Wild Rage: A Coastal Caribbean Adventure (Tyson Wild Thriller Book 23) by Tripp Ellis

Author:Tripp Ellis [Ellis, Tripp]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tripp Ellis
Published: 2021-01-03T16:00:00+00:00

25

Jayleen was on the verge of helping us, but I didn't want to push too hard and send her in the opposite direction.

Daniels poked his head into the conference room again with a grim look on his face. "You two need to get over to the law offices of Fillmore, Bamford & Associates ASAP!"

"Jayleen, I've got to go. I urge you to consider this. I'll be in touch again soon." I ended the call and asked Daniels, “What's going on?"

"Another pipe bomb.”

I deflated. "Anybody hurt?"

"One dead. That's all I know right now."

JD and I raced out of the conference room and darted across the parking lot. We hopped into the Porsche and zipped across the island to another professional building on Caribbean Way. The parking lot was full of patrol cars. There was an ambulance and a fire truck. Flashing emergency lights strobed the parking lot.

The building had been evacuated after the blast, and the lot was full of onlookers.

We parked the car, hopped out, pushed through the crowd, and moved past emergency vehicles. Deputies Mendoza and Robinson handled the crowd.

"Second floor, #220," Mendoza shouted as we passed.

"Have you been inside?" I asked.

He nodded. "It's not pretty."

“Has the building been swept for another device?"

"The canine team is in there now."

We pushed into the lobby and rushed past a Koi pond. We took the stairs up to the second floor and followed the smoke and haze to Suite #220. The air smelled like gunpowder mixed with the tinny metallic scent of blood and seared flesh.

Not a nice smell.

The concussion from the blast had shattered the glass double doors of the law firm. Brenda and a forensics team had already arrived. Camera flashes spilled down the hallway.

The corridor was littered with debris. Bits of twisted shrapnel from the bomb covered the floors and had penetrated the drywall. My eyes caught sight of a few bloody nails that had presumably been wrapped around the bomb and acted as additional projectiles. The walls were splattered with blood and chunks of flesh. The body of a man lay in the passageway near the door to his office. The door had been blown clean off its hinges, and both of the man's arms had been shredded. Each rested a few feet away from his torso.

The explosion pretty much disemboweled him, and his face was bruised, mangled, and dotted with puncture wounds. What was left of his tattered, charred white dress shirt was covered in blood.

"Is anybody else hurt?" I asked.

"A woman was taken to the hospital with a few puncture wounds. She was at the end of the hallway at the time of the blast,” Brenda said. “Fortunately, no one else was in the vicinity."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Looks like a package was left at his door. When he picked it up, it went off."

"Another mercury switch,” I assumed.

"That means we have a serial bomber on our hands," JD said. “This is going to continue, just like the letter said.”

"Who is the victim?” I asked.

"Charles Bamford,” Brenda said.

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