn't make you look like a MENSA candidate. If I could, I'd toss you into the jail for a few days while things cooled off."
I rolled my eyes. "If I didn't ask questions, then who was going to? A man was murdered."
