Red Surf: Leah Ryan Thrillers (The Leah Ryan Thrillers Book 4)

by Tracy Sharp

  McCool nodded slowly. “Me, too. The person killing these girls will be sorry, too, when we catch him.”

  I watched his jaw tighten as he stared down the beach at the area where I’d found the girl. What was left of her. Bull Frog and Bass Bay beaches were closed today. Tourists would have to go to another. There were so many in the area, I doubted it would be a problem. Just a minor inconvenience. Some would be annoyed. But I was sure nobody wanted to swim with a floating body part finding its way to the shoreline.

  They would go on with their vacations, while two girls who should be having fun would now be lying in pieces at the morgue.

  So far, my own vacation left a lot to be desired.

  “Detective—” I began.

  “Chris.” His gaze locked with mine, then dropped down to his pad.

  “Chris. Would you let us know when you find out anything about the girl?”

  He nodded. “I’ll let you know. Shouldn’t be too long, now.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled.

  Jackson shook McCool’s hand. “Thanks, Chris.”

  If the situation hadn’t been so somber, I might’ve felt like grinning. Somehow, I didn’t think McCool’s offer to use his first name instead of his title was meant for Jackson.

  Jackson wore just a faint touch of a smile.

  When McCool was seated behind the wheel of his cruiser, I kept my eyes on it as he drove away.

  “Jackson, Jackson. What is it with you when guys are friendly with me? Do you have a crush on me, after all these years?”

  “Kicks. What do you mean, after?”

  I stared at him.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Kicks. Just kidding.” He smiled and winked.

  “Oh.” I didn’t know if what I felt was relief or disappointment.

  ***

  “Ms. Ryan, what was it like to come across the remains of the girl you found on the beach this morning?”

  I glared at the reporter, gritting my teeth. I thought the reporters were just as bad as the seagulls and crows had been, fighting for the juiciest morsel. “How do you think it felt?”

  “I can only imagine,” she said, injecting practiced concern into her made-for-TV voice.

  “I doubt it.” I brushed passed her, hating the camera so much that, as usual, when one is pointed at me, I wanted to bust it and the face of the person operating it. In this case, a leggy, jean-clad woman in her mid-twenties. Her dark hair, cut short, showed a gorgeous jaw line. She cracked a knowing smile at me. One that said she was aware that the news reporter was this close to an ass whooping. By me.

  I gave her a crooked smile of my own, and it instantly broke the tension. Sometimes, just knowing that someone shares your view is enough to make you feel better.

  “Ms. Ryan, we understand that the parents of Shannon Cook hired you and your partner to look into her murder. Have you discovered anything new in your investigation?” The reporter said, her gleaming blonde hair lifting in the wind, then falling perfectly back into place on her shoulders.

  “I can’t comment on that. In fact, I really can’t comment on anything. I have somewhere I need to be, so, please excuse me.” I reached Jackson’s truck with the reporter hot on my heels.

  Slamming the passenger door, I gave the reporters one last scowl before looking straight ahead. I turned up the radio. It was a media whirlwind at the beach house. Anywhere would be better than here right now.

  “Jesus. These assholes want the story so badly they don’t care if I back over them.” Jackson leaned on the horn. Inched backward.

  “Shhh,” I turned the radio up a little more.

  The DJ finished the story as Jackson did a three point turn and thankfully headed in the opposite direction of the media circus. “Nobody knows who this girl is, yet. That’s horrible.”

  “My guess,” Jackson began. “She was here with her boyfriend. Romantic weekend for July 4. If she was with a group of people, she’d have been noticed as missing by now.”

  “There must be thousands of couples here this weekend. There are hundreds of hotels in the area. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.” I sneezed. Reaching into the back of the truck for my hoodie, I dug around in my pocket for a tissue. “Think I’m allergic to something that grows around these parts. Or those damned reporters.”

  “Or, you’re allergic to finding body parts.”

  My fingers found the tissue, but they hooked onto something else that felt unfamiliar. Something stringy, but thin, like a leather strap. I remembered a leather jacket with fringes on the arms that I had as a kid. My dad got it for me on an Indian reservation we’d driven through once. We’d stopped for lunch at the trading post and I fell in love with the jacket, feeling its fringes. My dad bought it for me on the spot.

  That was just before my family blew apart.

  This felt like those fringes. I pulled the object out of my pocket and frowned. “Jackson, did you put this in my pocket?”

  He glanced at my hand. “Nope.”

  A shark’s tooth hanging on a thin leather strap. I turned it over in my hand, running my fingers over it. “Well, it isn’t mine.”

  “Maybe one of the young guys who was teaching you how to surf put it in there.”

  “Maybe.” But I didn’t think so.

  “Or Logan. He’s the shark expert.”

  “I sincerely doubt it. He’d frown upon this. It’s a shark’s tooth. He treats sharks like Gods.”

  A growing sense of trepidation rose inside me, gripping my chest. “Jackson, I have a bad feeling about this.”

  He looked over at me, then back down at the shark’s tooth necklace. “Shit, Leah...”

  “Yeah. I think the killer put this in my pocket.”

  Which meant that he’d been on the patio last night while Jackson and I were sleeping. He’d been right outside our door.

  ***

  Detective Chris McCool met us at the Bass Bay police station. We waited in the parking lot, leaning against Jackson’s truck while we waited. I was amazed that he’d picked up by the second ring, saying, “Leah. What’s up?”

  Putting a voice to my thoughts, as he often does, Jackson said, “He picked up pretty quick. Knew who you were, too. You didn’t have to tell him. Nice that he put you in his contact list.”

  “Yeah, it is. You never know when you’ll need a cop.”

  He crossed his arms across his chest. “Cops never come that fast unless you’ve done something wrong, but I’m betting that if he could beam himself over here for you, he would.”

  I smirked, leaned back against the truck. “Maybe.”

  As if on cue. McCool’s cruiser sailed into the parking lot. He pulled into the space beside us.

  Jackson cleared his throat, glanced at me, pushing himself off the truck.

  “Thanks for coming so soon,” I said to McCool.

  “Sure. It’s my job.” He smiled.

  I could almost feel Jackson holding back the eye roll.

  I handed McCool the sharks’ tooth. “I’m sorry, but my prints are all over this.”

  “Uh, oh. I guess I’ll have to fingerprint you,” he said.

  “Her prints are already on file,” Jackson said.

  I shot him a look.

  McCool lifted his brows. “Really?”

  I smiled. “Not anymore. My file was expunged. I was a teenage car thief. You can fingerprint me, if you’d like.”

  Chris pulled an evidence bag out of his pants pocket and placed the necklace into it. “No point. These things are sold at gift shops and stands all over the coast. I’m sure there are so many prints on this thing; we’d never be able to lift a good one. I’ll have it run through for prints though, to see if we lift one that’s in the system.”

  “I didn’t realize that shark’s teeth are so readily available,” I said.

  “There are divers who dive specifically to find shark’s teeth. But some are from poachers. It’s illegal here, but they still manage to find a way. We’r
e on the look-out for them. Shark’s teeth are often sold over the internet, too.” His blue-green eyes locked on mine for a moment.

  I nodded, looking serious. But inside I was smiling. Detective McCool made me feel kinda funny.

  “Thanks, Leah.” He nodded at Jack. “Jackson.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said. “Stay cool, Detective McCool.”

  McCool hesitated. “Leah, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Sure.” I shot Jackson a look that told him to scram.

  Looking bemused, Jackson got into the truck and closed the door. I knew the driver’s window was down and he could hear what was said, but I didn’t really care.

  I turned back to Chris. “What can I do for you?”

  His face turned an adorable shade of dark pink. “Well, I just thought that if you and Jackson aren't, you know, an item...”

  “We’re not,” I said. “We’re just partners. And friends. I’ve known Jackson since juvie hall.”

  He smiled, seeming to get a kick out of that. “Right. Okay. Well, there are some really nice dinner cruises here in Bass Bay. I wondered if you’d be interested... I mean, if you’d like to—”

  “I’d love to.” I smiled.

  His face brightened, and he let out a breath. “Great!”

  “When?”

  “How about tonight? Do you have plans?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  His smile fell a little. “Okay—”

  “With you,” I added.

  He chuckled. “Awesome. The dinner cruise is at seven, so, I’ll pick you up at six?”

  “Sure. Is it dressy?”

  “No. You can wear whatever you like. It’s pretty casual.”

  “Great. I’ll see you at six, then.” The fluttering of butterfly wings tickled my insides, and I felt my own face heat up with color.

  Chris nodded and headed toward the station. He held up the evidence bag containing the shark’s tooth necklace. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  I smiled at him as I opened the passenger door of Jackson’s truck.

  “Aaaw, cute,” Jackson said. “He was all stammering and shit. Just like a schoolboy. You’re going to wreck him, aren’t you?”

  “Only in a good way.” I couldn’t seem to stop grinning.

  Jackson shook his head. “Poor bastard. He’ll be just another broken man left in your wake.

  I snorted. “Right.”

  “A mere shell of the man he used to be, before you came along.” Jackson glanced in the rearview mirror, the corners of his mouth turned upward.

  “I think that you’re exaggerating. Again.”

  “I think not.”

  “Whatever. I’m going on a dinner cruise. So you’ll need to find food for yourself this evening.”

  “That won’t be a problem. I’ll just spear a fish off the dock.”

  “Right. Have you ever gone fishing?”

  He gave me an ‘as if’ look. “Yeah. At the carnival. Those fishing games? I kick ass at those.”

  “I mean real fishing. With an actual fishing rod. In a body of water with fish in it.”

  “Nope. How hard can it be?”

  “There’s a little girl that fishes off her dock about half a mile away from the beach house. I bet she could give you some pointers.”

  “Good call.” Jackson turned his face to the open window, enjoying the wind blowing his hair back, like a dog taking a ride in the car. I half expected his tongue to loll out at any second.

  “Jackson, you can’t fool me. I know you can step into any one of these places and women will be drawn to you like a magnet. You’ve got that misunderstood, gruff, dangerous vibe going on.

  “I think you’re referring to yourself.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  My cell rang. The name on the screen was Chris.

  “You’ve got him in your contact list? Wow. That’s unusual.

  “He is a cop investigating the murders, Jax.”

  “Uh huh. Guess he couldn’t wait to hear your voice again. You’re not going to do the you hang up first, no YOU hang up, thing are you?”

  I pulled my non-impressed face, then lifted the phone to my ear. “Leah.”

  “Leah,” Chris’ voice sounded far from flirty. “We’ve found another body.”

  Chapter 5

  “Why people want to camp in a tent in some isolated area is beyond me,” Jackson said as we climbed out of his truck and headed toward the tree-lined hill that spilled out into woods. “Being slaughtered by a psycho who has all the time and privacy he needs to kill you kind of wipes away the supposed health benefits and peace of mind you get when you’re camping.”

  “I don’t know. Never been the outdoorsy type myself.” I noted several cruisers parked at the bottom of the hill. I looked around for the cop who would inevitably approach, telling us we couldn’t go any farther.

  A young female who stood halfway up the hill turned her head and spotted us. Immediately she headed down toward us. “This is a crime scene. You need to leave.”

  Chris’ blonde head appeared at the top of the hill and he waved. “It’s okay, Megan. I called them here.”

  Megan looked at Chris, then back at us. The who the hell are they look obvious on her face.

  But detective Chris McCool outranked her, and so he apparently didn’t feel the need to explain himself. He waved us up. “This way. But I’m warning you, it isn’t pretty.”

  Thankful for my Doc Martens, even on a hot day, we began the walk up the hill.

  The grass grew taller as we reached the hilltop, and wildflowers dotted the area. Bees buzzed on colorful blossoms, and woods circled the area in a half-moon shape, stretching back as far as the eye could see. This was a clearing off the beaten path. Not so deep into the woods that you’d get lost or eaten alive by mosquitoes or black flies, but isolated enough that you’d get that away-from-it-all camping experience. The area was taped off, and the click of the crime scene photographer’s camera sounded in the morose silence.

  A two-person tent sat a few yards away from the hilltop, and a recent campfire still smoked lightly a few feet from the tent. A cooler sat open near the campfire, the ice within it long having melted. A pack of hotdogs floated at the top of the water, and several bottles of water and diet soda leaned against the walls of the cooler.

  Two sticks skewering partially eaten hotdogs were dropped haphazardly about a few feet away from the fire. It looked like the couple had been surprised.

  Chris turned to Jackson and me. “The reason I called you to the scene is that I know you’re investigating this case for Mr. and Mrs. Cook. They’re good people. I also did some research and you two seem to have a talent for solving murders.”

  Jackson nodded. “We’ve seen our share.”

  Chris took a breath, looked away, toward the woods. “I’ve got to admit that I’m way out of my league here. I’m over my head and I need your help. This shit just doesn’t happen around here.”

  “You’ve got it, brother,” Jackson said. “We’re here to help.”

  “Appreciate it. The body is in the tent. It looks like he walked in there at gunpoint, or something. No sign of a struggle.”

  My legs felt slightly rubbery as we walked over to the tent. Whatever we’d see in that tent, we’d never be able to erase from our memory. Still, I moved forward. One foot in front of the other.

  Chris pulled back the flap covering the tent’s entrance. Bare legs were visible and deadly still. I forced myself not to take a step backward, and bent down, looking into the tents’ orange glow.

  The kid, couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old, lay face down where he’d fallen. The back of his head was a bloody mess, dark hair matted with sticky red. He’d fallen on his face, arms bent, hands beneath his belly. I imagined him clasping them at his stomach, saying a prayer or begging for his life.

  It hadn’t helped. The shot had come anyway.

  ***

  Nothing stood out as having been left at the
scene by the killer, but crime scene analysis would likely find fibers, hair, and any number of things the killer had left behind unknowingly. Or knowingly and not caring. Evidence didn’t always lead to an arrest. Or, sometimes the arrest came years, even decades later, if at all.

  The fact that the hotdogs had been dropped suggested that the killer had come upon the couple and surprised them. Perhaps he had followed them, maybe from the grocery store where they had bought their food and drinks.

  There didn’t appear to have been a struggle. There were no scrape marks in the dirt where the girl had been dragged. But then, the killer had used a gun. The girl likely had been scared out of her mind, knowing that her boyfriend had just been executed. She would’ve heard the entire thing. She would’ve been cooperative, hanging on to the hope that she might get out of this alive.

  “Sick bastard,” Jackson said, back the truck.

  “Yeah. We’re assuming that the body you found on the beach this morning was the girl.” Chris handed me a photo of a girl with long, dark hair. The same girl I’d seen partially eaten, laying on the sand. “This was in his wallet. His name was Thomas Kirby. Twenty-one years old. Her purse was in the tent. According to her driver’s license, her name was Lisa Boone. Twenty years old. No cash was taken from either of them.”

  “Right,” I said. “Because robbery definitely wasn’t the purpose of his visit. Taking the girl was his intent.”

  “He followed them,” Jackson said. “He spotted the girl and had to have her. She was the target.”

  “That would be my guess, too,” Chris agreed. “He just wanted to get the boyfriend out of the way. Eliminate him.”

  I thought for a second. “Was Shannon with her boyfriend when she vanished?”

  “Her boyfriend, but also with her friends. Her boyfriend, Bailey Pembrooke, met her at the beach. She arrived there with her friends first.”

  Her friends had shared pictures of Shannon on the day she vanished. Kids take pics of everything on their phones these days. “I need to talk to her friends, again. See how affectionate they were in public.”

  “It was a fairly new relationship,” Chris said.