Wild impact, p.1
Wild Impact, page 1
part #15 of Tyson Wild Series
Wild Impact
Tyson Wild Book Fifteen
Tripp Ellis
Contents
Welcome
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Author’s Note
Tyson Wild
Max Mars
Connect With Me
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1
"What's this?" I asked.
"What does it look like?" JD replied.
"It looks like a hole in the water in which you throw money. Lots and lots of money."
Jack sneered at me.
He had handed me his phone, which was opened to a website depicting a large, sleek yacht.
"Don't get me wrong. It's a very nice hole in the water. But why do you want me to look at it?"
I knew why he wanted me to look at it.
"Because… It's a nice boat!”
"We have a nice boat," I said, motioning to our surroundings.
I sat on the settee in the salon of the Vivere while Jack Donovan paced the deck like an excited child. The super-yacht was the epitome of luxury and style. Elegant lines and graceful curves. The finest craftsmanship and the latest technology.
"This is a fantastic boat,” he said. “But, we could always have better."
I gave him a look.
"Don't look at me like that. You're doing well now. You bought Diver Down from Madison. You have no financial worries. You’re on easy street.”
"And I want it to stay that way. What the hell are we going to do with a bigger boat?"
Jack shrugged. "Have bigger parties? With more babes?"
While I could appreciate the sentiment, I'm not sure if the cost was justified. We already had great parties with no shortage of eye candy.
"Don't be a party pooper," JD said. “My guy will give us a great deal. We trade this in, move up a notch, live the good life."
"I'd say we are already living the good life."
"Indeed. But why should we settle?" Jack flashed a brilliant smile.
"No. Absolutely not. I just got done treading water. I'm not doing that again. Besides, I'm doing a few minor upgrades around the property. Re-paving the parking lot. Upgrading the docks. That ain't cheap."
Jack frowned.
"Why don't you just buy it yourself?"
He thought about it for a moment. "We find the treasure of Jacques De La Fontaine, we're definitely buying a new boat."
I rolled my eyes.
Finding the lost treasure was a pipe dream. We'd have better odds of catching a great white in a swimming pool. But I indulged Jack’s treasure-hunting fantasy.
Speaking of fantasies, two of them sauntered across the gangway. Their flip-flops smacked their heels as they strutted across the deck with purses and colorful beach-towels dangling from their arms. The two bikini-clad beauties wore oversized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats. The skimpy fabric was stretched tight over supple curves. I'm sure the frilly things would hit the deck before long—the beauties didn’t want tan lines, of course.
Jack grinned and slid open the door to the salon. "Welcome, ladies." He introduced the two girls. "Tyson, this is Breanna and Jasmine."
I stood up and shook their hands.
"Breanna is a dental hygienist, and Jasmine is a receptionist in the same office. They’re here for a girls’ week in Coconut Key. I told them we’d take them out on the boat and show them a good time."
"It was very kind of you to offer," Breanna said with a bright smile. The luscious blonde had pearly white teeth and displayed them proudly.
Buddy rushed to greet the ladies, and he bounced up and down excitedly.
"Buddy, calm down!” I commanded.
He didn’t listen.
The girls knelt down and loved on the little Jack Russell.
JD flashed me a proud grin, looking for approval.
I had to admit, our guests were nothing short of stunning. And from where we stood, the view was good.
"You know, I think I'm getting a toothache,” JD said to Breanna. “Maybe you could take a look at that for me?”
She stood up and gave him a sassy glance. "A toothache, huh? Play your cards right, and maybe I'll give you an oral evaluation."
"I think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever wanted to go to the dentist,” JD muttered.
Breanna chuckled. “Once people get in my chair, they never want to leave.”
“I bet."
My phone buzzed my pocket. I pulled the device out and cringed when I saw the caller ID. I swiped the screen and placed the phone to my ear.
"Where's numb-nuts?" Sheriff Daniels asked, his gruff voice crackling through the speaker.
"He's right here," I said. "Do you want to talk to him?"
“I know he won’t want to miss this. I want you two to get over to Woody Cougar’s house right now."
My brow crinkled. "Why?"
"You don't get paid to ask questions. Just get over there."
"Actually, we don't get paid at all."
Daniels groaned, “You two ought to pay me to put up with you.”
I sighed. “We’re on our way.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket.
JD looked at me with dread.
"We gotta roll,” I said.
"What do you mean we've got to roll? We're not going anywhere."
I shrugged. "Duty calls."
"Can’t this wait?"
"Didn't sound like it," I said.
"If this is a bad time for you guys, we can come back tomorrow," Breanna said.
"No," Jack said. "This isn’t a bad time. This is a great time. Tyson was just leaving to go run an errand."
“I think you’ll want to be there,” I said. “Something went down at your hero’s house.”
Jack’s face twisted, quizzically.
“Woody Cougar,” I said.
His brow lifted with surprise. “No shit? What happened?”
I shrugged.
"Ladies, why don’t you just make yourselves at home,” JD said, forcing a smile. “There's beer and wine in the fridge. Sun-pads are upfront. There’s a Jacuzzi on the sky-deck. We have to take care of some official police business, but we’ll be back in—what—20 minutes?" He looked to me for approval.
"I'm sure it won't take long,” I said, knowing it would probably take the rest of the afternoon.
Breanna pouted. She looked at JD with sad, puppy-dog eyes and whined, "We'll miss you while you're gone. Hurry back!”
2
There was something different about Jack's lizard-green Porsche 911 Speedster. He’d been having a great deal of trouble with a local vandal who seemed hell-bent on modifying the paint scheme at every opportunity. JD had the door buffed out after each incident, restoring the exotic to its natural beauty. But the once lizard-green Porsche wasn't lizard-green anymore. It was a stunning sapphire blue metallic.
I had to admit, the car looked amazing.
The black satin forged rims juxtaposed against the brilliant yellow ceramic brake calipers—all against the backdrop of the sumptuous sapphire blue.
Magnificent!
I knew Jack well enough to know he would never respray his car. The value would plummet. When people see a total respray, they think major accident.
A prideful grin tugged on Jack's face as we walked down the dock to the car. "You like it?"
"It's great. What did you do?"
"It's a vinyl wrap. It will protect my paint, and worst-case scenario, I can peel it off and re-wrap it," JD said. "Speaking of which, did you install the security cameras in the parking lot yet?"
I slumped sheepishly. "I'm gonna get around to it."
He glared at me. "You need to get on that. I want to catch that son-of-a-bitch vandalizing my car. I know it’s that jackass, Rip. I just need proof. And when I get it, his ass is going down."
"I'll get them up this weekend,” I promised.
We climbed into the Porsche, and Jack cranked up the engine. I never got tired of hearing it howl. He put the car into gear, let out the clutch, and eased out of the parking lot. The tires barked as we turned onto the highway, and the acceleration slammed me against the seat. Jack blared classic rock through the Bose speakers, and the wind whipped through the cabin with the top down.
The top was almost never up. It was sacrilegious to p
We zipped across the island, well over the speed limit, to the ritzy part of town. The speedster was a car you just couldn’t drive slow.
Woody Cougar’s mansion was nothing short of spectacular. It was everything you’d imagine from a top pro on the tour. Exotic cars sat in the circular drive—a black Bentley and a white Lamborghini. Towering palm trees swayed overhead. The flower beds were expertly manicured. The three-story home was finished in a cream color and had modern lines and large windows. The house backed up to the golf course, and Woody could step outside, walk past his secluded pool, and be on the fairway. The place was like a tropical resort villa.
Patrol cars, parked out front, flashed red and blue lights. A crowd had gathered around, and deputies had roped off the area, keeping the horde at bay.
We were about to see something unpleasant. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t know how bad.
The flash of forensic cameras spilled out the main entrance as the team documented the area. We held up at the door sill and surveyed the gruesome scene in the foyer.
The travertine floor was spotted with blood. The walls were speckled with cast-off patterns, and a bloody body lay on the tile not far from the spiral staircase that led to the second story.
Brenda, the medical examiner, hovered nearby.
It was hard to see the victim’s face. Her brunette hair was tousled and caked with dried blood. Even with a clear view, she was almost unrecognizable from the beating. There were deep lacerations and gouges around her cheeks that resembled divots in a golf course—no doubt a result of the bloody 9 iron that lay beside her. The repeated impacts had fractured her orbital plates that made up her eye socket. Her nose was broken. Her skin was black and blue. Someone had pummeled her repeatedly with the club. Judging by the amount of damage and blood splatter, this was a crime of passion.
Passion turned into hatred.
There were footprints in the blood where someone had obviously hovered over the body for a moment. They trailed off toward the living room.
Beyond the foyer, the tour-winning pro golfer sat on the sofa with his head in his hands. His shaggy blonde hair fell into his face, somewhat obscuring his weepy eyes.
JD and I exchanged a grim look.
“She’s been dead maybe an hour, give or take,” Brenda said.
“No signs of forced entry,” Sheriff Daniels added.
We skirted around the bloody tile and made our way into the living room. We hovered over Woody.
“Mr. Cougar, I’m Deputy Wild, this is Deputy Donovan. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
He didn’t acknowledge us. He kept sitting with his head in his hands. No doubt he was in a state of shock, to some degree.
“Can you tell me if that 9 iron belongs to you?” I asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“Is your golf bag here at the house?”
“No. It’s at the club.”
“How did the 9 iron get here?”
“I don’t know.”
JD and I exchanged a glance.
“Would you mind coming down to the station with us to answer a few questions?” I asked. “Just routine.”
Woody was silent for a long moment. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”
We escorted Woody from the home, and a deputy drove him in a patrol car to the station. We put him in an interrogation room and filmed the interaction. Everything about the crime scene pointed toward Woody, and I wanted to get his statements on video while the incident was fresh.
A crime like this was typically committed by someone the victim knew. Someone the victim had an intense relationship with. Woody was a huge celebrity in the golf world, but that didn’t preclude him from murder. There would be a lot of media scrutiny on this, and we needed to follow protocol.
We let him sit in the interrogation room for a bit before JD and I entered.
From what I’d seen of Woody on television, he always had a cheery disposition and a winning smile. That’s because he was usually winning. But the last few weeks were a stark contrast from his usual appearance, and with good reason. Despite winning the Coconut Key Open, the victory was shrouded with a slew of bad press stemming from the allegations of sexual misconduct.
“Can you tell us what happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I came home and found Lacy in the entrance foyer. I checked her pulse, then called 911.”
That would explain the footsteps near the body.
“Was she still alive at the time?”
“I’m no doctor, but I don’t think so.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe 1 PM?” He thought for a moment. “1:30 PM.”
“Where were you prior to coming home?”
He hesitated. “I was with Pepper Mickelson.”
JD and I exchanged a glance.
Pepper was a leading pro on the women’s tour.
“What were you two doing?” I asked.
The muscles in Woody’s face flexed. “We’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”
“Did your wife know about the affair?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that your relationship with Lacy wasn’t that great,” I said.
“She filed for divorce.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Things had been going south for a while. That whole fiasco in Colorado didn’t help. I think that was the excuse she needed to file. And I’m going to go on record and say that I’m totally innocent. It’s bullshit. Everything was consensual between me and that woman. No criminal charges were filed, and the civil suit is just a quick cash grab.”
“A divorce, a civil suit… Sounds expensive,” JD said.
Woody’s eyes pierced into him. “You have no idea.”
“I heard you lost a lot of sponsorships over the allegations of misconduct,” I said.
Woody looked distraught. “They all pulled out. One by one. I’ll have to file bankruptcy. I’m going to lose everything.”
“I guess Lacy wanted to get out while there was still something left in the bank account,” JD said.
“That’s all she ever cared about anyway,” Woody said.
“I guess this ends up being kind of convenient for you,” JD said.
Woody’s eyes burned into him. “What are you getting at?”
3
"I'm just saying, divorces can be expensive," JD said.
"You think I killed my wife?" Woody asked, suddenly realizing where this was going.
“She was beaten to death with your 9 iron in the entrance foyer,” JD said. “It doesn't look great."
"I told you, I was with Pepper. I came home and found Lacy dead. I didn't kill her."
"Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to harm her?" I asked.
Woody shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe someone broke into the house?"
"There was no forced entry," JD said.
"Maybe she answered the door, and someone stormed in and beat her?"
"With your 9 iron?" I said, incredulous.
"Look, I don't know what happened." His face reddened as frustration grew.
