Page 1 of Wild Wolf
1
“That’s not our thing,” I said, pretending to be confused by the call. “We’re Special Crimes.”
“Your thing is whatever I tell you it is,” Sheriff Daniels grumbled.
“Did you forget about the fact we are volunteers?” I said, just to rile him up.
It was working. It didn’t take much.
“You two nitwits can volunteer your asses to go check this out. I’m short on manpower.”
“No need to get hostile,” I teased. “We’re on it.”
“It’s about to get insane around here, and I don’t need any trouble from you two.”
The dread in his voice was evident. Every year around this time, crime ramped up. People went a little mad. The spooky season always drew out the crazies. Things alwaysgotweirdon the island. I hoped this year would be different, but this year was weirder than ever.
Daniels gave me the address, and I rounded up JD. We left the party on theAvventuraand hopped into the 1979 Porsche 911 SC. We headed over to 875 Banyan Breeze Lane.
The mint green bungalow with a red brick walkway and a white picket fence was in a nice neighborhood. These weren't the mansions of Stingray Bay or the Platinum Dunes, but it was a nice, safe area—for the most part. A few towering palms swayed in the breeze overhead. The yard was well-tended, and colorful flowers lined the beds.
A terrified woman waited for us at the curb. She clutched her purse and her keys and kept her head on a swivel. A street lamp above cast a soft glow on her petite figure.
Jack pulled to the curb, and we hopped out.
The woman backed away, unsure. In plain clothes, we didn’t look like your average cops. With Jack's long, flowing blond hair, he wouldn’t have looked like a cop even in uniform—more like a male stripper, a tad past his prime. Jack would argue he hadn’t entered his prime yet, and he just might have been right.
I flashed my badge, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief.
Her chocolate brown hair dangled above her shoulders, and her big brown eyes relaxed a bit. She had smooth skin and an alluring aura. Suddenly, I wasn't so upset about taking a burglary call.
"I'm Deputy Tyson Wild,” I said as I approached. “This is Jack Donovan."
"Taryn Crowe," she replied. "Thanks for coming.”
"Have you been inside the house?"
“No. I pulled into the driveway and went to the back door. It was ajar, and a window pane was broken. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn't know if there was anyone still in there. I called the county right away and waited at the curb.”
"You did the right thing. Stay here with Deputy Donovan. I'll take a look around.”
She nodded, and Jack kept her company.
I walked around to the driveway and up toward the back door with my weapon drawn, my flashlight slashing the darkness. I pushed in through the back gate and swept my beam across the yard, looking for threats.
The area seemed clear.
There was a nice patio area with a small pool, sleek furniture, well-tended flower beds, and a small chiminea. Not a bad place to sit in the evening and enjoy a mojito.
My beam raked across the jagged window pane in the back door. There was no glass on the ground outside.
I dug into my pocket and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and a few fragments of glass fell to the ground.
My flashlight beam cut the darkness as I stepped over the glass into the laundry room. "Coconut County!" I shouted just in case anybody still lingered around.
I continued into the kitchen, the barrel of my pistol leading the way. The quaint and cozy home didn’t look terriblydisturbed. Cabinets and drawers had been rummaged through.
