Wild Spring Page 3

"Online through a dating app."

  “Which dating app?” JD asked, trying not to be too obvious about it.

  I shot him a look, and he shrugged innocently.

  “Duo,” Nadia said.

  JD asked Tatiana if she used the app.

  “I do, but I haven’t had much luck.” She frowned.

  I tried to steer the conversation back on track. “According to our records, Chuck was 58.”

  "I know what you're thinking. Chuck was quite a bit older, but I fell in love with him right away,” Nadia said. “He made me laugh—men my age don't know how to treat a woman. Chuck treated me like a princess. He told me he’d take care of me, and I’d never have to worry about anything. I always knew that he would probably go before me, but I just never expected it would be so soon."

  “Was there any tension between you two?" I asked.

  "No. Like I said, I've never been happier." Her eyes filled again, and she blotted them.

  "It's true," Tatiana added. "They were perfect together. I was so jealous of what they had. Talk about relationship goals."

  "I don't know how I'm ever going to find that again," Nadia said before breaking down in sobs. "I don't know if I’ll ever date again."

  Tatiana hugged her.

  "What about friends, business partners…?"

  "He didn't have any business partners." Nadia sniffled. "He owned the company outright. You can talk to his friend, Patrick. They’ve been best friends since grade school.” She paused. “I really think you should be looking at the people making threats against him."

  "We will pursue every avenue," I said. "I know this is a delicate question, but do you know if Chuck was having an affair?"

  Her face tightened. "No. Chuck was loyal. He would never cheat on me."

  "I can attest to that,” Tatiana said. “Chuck didn't have eyes for anyone else but Nadia. I never caught his gaze lingering on me, and I've been around here plenty in a teeny bikini, and sometimes less. And not to brag, but I'd look at me."

  Tatiana definitely drew the eye.

  I gave Nadia my card and told her we'd be in touch with updates. "Please let us know if you can think of anything else that might be helpful."

  She nodded.

  We escorted ourselves out of the house and strolled the walkway to the Porsche.

  "What do you think?" JD asked.

  “I think they all have alibis.”

  “I think I need to get on that dating site,” JD muttered.

  I chuckled, then called Isabella, my handler at Cobra Company. The clandestine agency had vast intelligence resources. She’d be able to get phone records and track GPS data faster than the Sheriff’s Department could.

  “Hey, doll,” I said when she answered.

  “Don’t suck up to me.”

  “That was said with genuine affection.”

  She scoffed. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to look into the cell phone records of Nadia Kennedy.” I gave Isabella the quick version of the situation. “Look for anything suspicious.”

  Without putting up a fight, she said, “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  I ended the call. I was in deep with Isabella, and I had no doubt that she would collect on all the favors.

  We drove to Jamaica Village, hoping to find Luis. According to the records, he lived at home with his mother. The neighborhood was a stark contrast from the luxury of the Platinum Dunes. These homes were modest. Some of them were well maintained. Others were in various states of disrepair. A few lawns were overgrown with weeds. The neighborhood had been plagued with burglaries and gang violence.

  The Miami Blue Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb.

  We pulled to the curb, hopped out, and made our way to the front door. A couple of kids tossed a baseball around in the neighboring yard. JD eyed them with suspicion. He'd just had the dents pulled out of his hood that were made by a wayward football.

  The one-story home had two bedrooms and bars on the windows and doors. The house was painted white, but dirt had soiled the façade near the foundation, leaving a slight green tint of mold or algae. The wooden porch was painted haze grey.

  I banged on the door and shouted, “Coconut County.”

  A short woman in her late 40s pulled open the door a moment later, and we flashed our badges.

  The iron security door remained shut, separating us.

  "I'm looking for Luis Rivera," I said. "Is he home?”

  Her face tensed with concern. She nodded and called for her son.

  Luis emerged from a hallway a few moments later and ambled cautiously toward the foyer. "What do you want?"

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions," I said. "Can you tell me where you’ve been today?"

  He hesitated a moment, then exchanged a glance with his worried mother.

  "He's been here with me all day," she said.

  Luis wore a black long-sleeve T-shirt, jeans, and basketball shoes that looked eerily similar to the ones I saw on the video. He stood about 6’ tall and had short brown hair, brown eyes, and a goatee that was a little thicker than his brother’s. He could very well have been the shooter.

  "Are you sure about that?" I asked, my voice full of skepticism.

  His mother glared at me. "Positive. Do you mind telling me what this is about?"

  "There was a robbery at Chuck’s liquor store. You know the place. The owner was killed.”

  The woman's eyes widened, then she exchanged a glance with her son. Her gaze pierced into him as if to extract the truth. A gaze that you didn’t want to be on the wrong side of.

  He shrugged innocently. "I didn't do anything."

  "You mind if we search the home?" I asked.

  Mrs. Rivera’s stern eyes found me. "I do mind. Come back with a warrant. Until then, we're done talking to you."

  She slammed the door in our faces.

  7

  “She’s covering for him,” JD said. “She doesn’t want to see both her sons in jail.”

  It was understandable, though inconvenient.

  We went back to the station, filled out sworn affidavits, and tried to get a warrant.

  The judge denied the warrant, citing the fact that a general description of the perp was not sufficient. We needed something more substantial than a suspect wearing a similar T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. I knew it was a long shot, but it never hurts to try. We tried to press for exigent circumstances, necessitating an immediate search. It was likely Luis would try to dispose of the murder weapon and his attire while we fumbled for a warrant, necessitating immediate action on the part of law enforcement.

  Still, our argument failed to persuade Judge Echols, despite the fact there was a clear motive for Luis to silence Chuck—the only prosecution witness against his brother, Mario.

  You win some, you lose some.

  After serious consideration, JD and I both concluded it was time for a drink. We headed to Oyster Avenue and had to park a block away on a side street. There were pros and cons to Spring Break. The area was packed.

  We made our way down the avenue, weaving through the crowd of drunken revelers. The street had been blocked off, and pedestrians flowed freely. It was like a street fair. Vendors sold merchandise on the sidewalks. Music from live bands spilled into the street. The smell of grilled food wafted through the air.

  Tide Pool was a madhouse. Both the indoor and outdoor pools were full of bikini-clad beauties and buff college dudes with rippling abs. The pretty people frolicked and splashed about, and bikini tops magically disappeared amid the tempestuous swells.

  We made our way to the outdoor bar by the pool. Jack pushed his way to the tiki hut and ordered two glasses of whiskey from Harper, his favorite bartender.

  On the plus side, locals always got more attention and better service than the tourists, and our glasses were filled relatively quickly. The servers all knew where their tips came from year-round, and it wasn't from the obnoxious college brats who couldn't be bothered to stuff
a few bills in a tip jar.

  After acquiring the much-needed beverages, JD and I looked for a spot to call our own. All the lounge chairs and patio tables were full. We stood by the edge of the pool, watching the chaos.

  Revelers batted around an inflatable beach ball. The colorful ball spun as it floated through the air and pinged with each palm slap. The smell of strawberry daiquiris, beer, and tanning oil lingered, mixed with the sharp scent of chlorine from the pool. They had loaded the water up with the stuff.

  You couldn't pay me to swim in the pool this time of year. No doubt, more than a few people had relieved themselves in the water, avoiding the long lines for the bathrooms.

  With the invasion of spring breakers, we almost felt like strangers in our own town. It wasn't ours anymore. For the next three weeks, it would be theirs. And that was okay. The entertainment factor was usually worth it.

  We sipped our whiskey and took in the sights and sounds. Jack caught sight of two topless girls in the pool, leaping up to bat the beach ball. Water glistened off their perky peaks as their delightful forms launched from the water, then splashed down again.

  "God, I love Spring Break," JD said with a grin.

  Two drunk girls passed by. One of them bumped into JD, almost nudging him into the pool.

  I reached out and grabbed his Hawaiian shirt, pulling him back from the precipice.

  "Hey!" he shouted in an annoyed but friendly voice at the two drunk beauties staggering away.

  The girls craned their necks, looking back at Jack.

  “He-e-y,” they slurred.

  "You know, hit-and-run is a felony,” JD said with a grin.

  It was, quite possibly, the beginning of a meaningful relationship.

  Their faces soured. “Fuck off, creep!”

  They staggered away, and Jack's face crinkled.

  I laughed. "Ouch! That was harsh.”

  "The night is young, and they clearly have no taste."

  JD was ever the optimist.

  Voices nearby grew louder and tense—a confrontation brewing between two frat boys. Jaws clenched, and chests puffed. Arms flexed, and the two inebriated gentlemen glared at each other until their friends stepped in between and pulled them apart.

  I kept a watchful eye for a moment, waiting for things to erupt. The tension soon settled—one of many confrontations forgotten in a drunken blur.

  JD nudged me with his elbow, pointing at two unaccompanied beauties across the patio. "That blonde has your name written all over her.”

  She was cute, no doubt about it. JD clearly had eyes for the brunette.

  "I'm swearing off one-night stands for a little while," I said.

  JD looked at me like I was crazy. "Did you hit your head? Maybe you need to go see about that."

  "After the last one, I need to thoroughly vet all potential candidates. I'm done with crazy for a little while."

  JD scoffed. "No such thing as not crazy. That's half the fun. You just need to stay away from the ones that are about to go nuclear.”

  "Easier said than done."

  "Please, your last girl had more red flags than a communist parade."

  I gave him a dismissive look. "She seemed really nice. How was I supposed to know?"

  "I'll be the first one to admit there's a certain, precipitous decline in IQ when perky breasts are involved, but you should have picked up on her clues way earlier. Some investigator you are.”

  I shot him an incredulous look. This coming from a man with six ex-wives. "Please, maestro… allow me to study under your great tutelage."

  Undiminished by my sarcastic tone, JD puffed up with pride. "You might learn a few things."

  I rolled my eyes. "All I'm saying is I'm done with crazy. I need nice, stable, secure."

  “You know where to find that,” he said.

  I knew who he had in mind.

  It was about that time when the frat-boy fight erupted. One guy shoved the other, his palms slapping against the man's bare chest. The push-ee tumbled back and bumped into a waitress carrying a tray of cocktails. The tray toppled, and glasses tumbled through the air, shattering poolside. Shards of glass scattered and would make the area treacherous for anyone with bare feet.

  The waitress stumbled into a brunette who plummeted toward the pool.

  I grabbed her just before she fell, cradling her in my arms. The gorgeous brunette looked up at me with piercing blue eyes and full, pouty lips. Without missing a beat, she said, “You're cute."

  With her arms wrapped around my neck, she pulled herself close and pressed her plump lips against mine, kissing me passionately.

  8

  We dangled precariously over the edge of the pool, our slick tongues dancing. I pulled the brunette upright and continued to explore her delicate lips. With her body pressed against mine, her bosoms mashed against my chest, my hands traced her supple curves.

  She felt warm and inviting. Her lips tasted sweet, and her hair smelled great. Traces of her strawberry daiquiri lingered on her velvety tongue. When we broke for air, her sultry eyes looked into mine. They were a deep, limitless pool of bright blue. A pool I could swim in for quite a while.

  Her breath tickled my lips when she said, "Take me back to your place."

  The words sent a spark down my spine and ignited the furnace of desire.

  As they say, no plan ever survives the battlefield. I immediately reconsidered my former stance on one-night stands. This woman certainly made a compelling argument in the pro column. I could dabble with crazy for just one night. Without any resistance, I said, “Um, okay.”

  JD chuckled with amusement. “Catch you later, chief," he said as I escorted the luscious brunette around the pool and back inside.

  We pushed through the bar, stepped to the sidewalk, and grabbed a cab on a side street. We were all over each other in the back seat. I grabbed plump handfuls of curvy goodness, and she grabbed a handful of steel. I could see glimpses of the driver’s watchful eyes in the rearview mirror. He seemed amused by our antics. It probably wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

  Neither of us cared what he thought.

  He dropped us off at the marina, and the gorgeous brunette slinked out of the vehicle and straightened her skirt. The hemline just barely covered the promised land. After paying the driver, I escorted her down the dock to the Avventura.

  The boats swayed in their slips, and moonlight glimmered on the water. There were quite a few parties aboard boats, and competing stereos filled the night air. We crossed the gangway to the aft deck of the Avventura, her high heels clacking against the teakwood.

  "This is your boat?" she asked, impressed.

  "It is," I said.

  "Not too shabby," she said with a raised eyebrow.

  I smiled and pulled open the salon door. Buddy greeted us with excitement, bouncing and barking. My new friend knelt down and petted the frisky Jack Russell. He instantly melted her heart.

  "What's his name?"

  I told her as she continued to stroke his fur and scratch his chin.

  Buddy was smitten.

  So was I.

  "You got anything for a girl to drink around here?"

  "I do," I said, heading toward the bar. "What's your poison?"

  "Dealer’s choice," she said.

  I poured two glasses of whiskey, then strutted across the salon and handed her a glass. She lifted her drink to toast, and we clinked glasses.

  "To unexpected encounters," she said in a lustful voice.

  "Cheers," I replied.

  We sipped the whiskey, and it wasn't long before we were tasting each other again. Our bodies collided, and our hips crashed together. Our hands groped and grabbed, but my glass of whiskey impeded my exploration. It had to go. All hands were definitely needed on deck.

  It’s a serious party foul to discard an unfinished drink, possibly even a felony in some states. But this exquisite beauty demanded my full attention.

  I placed the glass on the nearest hard surface and continued
my exploration of her delectable curves. It wasn't long before her skirt was over her smooth hips and her frilly black panties on the floor. The lace fabric looked good in a jumble.

  Her legs were long and lean, and her stomach flat and toned. Her supple mounds were anti-gravity temples that demanded worship. I was more than happy to give them praise.

  She had elegant cheekbones and smoky eyes. Raven hair fell to her mid back and had a sheen that picked up the pale blue moonlight filtering in through the windows. Her lips were soft and pillowy, and when she whispered naughty things in my ear, it drove me wild. Her steamy breath tickled my skin, and the flames grew hotter.

  We put the sofa in the lounge to good use before making our way up to my stateroom on the bridge deck. Round two was just as exhilarating as round one.

  The muffled sounds of partygoers in the marina filtered through the windows.

  We made a symphony of our own.

  The girl moaned and screamed so loud I thought the glass might shatter. Her long nails carved into my back, and her legs clamped tight around me. We tried our best to wear out the mattress. When our pleasure crescendoed, we both collapsed, gasping for breath, our bodies slick with sweat.

  The high was better than any drug.

  The girl had definitely realigned my perspective on one-night stands. Something told me she wasn’t looking for a meaningful long-term commitment. We were both in it for the same thing—fun. No drama. No expectations. Hell, I didn't even know her name.

  She seemed nothing like my last mistake. What could go wrong with a night of harmless fun?

  9

  Morning sun blasted through the windows, bathing the stateroom in an amber glow. I peeled open my eyes, wiped the sleep away, and stretched with a yawn.

  I felt good.

  Relaxed.

  Well-rested.

  I’d worn myself out the night before, in a good way, and slept like a baby. My hand felt the sheets for my companion, but they were cold and empty. The perky brunette was gone. I could still smell her scent on the pillow next to me.

  She smelled good.

  I figured maybe she was in the en suite, or perhaps in the galley, fixing breakfast. But I didn't smell the familiar aroma of coffee or bacon. I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and looked around the boat.