Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  He unlocked a door. “You’ll be free from him for the rest of the night. Business must be attended to.”

  “Did you call the cops?” I had to know. Were my suspicions correct? Did Callan pull a warrant this soon? How did he wrangle the help of the South African police so quickly? Cross country cooperation was no simple matter.

  “No. It was not me. I thought it was you.”

  We watched each other—a stand-off. Some unspoken challenge flashed, but I held his stare. I wouldn’t back down. I agreed to buy his silence. It didn’t mean he was a nice person. Clark nodded and closed the door.

  I was alone, for now, and free from performing sex tricks for another twenty-four hours.

  Chapter Fifteen: Callan

  No matter how much hacking I did, or how many hours I stared at the phone, nothing yielded answers. Was Ocean safe? Did Mr. Kim's contacts come through?

  I slouched over my desk. I had no idea what the time was, but I guessed I'd been here a solid twenty-four hours. I’d pulled big stints like this before, but never been so emotionally entangled. My entire body ached as if I’d run a triathlon. I needed to go home. Rest. Surf. Recharge. But guilt laid heavy weights on my shoulders. I couldn't fathom the thought of sleeping safely when I didn't know if Ocean was okay.

  I was past worrying how obsessive and strange my reaction was to her. I was past questioning my need to have her safe. Once she was free from whatever mess she was in, then I would step back and figure out what the hell she meant to me.

  Wade appeared in my doorway. Nerves danced in his eyes, mouth tense.

  “What is it?” I swiped hair back from my forehead, blinking.

  “Captain Gray wants to see you. He's pissed.” Wade turned to leave, looking over his shoulder. “What did you do?”

  I waited for the pulse of concern, the palpitations of worry that I'd be fired. They never came. It was enough for me to know I did the right thing on whatever rule I broke. I stood and followed Wade. “I can think of a few things.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I hope you survive the lashing.”

  The captain was well known for the yell-downs that rattled his office walls. I hadn't been on the receiving end yet—which was surprising. I tensed my shoulders and strode into the magistrate's throne room.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” My voice was calm, collected; my body dead straight.

  “Yes.” Captain Gray never lifted his eyes from whatever paperwork he worked on. “Sit.”

  The calm approach was worse than the livid yelling. I sat warily.

  Finally, brown eyes latched onto mine. “I’ve finished my investigation. How dare you go behind my back? You have some nerve, Bliss.”

  Which incident was he talking about? There were numerous times I went behind his back. In fact, every single case I worked, I used my skills to find certain pieces of evidence.

  “Sir?” I kept my face professionally blank.

  “Don't you ‘sir’ me!” He reached into his drawer and pulled out a stack of folders. “Each one of these was solved by you and Mark Wade.” He cocked his head. “Care to tell me what I found?”

  “No, sir.” I sat frozen in my chair. Shit.

  Gray snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Each file shows tampering with the computer-generated searches, profile documents, even the arrest warrants. What the hell were you playing at?” He grabbed another stack of folders, slamming them down. “And these. Cases that weren't even assigned to you and Wade. Closed files, unsolved crimes. They all have the same tampering code, the same unique computer glitches. Just who do you think you are?”

  It was over. This was it. My career as a foot cop for the Sydney Police was finished.

  “I'm sorry, Captain. That code was taught to me by a skillful computer operative. It’s the only way I know how to find the truth. The truth that people try to hide.” No point sugar-coating it. I was done.

  “You're a hacker? How the hell did you manage to gain employment in a police force?” Gray's face reddened, cheeks puffed.

  “I worked for a certain agency. They taught me ways to find any information. Track anyone who doesn't want to be found.” I took a deep breath, before adding, “That's why I was in Bali, sir. I was assigned to find drug runners who roped in brainless drug mules. The ring leaders spent the money on weapons and killing. For five years I fought against crime with no rules or regulation. Dirt with dirt.” I couldn't help the passion seeping into my voice. Memories of working for another type of law overshadowed the small satisfaction of being a cop. I said truthfully, “I want that freedom again.”

  “Why was I not aware of this?” Gray spluttered.

  I met his stare. “My skill-set was not mentioned on my recruitment file.” I took a breath. “I know I've over stepped my boundaries, sir.”

  Gray snorted again. “Not only have you over stepped boundaries, but now I have to reopen your cases to see if the information we used was legal. Not to mention you've implicated Mark Wade in your shenanigans.” Gray rubbed his forehead. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bliss?”

  My shoulders slouched as I thought of the mess I made for Wade, then my fists curled at the thought of the douchebags I’d locked up walking free if Gray reopened the files. Me and my stupid skills.

  Furious at myself, I stood. “Not much, sir. I regret putting you in that position. I will apologize to Officer Wade.” There was nothing else I could do. My career was over.

  Captain Gray stood too. His anger left, leaving traces of annoyance and disbelief. “You were one of the good ones, Bliss.” He shook his head, sighing, and added, “You know what I have to do.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

  He held out his hand. “Hand them over.”

  I unclipped my gun holster and my badge, placing them in his palm. Would he remember I had an off-duty weapon?

  “Go gather your things. You're fired.”

  Apparently not. That worked for me.

  The walk of shame to my office was made worse by Wade's wide eyes and constant questions. “Why did he fire you? You're the best cop we have!”

  I grabbed a box from reception to pack my things into. I smiled at Wade. “That's kind of you, Mark, but I didn't stay within the lines of the law. I'm not cut out for rules and restrictions.”

  I didn't want to admit it, but I itched to get on the phone with Mr. Kim. The stress of working in Bali was forgotten. All I remembered was the fierce thrill of the chase. And the wealth of information I was privy to. It could help me track down the Breeze family's killers, understand why Ocean could do what she could. It was exciting to say the least.

  Wade shut my office door behind us. “Does this have something to do with Ocean? Are you leaving because of her?”

  My eyes shot open. “No. What made you think that?”

  He shrugged. “I found the profile you did on her. I just wondered if there was something in there that triggered you.”

  My hackles rose. Wade found Ocean's profile? He couldn't have done that by chance. “You snooped through my stuff?” My voice was cold.

  He held up his hands. “Hey, don't get snappy. I was only looking out for my partner, who seems to be wrapped up in some other world right now. Don't you want to know I figured out who the comatose girl is? That I have my own set of fancy twinkle fingers?”

  A smile tugged my mouth. “Twinkle fingers?”

  Wade grinned. “Yep. That's how I think of you—Mr. Fancy Twinkle Fingers.” He waved his hand. “You're distracting me. Her name is Emily Snow.”

  I stopped packing, curiosity demanding I listen. An image of Ocean, covered in blood, dressed in that sexy grey number, distracted me. She saved Emily Snow. Could she save herself?

  Refocusing, I asked, “And she’s from Australia?”

  “Yep. She lives in Melbourne. Her parents are coming to collect her and take her to a drug rehabilitation center closer to home.”

  “That's awesome work, Wade. See? You don't need me as your partner. You're on i
t.” I smiled.

  “That's not the only thing,” Wade said. He perched himself on my desk, pulling a notepad from his pocket. “I think Emily Snow was abducted by sex traffickers here in Australia.”

  “What?” My interest spiked and I snatched his notes. I couldn't make out his short hand. I gave it back with a raised eyebrow. “Explain.”

  “When I accessed the missing girl's file it was linked by the system to other disappearances.”

  A gush of cold air disappeared down my shirt. More girls missing? Could they be where Ocean was? How was it possible that Aussie women were ending up in South Africa?

  “What are the dates on the files?” My voice was low and I was already thinking ahead: I could create a program to source every missing girl with certain characteristics. If there was a pattern, it might give me the evidence I needed. Stop right there, you've just been fired! My chest deflated. I was no longer able to help Wade.

  Mark continued, “There are a few missing girls dating back five years. Emily went missing four months ago, but there are currently seven girls missing—or at least that's all the computer has found. You could find more though, I'm sure.”

  “Can't. Been fired, remember?” I threw my stapler and other stationary items into the box. “I'm sorry, but you're on your own.”

  He stood. “You're not going to lie down and not work, Callan. You've probably already got other prospects.” He chuckled when I shot him a look. “All I'm asking is that you help me on this. I'll share what I know, if you can do your twinkle-finger-fancy-pants thing. Deal?”

  I eyed him. What he asked was risky. He could get into some serious shit if he was caught. “Give me what notes you have. I'll see what I can do.”

  Wade smiled smugly, tucking his notepad into my box. “I'll be expecting a phone call soon, Bliss.”

  At least he didn't look too upset. I hoped he was partnered with an intelligent cop who treated him well. He deserved it.

  Once I finished packing, I left discreetly. I didn't want to advertise my dismissal. It was kind of embarrassing, but freeing too. Who would’ve thought being fired would make me happier than being employed?

  My mind drifted to thoughts of missing girls and sex rings. I stopped myself before I was held captive and unable to think of anything else.

  I needed to get home and complete three things first.

  Number one: Ocean Breeze was due an email. She needed to put me out of my misery. Was she still alive? She better damn well be.

  Number two: A certain Maurice Green was going to receive a nasty phone call. I wanted to know the man who allowed Ocean to put her life in danger.

  Number three: Mr. Kim was going to give me a job. A job that allowed me to fight crime my way. The ruthless way.

  Chapter Sixteen: Ocean

  It was ten in the morning, but the house still slumbered. It seemed everyone was a night-owl and an alarm clock was forbidden to beep until well after sunrise. Unfortunately for me, I was starving. My ribs protruded and my collarbone was so sharp I thought it would poke through my skin at any moment. My peacock-phoenix necklace was a thread of fire against my aggravated neck. If a gram of gold could hurt, I doubted I could handle much else.

  I desperately needed food. With each teleport, calories were depleted. I lost four kilos last night from teleporting four girls. That was higher than usual. A kilo per girl—either I used a lot of power, or I was weakening. I was trapped unless I ate.

  I shuffled, light-headed and weak, to the bathroom. The night was a blur. All I knew was I narrowly escaped the clutches of Atsu Bazeer, and slept as if I were dead.

  After my third attempt to shower, washing Bazeer's dirty paws off me, I dressed in a flowing lemon sundress I found in the cupboard, and slipped on some jeweled flip-flops. I allowed my hair to air dry and held my breath as I tried my door. Did Clark lock it?

  It opened.

  Paranoia raised its head, adrenaline spiked, but I casually made my way from my room, heading downstairs. My back was poised, my face a picture of confidence. I draped myself in the act that I was allowed to roam free. I was not a girl to be sold. I was a business associate of Mr. Bazeer's.

  My act didn't stop my nose from wrinkling at the sight of the place. The house was worse in daylight. The terrible portraits burned with morning sun, illuminating the bad paintwork. The drapes, which looked rich and elegant by candlelight, were faded, the tie-back tassels un-threading like spidery veins.

  I had no idea where I’d get food, but I made my way past the dining room and into a massive chef's wet dream of a kitchen. I smiled. People were awake here.

  Three dark-skinned women lifted their heads, eyes flicking to one another.

  “It's okay. I'm an employee of Mr. Bazeer's. He said I could get some breakfast.” I grinned.

  A bright smile erupted on the girl closest to me. She was missing her two front teeth. I guessed she was only a few years older than me. Was she a sex slave or untainted? Was it abuse that ruined her teeth, or a bad accident? I could never stop looking at people, trying to uncover their secrets. Whether they needed to be saved or not.

  Stop it, Ocean. You can't save everyone. Focus on the four girls left upstairs. Then kill bastard Bazeer.

  “Go sit. Sit,” the girl said.

  I was ushered out of the kitchen and pushed into an embroidered chair at the long dining table. The woman disappeared and I was lost in a sea of cutlery and loneliness. Luckily, I spotted a local paper on the sideboard and entertained myself until the door swung open and the gap-toothed lady returned with a platter of food.

  My eyes bugged. Saliva pooled in my mouth.

  Mountains of food. Delicious salvation. I’d devour it all in preparation.

  “Enjoy.” She smiled.

  “Thank you very much,” I said to her retreating back. Not waiting for a second, I tucked in. French toast. Fried rice. Eggs. Bacon. Fried bread. Some bean mixture. I inhaled it all. Followed by watermelon, honeydew, and grapes. I wanted to moan. It tasted amazing.

  With every mouthful, my molecules hummed with energy. My shrunken, skeletal figure was replaced with curves once again. I didn't know how my body could be wrung so dry, yet stack on the weight just as quickly. But I was thankful I could replenish so fast. I just wished I could get fat so I had reserves.

  The platter was soon squeaky clean and my stomach couldn't hold another morsel. If I had any decency I would’ve been embarrassed by my piggishness. But this was how I survived. Tonight I’d lose another four kilos.

  Worry wrapped a cold band around my heart. Would I have enough energy to finish my rescue mission?

  The same woman came into the dining room; her mouth fell open. In her hands was a tray of freshly baked rolls.

  Standing, I pinched a few. They were deliciously warm.

  “You ate all that?” Her eyes rounded.

  I laughed. “You're an excellent chef. I blame you for making me eat so much.”

  A crooked smile bloomed and she shone with pride. “I can make you more, if you like?”

  The idea was tempting, but I’d be alright. I took an extra roll for good measure. “I'm okay. But thank you once again. It was wonderful.”

  As I made my way back to my room, I shredded the rolls and ate them. They were a sweet bread, glazed with honey. My fingers were sticky by the time I was encased in my cell.

  Even with all the food in my belly, I couldn't help stressing. What happened if I couldn't save all of them?

  Don't think about it. You will.

  The house was still hushed with sleep. Should I risk going to the girls now? Crap, Clark took my master key. I wouldn't be able to access the rooms.

  Nerves made me pace. Unable to deal with the black thoughts circling in my head, I did a search of the room, looking for anything that could help me.

  Rummaging in the dresser, I found an iPad. How many of these things did Bazeer own? They were scattered around his premises like placemats. I doubted he wanted me online. I may be his employee,
but he treated me more like a prisoner. Wasn’t he concerned that I might call for help? Or was he so cocky he thought no one could touch him?

  Too bad for him. My fingers itched to log on. I went to the bed and leaned against the pillows. I would email Maurice. He deserved to know I was close to saving Thembi. I didn't want him to worry.

  My heart did a weird flip as I logged on to my account and noticed Callan's name heralding a new message. An image of him at the cop station last night roared back to mind. He was so sharp and reeked of authority in his uniform. His shaggy, surf-bleached hair at odds with the crispness of the law he represented. The way he touched my chin—the spark that flew between us. Why was I so drawn to him?

  Ignoring those thoughts, I opened my first email. Maurice beat me to it.

  From:MG99@gmail.com

  Date: 14 July 2012

  Subject: Be safe

  Hello My Dear,

  I hope you are well, and things are progressing how they should. I don't know how long you will be. I hate not knowing how you are. However, a young man called and told me about a sex trafficker in South Africa. Sounds like you are on target. I won't ask questions. I will only send my prayers and love.

  Be safe, my Sweet Girl.

  Love, Maurice.

  What did he mean a young man called him? What young man? He couldn't mean. . . No! Callan wouldn't go that far. Would he? And how would he know I kept in touch with Maurice? By reading my emails of course. That low-life bastard!

  My fingers shook with rage when I opened the next email.

  From:C.Bliss@yahoo.com.au

  Date: 14 July 2012

  Subject: You are in trouble.

  Dear Ocean,

  Three things:

  1. I called your guardian, or friend. I found him by accessing your emails. I won’t apologize for this infringement on privacy as I'm worried out of my brains. Where are you? Who are you?