by Tripp Ellis
Wild Heart
Tyson Wild Book Twenty Four
Tripp Ellis
Contents
Welcome
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Author’s Note
Tyson Wild
Connect With Me
Copyright © 2021 by Tripp Ellis
All rights reserved. Worldwide.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any company’s products or services. All characters engaging in sexual activity are above the age of consent.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
“And that was the last time you saw him?” I asked.
Brody nodded.
It was two weeks ago when we spoke with Brody Kempner about his missing friend, Emmett Forrester.
Brody was a late-20s IT guy for a local law firm. He maintained their servers, data storage, and handled Internet marketing. It was a good job. I don’t think he had to work too hard.
He lived in the same apartment complex as Emmett, and the two had been childhood friends. As Brody explained, they had met in 2nd grade and maintained their friendship all through high school and college. They were roommates at the University of Texas.
Brody was an average-looking guy. 5’10”, brown hair, brown eyes, and an oval-shaped face. He was relatively trim but wasn't exactly putting the hours in at the gym. The only exercise he got was lifting a bottle of beer to his lips. It was starting to show around his waistline.
He had a comfortable life, making good money with a nice apartment a few blocks from the beach. A quick look around his place told me that he had all the toys a young man could want—65” flatscreen TV, surround sound stereo system, leather furniture, and a signature model guitar in the corner with a small practice amp. From the balcony of the apartment, you could see the teal ocean in the distance.
Brody sat on the couch in the living room. JD and I sat across from him.
"Yeah,” Brody continued. “We were at Turtles having a few beers."
"And when was that?" I asked.
“That was Thursday night, week before last."
"So you're at the bar, having a few beers. Then what?"
"I had to work in the morning, so we shut it down about midnight. Plus, my girlfriend was blowing up my phone. She gets a little nervous when I'm out past midnight with my friends. You know how it is."
"What’s your girlfriend’s name?"
"Allison Dobbs."
"That's the last time you saw Emmett, but you waited another week and a half to make a missing persons’ report?" There was a slightly accusatory tone in my voice.
"I didn't think anything was wrong. Emmett was leaving Friday to go to Aspen on a ski trip with a bunch of guys we went to college with.” A slight frown tugged his face. “I was supposed to go with them, but I had to bail at the last minute. Allison's father took ill and was in the hospital. If I ever wanted to get laid again, I'd have to cancel my trip and offer moral support."
"How is her father doing?" I asked.
"Not great. He just had heart valve surgery, then he got an infection and went septic. So, he was in for several days. They didn't think he was gonna make it, but he pulled through."
"It's a good thing you didn't go skiing," JD said.
Brody shrugged. "I guess."
"What about your college buddies in Aspen? Have they heard anything from Emmett?”
Brody shook his head. "No. I just talked to Jason. He hasn’t heard anything.”
“Didn’t your friends get worried when Emmett didn’t show up in Aspen?”
“They thought when I canceled my trip that Emmett wasn’t going either. So, when he didn't show up in Aspen, they didn't think anything about it. It was supposed to be this big party week. Once a year, we all try to get together and go skiing. We booze all night, ski all day, and chase snow bunnies. The plan was to leave Friday, ski the weekend, the entire week, and the next weekend, then come back late Sunday night.” Brody sighed, and his shoulders slumped.
“When did you start getting concerned?” I asked.
“I didn't expect to hear from Emmett until Monday. I knew he would call and tell me what I missed and how awesome it was. I was curious, but I was also dreading that call. That's why I didn't bother to reach out to those guys during the trip. I figured I’d hear all about it later. I didn’t want to know what I was missing. And they would just razz me about my girlfriend not letting me go."
"You called the department yesterday,” I said.
"Yeah. I didn't hear from Emmett Monday. Didn't hear from him Tuesday. That’s when I called Jason, and he said Emmett never showed up."
“And where is Jason?”
“He lives in Vegas.”
"Does Emmett have family in town?" I asked.
Brody shook his head again. "No. His parents live in Austin."
"Have you spoken with them?"
"I have. They haven't heard from Emmett since before he was supposed to leave."
"Was he close with his parents?"
"I guess. Sort of. His mom and dad are divorced, and they've each got their own thing going on. Emmett talked to them once every couple of weeks, so it wasn't unusual for him to go radio silent for a few weeks."
"How did you guys end up in Coconut Key?"
"We used to come down here for spring break all the time. It just seemed awesome. After graduation, we were like fuck it, let's move here. Let's party all the time. It will be spring break all year round. We’ve been here ever since."
“You said Emmett lives in this apartment complex."
"Yeah, he's just down the hall. I've got keys to his apartment and his car. His car is in the parking garage
. And his apartment looks undisturbed. Hell, his suitcase is still half packed.” He paused, thinking. “You guys can check flight records, right? I don't think he ever left town."
"You’ve got the keys to his apartment?"
"Yeah, do you want me to show you the place?”
2
We found something odd.
Emmett’s one-bedroom apartment looked exactly like Brody’s but with different furniture and different art on the walls. The cookie-cutter floor plans made all the units in the Calliste Apartments look the same.
We searched the apartment, and there was no sign of a struggle. The bed was made, and Emmett’s suitcase sat atop the comforter. The lid was open, and the roller-case was half full with folded clothes, underwear, socks, etc. The toiletries were still in the bathroom.
Odd.
"What time was Emmett’s flight out on Friday?" I asked.
“8:55 AM," Brody said.
The bed didn't look like it had been slept in. It was like Emmett had vanished into thin air.
"Did Emmett have any enemies?"
Brody shook his head. "Not that I know of."
"What about a girlfriend?"
"He broke up with Lauren about four months ago. Ever since then, he's been on a rampage, chasing it." Brody grinned mischievously.
"I guess that creates a little trouble for you, being his wingman," JD said.
Brody gave an enthusiastic nod. "You have no idea. I mean, I am the guy who’s always gotta spoil the party at the end of the night. I can't go to the after-hours clubs with him and two hotties." He frowned.
“The sacrifices we make for love," JD said.
We left Emmett’s apartment, and Brody locked it up afterward.
"You said his car is still here?" I asked.
Brody nodded. "Yeah. It's in the parking garage below the building. I don't think it's moved since he went missing.”
“Can we take a look?" I asked.
Brody nodded and led us down the hallway to the elevator bank. He pressed the call button. A moment later, the bell rang, and the doors slid open. We plunged down to the parking garage that was located beneath the structure. Large, cylindrical concrete pylons supported the building, each labeled with a section number. Fluorescent overheads illuminated the place at night. All the spaces were numbered and assigned.
We followed Brody across the lot to a Lexus coupe. It was midnight blue with a beige interior—sleek, graceful lines, with shiny rims and glossy tires.
There was a strong breeze gusting through the parking garage. The architecture created a natural tunnel that funneled wind through the structure. The gusts blew JD’s long, blond hair like he was in a music video.
I looked around the car and peered in through the window. The car was clean, and there was nothing unusual about it.
There was a dumpster in the alley behind the garage. Now and then, when the wind would die down, I’d get a whiff of something rank. I jogged out of the garage and peered in through the sliding side hatch of the battered green dumpster. The heinous smell from years of oozing trash slapped my face and crinkled my nose.
The inside of the dumpster was coated with an indescribable slime that had fused with the metal. No amount of scrubbing could ever get this thing clean. It smelled like rotten eggs, fish, urine, and decaying meat. The trash bin had recently been emptied, and there were only a few bags inside.
No trace of Emmett.
I jogged back to the parking garage and re-joined JD and Brody. “Since the car is in the parking garage, I’m guessing Emmett made it home from Turtles on Thursday night. Something must have happened between the garage and his apartment." My eyes scanned the area, looking for security cameras. "Is the management office on the premises?"
Brody nodded and took us to the second floor.
Patti managed the building. She smiled as we entered the office, but that faded when we flashed our badges and were no longer prospective tenants.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
Patti sat behind a desk with a computer terminal and a picture of her daughter in a frame beside the monitor. She was late 50s with short blonde hair and too much blue eyeliner. The leather office chair struggled to contain her pear-shaped body.
“I’d like to see the security camera footage for the parking garage,” I said.
“Sorry, don’t have any.”
“What do you mean? I saw cameras.”
“Those are dummy cameras. They’ve been amazingly effective. We don’t have as many smash and grabs as we used to.”
I grimaced.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
I told her the situation.
She gasped. “That’s terrible.” Then, without much of a pause, “I guess Emmett’s going to miss next month’s rent.”
Brody’s eyes narrowed at her, but he bit his tongue.
I think Patti picked up on the tension. “I do hope he’s okay.”
“Can you speak with the tenants? Maybe somebody saw something.”
“And you say this was Thursday before last?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I can send an email out to all the residents.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
I gave Patti and Brody a card.
We left the office and stepped into the hallway.
“Call me if you can think of anything else,” I said to Brody.
“What happens now?"
"We’ll ask around and follow leads. We’ll notify the FBI. You may be hearing from them."
Brody nodded. Then his face tightened. "You don't think Emmett’s dead, do you?”
"It's too soon to speculate,” I said, not wanting to alarm him.
But Brody was already alarmed. “This is bad, right? I mean, adults don't just disappear like that."
"People go missing all the time," I said, "but they usually turn up in a few days.” I paused. “I'm not gonna lie. This is concerning."
Brody frowned.
"We'll talk to his employer, and I'll keep you updated if we learn anything new. By the way, do you have a picture of Emmett handy?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a few on my phone. Hang on.” He pulled out the device and scrolled through the camera roll. He pulled up a picture of the two in a bar, holding up two longnecks to the camera. “I’ll text it to you.”
A moment later, the image buzzed my phone. I pulled it up, zoomed in on Emmett’s face and cropped the image, cutting Brody out. It wasn’t the best photo in the world, but it would do for now.
We thanked Brody again, then took the elevator down to the lobby. We stepped outside and crossed the visitors' parking lot to Jack’s convertible Porsche. We climbed in, and JD twisted the ignition. He dropped the sports car into gear and pulled out of the lot.
I called Denise as we drove with the top down, the wind swirling about. The Florida sun beamed down, and classic rock pumped from the speakers.
“Hey, can you double-check something for me? I don’t think our missing person made it to the airport, but check the flight’s manifest just in case.” I gave her the airline and the flight number Brody had given me.
“I’m on it,” Denise said.
We headed across town to an orthopedic clinic where Emmett worked. The place was a one-stop shop for all your bone and joint needs. There were seven different physicians in the practice, each specializing in a different area—hips, knees, hands, feet, spine, neck, shoulders.
The facility was connected to a surgical center and a rehab facility. One of the biggest risks with joint replacement is infection. A surgery center that is not connected to a major hospital typically has a lower incidence of infection due to the lack of sick patients coming and going. This group of doctors had the process down. They churned through patients like an assembly line. The high volume made the practice one of the most experienced on the island.
There were large pictures of people of all ages participating in sports—jogging, tennis, cycling, s
occer, golf. The images all had the name of the clinic in the corner, and the slogan was emblazoned in a large font, “We get you back in action!”
A cute brunette behind the reception desk greeted us with a cheery smile when we flashed our badges. “I’d like to speak to someone about Emmett Forrester.”
3
“I gotta be honest with you," Steve Jackson said. "This is distressing. I can't think of a nicer, more likable guy than Emmett Forrester. He's a real asset around the clinic. And I think I can speak for the entire staff when I say he is not only liked but respected."
Steve was the owner. He wore a charcoal suit, white dress shirt, and a red tie. His teeth were pearly white, and he had a square jaw and perfectly coiffed hair.
He led us down a hallway to his office. He motioned for us to step inside and offered us a seat. Everything about the clinic was sleek and modern, and his office was no different. He had a frosted glass desk with a brand-new iMac. There was a flatscreen display and wireless speakers. A financial news channel played on the TV with the volume muted. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the hedges and the parking lot. It was the only thing that wasn’t impressive about the clinic.
Steve pulled the door shut behind us and took a seat at his desk. “Can I get you anything to drink? Bottled water?”
