Wild Break

by Tripp Ellis

  We’d been short-staffed ever since Madison went on vacation, and our search to find extra help had run into difficulty. There was a shortage of bartenders and waitstaff this time of year.

  "We have to get someone else in here," Alejandro said when he finally made it to us.

  "I'll tend bar," Jack said.

  We both shot JD a look.

  "He'll drink you out of business in a day," Alejandro said. "Can I get you two anything?"

  "Cheeseburger, sweet potato fries, and a beer,” I said.

  "Grilled chicken salad and a bottle of water," Jack said.

  We both looked at him, impressed.

  "Sticking to the diet?" Alejandro asked.

  "I've lost 5 pounds already," JD said with a wide smile. "Sixpack by May. Here I come!”

  I grinned.

  “I’ve been hitting the gym hard.” JD grabbed his shoulder and winced. “Messed up my damn shoulder doing military press, but you're gonna owe me 100 bucks," he said, pointing to me.

  "Happy to pay it."

  Harlan sat at the bar a few seats down. The old Marine didn't look too happy about all the drunk college kids brushing against him as they pushed to the bar. He grumbled something about going on vacation next year during this madness.

  We took in the sights and sounds and speculated about the crime that had just occurred. The last thing we needed was a predator stalking the island this time of year. It would be terrible at any time, but with the ensuing chaos of spring break, and the resources of the department stretch thin, it had the makings of a nightmare.

  Jack didn’t say it, but I could tell he was a little concerned about Scarlett coming back into town while there was a potential serial killer roaming the island.

  We had to wait a little longer than usual to get served, but all things considered, the kitchen stayed relatively on schedule.

  Denise called as I was finishing my burger. I was happy to talk to the gorgeous deputy anytime. "You're not going to believe who turned up in the ICU."

  4

  “Esteban Rivera," Denise said.

  My brow lifted with surprise. I knew the scumbag was in town. Isabella, my former handler at Cobra Company, had tipped me off that the narco-trafficker had returned to Coconut Key.

  My heart thumped, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. Nervous anticipation twisted in my stomach. This was the man who was, most likely, responsible for my parents’ murder. I’d been tracking him down to no avail.

  But there was that insidious phrase, most likely.

  I didn't know what really happened, and I feared I would never know.

  Part of me wanted to go to the ICU and put a bullet in the man's brain. A large part. But as bad as I wanted to kill Esteban, I also wanted to know why my parents had been killed.

  Perhaps there was no reason at all?

  Wrong place, wrong time? Collateral damage in the drug trade? Innocent victims, brutally murdered and their boat stolen?

  I pushed away from the bar and told Jack I would catch up with him later. He asked where I was going, and I replied, “Personal business.”

  He gave me a skeptical glance, but didn't press the issue.

  "More help!" Alejandro shouted at me as I exited the bar.

  I gave him a wave of acknowledgement, pushed through the doors, and jogged down the dock to the Vivere.

  In an unusual turn, the super-yacht was one of the few boats in the marina that didn't have bikini-clad babes bouncing around on the decks. I was sure we would remedy that before long.

  I crossed the gangway and pushed into the salon. Buddy greeted me with excitement. I gave the little Jack Russell a quick pat on the head, then grabbed my helmet and gloves and sprinted out of the salon. I raced to the parking lot and straddled my Yamazuki X6 sport-bike. The 600cc DOHC liquid-cooled four-cylinder was a hound from hell that would take you from 0 to 60, and back again, in the blink of an eye. I pulled on my helmet and gloves, cranked up the engine, and revved the throttle. The exhaust note was pure music.

  It was a lot easier to navigate the traffic on a sport-bike. I weaved through the parking lot, then turned onto the highway, splitting the lanes of traffic. I drove at a reasonable pace, though all it would take was an open car door, or a swerve, to send me flying over the handlebars.

  A thin mist of sweat coated my body. Nervous sweat. I didn't know what I’d do when I came face-to-face with Esteban Rivera.

  I figured it would be frowned upon to kill a man in cold blood in the ICU. Then there was the whole redemption thing. I had already been to hell once before, and I had no intention of going back. Indiscriminately killing a man might land me in the hot seat—even if he was a ruthless killer.

  It was something I figured I would sort out when the moment presented itself. Still, it felt good to think about putting a bullet in the man’s brain.

  At the hospital, I parked the bike, strapped my helmet to the seat, and pushed into the lobby. I took the elevator up to the intensive care unit and made my way down the pastel hallway to the nurses’ station. The blip of heart monitors, and the wheeze of ventilators, filled the air. Nurses scurried about, checking on patients. There were paintings of ocean scenes hanging on the walls—sandy beaches with wooden dinghies, harbors with sailboats, tempestuous seascapes.

  My gold badge glimmered under the pale florescent light when I flashed it to the charge nurse. "I'm looking for Esteban Rivera."

  The acetate nameplate on her chest read: Vicki. She pointed down the hallway. "324-N. I don't think he's much in the mood to answer questions."

  "I don't really care what mood he's in."

  I marched down the hallway and pushed open the door to the room. The lights were off, and the click and wheeze of a ventilator told me what I’d find.

  The craggy peaks of a heart monitor rose and fell. Vital statistics flashed on a display screen. A bag of IV fluids dripped down a narrow tube to a portal in Esteban’s forearm. Rivera lay in the dim room with his eyes swollen shut and his face covered in bruises. His skin looked like a color wheel of purple, black, blue, yellow, and green. It was accented with deep red, crusted blood from lacerations and abrasions. Black stitches drew the skin tight. His curly brown hair was mostly covered in bandages. It was hard to recognize him.

  I pulled out my phone and looked at an image Isabella had sent me. I examined it carefully for confirmation.

  This was indeed Esteban Rivera.

  A mangled Esteban Rivera.

  The charge nurse followed me into the room. "I told you he wasn't much in the mood for talking."

  A range of emotions swirled within me. I was angry and disappointed. Here was the man who could answer so many of my questions, but he was unable to. "What happened?"

  "He was beaten pretty badly," the nurse said. "He was admitted last night with a subdural hematoma. He underwent surgery to implant an extra ventricular device to reduce fluid in the brain. He's unable to breathe on his own."

  "What's the prognosis?"

  The nurse shook her head. "He may live, but he might not be forming complex sentences anymore."

  I grimaced.

  "Are you looking for information about who did this?" the nurse asked.

  I shook my head. Part of me would have gladly done it myself. I hated to admit it, but there was a dark part of me that was jealous of the person who got to administer the beating. Jealous and also angry. That person deprived me of the satisfaction.

  “Then what’s your interest?" the nurse asked. "Has he run afoul of the law somehow?"

  "Something like that."

  "What has he done?" the nurse asked. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

  "Do me a favor. If he regains consciousness, call me immediately." I gave her my number.

  "Is there any cause for concern? Do we need extra security on the floor?" she asked. "I mean, I don't think he poses any danger, even if he does regain consciousness. I don't think he’ll be able to hurt anyone. I'm more concerned about who did this. Do we need t
o worry about them finishing the job? Do you think anyone would have a reason to kill this man?"

  I stifled a chuckle. The 9mm holstered in my waistband screamed for me to stroke the trigger and empty the magazine into the dirt-ball. Apparently I wasn't the only person who wanted this man dead. But I wanted answers before that happened.

  "We are extremely short-staffed at the moment,” I said. “I am not sure I can get a full-time officer here. I don't know if this was a random attack, or if it had something to do with Mr. Rivera's business enterprises."

  "You're not making me feel better."

  "If you see anyone suspicious, call the Sheriff's Department immediately. Have hospital security step up their presence on this floor. I'll see what I can do about getting an officer here."

  "Are there any charges pending against this man?"

  "Not yet."

  I left the room and called Sheriff Daniels as I made my way toward the elevator bank. I told him about the situation.

  "What do you think Rivera is doing back on the island?" Daniels asked.

  "Maybe he's trying to restart his operation?"

  "Looks like somebody didn't want him back.”

  “The charge nurse was asking about additional security.”

  “I can’t really spare an officer. Right now, I’ve got everybody deployed on the streets, trying to maintain some type of order. I can have deputies stop by at routine intervals, but I just don't have the manpower for this." Daniels said. "And I need you on this serial killer thing.”

  "We don't know if it's a serial killer yet," I protested.

  I reached the bank of elevators, and the call button lit up when I pushed it. A moment later the door slid open, and I stepped inside. "I'll call you back. Stepping into an elevator."

  The lift descended, and my phone buzzed as I stepped into the lobby. I thought it was Daniels, but the call was from Madison. I hadn't heard from her in over a week.

  I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear. "Tell me you are coming back soon."

  She hesitated a moment, and a heavy breath escaped her lips. "I don't think you're going to like what I have to say. But I don't really care. This isn't about you."

  5

  "This doesn't sound good," I said.

  "Depends on how you look at it," Madison replied.

  "We really need an extra hand. I'm trying to get someone else in here, but it's difficult. This is spring break. When do you think you're coming back?"

  "I'm not coming back."

  My brow lifted with surprise. "What?"

  "I'm not coming back. I've given it a lot of thought, and I've decided that it's best for me, and my child, if we start a new life."

  "In Colorado?" I asked, skeptical.

  "I met someone."

  I rolled my eyes. "I'm happy for you, but I don't think you've known this person long enough to be making major life decisions."

  "Last time I checked, you don't get a say in my life."

  "Last time you rushed into something it didn't work out so good."

  She sucked in a tense breath. "I'm not going to argue about this with you. Look, I love you. You're my brother. But it's just not healthy for me to be around you, especially now that I have someone else to think about. You are a danger to everyone who cares about you. And I'm not trying to blame you for anything. It's just the way that it is. I'm sorry it's that way. But unless you are going to change professions, I refuse to be around you. I don't want my child to be the next victim because you pissed off some drug dealer or upset a cartel boss."

  There was nothing I could say. She had a valid point. Even if I did quit, I would always be looking over my shoulder. I made a lot of enemies during my time as a clandestine agent.

  “What am I supposed to do about the business? I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Thank God for Alejandro. He's kept the place running. But he can't do it all by himself. And we really haven't talked about the finances of all this. I've had to give him a substantial raise because he's taking on more responsibilities."

  "I've given that a lot of thought,” Madison said.

  She was silent for a long moment.

  "And?"

  "I've decided to sell the property." She just blurted it out.

  My jaw dropped. The air escaped from my lungs. It was like someone had punched me in the stomach. It took me a second to formulate a response. "You can't do that! Mom and Dad built that from scratch."

  The property was all I really had left of my parents.

  "I know,” Madison said.

  "They left it to both of us."

  “And you signed your share over to me when you left."

  I tensed. "It's not about the money. This place has more value to me than that."

  "Like I said, I'm putting it on the market. The listing agent will be by in the next few days to take some photographs and get details about the property. Please be cooperative.”

  I felt like my head was going to explode. I took a deep breath and clenched my jaw, trying not to say anything I would regret.

  "If you want to keep it, you're more than welcome to buy it," Madison said.

  "How much are you asking for it?"

  When she told me, my jaw almost hit the floor. "What? That's insane!”

  “It's priced according to market. Have you looked at property values recently? The area has skyrocketed. That's prime real estate. And, I don't know if you've noticed, but Coconut Key is an island. They're not making any more land."

  "Seems high to me,” I said, snidely.

  "Great. Don't buy it. Plus, I want four times earnings on business revenue. My asking price is not unreasonable.” She sighed. "Tyson, I have a lot to consider here. My future, and my child's future. With the money from the sale, invested properly, I won't have anything to worry about. My retirement will be set, and I can focus full-time on giving my child the best opportunity possible. You can't begrudge me that."

  I drew a slow steady breath, then exhaled. "No. I don't begrudge you anything. If that's what you want, that's what you want. I don't know if I can get my hands on that kind of money right now."

  "Sell the boat," she said.

  "You know as well as I do, I'm in on the boat with JD. Even then, that's not going to cover what you're asking."

  "I don't know what to tell you, Tyson,” she said, emotionless.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “I’m sorry. I knew you weren’t going to like this, and I dreaded making the call. But I’ve made my decision. I'm not changing my mind. And I know you will land on your feet. You always do. You’re like a cat. You’ve got nine lives. Even though I think you're probably on 11 or 12 by now."

  "Maybe 13,” I said dryly.

  "The realtor's name is Brynn. I've given her your number. She'll be in touch soon."

  "Are you sure I can't change your mind about this?"

  "No, you can't. And I would appreciate it if you didn't try." Madison exhaled a heavy breath. "And one more thing… Brynn is cute. Try not to sleep with her. I don't want you screwing this up."

  There was another long, awkward silence.

  “Okay,” I said, sharply. “If this is what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.”

  I hung up the phone and slid the device into my pocket. I stood there in the lobby of the hospital for a moment, dumbfounded. The dazed look on my face attracted sympathy from a nearby woman. She put a hand on my shoulder. I don't think she heard the conversation, but the look of grief was universal. "Everything is going to be okay. I'll say a prayer for you."

  I smiled and thanked her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t at the hospital visiting a loved one and that my torment was over something material.

  When I returned to the marina, the Vivere was filled with young hard-bodies bouncing around, drinking, and partying with JD. He had whipped up an impromptu soirée. It wasn't hard when you had a boat. Music blasted through the speakers and JD regaled the ladies with tall tales.


  "You're not going to believe this shit," I said, finding him in the aft deck. I filled him in on all the details. He flipped out when I told him the price Madison was asking.

  “Has she lost her mind?" JD asked.

  "I don't know." I sighed. "She's right, though. She's not safe here. Not as long as we are doing what we're doing."

  "You have pissed off a lot of people, all over the world,” JD agreed.

  "I can't help what I'm good at."

  JD chuckled. "Everybody's got a gift."

  "Maybe I'm the one that needs to leave?" I suggested.

  JD's face twisted. "Where would you go?"

  I shrugged. "I don’t know.”

  “And what about me? You can't leave me unsupervised."

  I chuckled. "You're right. That could be a disaster.”

  "Just give her time," Jack said. "Maybe she'll reconsider?"

  "I don't think so. She's serious. I know Madison. When she makes up her mind to do something, she does it, and there's no changing that woman's mind."

  I grabbed a beer from a cooler and twisted the top on the long neck. The bottle hissed, and I tossed the lid into the trash. I took a sip of the cold brew and pondered the situation. "This is really bad news. Somebody's going to come in, buy the property, revamp this place, charge double for the slips, and we’ll get kicked out. There's no doubt about it. Then we’ll be homeless."

  "You'll be homeless. I still have a home."

  "Where would we put the boat? Salt Point? Pirates’ Cove? That place is a dump."

  "Serenity Harbor? The Country Club?" Jack said.

  "Too expensive."

  "Get that Hollywood agent of yours to drum up some business."

  I shook my head dismissively.

  "Look, nothing has happened yet,” JD said. “Stop going to the worst-case scenario. This place could sit for a year on the market with no movement at the price she's asking. We'll cross this bridge when we come to it.”