by Tripp Ellis
Wild Surge
Tyson Wild Book Fourteen
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
Author’s Note
Tyson Wild
Max Mars
Connect With Me
Copyright © 2020 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.
Welcome
Want more books like this?
You’ll probably never hear about my new releases unless you join my newsletter.
SIGN UP HERE
1
“Pay up, bitch!” JD said, gloating as he pulled up his shirt to reveal his abs.
It was the first thing he said to me as we greeted each other in the parking lot at Taffy Beach. Jack walked toward me, moving away from his lizard-green Porche 911 speedster, the breeze blowing through his long, recently dyed, blond hair.
I had just dismounted my Yamazuki X6 sport-bike and pulled off my helmet and gloves. I stuffed the gloves in the helmet and hooked it to the cycle.
I gave a skeptical glance at JD’s midsection. “That’s not really a six-pack, now is it?”
His face twisted into a scowl. “The hell it’s not.”
“A four-pack might be a stretch,” I said, trying to antagonize him.
“Four-pack my ass,” JD growled. “That’s a six-pack, and you know it. It’s not even May 1st. Pay up! You owe me $100 bucks.”
I frowned at him, dug into my pocket, and pulled out my money clip. I ripped a clean, crisp Benjamin from a small wad and handed it to him. Jack snatched it from my grasp faster than a cobra striking its prey.
We weren’t here for social reasons. We kept our exchange brief as we marched toward the sand.
I grinned, proud of him for sticking to his health goals. He’d lost the extra padding around the middle, and I’m sure his cardiologist, and his heart, appreciated his effort.
There was no telling Jack Donovan what to do. Ever. He certainly had a mind of his own. But subtle, persuasive tactics could be effective. Some might call it encouragement, others might call it manipulation. “I’ll bet you another hundred bucks you can’t keep it off during the summer.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed at me. “You’re on!”
A smirk tugged the corners of my mouth.
We descended the creaky wooden steps to the beach and trudged across the sand to the crime scene. Sheriff Daniels huddled by the pier with Brenda, the medical examiner. A few uniformed deputies had roped off the area, and a forensic photographer snapped pictures of the body. The brilliant flashes illuminated the barnacle-covered wooden pylons underneath the pier.
A crowd of curious onlookers surrounded the area, both on the beach and on the pier above. They hung over the railings, gawking and taking pictures on their cell phones.
Gulls squawked overhead, and teal waves crashed against the shore. The sky was clear and blue. The yellow ball hung high, baking the sand with its glorious rays, glimmering off the water.
It was a perfect 72°.
Still, the sight of a dead body on the beach made it feel gloomy.
The subject of attention was a young girl. Her skin was milky and almost translucent, and her eyes were hazy. Though, there wasn't much left of her eyes. It seemed the squishy orbs had become a delicatessen for the critters of the sea. Her long blonde hair was scraggly and knotted, looking like seaweed dangling from her scalp. Her wrists and ankles were bound with nylon rope, just like the others.
A nasty feeling twisted in my gut. We'd seen this exact scenario a few times before. There was no guaranteeing this was the work of the Seaside Stalker, but all indications pointed in that direction.
"A guy fishing on the pier hooked onto her," Sheriff Daniels said, the grim words escaping from his tense lips. He pointed to a man who was talking to another deputy. "His name is Brandon Cunningham."
"We have an ID on the girl?" I asked.
Daniels shook his head.
His hard eyes surveyed the corpse with frustration. The cream, straw cowboy hat he wore kept the sun off his face. Daniels’s stoic demeanor was rarely broken, and a smile almost never cracked his lips.
"Anyone file a missing persons report?" I asked.
"No, but something tells me we will see one shortly."
"Time of death?"
“I’d say she's been in the water 24 to 36 hours," Brenda said, hovering over the body. "I'll know more when I get her back to the lab."
A news crew arrived while we talked. They scurried down the beach toward the crime scene—a reporter holding a mic, and a camera operator lugging a heavy camera on his shoulder.
Daniels grimaced. "Vultures."
I left Daniels and spoke with Brandon Cunningham for a moment. He was a tall skinny guy with a long nose, a weathered face, and thinning hair on top. He said, “At first I thought I had a hell of a fish on the line, then I realized what it was. Called you boys right away."
"What time was that?" I asked.
Brandon shrugged. "Maybe 45 minutes ago?"
"How long had you been on the pier?"
"I got out here pretty early. Maybe 5 AM? Not exactly sure. I was about to call it a day when I hooked her. Wasn't having much luck."
"Did you see anyone suspicious in the area?"
"You mean, did I see somebody dump a body into the water?"
I nodded.
"No. But, you know, there’s always a few shady characters around the pier in the middle of the night or in the early morning.”
I took his information and thanked him for his time, then ambled back to Sheriff Daniels.
"I want you to figure out if this is another copycat, or if this is the real deal,” Daniels said. “The summer is upon us, gentlemen. And I don't want this to be a familiar scene. Sort this shit out and do it quick!"
“Aye-aye
, Captain,” JD said in a tone that was sure to annoy Sheriff Daniels.
His stern eyes glared at Jack.
We were assaulted by the news crew as we headed back toward the parking lot. The camera lens focused on us, and a bubbly reporter held onto a microphone, asking questions. Her wavy blonde hair blew in the breeze, and her crystal blue eyes sparkled.
I knew who she was.
Paris Delaney was an up-and-coming reporter for the same network that Reagan McKenzie had worked for. She had that same ambitious look in her eyes. I could tell she wanted to break the story and become relevant. She wanted to move up the food chain. Get away from standing in rain-drenched locations, reporting about bad weather, or doing segments on local businesses that had ripped off consumers.
Paris Delaney was young, good-looking, and unstoppable.
She wore a red blazer and skirt which hugged her sumptuous form in all the right ways. She had perfect, pouty lips that could make insightful commentary, or could whisper naughty-nothings, if you were lucky. “Have you identified the victim?"
I shook my head.
“Is the Seaside Stalker at work again?"
"I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation," I said.
"So, this is Seaside Stalker related?”
"I didn't say that."
"Were there any witnesses?"
She volleyed the microphone back and forth between us.
I walked at a brisk pace, and she tried to keep up. The cameraman hustled alongside us, and Paris held her high heels in one hand as she trotted through the sand.
"Do you have a message for the residents of Coconut Key?" she asked.
"Right now, there is no cause for alarm, but we are asking all citizens to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity to the Sheriff’s Department."
"How can you say there is no cause for alarm when there's a dead girl on the beach? This is the third body attributable to the Seaside Stalker."
"Don't put words in my mouth. I already told you, we have not confirmed this case is related."
"Looks like the same MO to me," she said in a slightly cocky tone. “I mean, how high does the body count have to get before the Sheriff’s Department will take this seriously?”
The muscles in my jaw flexed, and I stifled my rage.
I wanted to go off on her.
The camera lens hovered near my face as my scowl deepened. This gorgeous new reporter had gotten on my bad side real quick.
2
I contained my rage and forced a thin smile. With a snide tone, I said, “Maybe you should take over the investigation? I’m sure you could solve it by tomorrow."
Her eyes narrowed, and her upper lip curled slightly into a sneer. She stopped walking, and so did the cameraman.
JD smiled and waved goodbye to her as we marched across the sand.
"I'm starving," Jack said. "Let's head to Oyster Avenue. I've been craving the lobster tacos from Wetsuit."
“Are you sure you're not just craving Gemma? Is that her name?" I asked, referring to a delightful waitress that had caught Jack’s attention last time we were at the restaurant.
"Gia, I think,” JD said. "She says I'm her favorite customer."
I rolled my eyes.
“First, I have to stop by Casual-Ts and pick up more T-shirts and koozies.”
"You go through the last batch already?"
A proud smile curled his lips. "Sold out! Gotta have more merch for the Fusion Fest. Wild Fury is headlining Sonic Temple again. It's going to be awesome. The strip gets packed during the festival."
Fusion Fest was an annual music festival where bands from all over the country came to play the bars and clubs on Oyster Avenue. They blocked off the street, and revelers staggered between establishments. It grew year after year and spanned all genres. Recording industry executives would often scout out new talent. The name was partially in reference to the fusion of all types of music, and partially a reference to the positively atomic excitement of the event. A&R guys from major labels, and hungry managers, were looking for acts they could milk. It was a week of intense partying—and intense hangovers.
I hopped on my bike, cranked it up, and revved the throttle. The beast growled like a caged animal. I followed Jack over to Casual-Ts.
He had ordered more boxes than would fit in the two-seat speedster. The trunk, which is at the front of the rear-engine sports-car, couldn't hold a set of golf clubs. JD stuffed a few boxes in the passenger seat and decided, rather quickly, that he would have to make several trips. I suggested that he request an SUV Uber and be done with it.
"Good idea," he said.
When the black Lexus SUV pulled to the curb, we loaded all the boxes. I hopped into the SUV, and JD followed back to his place where we unloaded the loot. Afterward, we drove back to Casual-Ts, picked up my bike, then I followed Jack to Oyster Avenue.
With the incident at Taffy Beach, we had missed the lunch crowd, but the strip was always buzzing with activity.
We walked the sidewalk that was lined with bars and restaurants. At Wetsuit, we stepped inside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The dim space was a stark contrast to the bright sun outside. We took a seat at a high-top table and requested Gia, but she wasn't working.
Jack's disappointment quickly faded when Lainey arrived to take our order.
Wetsuit was a dive-themed bar that felt like stepping into an undersea domain. All the waitresses wore skimpy bikini bottoms and tight, neoprene wetsuit jackets that were typically unzipped to their navels, displaying voluptuous topography that begged further exploration.
"What can I get you boys?" Lainey asked with a bright smile.
I could see the wheels turn behind Jack’s eyes, probably wondering if she was on the menu.
Lainey had straight dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She clearly spent a lot of time at the beach, or on the sun-pad of someone's yacht.
Jack restrained himself and said, “I’ll take the lobster tacos.”
“Lobster bisque for me,” I added.
“It’s almost happy hour?” Lainey said. “Can I start you off with a beverage?”
I looked at my watch. "It’s 1 o’clock.”
“Okay, happy hour doesn’t officially start till 4 PM, but I’ll give you happy hour prices,” Lainey said with an enticing smile.
“You are just irresistible, aren’t you?” JD said with a grin.
Lainey shrugged, feigning modesty. “So they tell me.”
She winked.
“Well, if you don’t hear it enough, I’m always happy to tell you.” Jack smiled and ordered two beers for us.
“You’re such a sweetheart,” Lainey said, putting a flirty hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Tell me any time.”
She smiled, spun around, and sauntered toward the bar where she put in our order. Jack watched her strut, her alluring hips swaying in the most captivating of ways.
“I think she’s my new favorite,” Jack said, totally smitten.
“I’m sure you’ll have a new favorite later this afternoon.”
His brow crinkled at me. “It’s okay to have multiple favorites. I can’t help it if I give away my heart too freely. Every woman is a goddess. Every smile is a gift from the heavens. How can I not fall in love with them all?”
I chuckled.
JD’s face went long. “That’s why I just can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Wrap your head around what?”
“How someone could brutalize these women.”
“Some insignificant, insecure, narcissistic psychopath is acting out rage-filled fantasies. If you could fully understand it, I’d worry about you.”
“Sometimes you’ve got to think like a killer to catch a killer,” JD said.
“True. But I don’t much like trying to crawl around in that guy’s head.”
“You think the Seaside Stalker is actually responsible for this one?” JD asked.
I shrugged. “At this point, I don’t know what to think. Anyb
ody who’s seen the news and wants to kill somebody could be replicating the MO. Angry at your wife? Strangle her, douse her in bleach, bind her wrists, and dump her in the bay. The news media will latch on and say the Seaside Stalker is responsible.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have a wife,” JD said.
“Give it time.”
He scowled at me playfully. “Nope. No way. Never again. I can’t afford that. Plus, I’m having way too much fun.”
“Six times was enough, huh?”
Jack groaned. “I’m not saying that true love doesn’t exist. But love sure can get complicated. Especially when the lawyers get involved.”
Lainey returned a few moments later with our drinks.
We clinked longnecks and sipped the cold beer. It wasn’t long before Lainey served our meal. The bisque was perfect. Creamy and zesty. Not too thick, not too thin. Jack devoured his tacos in no time.
"I've got an idea," he said.
"That sounds dangerous," I teased.
He scowled at me playfully. "We are stuck until Brenda IDs the victim. I say we take the boat out for the afternoon, do a little fishing, and a little treasure hunting. I've got a new theory. There's a zone northeast of Barracuda Key that we need to check out."
"We haven't looked there yet," I said.
"Exactly," Jack said with a grin.
