Wild Killer

by Tripp Ellis

  "Do we have any footage of the parking lot?" I asked. "Maybe we can get a license plate number from his vehicle?"

  Chuck scrolled through the footage. We saw the man enter and leave, but he walked onto the premises from around the corner. He wasn't in a vehicle.

  "This guy is bold," Chuck said.

  "Indeed, he is."

  Reagan trembled slightly, unsettled by just how close the killer had gotten to her.

  Her phone buzzed, and she swiped the screen. I heard a voice crackle through the speaker, but I couldn't make out what was said.

  "Okay. Thanks. I'll be right there." Reagan looked to me. "Elijah cracked the cipher."

  38

  You changed your number. Does this mean we're not friends anymore? I so enjoyed our conversations. It's too bad. If you want to see what happens to people who aren't my friends, visit Angelfish Key.

  If Reagan was unsettled before the note was decoded, she was even more so after.

  "Just take a deep breath," I said.

  "Is it too early to start drinking?" she asked, not entirely joking. "If he can walk into this building, he can reach me anywhere."

  "I don't think he's going to try something like that again."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I think he just wanted to let you know that he can still communicate with you, even if you don't want to communicate with him."

  Reagan grumbled.

  I called Sheriff Daniels and filled him in.

  "You and numb-nuts get down to the station, ASAP. We will take the patrol boat over to Angelfish Key and see what we can find."

  "Copy that," I said.

  By the look in Reagan's eyes, I could tell that she was dreading my leaving.

  "I've got to go. Stay here. Don't go anywhere without an escort. Don't go home."

  Reagan nodded and gave me a hug. She held on tight.

  "It's going to be okay," I assured.

  It was a promise that I had no control over.

  I left the TV studio and raced across town to the Sheriff's Office. JD's red Porsche roared into the parking lot behind me. I pulled off my helmet and strapped it to the bike. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to recover from helmet-head.

  "What happened to you last night?" JD asked.

  "The couch didn't offer a lot of support. I got a room at the Seven Seas."

  "Scarlett didn't run you off, did she?"

  "No," I lied.

  "You know she's got a little crush on you?"

  "I hadn't noticed."

  JD scoffed. "You'd have to be blind not to notice. I think she's just trying to irritate me. It's not going to work though." He smiled. "I am a Zen master. Nothing that girl can do will upset me anymore." Then he added, "But you bang her, and I'll beat your ass."

  “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  The sheriff met us on the dock, and we boarded the patrol boat, along with Brenda and the forensics team.

  Daniels cranked up the engines, and we idled out of the harbor. He brought the boat on plane and we skimmed across the surface, heading to Angelfish Key—an oasis of paradise that had now been sullied by the shadow of the Sandcastle Killer.

  An hour later, we cruised into the secluded cove. Daniels idled the boat toward the beach, and JD and I hopped out in the surf. We trudged through the sand, scanning the pristine shore, looking for any sign of a body. We scoured the shoreline, the wooded areas, the hilltops—every square inch.

  It took several hours.

  We couldn't find a thing.

  We just baked under the hot sun, sweating.

  We combed the beach again, poking at the sand, looking for anything buried under the surface.

  "I get the feeling he's fucking with us," JD said.

  "I think you're right. But why send us on a wild goose chase? He's never done that before." A dreadful thought entered my mind. My stomach twisted. "Unless he wanted to get us out of Coconut Key."

  "Why?" JD asked.

  "Reagan." My jaw clenched tight and my hands balled into fists. "He's going after Reagan."

  Daniels rounded up the team. We boarded the boat and raced back toward Coconut Key.

  I hoped my hunch was wrong, but the sour, burning sensation in my stomach told me I had plenty to worry about.

  39

  As soon as I could get cell reception, I called Reagan. It went straight to voicemail.

  My whole body tensed, and that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified. We sliced through the water, plowing through the swells, spraying mists of saltwater into the air. The engines rumbled as we skimmed across the water.

  I tried to act calm, but JD could see it in my eyes when we exchanged a glance.

  I was worried.

  I called Reagan several times during the trip back, but she never answered. I felt like a stalker. Maybe I was overreacting?

  When we arrived at the station, I hit the dock running and sprinted to the parking lot. I tried one more time to call Reagan to no avail, then hopped on my bike, pulled on my helmet, and cranked up the engine. I twisted the throttle, eased out the clutch, and launched out of the parking lot. The wind whistled through my helmet as I rode like a maniac to the television station.

  I parked the bike by the entrance and dashed into the lobby. I lifted the visor to my helmet and asked the receptionist, "Is Reagan here?"

  "I think she went home about an hour ago." My jaw tightened. I spun around, dashed out of the building, and hopped back on the bike. The engine roared as I raced to Reagan's house, carving around turns like I was racing the Isle of Man.

  I parked the bike at the curb, sprinted up the walkway, and rang the bell. My heart pounded in my chest, and I heaved for breath.

  I saw motion inside, and a moment later, Reagan pulled open the door. She didn't have chance to get a word out before I said, "I've been calling you for the last hour! Why haven't you called me back?"

  Her face crinkled. "Getting a little needy, aren't you?" she asked in a sassy tone.

  "I was worried about you."

  "Aw, isn’t that special?"

  My eyes narrowed at her.

  She stepped aside and motioned for me to enter. She closed, and latched, the door behind me as I stepped into the foyer.

  "I thought I told you to stay at the station?"

  "You're not the boss of me."

  "I thought you were the one who didn't want to be home alone?"

  She shrugged. "Honestly, I don't think anywhere is safe. Might as well be at home. Besides, I bought this.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a 9mm.

  "Do you even know how to use that?"

  "How hard can it be? You just point and pull the trigger, right?"

  "That's a simplified version."

  "You said you would take me to the range."

  "I will."

  She stuffed the weapon back into her purse.

  Reagan grinned. "I think it's cute. You getting all protective."

  She sauntered close and flung her arms around my neck. She gazed at me with those sparkling eyes. “Careful, Mr. Wild. I might start to think you care."

  She reached up on her tiptoes and planted her full lips against mine.

  A wave of relief washed through my body. I think I cared about this woman more than I wanted to admit.

  Our lips broke apart for a moment.

  "So why didn't you answer my call?"

  "Because I left my phone in Patricia's car. She gave me a ride home from the station."

  "What's the matter with your car?"

  "I don't know. It wouldn't start."

  I grimaced. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe the Sandcastle Killer had done something to her car? My mind swirled with paranoid conspiracies.

  "I'm hesitant to ask, but what did you find on Angelfish Key?"

  "Nothing."

  Reagan's brow lifted with surprise. "Nothing? That's odd. Are you sure you looked hard enough?"

  "We combed every inch of that islan
d. Doesn't mean there's not a body there, but if there is, we couldn't find it. I think he's screwing with us."

  Reagan deflated. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have cut him off. He's angry."

  "He's a control freak. That's why he abducts women and tortures them. It's all about control."

  "Well, maybe since you didn't find the body, it means the girl is still alive?" she said with hopeful eyes.

  "I don't know."

  She paused for a moment, still clinging around me. "I liked this conversation better when we weren’t talking. Can we go back to that part?"

  "Not talking is good."

  Our lips collided again in a passionate embrace.

  Damn, she felt good in my arms! Our hips ground together, and our hands explored each other. Soon we were tugging at articles of clothing and peeling them off. We worked our way to the nearest hard surface, shedding garments like a snake sheds its skin.

  I hoisted Reagan onto the kitchen counter, and she wrapped her magnificent legs around me. We went at it hot and heavy. The coffee pot rattled, and the cabinet doors quaked. Moans of ecstasy filled the kitchen, and she dug her nails into my back, and her hot sticky breath tickled my ears.

  A day away from her, and I was a loaded weapon—and the safety was off.

  I released all the tension and anxiety I had been carrying since Angelfish Key. When it was all over, our slick bodies clung together.

  Neither one of us wanted to let go.

  My heart swelled with emotion. I didn't know where this whole thing was going, but I sure wasn't going to let some psychopath take Reagan away from me.

  The doorbell rang, startling both of us.

  We scampered through the kitchen, naked, scooping up our clothes, trying to get dressed.

  Reagan managed to pull her clothes on faster than I thought was physically possible. She adjusted her skirt and tried to compose herself as she sauntered toward the door. She fluffed her disheveled hair, put on a bright smile, then pulled the door open.

  40

  "You're quite popular. The phone has been buzzing the entire way over here," Patricia said.

  Reagan swiped the screen on the device. She had dozens of missed calls and text messages.

  She thanked Patricia, and the woman scampered down the walkway and jumped into her car, which was still running.

  Reagan closed the door. When she turned around, her face was white as a ghost, and her eyes widened.

  She showed me the display.

  There was a text message that read: [Did you really think I wouldn't be able to find your new number?]

  "That has to be him," she stammered.

  Reagan scrolled through her missed calls. There were several voicemails from the same unknown number. She listened to one of them, then replayed the message for me on the speakerphone.

  "I'm so disappointed in you," the killer said in a distorted voice. "I thought we had an understanding. We were so good together. I would have been loyal to you. Exclusive interviews. Rare insights into the mind of a maniac. You could have built a career off me. Now you'll die like the rest."

  Reagan trembled.

  My whole body tensed. I tried to soothe her fears. "He's just venting."

  "What if he's not?"

  I knew he was coming for Reagan, but I didn't want to alarm her. "As long as I'm around, he's not going to get anywhere near you."

  There was no doubt that he had been watching Reagan. He knew when she was staying aboard the Wild Tide, and he knew when she was at home. He had to know about me, and perhaps that's why he sent us on the wild goose chase?

  "I'm not trying to be the overprotective boyfriend, but you need to do what I say."

  "So, you're my boyfriend?" Reagan asked, curiously.

  I didn't reply to the question. "I'm just saying, you can't pretend this is a game. It's not. It's deadly serious for him. You're the person he can't control, and that's driving him insane."

  "I've got news for him. Nobody can control me."

  "I'm well aware of that."

  Reagan sighed. "So what do we do?"

  I thought about it for a moment. "Maybe it's best if you get out of Coconut Key for a while? Take a vacation?"

  "No!" Reagan said. "I will not be forced out. I will not run away in fear."

  There was a long moment of silence.

  "What if we use this to our advantage?" she asked.

  I didn't like where this was going. "How so?"

  "We know he's angry with me. He threatened to kill me. I could be bait? You could spring a trap?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "Why not? I'll aggravate the shit out of him and draw him out."

  The muscles in my jaw flexed.

  Reagan's fingers danced across the screen and she clacked a text message, then sent it back to the killer.

  "What did you just do?"

  "What I do best," she said with a grin. "Get under people's skin."

  I sighed, and my head fell into my hands. "What did you say?"

  "I told him he was a pathetic little man."

  "That's it?"

  "I may have said he has a small dick and probably can't get it up."

  "That should get under his skin, alright.”

  Reagan's antagonism didn't stop with her text message. She had a plan devised, and she asked me to escort her back to the television station. We caught a cab, and she pitched an idea for a segment on the evening news, and Harold agreed.

  I watched the broadcast from the soundstage. I was ready and waiting for the dirt-ball to show up, but he seemed too smart to do something rash.

  He hadn't responded to Reagan's messages. He was a cool customer. Maybe Reagan overestimated her ability to rattle him? Beware of the quiet ones… they get you when you least expect it. The killer was certainly being quiet.

  "Tonight, we have a special segment with our very own Reagan MacKenzie," Emma Steele said, introducing her.

  "Thank you, Emma,” Reagan said, then addressed the camera. “A few days ago, we aired a broadcast that contained a long conversation with a man who claims to be the Sandcastle Killer. My hope was that we might gain valuable insight into his sadistic mind? Perhaps we would learn clues that might lead to his capture and save future victims from a horrible fate? Many viewers were outraged that we provided the killer with an opportunity to be heard. While I do not apologize for, or regret, my actions, I feel that I can no longer, in good conscience, amplify the killer's message. I will not provide the ego boost that he so desperately craves.

  “He is a despicable man who has no social value. He lacks the guts and courage to be a functional member of society. He hides in the shadows, preying on the vulnerable. He has threatened me personally for refusing to cover his story any longer. So, if you’re watching, Mr. Sandcastle… I beg you to release your current victim. Come get me instead. I dare you! I am not afraid. We are not afraid. The citizens of Coconut Key will no longer live in fear. It is you who will be hunted from now on."

  The cameras cut back to Emma. She had a shocked look on her face. She forced a smile and looked into the camera and said, "Well, that's quite a challenge. Will it be accepted? Stay tuned, we'll be right back after these messages."

  The production manager shouted, "And, we’re out to commercial."

  Like a hive of bees, production assistants buzzed about.

  Reagan disconnected from the wireless microphone and stepped away from the anchor desk.

  "You’ve got some balls, honey," Emma said. "I'll give you that."

  Reagan strutted to me, looking like she had just guzzled a pot of coffee. Her eyes were wide, and she trembled slightly. She was in a heightened state from the adrenaline. "Well, what do you think?"

  "I think you’re insane."

  "A girl has to have a little crazy in her to keep things interesting."

  "I think you have more than a little crazy in you. Certainly interesting, that's for sure.”

  She raised on her tiptoes and kissed me on the che
ek and took my hand. "Don't worry. I have full faith and confidence in you. I know you'll keep me safe."

  I gave her a sideways glance. "No pressure."

  41

  The battery terminal had been disconnected. That’s why Reagan’s car didn’t start earlier. It was a quick fix, and the vehicle turned over with ease once reconnected. It made me wonder if the killer had tampered with it?

  A swarm of reporters from other news stations crowded around Reagan's house. They mobbed the car as we pulled into the driveway.

  They shoved microphones in her face, and the blinding camera lights caused her eyes to squint as she stepped from the vehicle. The normally quiet neighborhood was full of news vans with satellite dishes on top. Neighbors crowded around, watching the circus.

  Everyone in Coconut Key had seen her broadcast.

  Reagan pushed toward the front door, and I weaved through the horde behind her. They shouted questions like, "Do you think the killer will come after you now?"

  "Now that you've antagonized the killer, do you think the body count will rise?"

  “Is the sheriff providing added protection for you? And how will the diversion of resources affect the community at large?"

  Reagan didn't answer.

  "Do you think your challenge to the killer was irresponsible?"

  Reagan forced her way to the door, put her key into the slot, and twisted the handle. She pushed inside, and I followed. Reagan latched the deadbolt, locking out the world behind us.

  The reporters hovered around the front door, each one trying to wrap up their segment.

  Reagan looked frazzled. The lights, cameras, microphones, and invasive questions could feel claustrophobic and overwhelming.

  "Fucking vultures!” Reagan said as she exhaled.

  I smirked at the irony.

  Reagan moved into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of bourbon, and poured two glasses. She handed one to me, and we toasted. "To poor decisions."

  We clinked glasses, and I sipped the amber liquid.

  "Pissing off a serial killer may not have been one of your brighter moments," I said.

  She frowned at me. "When you catch this guy because of me, I'll expect a formal retraction of that statement."