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

by Tracy Sharp

  Jackson said between gritted teeth, “You touch her and I’ll string you up to this thing, Champ. And trust me, you won’t be begging for more.”

  Corey lifted both hands. “Hey, back off, Lurch. Just playing.”

  “Yeah?” Jackson leaned in close, and I could see the vein pulsing in his neck. “I’m not playing, motherfucker. You get me?”

  “Okay. Got it.” He dropped his hands, walked over to his secret compartment of sado-masochistic toys, and closed it. He replaced the lock and clicked it shut. “You kids go play, now. Don’t you have a killer to catch?”

  “We’re not the cops,” I said. “But we love to give the cops information.”

  He shrugged, the smirk back in place. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

  “I thought you did,” I said. “From your daddy.”

  “So, I’ll have to turn in the keys to daddy’s boat for a couple of weeks. Have ropes and chains—Will travel.”

  “Good luck with that.” I needed to get out of there before I kicked him between the legs so hard his dick inverted. I turned away and headed out of the room. “Pathetic.”

  “What did you call me,” he said to my back.

  I turned. “You’re a creepy little boy trying to look scary. You’re pathetic.”

  His face turned crimson and he actually bared his teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “A bitch who wouldn’t sleep with you if she was paid to.”

  And in that instant I saw the strange, uncertain little kid inside of him, but just for a second. Then the mask of rage slipped into place. “Get off my boat.”

  “Gladly. I’m bored. I think I’ll do something vastly more exciting. Like trim my toenails. Like trim anyone’s toenails, actually, as long as I’m not here.”

  Jackson snorted behind me as we left.

  ***

  “He’s so damned arrogant,” I said, slouching down in the truck. “He’s laughing his ass off at us right now, you know that? That whole thing he did in there, he might as well have told us that he killed her. But having freaky-deaky sex is not illegal so we have nothing on him.”

  “I really wanted to shoe him in the nuts.” Jackson’s face looked sad. “I mean really.”

  “I think I would’ve paid to see that, Jax.”

  “Yeah. Well, the day is still young. We’ll see what McCool says. If he’s worth his salt as a detective, he’ll find something on that boat to nail that little bastard.”

  The pounding behind my eyes made it hard to think. “Jackson, stop at that convenient store. My head is splitting.”

  He turned into the parking lot for the Quickie Shop and we both went in. He grabbed us both a bottle of water and himself a pack of sugar-free gum.

  On our way back to the car, I spotted someone leaning into the truck. A hairy pair of legs and a glimpse of a flowery shirt splattered with bright colors which should never be found together. Ever.

  “Hey!” Jackson shouted.

  “I told you to lock the truck,” I muttered. He rarely does, figuring that thieves have to be really ballsy to steal from him.

  The long, stringy haired man, who only stood about five-feet tall, jumped back, away from the truck. He looked at us with eyes as big as quarters, and then started running.

  “Hey!” Jackson took off after him, catching up with him in a few strides. Jackson is a big boy, so it didn’t take many.

  He grabbed the man by the arm. “Slow down, buddy.”

  The man looked like he was about to cry. “I wasn’t taking nothing. I swear.”

  The guy wore a pair of shorts that went far past his knees along with the Hawaiian shirt, which hurt my eyes and made my headache worse.

  “No? What were you doing, then? Putting something in my truck? ’Cuz I could really use a few hundred bucks.”

  “Yeah. But not money.” The guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a hand full of something. Thin leather straps poked out of his hands in all directions.

  I stepped forward. “Let me see those.”

  The guy opened his hand and showed me the bunch of shark tooth necklaces that spilled over it.

  ***

  The odd little guy’s name was Willie. “Where did you get these?” I asked him.

  “I give them to the prettiest girls. You’re not wearing yours, so I figured you lost it. I wanted to leave you another one. I like seeing the girls wearing the necklaces I leave them.”

  Definitely creepy. “How did you know I wasn’t wearing it?”

  “I saw you in the store. You didn’t see me. People don’t usually notice me.”

  “With that shirt, I find that hard to believe, buddy.” Jackson said.

  It was disturbing that this odd little man had been paying such close attention to me, not once, but at least twice, and I never noticed. I didn’t remember even having seen him. “Where did you get these?”

  “I make them. I sell them at a rolling stand I own. I usually set up at different places along the beach. I also sell them to different gift shops. The tourists like these. Do you like yours?”

  The slightly childish look on Willie’s face told me that he was mentally challenged. “Yes. Very nice. Thank you. Where do you get the shark’s teeth, Willie?”

  “You can get them at different places. There’s a shop I buy them from in bulk. They give me a good deal. The lady said she gets them from the internet.”

  I blew out a long breath and gave Jackson a look.

  The necklaces were a dead end. Nothing sinister about them. Creepy, maybe, but not sinister.

  The girls who died just happened to have passed in front of this guy’s radar. Not strange, since it wasn’t a large town, and the guy spent time on the beach.

  One less clue to follow.

  ***

  McCool sighed and tilted his head back, leaning back in his chair. “It was circumstantial, but it was something.”

  “Now, it’s nothing,” Jackson said. He stood, looking at the walls papered with crime scene photos, maps and a huge white board, filled with scribbles, arrows and circles. “You’ve been busting your ass on this case.”

  Chris snorted. “What do you think cops do? Just sit around eating donuts?”

  I looked at the box of donut holes sitting on his desk.

  “Okay. We eat donuts. But we work while we’re eating donuts.” He grinned. “We’ll keep the shark’s tooth necklaces anyway. They’re connected to the dead girls.”

  “So far Carrie hasn’t been harmed,” I said.

  Chris said, “We’re keeping a close eye on her. It wouldn’t be easy for him to take her.”

  Frustration rose inside me. I let out a long breath. “He does it in broad daylight, Chris. He’s like flippin’ Houdini.”

  “Or the prince of Darkness,” Jackson said.

  Chris shook his head. “Not the prince of darkness. Don’t give this guy any more power than he already has. He’s a twisted, cowardly creep who likes to gain control of women he obviously could never have for himself.”

  “What did the tox screen reports tell us?” I asked Chris.

  “No drugs. Very little alcohol found in Lisa Boone’s blood. She likely had a glass of wine with her boyfriend. A bottle of wine was found in the cooler, and plastic wine glasses were found in the tent.”

  “What did you say about the ligature marks?” Jackson asked. “You said the rope used on the girls was commonly used, right?”

  “Regular twisted nylon docking or anchor rope,” Chris said.

  I looked up at him. “Which brings us to the reason we were coming to see you in the first place.”

  Chris raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

  “We think you should move Corey Samuels to the top of your suspect list.”

  We explained our little visit to the Sweet Ginny, and viewing the video Corey had made of Shannon.

  “He was only too happy to show it to us,” I said.

  “Show it to you, Kicks,” Jackson said from behin
d me. He came around and sat in the chair beside me. “He’s an arrogant little prick. Shoving it in our faces, but he was really focused on Leah. Wanted to shock her. Freak her out. He was really getting off on her reaction.”

  “Reaction of disgust,” I said. “The boy is one sick puppy.”

  “You think he has a fixation on you?” McCool asked me.

  “I think he does,” Jackson said. “I think he likes to mess with women’s heads. Women who are driven, tenacious, brave—”

  “Attractive,” McCool said.

  “Geez. Keep this up and my head will be too big to fit through the doorway,” I said.

  “Seriously,” Chris said. “Think about it. All the women who have been killed have been all of those things. They’re independent. They’re extraordinary.”

  “What about the last girl who washed up on the beach?” I asked. “What was she like?”

  “Margo. She’s different. The photo on her driver’s license shows an average looking girl. Eighteen years old. Plain. No make-up. Long brown hair held back in a ponytail. She was outdoorsy, obviously. We’re still trying to find her family. We haven’t been able to reach them. It’s a Texas driver’s license, so she was far from home. We don’t know much about her.”

  “Have you given her photo to the media?” I asked.

  “We’re trying to contact her family first. If we aren’t able to contact them, we’ll do that.”

  “We know what kind of sharks Logan says attacked her, but what does your cousin, Molly, think,” I asked.

  “It took her a while to get back to me on that. Initially she thought it might be the work of the person who killed the other girls. But now she thinks that Margo was attacked while snorkeling.”

  “Why is that?” Jackson asked. “How can she tell?”

  “She can tell because of the angle. If they victim was tied up in the ocean, the shark likely would’ve been vertical. A shark, in this case, an enormous Great White, couldn’t come at her from the angle this shark came at her.” Chris shook his head. “ She was diving. Probably didn’t even see it coming. Molly thinks that because it was early morning, and drizzling, the water would’ve been murky.”

  “So, visibility would’ve been poor. She wouldn’t even have seen it circling her, most likely, if she was looking down.” Then the White came at her, mouth open, and decapitated her from the shoulders up. I shivered.

  Jackson looked ill, his face pale. “What was she looking for? Was she deep enough to see anything except sand?”

  Chris said, “In her backpack, we recovered a cache of jewelry, change, a water camera, and some other things that people had dropped and lost in the water. She was a water scavenger.”

  “Searching for lost treasure,” Jackson said.

  “She could get a nice penny for some of the things she’d found. A diamond ring that has to be two carats, for one.”

  “I bet there’s some fiancé or husband out there who wasn’t too happy about that.” I stood, walked over to the photos on the wall. “So, Margo was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Or the right place at the right time, for the shark,” Jackson said.

  “Sharks. There were others that got at her after that,” I said. “A Mako and a Bull you said, right?”

  Chris nodded. “Right. They must’ve come up on her after the White swam away. The White would’ve been the first to get her. Probably discovered she wasn’t its regular meal choice and took off. The others would’ve been just picking, too. But one of them might’ve dragged her farther out into the sea, where another shark got at her.”

  “Jesus,” Jackson said, moving a hand over his mouth. “This whole case is giving me the willies, you know it?”

  “Tell me about it,” McCool said.

  “It’s just a bloody shark fest out there right now.” I turned to Chris and Jackson. “With the rising tourist populous splashing around in the water, acting like shark food and feeding the growing seal population, drawing them closer to the beaches.”

  “Add to that a psycho feeding the sharks,” Jackson said.

  “And divers feeding the sharks,” Chris said.

  I sighed heavily, suddenly feeling bone weary.

  “Just seems too big a problem to tackle,” Jackson said.

  I gave him a sidelong look.

  He cracked up.

  “Ugh.” I said. “You did not just say that.”

  Chris started laughing. “Tackle. Good one.”

  “He does that a lot,” I said.

  “Seriously, though. It’s a big problem. What the hell are you going to do?” I said to Chris. “You’re going to have a problem long after you get this nut job. How are you going to stop the sharks from sampling the tourists?”

  “Crack down on divers feeding the sharks. Make it hurt. A steep fine ought to do it,” Chris said.

  Jackson said, “Reminds me of a box of chocolates my stepfather got my mother when I was, like, five. I took a bite of every one. These sharks are doing that with the people in the water. It’s like a big box of chocolates and they keep taking a bite. Oh, what’s this one taste like? Nope. Don’t like that one. What’s this one taste like?”

  The look on Jackson’s face as he said this, eyes wide, expression goofy, got me laughing.

  And then, unbelievably, we were all laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.

  We needed it, because in truth, rage was bubbling beneath the surface for all of us. Looking at the photos of dead girls in pieces, we all wanted to scream.

  ***

  While Chris led a team of investigators through a search of Mr. Samuels’ boat, Jackson and I headed back to the beach house for a rest. When we got there, we were surprised by the huddled form of a girl I quickly recognized as one of Bailey Pembrooke’s girlfriends.

  “Looks like we have company,” Jackson said. “Something happened to her, Kicks. Look at her.”

  She sat on one of the plastic deck chairs, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them. She rocked slightly back and forth, her shoulders shaking as she wept, face resting on one knee. Her black hair was still wet, and when she looked up at us, mascara streaked her face.

  “Hi,” I said, approaching her carefully. “I remember you. You were with Bailey the other day.”

  She nodded, still crying.

  “You know who we are, but I don’t think Bailey introduced us. Can you tell me your name?”

  “Trina,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. She took little hitching breaths, trying to calm herself.

  “What happened to you, Trina?” I asked her.

  “I was swimming. Bailey and I were out on his boat.” She sniffled, swiped the back of her hand across her nose.

  I nodded. Jackson sat in a chair a few feet away, giving Trina some room. Whatever happened, we both knew it had to do with whoever was grabbing these girls.

  She sat up a little, getting hold of herself. “It was just me and Bailey. We go out on the boat and sunbathe. We thought it would be okay if we stayed close to shore. Bailey’s strong. Nobody messes with him. We thought we were safe.”

  Bailey wasn’t with her now.

  “I felt arms wrap around my legs. Someone pulling me under.” Fresh tears squeezed from her eyes. “I fought. But he was behind me and so strong. There was nothing I could do.”

  I nodded. Jackson stayed quiet, listening.

  “Bailey must’ve known something was wrong because I hadn’t come back up. He dove into the water. I saw him go under and swim around behind me. Must’ve fought the guy. Grabbed him or something, because he let go of me.”

  I said nothing, watching her, letting her continue.

  “I reached the surface. Pulled myself up on the boat. When I looked down into the water, all I saw were bubbles, and so much blood. I don’t know if a shark got Bailey, or if this psycho did.” Trina’s voice became high with emotion as she tried to squeeze the words through a throat tightened with shock and horror.

  I stared at he
r, not wanting to hear the rest but having to.

  She took a deep, shaky breath, then continued, “I screamed and screamed, but I was so scared. I thought he’d come back for me. I was all alone in the boat. I started it and came back to shore.” She dissolved into tears. “I left Bailey there to die. I left him.”

  I reached out, ran a hand over her arm. “Trina, he was already gone.” I didn’t know this for certain, but it was a good guess, given the blood she said she’d seen in the water. “We need to get you to the police. You have to tell them what happened.”

  “No,” she said.

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “I can’t.” She looked at me with eyes round with terror. “I can’t talk about it again. I just can’t. We weren’t supposed to be out on the boat. This is my fault.”

  “Trina, you’re a kid. Kids aren’t always supposed to listen to authority. They rarely do. This isn’t your fault. You need to give them a statement. We have to get someone out there.”

  She thought about it for a few seconds, finally nodding her head. Then her eyes glazed over, and she stared off for a long moment. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Just like that.”

  ***

  “What in hell is going on?” Jackson said.

  We watched as search and rescue divers, or as Chris had called them, frogmen, pulled Bailey Pembrooke’s body out of the sea. It hadn’t taken them long to find him. He hadn’t drifted that far from the beach.

  “I don’t know, Jackson.”

  “Something fishy, that’s for sure.”

  I glared at him. “Jax. Seriously. Now is not the time.”

  He sighed, looking shamed. “Sorry. It couldn’t have been Corey. He was busy having his father’s boat searched, and his videos and play toys confiscated by the cops.”

  “My best guess? Logan.”

  “He’s the obvious choice.” Jackson said.

  “But?”

  He squinted out at the water. “Too obvious?”

  “Sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one. If it looks like a duck. Acts like a duck...”