Wild Spring

by Tripp Ellis

  “I suppose when someone gets on your bad side, they’ve got a lot to be nervous about.”

  I escorted her into the salon.

  "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?"

  "I can think of a few things,” I said with a lecherous grin.

  "Can you?"

  I moved to the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey. I handed one to Caprice, and we clinked glasses.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. I’ll testify against him if you need me to."

  I lifted a surprised eyebrow.

  "I can't keep living like this. This is insanity. Normal people don't live like this."

  We sipped the amber liquid. It swirled in my mouth and heated my tongue. "What will you testify to?"

  "People who came and went. Snippets of conversations I overheard. I don't know if it will do any good."

  "Do you know where he might have moved his makeshift casino?"

  She shook her head.

  "Did you ever see any high-profile officials coming in and out of the club?"

  "I saw a lot of people. But I didn't know who they were."

  "What about the judge who dismissed his case? Jim Echols?"

  "Yeah, he's been in and out. I think Nico has dirt on him."

  "What kind of dirt?"

  "Nico likes to have people under his thumb. There are always girls around the club. And these girls are willing to do anything for a price, if you know what I mean. Sometimes Nico would offer their services on the house. And then he would get the girls to take pictures and videos of the gentlemen in compromising positions." She sighed. "That's what I hear, anyway. Like I said, Nico did his best to shield me from that side of it."

  "And you’ll testify to all of that?"

  She thought about it for a long moment. "Yeah, I will."

  "You know that's gonna bring a lot of attention on you. You may not be safe. You may have to go into a witness security program."

  "Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

  "No. But I want you to know what you're getting into."

  "How considerate of you, Deputy," she said, inching closer, looking at me with those smoldering eyes. "And how is that gonna work for you? I mean, you’re banging a material witness to a crime you’re investigating. Isn't there a slight ethical problem there?”

  "I was indulging your desires before I knew who you were," I said, knowing it wasn't much of an excuse.

  “My desires?” she asked in a sassy tone.

  I shrugged innocently.

  "It's a real concern, though, isn't it? I mean, I'm hesitant to do this if some defense attorney is going to shred my credibility because you and I are having some kind of torrid affair."

  "Is that what we’re having? I thought this was just a one-night stand."

  "This is day three of a one-night stand," she said. "Or is it day four?"

  "I've lost track."

  She smiled. “Well, let's make the most of it, whatever day it is.”

  She planted her plump lips against mine, and all the BS just faded away. I only had one thing on my mind.

  37

  The morning sun flooded my stateroom. I was pretty used to Caprice sneaking out before sunrise, so I was a little surprised to find her warm body curled up next to mine. I didn’t mind.

  She stirred as I yawned and stretched.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Good morning.”

  The boat was calm and quiet. No one else was awake, and the marina hadn’t come to life yet.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” she asked.

  “You cooking?”

  “Yep,” she said with a smile.

  “Dealer's choice.”

  “Are you sure you want to leave it up to me? I could microwave a breakfast taco and call it a day,” she warned.

  “I trust your judgment.”

  “Brave man.” She kissed me on the cheek and slid from beneath the sheets.

  I watched the rays of sunlight cascade across her supple curves. She grabbed a travel toothbrush from her purse and strutted into the en suite. She emerged a few moments later after brushing her teeth and made her way across the compartment to the dresser. She found a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She pulled them over her round hips and pulled the drawstrings tight around her thin waist.

  She looked cute in the oversized garments.

  “Getting mighty comfortable around here, aren’t you?”

  She smirked. “When I take over a drawer in the en suite and start leaving clothes in the closet, then you know I’m comfortable.” She smiled. “This is just a spring fling.”

  “Does that mean it’s over at the end of the month?”

  She shrugged. “Technically, it feels like spring year-round on the island.”

  I chuckled.

  She left the stateroom and took the steps down to the main deck. A few moments later, she pranced back into the compartment with a frown on her face. "You're out of eggs. And cheese… and milk… and just about everything. I was gonna fix breakfast."

  "We can go out and get something. Maybe at Ziggy’s or House of Pancakes.” I smiled, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

  "Give me your keys. I'll run to the store and be back in a jiffy. You can take me to breakfast tomorrow."

  "Oh, really? What makes you think I’m gonna let you spend the night again tonight?"

  She grinned and smacked her ass. "Because I know you want some of this."

  I couldn't argue.

  “Keys,” she demanded, holding out her open palm.

  "In my pocket. And be careful. She's a classic."

  She shot me a look. "I'm a good driver. I'll bring her back in one piece."

  She scooped my shorts from the floor, dug into the pockets, and found my keys. "Back in a flash. Anything you want?"

  I looked her up and down. "I can think of a few things."

  "Maybe after breakfast, if you're lucky."

  "Oh, I'm lucky, alright."

  “Yes, you are.”

  She spun around, sauntered out of the stateroom, and plunged down the steps.

  I lay there for another moment before pulling myself out of bed. I stepped into the en suite and brushed my teeth. Just as I finished and stepped back into the stateroom, a massive explosion echoed across the marina.

  It rumbled the bulkheads, and I heard bits of metallic debris rain down. I ran onto the bridge-deck and looked down the dock to the parking lot.

  My eyes widened with horror.

  Black smoke billowed into the sky, and flames engulfed the Trans Am. Glass and shrapnel had spidered in all directions. Caprice lay on the asphalt, thrown a dozen yards from the explosion.

  My stomach twisted, and a lump swelled in my throat. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and dialed 911. Then raced down the steps, crossed the passerelle, and sprinted down the dock as I begged the operator to send an ambulance. She told me to stay on the line.

  Curious eyes peered out of boats, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  The smell of burning rubber and oil filled the air.

  My heart felt like it was going to punch through my chest as I ran. I sprinted across the parking lot and knelt beside Caprice's body. My fingertips felt for a pulse in her neck. It was faint.

  She was unconscious and had taken multiple shrapnel wounds. Blistering hot metal sizzled, searing flesh. Her body was dotted punctures, cuts, and abrasions. Crimson blood coated her skin. I tried to stem the tide as best I could, pressing my palms against the flowing lacerations.

  I had no doubt that the car bomb was meant for me. It had been placed sometime during the night. It could have been the cartels, or any number of disgruntled individuals from my past, looking to take me out. But my first thought was Nico.

  Amber flames engulfed the Trans Am, burning away the new paint job, torching the leather interior.

  I didn't care about any of that.

  It popped and crackled. The heat was intense, and we were too close to
the flames. I scooped Caprice from the ground and moved her a safe distance away.

  Alejandro had grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind the bar counter and rushed into the parking lot. He sprayed the car, trying to get the flames under control.

  A crowd of onlookers gawked in horror.

  Distant sirens from an ambulance filled the air, and the growl of a fire engine’s horn accompanied it. They couldn't get here fast enough.

  38

  Red and white lights flickered from emergency vehicles as they pulled into the parking lot. The red and blue flashes of two patrol cars followed. Emergency responders rushed to the scene, and firefighters doused the car, trying to get the blaze under control.

  The EMTs and paramedics worked to stabilize Caprice, starting IV fluids and supplemental oxygen.

  I backed away and let them take over. My stomach twisted. I felt gutted.

  By that time, JD had joined me in the parking lot. “What the hell happened?”

  I shook my head in disgust. “I don’t know. Looks like there was a trigger on the door. When she opened it, the device detonated. It blew her halfway across the parking lot.”

  JD winced.

  The EMTs loaded Caprice into the back of the ambulance, and I rode with her to the hospital.

  JD stayed to work the scene with the bomb squad and arson investigators. He said he’d catch up with me shortly.

  The sirens wailed, and the ambulance driver honked the horn as we parted the Spring Break traffic. Fortunately, it wasn’t overwhelming this early in the morning.

  Caprice drifted in and out of consciousness. I squeezed her hand and told her, “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine. Hang in there.” All the usual platitudes people say to trauma victims, trying to give them hope when there is none.

  I’d seen a lot of injuries in the field, and these types of wounds could be particularly nasty. The doctors could spend hours picking out bits of shrapnel and glass, evaluating soft-tissue and vital organs, revascularizing damaged structures. Puncture wounds to the abdomen could easily get infected with bowel perforations.

  My blood boiled, and my eyes welled. Nobody deserved this. It made it all the more gut-wrenching knowing it should have been me in her position. It was my car. The bomb was intended for me.

  All the what if scenarios ran through my mind. What if I never invited her over last night? What if I insisted she not go to the store? What if… what if… what if…

  But, in truth, there are no what ifs, there is only what is.

  We raced to the hospital, and the EMTs rushed Caprice into the ER. She was triaged immediately and taken into emergency surgery.

  I sat in the waiting room beneath the pale fluorescent lights, nervously tapping my foot. The sour, acidic taste of a nervous stomach roiled in the back of my throat. My body misted with an anxious sweat. My clothes and hair still held the acrid stench of burned rubber, and my hands were coated with crusted blood. I must have looked like a lunatic to the other people in the waiting room.

  I felt guilty.

  I got up, walked across the room, and pushed into the bathroom. I washed my hands, splashed my face, and gave myself a good hard look in the mirror.

  I stepped back into the waiting room. It took every ounce of discipline I had not to storm across the room and punch Nico in the face as he marched in through the automatic sliding doors. His eyes rounded as he saw me.

  My jaw tensed, and my eyes blazed into him like a demon. “Surprised to see me alive?”

  Nico’s two goons were right behind him.

  “What happened?” Nico asked.

  “You blew her up!” I growled.

  Nico’s eyes filled with rage and flicked to Slater. The two were guilty as sin.

  “Looks like you got the wrong target,” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nico stammered. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “Are you asking if you’re going to get charged with murder or attempted murder?”

  His skin was pale. He gave another worried glance to his crew, then stormed to the reception desk and asked about his sister. The woman behind the desk told him to have a seat and wait for the doctor.

  I glared at the scumbags as they sat in the waiting room. I called JD. “Tell me you found something we can nail these bastards with.”

  “Pipe bomb under the seat. Wired to the door, just like you thought. Basic design. The bomb techs will be picking up pieces of this device all morning. Hopefully, the lab can trace the gunpowder and the materials.”

  “I know exactly who they’ll trace back to,” I said, still scowling at Nico and his band of scumbags.

  “Any word on how she’s doing?” JD asked.

  “No.”

  “You need anything?”

  “I need evidence. That’s what I need.”

  “We are on top of it,” JD assured.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket. I paced the room, waiting for an update.

  39

  Dr. Parker pushed through the double doors into the waiting area. He wore teal scrubs stained with blood. A surgical cap covered his hair, and a mask dangled around his neck. A grim look tensed his face.

  I rushed to greet him, and so did Nico.

  "She's in critical but stable condition,” Dr. Parker said.

  "Is she going to pull through?" Nico asked.

  Dr. Parker eyed him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

  "I'm her brother."

  "He's the man responsible," I said.

  Nico glared at me. "That's untrue. I will not stand for these false allegations.”

  Parker’s eyes flicked between the two of us. It was an awkward situation. “Like I said, right now she's stable. But we need to monitor her closely."

  "I want to see her!” Nico demanded.

  "No visitors," Parker said, his voice firm.

  “I have a right to see her, and I want to see her now!” Nico’s voice crescendoed, filling the waiting room.

  Parker’s face tensed. “I am responsible for the well-being of my patients, and I will impose limitations on visitation as I see fit.”

  Parker wasn’t about to back down. He stared Nico down, and the thug blinked first.

  Nico recomposed himself. He took a deep breath and stifled his anger. “I understand. I want the best for my sister.”

  "Keep me posted," I said to Parker.

  "He's not family. You can't share medical information with him," Nico said.

  Parker looked at him, flatly. "Go home. Someone from the hospital will contact you when she's able to see visitors."

  Nico's face tensed. His angry eyes glared at me before he motioned to his thugs to leave.

  Dr. Parker muttered in my ear as they strolled away, “What an asshole.”

  I agreed.

  Parker turned and pushed back into the treatment area.

  I called for a rideshare and stepped outside to wait. Nico and his thugs climbed into a duotone Anson-Barton with an extended wheelbase. It was one of the world’s finest handmade cars. The pinnacle of luxury and performance, all wrapped up in a sleek, elegant package. Not cheap. It had a rose gold hood and top over magnetic slate gray doors and quarter-panels. The style and sophistication was wasted on a loser like Nico.

  Slater drove, and Nico rode in back in the diamond-quilted leather seats. The car tore out of the parking lot, and the 508 hp V8 roared.

  The fact that Nico was walking around freely gnawed at me. I needed something concrete tying him to the car bomb.

  I called Isabella. "I need everything you can find out about Nico Testa and his two main goons—cell phone records, credit card receipts, anything that can tie him to an explosive device. Look for purchases at a hardware store, gunpowder, electronics, etc.”

  "What happened?"

  I caught her up to speed.

  “I’m on it.”

  Whil
e we spoke, I caught sight of a woman stepping out of a nearby professional building with a doctor.

  I watched the woman from across the parking lot. She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed the man in the white lab coat before scurrying across the lot to a white convertible Mercedes.

  It wasn't just a friendly peck on the cheek. It was a kiss on the lips and a long one at that.

  The doctor went in another direction after they parted.

  Nothing unusual, except the woman was Nadia Kennedy—Chuck's wife.

  It seemed like she had moved on rather quickly.

  “While I’ve got you on the line, what about Nadia Kennedy?"

  “Last time I checked, there was nothing suspicious. Hang on a minute." Her fingers clacked against the keyboard. "Looking at her phone records again now… Hmm, this is interesting. She has been getting a lot of phone calls from that contractor of hers, Landon Walsh.”

  "Maybe she's having trouble deciding on the color to paint the walls."

  "Something is odd here. Landon’s been calling and texting her all morning. There were calls into the wee hours last night. Not normal for a contractor, and not their usual pattern of contact. She hasn’t responded.”

  “Somebody sounds desperate,” I said.

  My rideshare pulled to the curb. It was a bright red Subyota tricked out with an aero kit, an oversized rear wing, and forged aluminum satin-black rims. The red calipers of the performance Brembo brakes were visible through the spokes.

  Not an inconspicuous vehicle.

  I hopped in and told Isabella I'd call her back in a moment. I said to the driver, “Change of plans. Follow that white Mercedes!”

  He looked confused.

  "Just do it," I said, digging into my pocket, handing him a $100 bill.

  He canceled the regular fare and drove this one off-the-books.

  We followed Nadia's Mercedes out of the parking lot.

  "Keep your distance. Don't make it obvious."

  "Is this some type of spy thing?" he joked.

  "Something like that."

  Nadia had a lead foot, and the Mercedes pulled away.

  "Keep up with her!"

  "First, you want me to hang back, then you want me to keep up. Make up your mind.”