Wild Killer Read online

  JD put on a good front, but I could see the fear in his eyes. I was worried about my friend.

  “Where is the news crew?" JD asked Reagan. "This is newsworthy, isn't it? One of Coconut Key’s finest suffers near fatal heart attack?"

  "I thought you were feeling fine?" Reagan asked, dryly.

  "I am, but that makes for a more dramatic headline, doesn't it—since we're all being dramatic?" His glare snapped to Scarlett.

  “Excuse me for wanting to keep you around a little longer," Scarlett sassed.

  The EMT addressed Scarlett. "Do you want to ride with us, or take your own car?"

  "I'll ride with you," Scarlett said.

  JD frowned, then begged me for assistance. "Would you talk to these people?"

  I shrugged. "It sounds like you need to get checked out."

  "I've got plans tonight. This is screwing up my whole evening."

  "Yeah, well, you don't want to screw up your whole life, do you?" Scarlett asked.

  JD grumbled to himself as the EMTs wheeled him out of the house. They opened the doors to the ambulance and loaded him inside. Scarlett climbed in behind him. Before the EMTs closed the doors, I told her we would meet them at the ER.

  Reagan and I jogged to her car and hopped in. She cranked up the engine, dropped the car into gear, and we followed the ambulance to the hospital, staying close behind as it pushed through red lights. Cars pulled to the curb getting out of the way. Lights flickered, and the siren wailed.

  At the emergency room, JD was triaged immediately. They take care of you right away when you come in via the meat wagon. The triage nurse checked his vitals again, gave him another EKG, and asked a slew of questions.

  Of course, Jack flirted with her.

  He was taken back to a room, and we tagged along. The nurse gave him a green hospital gown with diamond patterns on it. “Put this on, opening to the back.”

  "Do I really need to wear this?"

  "Yes," the nurse said. "You do."

  JD frowned, then looked to us. "A little privacy?"

  We stepped out of the room while JD changed, and the nurse let us know when we could come back in.

  Another nurse put electrodes on his chest and attached an oxygen saturation monitor to his finger. The display by the bed blipped with each beat of JD's heart, making a craggy mountain range on the screen. With a blood pressure cuff around his arm, his BP was displayed on the monitor in real-time.

  Jack winced as the nurse jabbed a needle into his vein and started IV fluids.

  "The doctor will be in to see you shortly. Press this button if you need anything," she said.

  "I need to get out of here," JD groaned.

  She chuckled as she left the room.

  JD glared at us as we took seats beside the bed. "I'm telling you, I’m fine."

  "Let's leave that call to the professionals," I said.

  The nurse had folded his clothes and put them on the counter. Jack pointed to the pile. "Grab my cell phone from my pants pocket, would you?"

  I stood up, walked across the pale green room, and fumbled through the pockets. There were cabinets and drawers full of medicine and surgical instruments. There was a stainless steel wash station with a pump bottle of antibiotic hand scrub. A box of blue nitrile gloves sat atop the counter near packages of gauze and a red bio-hazard container.

  I tossed the phone to Jack. "What are you going to do? Order a pizza?"

  "I need to call my date and tell her I'm not going to make it."

  I took a seat while he dialed the number.

  "Hey, doll," Jack said in a hopeful tone.

  He didn't get very far before the woman’s angry voice crackled through the speaker—loud enough for us all to hear.

  "Just hold your horses,” Jack protested. “I know I'm late, but a situation came up."

  I think I heard his date say, "You better be dead or in the hospital."

  "Well I'm not dead."

  "Yet," she replied.

  "I'm in the ER."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously!"

  "Oh, my God. Are you alright? What happened?"

  "Well, I was thinking of you, and I got a little excited. They think I may have had a heart attack."

  "Are you fucking with me?"

  "No, I'm serious," JD said. "If you don't believe me, come here and see for yourself."

  "I like older men, but not ones that might die on me during sex."

  Jack’s eyes perked up. “So, you're saying I was going to get lucky tonight?”

  “If you played your cards right. But, apparently, you got dealt a bad hand.”

  "Don't worry, I'd live long enough to finish." JD winked.

  "Jack!" Scarlett exclaimed. "Hello? I'm in the room. Could you not talk about that stuff in front of me?"

  Jack covered the phone and muttered, "Don't listen to my conversation."

  It was hard to tell who was the parent in this situation.

  The doctor pushed into the room wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He smiled and said, "Good evening. I'm Dr. Parker. What seems to be the trouble?"

  "I gotta go," JD mumbled into the phone. "I'll call you back if I don't die."

  13

  The doctor asked Jack the same questions that the triage nurse and EMTs did. He looked at JD’s vitals on the monitor, then leaned over the bed and listened to Jack's chest with his stethoscope.

  The doctor seemed unimpressed, then stood tall. "Your EKG looked a little funky, but nothing too abnormal. I want to get a CT scan, chest x-ray, and some blood work. Someone from radiology will be in shortly."

  "I promise, I feel fine," JD said.

  "Better safe than sorry." Dr. Parker smiled and slipped out of the room.

  15 minutes later, a radiology tech stopped by and took JD to get his scans.

  I waited in the room, with Reagan and Scarlett, for Jack to return.

  "I hope he's okay," Scarlett said with worried eyes.

  "JD is a tank. Nothing can hurt him," I said, hoping it was true. I tried to change the subject. “How did it go with your probation officer?"

  "He says I can go to Los Angeles," Scarlett said, emotionless.

  Under normal circumstances she would have been ecstatic. Now she just slumped in her chair.

  "That's good news."

  "I guess."

  "Having second thoughts?" I asked.

  "What if Jack's really sick? I can't leave him now."

  "I'm sure this is nothing."

  "What if it's not?" She looked at me with terrified eyes.

  "Don't go there just yet."

  Jack was back in the room within 15 minutes, but it took another hour to get the results of the CT and the labs.

  During that time, Carol, JD's date, showed up. She wore leather pants and a leopard-print tube top. Her pretty face was covered with a tad too much makeup, and her blonde hair wasn’t entirely natural. JD wasn’t lying. She had abs you could bounce a quarter off of. The girl was in shape. Muscle cuts in her arms, legs, and calves. Not an ounce of fat anywhere.

  "I'm shocked," Carol said. "I thought you were totally full of shit."

  "Would I ever lie to you?" JD said with a grin.

  Her eyes narrowed at him. "I haven't made up my mind yet."

  JD made introductions.

  Carol smiled at Scarlett. "I've heard so much about you."

  "I haven't heard anything about you," Scarlett replied in a snotty, disinterested voice.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Carol forced a smile and changed the subject. She looked at JD. "So, how long are they keeping you? I hope this is nothing serious."

  JD shrugged. "I'm still waiting on the test results."

  "Oh, shit!" Reagan muttered to herself as she checked her phone.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  Her eyes widened as she scrolled through her feed on social media.

  "Small crisis," she said, underplaying the situation. "I'll be
right back."

  She stood up and moved into the hallway.

  Dr. Parker stepped into the room a few minutes later, looking over JD's chart. "No AFIB. No SVT. No intracranial hemorrhaging. Chest x-ray looks clear. I don't think there's anything to be concerned about. I'm going to call this paroxysmal tachycardia."

  JD's face crinkled. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means you have a high heart rate. Have you started any new medications? Are you under any abnormal stress?"

  JD shook his head. "There's nothing abnormal about my stress level. Same old shit."

  "I'd say everyone's normal stress level is too high," Dr. Parker said.

  "He is coming off of opioids," I added.

  JD glared at me.

  Dr. Parker arched a curious eyebrow. "And what were you on the opioids for?"

  "Pain management from a gunshot wound."

  "Gunshot wound?" Dr. Parker seemed both surprised and impressed. He looked over the chart again. "I see here you are a deputy sheriff, is that correct?"

  "Yes, sir!" JD said, proudly.

  "That's a high stress occupation."

  "It pales in comparison to raising a teenage daughter."

  Scarlett's eyes narrowed at him.

  "Elevated heartbeat could be associated with opioid withdrawal. Possibly you had some type of panic attack. I'm going to admit you to the cardiac care unit for 24 hours—just for observation. That way we can monitor your heart rhythm through the night and see if there's anything unusual going on. If there are no issues, you will be discharged sometime tomorrow. Then I want you to follow up with a cardiologist and take it from there."

  "Do you have to admit me?" JD asked.

  "You can do whatever you want. But if you leave the ER, it would be against my professional advice."

  "I feel great. I think this is all nonsense," JD said.

  "You're staying," Scarlett demanded. Her eyes blazed into him.

  "You're not the boss of me," JD said.

  Scarlett huffed and folded her arms.

  "Jack, I think it would make Scarlett feel better if you stayed," Carol said.

  "It would make me feel better if I left."

  "You're not going to get a rain check on our date if you don't stay."

  That shut JD up. "Check me in, Doc!"

  14

  A nurse came in to transfer JD to the cardiac care unit. She rolled his bed out of the room and into the hallway.

  "I'll stay with him tonight," Carol said. "I'll make sure he behaves."

  "Are you sure?" Scarlett asked.

  "You go home and get some rest. I don't mind. I've never had a first date in a hospital before. It could be fun."

  Scarlett's face twisted with skepticism. "Don't have too much fun."

  Carol smiled. "I'll keep him in line."

  Reagan was still on the phone, doing damage control. She finally wrapped up the call, and we said our goodbyes to JD and Carol, then left the ER.

  As we walked through the parking lot, Scarlett broke down. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The pale green glow from an overhead lamp cast long shadows on her face as she sobbed amid the sea of cars in the parking lot. She had kept it together up until now, but the dam broke.

  Reagan put her arm around her. "It's going to be okay."

  "I know," Scarlett said, wiping her eyes. "I've just never seen him like that before. It scared the shit out of me."

  I think it was the first time Scarlett realized JD wasn't going to be around forever. He had a long way to go, but this was a friendly tap on the shoulder from the Universe. A reminder that no one gets out alive.

  Scarlett pulled herself together and we climbed into Reagan's car. Scarlett’s mascara was smudged, and her nose was red and puffy.

  Reagan's phone kept blowing up with texts and calls. She ignored them while she drove.

  "Is everything alright?" I asked.

  "Not really."

  "What's going on? Or do I even want to know?"

  She let out a frustrated exhale. "It's ridiculous. I'm getting a ton of flack from my broadcast earlier. The outrage on the Internet is insane. All I said was that the victim, Abigail Monroe, was a sex worker and she was using a particular website. Apparently her family didn't like me referring to her as a prostitute. And there is a legion of keyboard warriors accusing me of victim shaming. My boss wants me to issue an apology."

  I rolled my eyes. "This will blow over by tomorrow. People have the attention span of gnats."

  "I hope you're right."

  We pulled into JD's driveway.

  "Are you sure you're going to be okay alone tonight?" I asked Scarlett.

  "Yeah. I'll be fine. Thanks for everything."

  "No problem. You call me if you need anything."

  She gave me a mock salute and hopped out of the car.

  We sat in the driveway, and I watched her get inside safely.

  "I don't know about you, but I need a drink,” Reagan said.

  We drove back to Diver Down and took a seat at the bar.

  "Two shots of tequila," Reagan said.

  I arched an eyebrow at her. "Tequila?"

  "What's the matter? Don't think you can keep up?"

  Those were fighting words. "I have no problem keeping up."

  Madison grabbed two shot glasses and rimmed them with salt. Then she pulled a bottle from the well, spun it around, and filled the two glasses with poor life choices. She slid them across the bar with two limes.

  We clinked glasses and tipped the shots back. It was smooth, but it still burned. It warmed my body and brought back memories of over indulgences.

  Reagan slammed the empty glass on the bar with a clank and said, “Hit us again!"

  Madison had barely filled the glass when Reagan tipped it back again. She let out a satisfying gasp and slammed the glass down. "Uno mass, por favor.”

  "Maybe you should slow down?"

  She looked at me flatly. "Nonsense."

  The 11 o'clock news came on the television behind the bar. Reagan cringed as the anchor said, “Good evening. Earlier today, one of our reporters made inappropriate statements based on unverified information. Reagan MacKenzie mistakenly identified a victim of the Sandcastle Killer as a sex worker. The statements made by Ms. Mackenzie do not reflect the views of this station or our parent network. Ms. MacKenzie has been suspended pending disciplinary review. In other news…"

  Reagan practically spit out her tequila. "I think we're going to need the whole bottle."

  Madison poured another round.

  I motioned to her to take it easy.

  "Last one,” Madison said.

  Reagan scowled at her.

  "That's three shots in four minutes. Why don't you let that settle in for a minute?"

  "You are a party pooper!” Reagan exclaimed.

  "You'll thank me in the morning." Madison smiled and drifted to other customers.

  "This is such fucking bullshit."

  Reagan’s phone kept ringing, and she kept ignoring it. It lit up every few moments with social media notifications and texts.

  "You tell the truth, and people hate you for it," Reagan said.

  "You know, if you would have talked to me before you made those remarks, maybe—”

  Her eyes burned into me like lasers. "No. You don’t get to say I told you so. I am a very upset woman. Tread carefully."

  I raised my hands in surrender.

  "What the hell am I going to do?"

  "I don't know. Go on TV and make an apology?"

  "For what? There is a little thing called journalistic integrity. I'm not one of these people who plays fast and loose with the facts. I got into this line of work because I wanted to bring the truth to light. What I said on air may not be pleasant, but it might keep an innocent girl from getting killed. I didn't defame anyone. I didn't slander anyone. I just relayed the facts."

  Reagan’s phone buzzed again and she looked at the display. A grimace twisted her face. "I gotta take this.
"

  She swiped the screen. "So, this is how it goes down? I find out about this on air?"

  "Just take a vacation,” a voice filtered through her phone. “You could use the time off. Get out of this city. We can talk about bringing you back when things die down."

  "I can't believe you're suspending me. Am I at least getting paid during the suspension?"

  "You're not getting suspended," her boss said.

  There was a long pause.

  Reagan's jaw dropped. "You're firing me?"

  "I don't know if I'd put it so harshly."

  "How would you put it?"

  "I'm terminating our relationship."

  "You know what, Harold. Fuck you, you spineless dick!" Reagan hung up the phone and slapped it on the counter.

  She sighed, and her head fell in her hands. Reagan stayed silent for a long moment. Then she finally surfaced and took a deep breath. "At least I got to tell him to go fuck himself."

  "It's the simple pleasures."

  "Speaking of pleasure," Reagan said. A naughty glint flickered in her eyes. "I'm super stressed out right now. My body is tense all over. I'm very, very tight."

  Her breathy words slid from her satin tongue and hung in the air for a moment.

  "Do you think there's anything you can do to help me relax?"

  "I can think of a few things," I said, trying not to sound too eager.

  "And would one of those things involve…" She leaned in, and her hot breath tickled my ear. She said something that got my full attention. In no uncertain terms, she told me exactly what she wanted me to do to her.

  She put a delicate hand on my knee and stroked my thigh.

  I had every intention of indulging her desires. I paid the tab, and we nonchalantly left the bar. I didn't want to telegraph what we were about to go do, but I think it was pretty obvious.

  I held the door for her and we stepped outside, heady with lustful thoughts. At first I didn't pay attention to the man that stepped out of a black SUV.

  Then he called me by name.

  15

  "Mr. Wild?" the man asked.

  He was a thick guy with dark hair and a goatee. He wore a suit and a black shirt underneath. I could see his shoulder holster and the semiautomatic pistol that it contained.