Page 53 of Wild Idol (Tyson Wild Thriller #82)
F irst responders swarmed the island. Deputies sifted through the charred wreckage.
EMTs and paramedics were on hand, but no survivors were found.
Brenda and her crew examined the remains.
The FAA and NTSB would be on the scene soon to investigate.
A news helicopter hovered overhead, spotlighting the area with a wide beam.
Firefighters doused the flames and tried to keep the situation under control. A brushfire could light up the entire island.
We put down on the tarmac and got to see the carnage firsthand.
It wasn’t long before Paris Delaney and her news crew arrived in another helicopter. Her cameraman lensed up the twisted wreckage, and Paris tried to get as many details as she could out of anybody and everybody. She found me, and the camera closed in. “Deputy Wild, what can you tell us? ”
I kept my mouth shut.
“Can you tell us who was aboard that aircraft?”
“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”
The pilot of Tango One went over the aircraft and evaluated it.
We’d taken a few hits during the exchange.
There were scuffs and scrapes here and there, along with a few bullet holes.
A window was cracked and had a few craters in it.
But it didn’t obstruct visibility. The tail boom and rotor appeared to be intact, and there were no apparent leaks from fuel lines or hydraulic systems.
The system diagnostics all checked out.
We figured it would get us back to Coconut Key. After we wrapped up on the island, we headed back to the station, filled out after-action reports, and were put on administrative leave. We surrendered our duty weapons and looked forward to a few days off.
Around here, time off was never guaranteed.
Buddy waited for us at the salon door when we returned to the Avventura .
I slid open the glass door, knelt down, and got a face full of slobber as I petted the little Jack Russell.
He always had a sense about things. I grabbed his leash and took him out for a quick walk before settling in for the evening.
I took a shower to wash away the stench of smoke and gunpowder. The hot shower soothed tense muscles.
I settled in for bed and watched television for a bit, catching a replay of Paris‘s broadcast. News of Sable’s demise had spread across the Internet, and local fans had planned to do a candlelight vigil at the site of her death tomorrow night .
The record label announced they were going to release one last track Sable had just finished recording. A farewell to her fans. An unusual ballad titled Last Kiss at Midnight . It seemed like a fitting end.
It turned out Deezy didn’t like his new accommodations in the county pod. After a few days in lockup, he was more inclined to cut a deal. He ratted out his two friends who had dumped Haley’s body while she was still alive. Now, they were all behind bars awaiting trial.
Isabella called bright and early the next morning. “I found that other scumbag you’re looking for.“
I chuckled. “Which scumbag?”
“Tash Sivrin.”
“I’m listening,” I said, perking up.
“Not that it’s gonna make much difference to you, but he’s in a non-extradition country.”
“Did I mention you’re the best?”
“It never hurts to say it again.”
“Keep tabs on him. Let me know the minute he moves.”
“Will do. I suggest recovering him ASAP. I’ve got him connected to a prepaid cellular, but he may ditch that before long.”
Since we were all on leave anyway, it seemed like an opportune time to recover the fugitive. Tash had sewn chaos, and it was time to pay the fiddler. It sounded like a straightforward recovery mission, but these things are rarely ever as easy as they sound .