Wild Surge Page 4

  Teagan gave him a hug that wasn't nearly as intense as mine. JD was still delighted by it.

  When she returned to the bar, she asked, “Can I get you guys anything?"

  "What do you think?" Jack said, still taunting her about her supposed psychic abilities.

  Teagan’s eyes narrowed, darting between the two of us. She thought about it for a moment. "Two beers." Teagan pointed at Jack. "You want the shrimp kabobs." Then her perfectly manicured finger aimed in my direction. "And you want a cheeseburger, mushrooms, onions, lettuce, and sweet potato fries."

  I smiled and looked at JD. “I’d say she's pretty spot on."

  JD frowned. "Lucky guess."

  "I picked up more dog food from the store, and I've been taking Buddy out a few times a day,” Teagan said.

  "Thanks for doing that."

  She smiled. "My pleasure."

  “I’ll reimburse you and pay for your time."

  "No worries. It was fun," Teagan said. "I'm going to miss taking care of Buddy." She frowned.

  "Feel free to walk him any time."

  The little Jack Russell could be more than a handful at times.

  After I filled my belly, the first thing I wanted to do was take a shower and change into some fresh clothes. Due to the containment protocol, I had to leave all of my clothing behind. Everything had to be discarded as a precautionary measure. I left the facility in a fresh pair of teal scrubs. My phone, my keys, and the contents of my wallet were disinfected. The wallet itself was tossed.

  We strolled down the dock toward the Vivere. Jack had a mischievous grin on his face. My brow knitted with curiosity. What was he up to?

  "You need to get a load of this," he said, leading me past the Vivere. At the end of the dock, he motioned with his hand, presenting a brand-new 25-foot wake boat. It had a white hull with a metallic teal stripe along the gunwale. It looked sleek and fast. The beam was 2.6m, and the draft was 32 inches. It had a max capacity of 18. With a 575-hp engine, collapsible tower, premium sound system, a 4000 pound ballast system, and the most sophisticated command center on the market, it was the ultimate wake boat. One look at it, and I could already envision the bikini-clad beauties that would be lounging on the deck. I'm sure that's the reason Jack bought it.

  "I thought we could use something a little smaller to tool around in," Jack said.

  "What did that set you back?"

  His face crinkled, dismissively. "It was nothing. Think of this as a glorified tender."

  I laughed. "You're not expecting me to split this with you, are you? I'm a little cash strapped at the moment."

  "Nope. This one's all on me."

  "In that case, I like it. I think it's a great idea."

  "I thought you'd see it that way."

  The WavePro SX was a thing of beauty. That much was certain.

  "You have a name for it?" I asked.

  "Do you really need to name a wake boat?" JD asked.

  I shrugged.

  "I mean, a few things have crossed my mind."

  I could only imagine JD's choice of names.

  "Do you think Panty Dropper is over the top?"

  I nodded.

  "Making Waves is too generic," Jack said.

  I nodded again.

  "What about Point Break? I love that movie. The original, of course."

  "It's your boat."

  "Pipeline?"

  I shrugged. "It's totally up to you."

  Jack's face crinkled, and he scratched his chin, pondering the options. It was a damn nice boat. There was no doubt about it. I had to admit, I was kind of anxious to take it out on the water and see what it could do.

  “When did you get this?”

  “While you were in quarantine. I got bored. It was too good a deal to pass up.”

  We left the sleek wake boat and walked back to the yacht. Buddy greeted me with excitement as we entered the salon. I knelt down and petted him, and he licked my face.

  Jack hung out on the skybridge, soaking up the sun while I showered and changed. I missed a call from Daniels while I was in the shower. I called him back after I dressed.

  “Congratulations on surviving,” he said flatly. “Now I need you back on the Newman case. Numb-nuts is too easily distracted. He’s got the attention span of a gnat.”

  I chuckled. “I’m on it. Any word from the Feds about the pathogen?”

  8

  "Not a word," Daniels said. "I've made numerous follow-up calls to Agent Bradley. No response."

  "They're shutting us out," I said.

  "You've got connections. Dig around and see what you can find out. I don't buy this whole influenza story."

  "Neither do I."

  "The last thing we need is some public health crisis. There must be some reason they are downplaying the incident."

  "I can think of a whole host of reasons they’re keeping this under wraps," I said. "They don't want mass panic. If a terrorist attack is in the works, the Feds may not want to tip their hand.”

  "How concerned should we be?" Daniels asked.

  I sighed. "I don't know. Probably very."

  Sheriff Daniels groaned.

  "I'll see what I can find out.”

  My next call was to Isabella, my former handler at Cobra Company. The off-the-books clandestine organization did the dirty work nobody else wanted to do. I'd spoken with her briefly while I was in the containment unit. She didn't have much info at the time.

  "Have you been able to find anything out?" I asked.

  "Right now, all of my sources are maintaining the same story. No threat."

  "You don't believe that, do you?"

  "Not for a second. I've got my ear to the ground. I'll let you know the minute I have something. I'm trying to track down the origin of the fake Intrepid, but at the moment that's proving difficult. Neither the FBI nor the CIA will release the names of the crew members aboard that ship. When I say they're keeping this thing tight, they're keeping it tight. When I have a hard time finding information, you know it's serious."

  "Keep me posted."

  I ended the call, left my stateroom, and jogged up the steps to the salon. I called to JD on the skybridge and told him I was ready to go. I caught him up to speed on my conversation with Isabella as we drove to Heather Newman’s apartment.

  With the top down, JD shouted over the wind and the stereo. Classic rock pumped through Bose speakers, the bass drum thumping. “If this was a terrorist attack, what was the intended target?”

  I shrugged. “With a virus like this, they wouldn’t need to do much. Release the pathogen in a crowd and let the bug do the rest. Who knows? Maybe Coconut Key was just an intended port of entry? Maybe the ultimate target was somewhere else?” I paused for a moment. “I’ll tell you one thing, if this was part of a terrorist plot, we can expect another attempt to bring that virus in.”

  JD gave me a grim nod of agreement. “Why not just have some poor, infected SOB board a plane? Spread the infection that way. Sneeze on everyone in the airport.”

  I thought for a moment. “Sure. That’s one way. But it doesn’t make much of a statement. Something tells me that whoever is behind this wants to make a splash. Maybe they’ve got a more specific target in mind?”

  “What target?”

  “It would be a large gathering of people. High-profile.” I thought for a moment. “The Coconut Key Open.”

  “I know Woody Cougar has his haters, but that’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” Jack said, trying to lighten the mood.

  We pulled to the curb at Heather Newman’s apartment complex. It was a nice four-story facility a few blocks off the beach with parking underneath the building. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and fern leaves rustled. There was a call box outside the main entrance, and we buzzed the apartment.

  There was no answer from Heather's roommate, Abigail Fountain.

  Jack's face crinkled. "I called her earlier, and she said it would be all right if we asked her a few questions. She said s
he'd be here all afternoon."

  He pulled out his phone and dialed Abigail's number. She answered after a few rings.

  "Abigail, this is Deputy Donovan. I'm at your apartment. Are you available to speak?"

  "Oh, my God, I'm so sorry. I totally forgot. My boss called me at the last minute to pick up a shift. I'm at the restaurant. You can come by here if you want. How long will it take?"

  "Not long. Just a few minutes."

  Abigail worked at Fat Crab, which specialized in an assortment of crab, crawfish, oysters on the half shell, and fried seafood. It was a casual joint that had live bands in the evenings and beer girls serving ice-cold brews from galvanized tubs. A giant crab over the entryway lorded over the patrons with menacing pincers, looking like something out of a classic science fiction movie from the '50s.

  Inside, the place looked like a weathered crab shack with wooden deck-work and reclaimed wood walls. Life preservers and fishing nets decorated the place. There were plenty of flatscreen displays to watch sporting events, and as usual, more than enough sumptuous eye-candy sauntering around in skimpy bikinis or cutoff jean shorts. It was a popular place to watch a game, tear through buckets of spicy crawfish, or enjoy all types of crab.

  A perky brunette hostess offered to seat us as we stepped inside the establishment.

  JD flashed his shiny gold badge. "We're here to see Abigail."

  A worried look tensed her face. "She's not in any trouble, is she?"

  "No. We just need to ask her a few questions," JD assured.

  The hostess craned her neck and looked across the restaurant, pointing to a pretty blonde with her hair in a ponytail. She wore tight jean shorts and a tube-top. She served customers at a booth as we made our way toward her. Abigail clanked entrées onto the table, asked the group if they needed anything else, then spun around and sauntered to the bar. We caught up with her along the way.

  JD flashed his badge again. "Abigail, I'm Deputy Donovan. We spoke on the phone."

  "Oh, sure. Right. Let me just put this order in, and I'll meet you over there." She pointed to an empty booth in the back of the restaurant.

  Fat Crab wasn’t very crowded this time of day, and I figured we'd have a few minutes to speak uninterrupted. We slid into the booth and waited.

  Abigail joined us a few minutes later. "So, what do you guys want to know?"

  "Anything that might help us solve this crime,” I said.

  Her face twisted with a frown. "I can't believe Heather’s dead. It hasn't really hit me yet."

  "Were you two close?" I asked.

  "We were roommates. We were friends before that. You know how it can be. Sometimes living with your best friend is not exactly the best idea in the world. It sounds great at first, but it can certainly put a strain on the friendship.”

  "So, you guys weren’t getting along?”

  "We got along, but you know how it is. Don't get me wrong. I love Heather. But she left her shit everywhere and never did the dishes. I ended up doing everything around the apartment." She frowned.

  I exaggeratedly cleared my throat and nudged JD. I was left cleaning up the Vivere after most parties.

  Abigail paused for a long moment, and her frown deepened. Her eyes brimmed as she thought about her dead friend. She wiped the corners of her eyes and tried to stuff the emotions back into the box where she had been keeping them over the last several days.

  "I'm sorry,” Abigail continued. “I’ve been trying to put the whole thing out of my mind. I've been trying to keep myself busy with work. But it just freaks me out. I don't like being alone in the apartment anymore."

  "When was the last time you saw Heather?" I asked.

  "I think it was Tuesday. She was getting ready for her shift at Hammerhead."

  "What time was that?"

  "I don't know. She was just starting to get ready as I left the house. 3:30 PM, I guess? I don't think she had to be at work until 6 PM.”

  “And she never came home that night?” I asked.

  Abigail shook her head. "No."

  "But you didn't report her missing right away,” I said.

  Abigail hesitated. "No. I didn't think it was a big deal. It was pretty standard for Heather to disappear for a few days."

  "Why is that?"

  Abigail shrugged. Her tentative eyes surveyed me. "Well, she was either with her boyfriend, Colin… Or, someone else."

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  Abigail cringed. "I mean, I don't really want to talk bad about my friend, but let's just say she liked to have a good time."

  "Do you know who she liked to have a good time with?" I asked.

  Abigail's face scrunched. "I don't want to make my friend sound like a slut. I mean, she's dead and all."

  "You want us to find out who did this, don't you?" I asked.

  Her eyes widened. "Of course!”

  "Anything you could tell us would be helpful."

  Abigail took a deep breath. "Well, I know she was sleeping with her biology professor."

  "What was his name?"

  "Dr. Miles.”

  “He's at the community college?" I asked.

  Abigail nodded.

  "Anybody else?"

  "I know she slept with her boss a few times."

  "At Hammerhead?"

  "Yeah. Chip is his name."

  I made notes on my cell phone.

  "And there was a bartender. I think his name is Brody."

  "Anybody else?" I asked.

  "That was the current list that I knew about."

  "And did these men know about each other?"

  "No. I mean, her boyfriend is extremely jealous. Colin would totally flip out if he found out."

  "Maybe he did find out? Maybe he got angry with her?" I suggested.

  She pondered the thought for a moment.

  "Do you think Colin is capable of murder?" I asked.

  "I thought the Seaside Stalker did this? I mean, that's what they're saying on the news."

  "We haven’t been able to positively connect the murders yet. We are keeping all options open."

  "I guess anybody is capable of anything," Abigail said. She hesitated a moment. "You know, Heather did tell me about this creepy guy at her work. He was one of the bartenders. Charlie Knox. He had a thing for her. I mean, he was kind of cute in that strange guy kind of way, but I just got bad vibes from him."

  "So you met him?" I asked.

  "Yeah. I would go up to her work now and then and get free drinks."

  "Did she ever hook up with Charlie?"

  "I don't think so. I know they hung out drinking a few times. She saw him strictly as friends, co-workers. But I kinda got the impression that he thought they were dating."

  "Did she hang out with him a lot?"

  Abigail shook her head. "Not really. They maybe went out partying a few times, and she always ended up going home with another guy."

  "One of the guys that you mentioned before?” I asked.

  "No. A random. She didn't do it a lot… Okay, maybe she did it a lot,” she admitted. “It wouldn't be unheard of for Heather to pick up a random guy in a bar and, you know… work things out."

  "Would she pick up these randoms and bring them back to the apartment?”

  "A few times. But she knew that I didn't like having strange guys in the apartment. Most of the time she would go to their place so she could sneak out, or she would take care of business in the parking lot, or wherever. Guys aren’t usually picky about the location, and I think Heather was excited by the danger of getting caught in a public place."

  "She had quite an adventurous spirit,” JD said.

  "She did.” Abigail sighed.

  “Why even bother to have a boyfriend?” JD asked.

  Abigail shrugged. “I think she was afraid to let Colin go. He was always there for her. Whatever she needed. He’d do anything for her.” She paused. "Listen, I gotta get back to work. If you need anything else, just call or come by.”

  I thank
ed her for her time, and she slid out of the booth. She turned back to us as she walked away. "How worried should I be about this Seaside Stalker coming after me next?"

  I shrugged. “Just use your head. Don't go anywhere alone. Keep aware of your surroundings. Don’t go home with strangers.”

  “Don’t worry. I'm not Heather."

  She spun around and sauntered toward the bar.

  9

  The sign outside Hammerhead had a cartoon painting of a tipsy shark standing upright on its caudal fins, holding a frothy mug of beer. The locals called the place Hammered-Head because the drinks were stout and cheap. The day after a night at Hammerhead could usually be pretty painful.

  Replica sharks hung from the ceiling, and the walls were lined with pictures of the ferocious creatures. Sharp rows of jagged teeth and black eyes. Massive jaws large enough for a man to fit inside. There was a deck out back with another bar and a stage for a live band. Like Fat Crab, there were girls standing behind galvanized tubs of beer. A hot girl roamed through the premises with holsters of tequila and Jägermeister on her hips. A bandolier of shot glasses crisscrossed her chest.

  JD and I made our way to the main bar and asked for the manager.

  "That would be me," the bartender said.

  He was 6’2”, blond curly hair, mid-30s, pearly white teeth. He had an athletic build, a square jaw, and spent a fair amount of time in the sun.

  Jack flashed his badge.

  "I guess you're here about Heather?" he said in a grim tone.

  I nodded. "Your name is Chip, right?"

  He nodded.

  "What can you tell me about the night Heather disappeared?"

  "She waited tables until close. She tipped out and left."

  "You two didn't go home together?"

  He looked taken aback. "No. Why would you ask that?"

  "You two were having an affair, weren't you?" I asked.

  He hesitated for a moment, then stammered. "I don't know if I would classify it as an affair," he said, perturbed. He glanced around to see if any of his co-workers were in earshot, then he leaned in and said in a low voice, "Look, we hooked up a few times. We tried not to make a big deal out of it. I don't usually sleep with co-workers, but sometimes things happen."