Wild Secret

find out who killed your husband,” I said. “Bank on it."
She swallowed hard. "I hope you do. Then you’ll know I didn't have anything to do with it."
There was a long, awkward silence.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from your appointment,” I said.
We let ourselves out and strolled the walkway to the Porsche.
"Think she's lying?" JD asked.
"Time will tell."
We climbed into the car, and JD pulled from the curb. I decided it was time to track down Tommy Halford. He lived on a yacht in the marina at the country club. The slip fees were exorbitant. From what I could tell, he’d done well for himself in the tech industry.
We headed across the island, pulled into the posh club, cruising past well-manicured fairways and trimmed greens. Members zipped around in electric golf carts.
We drove to the parking lot by the main clubhouse. The lot was filled with exotic cars, expensive SUVs, and luxury sedans.
We hopped out and ambled down the path to the marina. It was filled with superyachts, sleek racing boats, and 50-foot sailboats that could take you around the globe.
We wandered around, looking for the Make’n Bacon.
A female voice called out to JD. I recognized the voice instantly, and it made me cringe.

32
The sultry voice belonged to JD’s ex-girlfriend, Sloan—the girl that he fell head over heels for. The one he proposed to after only a few weeks, intending to make her number seven in his list of ex-wives. Sadly, or fortunately, depending upon how you look at it, she turned him down. I’d never seen JD take it so hard. He was in a funk for weeks.
She caught up to us, wearing a short golf skirt, tight top, and visor. The stunning brunette was the total package. It was easy to see why JD had fallen so hard. But she never quite warmed up to the idea of commitment for various reasons. Her career as a pro golfer took precedent.
"I thought that was you," she said. "I haven't seen you in forever."
"It's been a minute," JD said.
"How are you doing?"
JD smiled. "I'm good."
"I see your video bouncing around social media. I heard the show in New York went well. You guys are on your way."
"It seems like it."
"What are you gonna do when you reach the top?"
JD shrugged. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
"Good answer."
"What about you? How have you been?"
"Things are good. The tour is going well. Moving up in the rankings.”
The diamond ring on her finger sparkled, and Jack almost had a conniption fit. His face flushed, and his jaw tensed. He tried to hide it, but his eyes welled. When he spoke, his throat was tight.
“That’s a nice ring,” JD said, his eyes shooting laser beams.
Sloan grew self-conscious and suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. She fluttered them about. "Oh, yeah. It just kinda happened."
"I see. Who's the lucky guy?"
"Nobody you know."
The veins in Jack's neck pulsed. I could see his blood pressure rising.
“His name is Christian Hutton. He lives here in the marina. I was just on my way to see him," she said, pointing down the dock at a superyacht.
There was a long, awkward silence.
"Well, it was good to see you both,” she said. “I’m glad you're doing well. Take care."
She continued down the dock, her white golf skirt bouncing in delightful ways.
JD and I watched her go.
I patted him on the back. "Let it go, brother. Let it go."
He shook his head. "She wasn't ready for commitment when I asked her."
"She wasn't ready for a commitment… with you," I added.
He scowled at me.
I raised my hands innocently. "I'm just saying. You got off easy."
JD grumbled some more as we strolled down the dock to the Make’n Bacon. It was a 140-foot Benedetti with a Navy blue hull and windswept lines. It was sleek and modern with large windows and scantily clad beauties lounging on the forward sun pads.
We crossed the passerelle to the aft deck. There was an alfresco dining area with ample seating. We banged on the glass door to the salon and waited. A few moments later, a guy in his early 50s with dark hair slid open the door, a piña colada dangling from his hand.
He wore tropical-print board shorts and no shirt. Despite being in his 50s, he looked jacked—well-defined muscles and not an ounce of fat. He had a square jaw, brown eyes, and didn't look anything like the nerdy kid he did in high school. He was definitely on the juice.
I flashed my badge, and we made our introductions.
Tommy looked us up and down for a minute and said, “You’re here about Skyler, aren't you?"
I nodded.
He stepped out of the salon and offered us a seat at the settee. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No, thank you,” I replied, taking a seat.
"I heard you found her in a barrel? You got anything to go on?"
"We have a few leads," I said.
"How can I help?"
"We talked to Tiffany McKnight."
His eyes rounded. "Man, she was something."
"From what I understand, you had a thing for Skyler."
He laughed. "I did. I was so in love with that girl. I didn't even know what love was then. Hell, I don't even know what love is now, but I keep looking for it."
He flashed a sly smile.
"Looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself."
“No complaints here."
"I heard you were so infatuated with Skyler that you’d spy on her.”
He laughed again. "Statute’s up, right?"
I nodded.
"Yeah, I guess I did some crazy shit when I was younger. But you know, hormones."
"Did those hormones make you kill her and stuff her into a barrel?"
He smiled. "Come on, really? I can't be your lead. Surely you’ve got better suspects than me. How about Marshall Noonan? Total loser. That guy always had my vote for a closet serial killer. And just look at how he turned out. I could have sworn I saw him begging for change on a street corner a few months ago."
"Where were you the night Skyler disappeared?"
"Wow,