Page 77 of Wild Escape

“He's a friend of Hayden's and has an extensive criminal history.”

Audrey looked dazed as she processed the devastating news.

“I think your daughter was strapped for cash and watched her lifestyle crumble. They planned the heist to steal the book and solve her money problems. Maybe the heist served a dual purpose. A personal jab at Doug for cutting her off. I don’t think they intended to shoot him, but that doesn’t matter now. They will all get charged as co-conspirators, even though I believe Levi pulled the trigger.”

Audrey looked mortified.

“The only way to help your daughter now is to get her to come clean and act as a prosecution witness. It could be the thing that saves her life. The way she’s going now, it’s a one way spiral.”

“What can I do?”

“Talk to her. See if you can get her to testify against the others.”

“She’ll never do that. She’s so in love with Hayden.”

“I just spoke with her at the convention. Sounded like they broke up.”

“It won’t stick. It never does.”

“We can only hope she comes around,” I said.

In a resigned sigh, Audrey said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

We thanked her, then excused ourselves. JD and I left with Daphne.

“That’s tragic,” she said as we walked back to the Porsche.

“Greed messes people up,” I said, then looked up Hayden’s information through the online portal. I wanted to put the pressure on.

40

Hayden lived in a dumpy apartment on Bamboo Court. The Tropic Sands was a series of four-unit buildings, two up, two down. With faded coral siding, white trim, and pitched roofs. The property had fallen into disrepair. It was in desperate need of a refresh, but the rent was still too high.

Withered palm trees swayed, and the grass was overgrown but patchy in spots. It certainly wasn't the worst place on the island. I don't know how much time Hayden actually spent at the apartment. I figured he probably lived with a roommate. From what I could tell, Hayden was a guitarist in a cover band that played the bars around the island.

We pulled into the lot and found a place to park. No security gate. No covered parking.

A couple of kids tossed a football around the lot.

We hopped out of the Porsche, strolled down the walkway between the buildings, and climbed the steps to unit D204.

I put a heavy fist against the door and shouted, "Coconut County.”

There was no response. It was quiet inside.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

According to the DMV records, Hayden didn't have a car. My guess was he borrowed Kenzie’s. But with the break-up, he was left without transportation.

A guy approached and climbed the steps. He was in his mid-20s with short, sandy-blonde hair and a muscular physique. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Can I help you?"

"Looking for Hayden?” I said, displaying my badge.

"Well, if he didn't answer, then he's not around."

"You know where he might be?”