Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  Pim Wat let go of her sister and stepped back, cocking her head to the side as she studied Malee’s face. “What makes you think so?”

  Malee turned away, wringing her hands nervously. “Some things are moved. I was just getting ready to try to search the house and find out what had been taken when you called to let me know you were coming. I’m just unsettled.”

  “So, you don’t actually know if anyone was inside?”

  Malee hung her head, bit her lip. “I left the downstairs door open. Maybe they came in from outside. I think some of the silver might be missing.”

  “Well, you know better than to bother notifying the police,” Pim Wat said acerbically. Local law enforcement was notoriously corrupt. “Let’s figure this out. I’d rather do that than get our nails done.” Pim Wat put her hands on her hips and surveyed the traditionally decorated room, then clapped her hands abruptly. “I have an idea. I remember something!” Pim Wat grabbed Malee’s arm again, and gave it a tug. “Let’s go outside. I might know how they got into your property. Closing up any loopholes is the smartest thing to do before you get into finding out what’s gone.”

  Malee dug in her heels. “No hurry. Let’s have some tea first.” Was her face pale? Pim Wat was determined to figure out this mystery. Her sister was hiding something.

  Pim Wat tugged a protesting Malee down the stairs and out into the garden area. Searching back and forth, she spotted it: that loose board in the fence that Sophie used to sneak through when she came over to play with her cousins.

  “What are you doing? I am tired of this. I’ll just wait until my husband gets home. We will both deal with it then . . .” Pim Wat paid no heed to her sister’s protestations as she dragged Malee through the gardens and over to the fence.

  Pim Wat felt along the weathered boards until she identified the loose one. She lifted it out of place easily and set it aside.

  “Here it is! Sophie used to come over from our side through this. You’ve really got to get this fixed.” Pim Wat peered into the yard next door. “Oh, it’s sad to see our old home fallen into such neglect. That company that bought the property never did a thing with it!”

  Pim Wat stared up at the shuttered dark bulk of her former home, overwhelmed with memories as she always was when she was reminded of her unhappy time living there.

  She frowned to see a sliver of light gleaming through one of the shutters. She let go of Malee’s arm to point. “Look! There’s someone inside!” She turned back to her sister.

  One look at Malee’s face, and she knew.

  The blood drained from Pim Wat’s head. She was dizzy and sick with hurt—and then anger surged back. “You helped her! Armita’s hiding in there!”

  Familiar, comforting rage, with all of its strength and none of her doubts, swept through her. Cementing her conviction, Pim Wat heard the thin wail of a crying baby. “You helped Armita escape. You hid them both.”

  “No!” Malee backed away, slapping at Pim Wat’s grasping claws, her eyes wide and frightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound like a crazy person.”

  Pim Wat stalked forward and got her hands around Malee’s throat. “How dare you betray me? My own sister!”

  Correct placement of fingers was important in strangulation. Each digit mattered when killing quickly and humanely, pressing over significant nerve clusters as well as veins and arteries, and of course, the airway. She needed to get this over with quickly.

  After all, this was her dear, close sister, not just some random contract.

  Pim Wat ignored the pleading and terror in Malee’s bulging eyes as her sister made awful sounds, her nails scratching at Pim Wat’s wrists. If Pim Wat felt a stab of grief and regret, along with the rage, that was just as well. Her sister represented emotional weakness, and she would eliminate that, once and for all.

  She pressed harder, just so.

  Malee went limp, and her begging eyes shut at last.

  Chapter Thirty

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Jake woke from another day of sleep in what he had begun to think of as his cell. He had been there for two days. Nothing had gone on but eating, first aid, and sleeping, interspersed with awful episodes of thinking.

  He stared up at the stone ceiling. Finally, his head was clear and his body was only mildly aching. This was the first time that he’d felt really returned from the dead.

  But he had no interest in getting up. The needs of his body were merely irritating intrusions; he just wanted more pain meds so he could keep sleeping. The grief and betrayal of his discovery about Connor and Sophie had left him in a deep black mood.

  The old Jake would have spent hours doing isometric exercises in the cell, plotting an escape.

  The new Jake couldn’t find a reason to care about any of it.

  Was this what Sophie went through when she had her depressive episodes? If so, he finally understood a little more what a little slice of hell must be like—because even when Jake tried to flog himself into getting up and exercising, he could hardly make himself stagger to the chamber pot in the corner.

  He should at least push open the door and see what was out in the hall—but he just didn’t care. In fact, he was pretty sure it would’ve been better if he’d died.

  Jake cringed at the memory of the heartfelt letter he had left Sophie in case of his demise. He’d asked her to marry him during the pregnancy and she’d said, “It’s not the right time.” He hadn’t pressed, figuring she wanted to get through the birth before making their relationship official, but when leaving on the mission, he’d wanted to make sure she knew how he felt, what he wanted for their future.

  He’d put the letter on the side table next to her bed, along with his grandmother’s ring. The beautiful cushion-cut, one carat stone set in a platinum band had a low profile that he thought Sophie could get used to wearing—and if something happened to him, he’d wanted her to have it, regardless.

  But now that he knew Connor’s identity, he couldn’t help wondering if there was something more behind her refusal.

  The thoughts tormented him like stinging flies. He groaned aloud, unable to find any other way to express the pain clouding his mind and echoing through his body.

  The door creaked open and he looked over to see the healer standing there. “Get up. You are being set free.”

  Jake frowned. “Has someone come for me? Have they made a deal?”

  The healer shook his head. “I am to give you something to take with you for your wounds.” He gestured to the various bruises and abrasions still decorating Jake’s body. He handed Jake a little pot of salve. “And here is clothing.” He thrust a clean gi into Jake’s lap.

  Even with this incredible news, Jake had to force himself to stand up, to pull on the rough cotton clothing, to slide the small clay pot of ointment into his pocket. “Is someone waiting for me?”

  Again, the healer shook his head, refusing to answer.

  Jake followed the man out of the infirmary area. He was silently stared at, his height and pale skin making him distinctive, as they made their way through a maze of stone passageways—but no one stopped them.

  Connor had either caved and given up Sophie and his island hideout, or someone had made a deal with the purple-eyed leader.

  Jake followed the healer out into a courtyard.

  Rows of ninjas practicing their martial arts routines filled the area. The purple-eyed man, dressed in his signature white, paced back and forth at the head of the lines of shaved-headed recruits, his eye upon the trainees for any imperfection.

  Jake’s gaze was drawn to a man in the back row, taller than the rest.

  A white man. With blue eyes and a shaved head.

  Connor.

  Fury rose up in Jake—Connor had made some kind of deal. He’d sold off information to send Jake on his way. And worst of all, he had betrayed him. Kept him in the dark. Lied to him! God only knew what the man’s real relationship was with Sophie.

  All lassi
tude fell away as adrenaline flushed through Jake. He broke from behind the healer and charged across the open area of the square, headed straight for his target like a heat-seeking missile. “I know who you are! Whatever deal you made, you made with the devil, you cheating bastard!”

  Ninjas engulfed Jake in a black-clad wave, swarming over him and burying him in sheer numbers. Of course, he didn’t make it through all of them to pound Connor out, but he at least made it far enough to have the satisfaction of seeing fear and devastation in the man’s ocean-colored eyes.

  “I know who you are!” Jake bellowed as he was borne bodily away, a cluster of ninjas clinging to every limb as they hustled him out of the courtyard. “And I’m gonna kick your ass, count on it, if I have to wait a lifetime!”

  The dustup invigorated Jake at last, and he welcomed the ongoing scuffle as his own personal mob of ninjas, directed by the healer, escorted him unceremoniously through the compound and thrust him bodily out through a great wooden gate.

  Jake stumbled and fell to his knees onto the dirt road outside the compound. The gate slammed shut behind him.

  He stood up. Dusted off his clothing. Turned back and looked at the compound.

  A row of unfamiliar faces stared down at him from the parapets. He didn’t see Connor, Pim Wat, the healer, or even the purple-eyed man. Just a row of mocking faces, yelling insults at him in Thai.

  “Eat shit and die, assholes.” He flipped them the bird and turned away, heading down the muddy track into the jungle at a ground-eating lope.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Watching from the window above, Sophie saw Pim Wat grab Malee by the throat. Pim Wat must have guessed that they were hiding in the house, and now she was killing her sister. “The jig is up,” as Marcella would say.

  Sophie thrust Momi, who’d given their position away with her fussing, into her portable bassinet. She drew her weapon and flew down the stairs. She was sure the sound of her running footsteps on the wooden stairs would alert Pim Wat to her presence, but her mother was staring too intently into her sister’s darkening face and bulging eyes to pay any attention as Sophie barreled through the unkempt yard. “Mother! Stop!”

  Pim Wat looked up at last. Her eyes dilated in shock—and Sophie used all the momentum of her running force to slam the butt of her pistol into her mother’s head.

  Pim Wat dropped like a bag of dirty laundry to the ground, unconscious. Malee fell too, as Pim Wat’s hands left her throat.

  Sophie shoved her mother aside with her foot and dropped to her knees beside Malee, feeling for a pulse at her aunt’s throat.

  Yes! Malee’s heart was still beating!

  In her anxiety, Sophie couldn’t remember what exactly she was supposed to do next, but found herself leaning over Malee’s body, blowing into her mouth.

  A couple of moments later, Malee came around, choking and coughing as her breathing reflex activated. Sophie sat Malee up, holding her cradled in her arms.

  “Ahhhh!”

  That powerful cry brought Sophie’s head up.

  The sound had burst from Armita’s lips as the nanny ran toward them from the house. She carried a butcher knife in each hand, and she was barreling toward Pim Wat’s supine body.

  Sophie stood up and stepped into the maid’s path, extending a hand with her palm up to stop Armita’s headlong rush. “No! I can’t let you kill her. I want to trade her for help from the CIA.”

  Armita stood over Pim Wat’s crumpled body. “Please. She doesn’t deserve to live. I understand if you can’t do it. Please just let me kill her.”

  Sophie put her hands on Armita’s shoulders and gave a gentle shake. “I can’t imagine what your life, living under her thumb, has been like all of these years. She is truly a terrible person. I’m not stopping you from doing this because she deserves to live, or because she’s my mother. I’m stopping you because she’s more valuable to us alive. And, if it’s a consolation, they will make her suffer in Guantánamo when they interview her for information on the Yām Khûmkạn.”

  Armita eventually allowed Sophie to remove the knives from her hands. Zombie-like, she turned and went back toward the house. Sophie frowned, and was relieved to see Armita headed toward the storage shed. The nanny returned with a length of electrical cord. She knelt and tied the unconscious Pim Wat cruelly, fastening her wrists to her ankles behind her back so that she was arched and helpless—and then Armita stood up and kicked her, hard.

  “Thank you,” was all Sophie said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Day Twenty-Seven

  Jake jogged down the potholed jungle road. He had a long way to go to get to civilization, but at least he didn’t have to do it bushwhacking through virgin jungle in stealth mode, the way he’d come. Thinking of that made him remember all the good men who’d died, coming with him and Connor for this stupid mistake of a mission.

  Jake couldn’t forget the sight of Connor’s eyes, fearful and devastated. What was Connor afraid of? He wasn’t scared of Jake physically—the dude was plenty brave. He was afraid of something else that Jake’s words had told him—that Jake would rat him out as the Ghost vigilante to the authorities? Because that sure as hell would be happening.

  And that other expression—sadness? Grief? What was that about? Was Connor actually sorry to lose Jake’s friendship and trust? Or was it something else?

  Connor’s head was shaved. He was wearing the gi of the recruits. What was going on? Was the dude in trouble?

  “Screw him,” Jake growled. “Two-faced liar.”

  Jake ran on, his bare feet taking a beating on the uneven terrain—but walking just wasn’t fast enough to get away from that place.

  A dense tree tunnel engulfed the road. Arched branches of teak trees screened out the sunlight overhead, drawing a curtain of deep green darkness over the muddy road. Shrill cacklings and cries of animals, not small ones either, rang through the underbrush. The scream of a monkey overhead competed with the piercing cry of some bird giving an alarm. The smell of wet and rotting things, as well as green and growing things, filled Jake’s nostrils.

  The bodies of the men Pim Wat had executed, buried in that unmarked mass grave, would be halfway decomposed by now.

  Jake fought down a wave of nausea. Death was a part of life, and especially a part of the life he had chosen. Any of them could go at any time; in fact, no one was getting out of here alive, even those who played it safe. It had never been his style to play it safe.

  If it had been, he’d never have fallen for a woman like Sophie.

  He had some hard questions for Sophie, and they’d make or break the future. For the first time since he realized that he was in love with her, Jake felt capable of walking away.

  He’d died, and there was no heaven.

  Jake emerged out of the tree tunnel.

  The roar of an approaching helicopter brought his gaze up to the sky. Hours had passed and he was miles away from the Yām Khûmkạn stronghold. Why would they be coming after him now?

  But the chopper dropping through the canopy into view to settle on the road ahead of him was a fully loaded American Apache, and he’d bet his left nut the Yām Khûmkạn didn’t have one of those.

  “Holy crap!” He was being rescued.

  Jake forced his tired body into a last push forward.

  He reached the chopper as a portly white man dressed in jungle camo got out of the chopper. “Jake Dunn?”

  “Yep. Boy, am I glad to see you.”

  “Devin McDonald, CIA.” The jowly agent shook Jake’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hop aboard. The Yām Khûmkạn has plenty of anti-aircraft missiles at the compound, I happen to know, and they’re allowing this pickup—but we shouldn’t be around if they change their minds.”

  Jake had wondered what kind of headquarters the CIA would have in Thailand, and he might have known it would be a five-star luxury hotel. Freshly shaved, showered, and shoveling in a gigantic room service por
terhouse steak, Jake thought through the statement he would be making to the CIA.

  As if reading his mind, McDonald, seated across from him in the room’s dining area, wiped his mouth on a napkin and sat back with a belch. He lifted a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in a brief salute. “To expense accounts.”

  Jake lifted his glass as well. “To a well-timed pickup. How did you guys know where I was going to be?”

  “Sophie Smithson has been rather persistent in asking for help.” The man set down his glass. “It took the agency a while to decide how we could assist. A full-frontal attack on the Yām Khûmkạn compound was out of the question for obvious reasons. But we set up surveillance on approaches to the compound, hoping that any of you who’d been on the mission would make an appearance. Where is everyone, anyway? I was given to understand you had ten men altogether.”

  Sophie. Sophie had badgered the CIA until they got off their butts . . . “You never had any intention of rescuing us?”

  McDonald’s cold blue eyes hardly blinked. “This situation went all the way to the Oval Office, if you can believe it, and we got no authorization for anything but a covert support transport.” He took another sip of his wine. “I don’t need to explain the diplomatic ramifications of acknowledging a mission like yours, let alone sanctioning a group of US mercenaries mounting an attack on the Yām Khûmkạn facility.”

  “We were never going to attack that damned place.” Jake stretched his arms overhead, and rubbed his full belly with a sigh. “We were just going to investigate how to sneak in and get my daughter back.”

  He remembered, as suddenly as the words formed, that Momi wasn’t his daughter. Never had been. He’d just decided to pretend she was, and love her like it was a done deal.

  Well, nothing was a done deal in this life, least of all love.