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  The bartender pulled my phone close and examined it.

  He was a big guy—6’2”, lots of muscles. Short brown hair. Chiseled features. I'm sure he did pretty well with the ladies, working in a place like this.

  He shook his head. "I don't know. He's not a regular. I see so many faces come through here, they all blur together. What did he do?"

  "The girl he was with is missing."

  The bartender's eyes widened. "No shit? Like, you think he abducted her?"

  I shrugged.

  "Is this connected to the Sandcastle thing?"

  "I can't discuss ongoing investigations."

  He almost looked excited. "Holy shit! That means the killer could have been in this bar. What a trip!”

  JD and I exchanged a glance.

  "Do you think he'll come back?"

  "If he does, call us immediately."

  "This is so cool. I mean, it's not cool, but… Wow!"

  "Wow," I said in a sarcastic tone.

  "Do you have any surveillance cameras?" JD asked.

  "No. We had them up for a little while, but the employees, and some of the patrons, complained. People like their privacy. And it made the staff feel like they weren’t trusted."

  We lingered in the bar and talked to a few of the waitresses, but nobody remembered seeing the man, or Natalie.

  JD glanced at his watch. It was almost 7 o'clock. "I'm gonna run you back to Diver Down. I've got plans this evening."

  "Hot date?"

  "29. Redhead. Athletic trainer. Can you say fun times?" JD smiled from ear to ear.

  We left the Barnacle, found the Porsche, and drove back to the marina. JD promised to give me a full report on the evening's activities. I climbed out of the convertible and strolled into Diver Down, the howl of the flat six echoing as JD screeched out of the parking lot.

  My body tensed as I strolled inside, and my cheeks flushed with anger. I tried to contain myself. I didn't want to erupt and go overboard. But I intended to give Madison an earful.

  I took a seat at the bar and forced a smile.

  Madison sauntered over to me. "What can I get you?"

  "Well, you can explain to me why you divulged confidential information?" I folded my arms, leaned back, and waited for an answer.

  Her face twisted. "What are you talking about?"

  "Reagan's report. It was full of confidential information that I only told you."

  Her jaw dropped, and guilt washed over her face. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. She came in for a drink and we just got to chatting and… fuck!" She sighed.

  "You have to be careful around her. It's not just girl talk. She's like a sponge and will soak up anything you say."

  Madison huffed. "That's kind of shitty."

  "She's a reporter, Madison. Not your friend."

  "She is my friend. I like her. I just thought we were speaking in confidence."

  I shook my head.

  "I'm really sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

  "You're right. Because I'm not sharing any more details with you."

  She scowled at me. She started to protest, then relented. "You're right. It was totally my fault. You told me something in confidence and I let it slip."

  I remained silent for a moment.

  "How can I make it up to you?"

  I scratched my chin and pondered her offer for a moment. "I don't know. I'll think of something."

  She grabbed a beer from a bucket of ice, popped the top, and slid it across the counter to me. "This one's on the house."

  I gave her a nod of thanks and sipped the cold beer.

  I hesitated, then pulled my phone from my pocket and showed Madison the picture of the sketch. "Have you ever seen this guy before?"

  She studied it carefully. "No. I mean, it's really hard to tell from a sketch."

  The phone buzzed, and Isabella's number flashed on the caller ID.

  "Excuse me. I gotta take this." I swiped the screen. "What have you got?"

  "You're not going to like it."

  "Lay it on me."

  "The website is based in Russia. It’s using a high level of encryption. I can't crack it."

  "You can crack anything."

  "It's a new encryption scheme. And I don't have the man hours it would take to hack this specific site." Isabella sighed. "Sorry, time is money."

  "How long would it take?"

  "Something this sophisticated? A couple supercomputers cranking away… maybe never. Not possible with brute force. I’d need to place an operative inside the organization and acquire access through the error of human assets."

  "Seems like overkill for a site that is involved in prostitution."

  "I'm sure the encryption was stolen from somewhere else. And whoever is running the site doesn't want anyone snooping around." She paused. "I was, however, able to find a profile match with the picture you gave me. So, Abigail Monroe was using the site."

  I deflated. "Alright. I appreciate the help."

  "Anytime. Just remember, I may need something from you." She hung up.

  I made my way back to the Wild Tide and took Buddy for a walk. The little Jack Russell Terrier was full of energy. I still hadn't found a foster home for Fluffy, and I had a sneaking suspicion that the aloof little animal would become a permanent resident. She and Buddy got along well, and she was surprisingly low-maintenance.

  By the time I got back to the boat, Reagan was on board. We had a clash of opinions in the salon.

  10

  "You need to clear things with me before you broadcast to the world," I said.

  Reagan's brow knitted. "You're not the boss of me."

  I expected nothing less from the sassy news reporter.

  "You could jeopardize the investigation."

  She scoffed. "Please. People need to know. They have a right to know. I have a right to tell them. My broadcast tonight could save countless lives."

  "If I don't feel like I can trust you with information, I may not share."

  She sneered at me. "And I might not share my information with you." She paused. "Besides, why are you getting so bent out of shape? You told Madison something. Madison told me. How was I supposed to know you didn't want me to blab about it?"

  "First of all, that was shared in confidence. And B,… I don't know what B is, but I'll think of something."

  A thin smirk tugged at Reagan's plump lips. "Face it. We need each other."

  That hung in the air for a moment. We tried to ignore the sexual undertones.

  "I mean, you can help me, and I can help you. And you know that. I can get information out to the public that you need disseminated. If we play our cards right, we can draw this guy out."

  "You watch too much TV."

  Reagan rolled her eyes. "What about the missing girl?"

  I played dumb. "What missing girl?"

  She stared at me, flatly. "Natalie Watson."

  "How do you find out about this stuff?"

  "You can't keep anything from me," she said with confidence.

  "If you have other sources, what do you need me for?"

  Reagan shrugged. "Well, you're my best source."

  She batted her eyelashes and tried to make herself look adorable. She didn't have to try too hard.

  "Please, do you think that's going to work on me?"

  She sauntered close and looked up at me with her big eyes. With a sinfully pouty voice she said, "Aw, don't be mad at me, Daddy."

  Her gorgeous eyes, breathy voice, and enticing lips could tempt even the most chaste.

  "Do we have an understanding?" I asked.

  "What kind of understanding?"

  "You know what kind of understanding."

  She huffed. "Fine. I will run my broadcasts through you beforehand. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  "I reserve the right to do whatever I want," she muttered. "But I will run them by you."

  My eyes narrowed at her.

  "Stop being so uptight. It's not good
for your health."

  "If stressful shit would stop happening around here, I wouldn't be so uptight."

  "Aw." She strolled around behind me and began massaging my shoulders. My traps were tight, and her thumbs digging into my muscles felt sublime.

  "Is this your idea of a bribe in order to get me to talk?" I asked.

  "Just shut up and enjoy it."

  It wasn't a bad idea.

  "Relax, let it happen," she whispered in my ear, teasing.

  "You are pure evil."

  "I know."

  I could sense her diabolical smile.

  "So tell me about Natalie Watson." She kept stroking my shoulders.

  I told her the details that were pretty much common knowledge. Then I mentioned the sketch.

  "Let me see it. We could put that on air and get that out to as many people as possible. You might draw some leads."

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and launched the sketch. Once I handed the phone to Reagan, my massage ended. Her eyes were glued to the screen. They widened with recognition. "Oh my God. That looks like…"

  11

  "It can't be," Reagan said.

  I could tell she didn't want it to be a familiar face.

  "Who?" I asked.

  "It sort of looks like Elijah. I mean, it can't be him, though."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "No way. Elijah is not the type of person that's capable of this kind of thing."

  "That's what everybody always says about serial killers."

  Reagan shook her head. "There's a vague resemblance here. That's all. This is a sketch. It could be anybody."

  "I think we should look into the guy. Elijah cracked the ciphers faster than anyone else. He fits the profile. White male. Early 30s. Socially awkward."

  "Why do you think he’s socially awkward?"

  "How would you describe Elijah?"

  She thought about it for a moment. "Socially awkward." Then she emphatically said, "But he didn't do it. I know Elijah."

  "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do?"

  Reagan frowned.

  "I've got an idea."

  The investigative reporter arched a curious eyebrow.

  "I'll come up with a fake note. You can slip it to Elijah and gauge his reaction. If he's the killer, he'll know right away it's fake. He'll be dismissive, defensive, and maybe even angry."

  "And if he's not the killer? He's going to be pissed if he finds out we suspected him. It could ruin our professional relationship."

  I shrugged. "This business is all about tough choices."

  Reagan was silent for a long moment, then finally exhaled. "Okay, fine. I'll go along with this. But if he's innocent, and he ends up hating me, it's all your fault."

  "And if we catch a killer?"

  "Then I'll take credit on the evening news." She smiled.

  At least she was honest.

  I spent the rest of the evening fabricating a note that resembled the other letters Reagan had received from the killer. I used the same kind of paper, a cipher that was similar, and even went so far as to prick my finger to stain the message with blood.

  "I think we should give this to Elijah tomorrow," I said.

  Reagan agreed. She thought about it for a moment. "And what if he gives us a reaction indicative of a killer?"

  “Then we follow him around and see if he's up to anything," I said. "I'll have Denise run a background check. See if there's anything in his history that might indicate the potential for violence."

  "I really feel weird about setting up a coworker like this."

  "Get over it. I didn't think you had that much of a conscience?"

  Reagan looked shocked and offended by my comment. "I'm not a sociopath," she gasped. "Just because I'm driven, aggressive, and career oriented doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

  I raised my hands in surrender. "I didn't say you didn't have feelings. I'm sure there's a kind, caring person under that tough exterior."

  "A girl has got to look out for herself in this business."

  "I don't doubt it."

  "I may seem cold and callous, but I can be very caring and compassionate toward the people I love." She paused. "I just don't have time for bullshit and drama. I don't let a lot of people in." She thought about it for a moment. "We're not really that different, you and I. You're focused and driven. You don't suffer fools well. You certainly don't wear your emotions on your sleeve. But I've watched you. You'll do anything to help someone. Especially the people you care about. Hell, you let me stay here, and you didn't know me from Adam."

  I shrugged. "What can I say. I'm a sucker for hot, sassy reporters."

  She sneered at me playfully. "You're not a bad guy, Tyson. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone that."

  "You better not. I can't have you go ruining my reputation."

  She chuckled. "Oh, you have quite the reputation. I don't think I could ruin it."

  I arched a curious eyebrow at her.

  "You’ve discharged your weapon more than anyone else on the force. And I’m not just talking about your 9mm. You notoriously chase anything with a skirt. And there are things about your past that even I can't find out. And I can find out just about anything."

  "Still trying to dig up dirt on me?"

  "You are an enigma, Tyson Wild." There was a tone of flirty admiration in her voice. She looked away and muttered, "And Lord knows, you've been completely appropriate with me. I guess I must not be your type."

  She flicked her blue eyes to me, batted her lashes, and her pupils dilated slightly.

  I knew that look. I'd seen it before.

  She backtracked. “Did you say, hot?”

  "Have you been drinking? You're awfully complementary."

  Her sultry look quickly turned into a scowl. She smacked my arm. "No. I have not been drinking. Not excessively. I had a glass of wine earlier. Not like last time." Her eyes went wide as she realized her slip up.

  "So, you remember?"

  "Remember what?" she asked innocently, knowing damn good and well she had thrown herself at me when she was inebriated.

  We had both pretended the incident didn't occur.

  Reagan stepped closer. "Can't a girl give a guy a compliment?"

  Someone turned up the heat in the salon. Energy radiated from her body. Her sultry voice tickled my ear, went straight to my spine, traveled south, and increased blood flow in a certain area. My heart beat faster. "What happened to keeping things professional?"

  "Nothing wrong with one professional appreciating another?"

  She moved closer still.

  “Appreciating, eh?”

  “Don’t you want me to appreciate you?” The question was so loaded, it was about to pop.

  I could appreciate her all night long, and the next morning too.

  Our lips were like two trains speeding down the same track on an inevitable collision course. It was a crash that I was highly anticipating. I grabbed the small of her back and pulled her body into mine. Her body felt warm and supple. She lifted up on her tiptoes, and a subtle whimper escaped her lips as they parted.

  This was probably a bad idea, but there was no stopping what was already in motion. It had been brewing for a long time. We were both sober, and of clear mind. As clear as either of our minds could get in the midst of surging hormones.

  Our lips were millimeters apart when my phone rang.

  "Ignore it," she whispered.

  I cringed. "I gotta take it. It could be the sheriff."

  “Fuck the sheriff.” Her husky voice was full of desire.

  12

  "Tyson, you need to come quick," Scarlett said. Her terrified voice crackled through the tiny speaker on my phone.

  "What's going on?"

  "It's dad. I think he's having a heart attack."

  Scarlett almost never called Jack Dad. I knew it was serious.

  "Call 911. I'll be right there."

  "Hurry!" she cried.

  I hung u
p the phone, stuffed it in my pocket, and bolted toward the hatch. I grabbed my helmet on the way out. "Sorry. Can I get a rain check?"

  "What is it?" Reagan asked.

  "Jack just had a heart attack!"

  Reagan's eyes widened with concern. "I'm going with you."

  "Grab a helmet."

  She looked at me like I was crazy. "Oh, no! I am not riding on that thing with you."

  Reagan grabbed her purse from the counter and pulled out her keys. "I'm driving."

  We stormed into the cockpit, and I helped her down to the dock. Reagan's high heels clacked against the wood planks as we jogged to the parking lot. We hopped into her car, and I gave her directions to JD's house. The tires spit gravel as we peeled out of the parking lot and raced across the island.

  The short drive felt like an eternity. My stomach twisted, and my nerves buzzed. The sinking feeling in my gut was accentuated when we turned the corner and I saw the flashing red and white lights of the ambulance flickering across Jack's house. The strobes left spots in my eyes.

  We pulled to the curb, and I bolted out of the car and dashed up the driveway. The front door was ajar, and I pushed into the foyer not knowing what I’d find. I worried that he’d be dead on the floor.

  The EMTs had JD strapped onto a yellow gurney and were preparing to load him into the ambulance. A nasal cannula provided extra oxygen.

  It was a depressing sight, but at least he was still breathing.

  Jack had a scowl on his face. "Would you tell these people I'm fine?"

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Nothing happened. Scarlett's being overly dramatic. She's practicing for her acting career."

  "I am not being dramatic. You were the one who said it felt like an elephant was standing on your chest."

  "He complained of chest pain, dizziness, heart palpitations," an EMT said. "His vitals are fairly normal. Heartbeat is elevated. BP is high. Oxygen saturation was a little low. We started him on O2. Based on his EKG, we need to bring him in."

  "I feel fine now," JD said, putting on a cheery face. "This is ridiculous."

  "Sorry, Mr. Donovan,” the EMT said. “We don't mess around with heart conditions."

  "I don't have a heart condition!" Jack declared.

  "If you complain of chest pain and dizziness, you're taking a ride in the wagon. No two ways about it." The EMT was adamant.