Amber Storm (Assassin In Paradise Book 1)

by Jack Stroke

  Maybe Ben had no memory of the encounter with Amber and her helping him. Either way he wasn’t about to say anything. Megan was the same. She didn’t appear ready to discuss the fight she’d had with Amber in the middle of the night. Maybe she didn’t remember it either. She’d been hitting the beer pretty heavily from what Amber spied through the window.

  Meanwhile, Joan simply hummed happily as she cleaned up the kitchen. Was this how all families operated?

  Simply sweep the hard stuff under the carpet and keep moving?

  30

  With nothing much to do, Amber found her thoughts returning to the family she had seen coming ashore in the rowboat in the middle of the night. What they had been up to? She sensed something illegal. Odd for a family, but still.

  Amber strolled past The Point and around to Hidden Beach. There was no sign of the trio now. She meandered up to where the sand finished and grass took over, looking around for anything out of place. Nothing. The grass area quickly became thick with trees.

  Out in the water, the sailboat remained in the same position as yesterday. Amber hadn’t made the connection last night. The rowboat must’ve come from the bigger boat.

  Slipping off her shoes, Amber waded into the water. She didn’t have her swimsuit on. Actually, she didn’t own a swimsuit at all. She might have to rectify that at some point. That didn’t matter right now. Her shorts and T-shirt would be perfectly adequate for a quick swim.

  The sand squished about her toes, a decidedly pleasant sensation. Amber strolled until the water reached her waist and then broke into a gentle stroke. The cold held for about a second before becoming beautifully refreshing. How could she have been in Paradise Cove this long without going in the water? It would have been the first thing she and Megan would have done as kids.

  About fifty yards later, Amber neared the vessel. The old sailboat was certainly nothing like the million-dollar crafts she had seen at Port Simmons. The boat showed no sign of life. Still, you could never be too careful.

  The water was just a touch too deep for Amber to be able to stand. Swimming down, she grabbed a shell from the seafloor and tossed it on board. The shell made quite a racket as it bounced around on the boat’s wooden deck. No response. Amber repeated the process with a second shell. Still nothing. Either there was no one or the boat’s occupants were completely deaf. The first option seemed a lot more likely.

  Climbing her way on to the boat was somewhat awkward, Amber unable to locate a ladder or anything that would assist. Being all wet didn’t help matters. Once aboard, Amber threw a quick glance back at Hidden Beach. She had a hunch somebody was watching her. No sign of the family and their rowboat or anybody else.

  She stood still on the deck, taking it all in.

  The sailboat was deceptively large and quite old-fashioned. Lots of dark, brown timber. A makeshift line hung over the deck, clothes drying in the breeze. Had Amber misjudged this? Maybe there was nothing untoward going on - just some people on a sailing holiday. Oh well, no point drawing conclusions until she had a look at the entire boat.

  As she approached the stairs. Hearing noises, she froze. The unmistakable sounds of people having sex rose from below the deck. Nearing the end, it sounded like. They must have been too engaged to hear the seashells.

  Once again, the voice in her head demanded to know what she was doing. Why was she out here on the boat? Her overactive brain drawing conclusions where there were none. That is what had led her here. She had no desire to interrupt some poor family’s holidays and even less to be caught out here or to have to explain herself. Amber decided to get off the boat immediately.

  She strode to the edge only to notice a large pool of water at her feet. Glancing back, she saw she had left a trail of wet footprints all over the deck. If whoever came up now, they would see them for sure.

  Darting across, she grabbed a towel from the clothesline and mopped up the water, all the time listening intently. She couldn’t hear the sex anymore. Had they finished? Approaching voices and footsteps suggested that they had.

  Whoever they were, they were making their way up onto the deck.

  31

  All done wiping, Amber tossed the towel at the line and jumped over the side, entering the water as quietly as possible.

  Clinging to the hull, her position was awkward. If the people on the boat glanced over the side, they would see her. Undoubtedly. Yes, she could swim for the shore, except the water was so clear she would almost certainly be spotted. And it wouldn’t take much for these people to realise, or at least suspect someone swimming away from the boat had been on board. There wasn’t a whole lot else out here.

  Taking a deep breath, Amber swam down under the bow of the sailboat and emerged on the far side. Less likely they would look over the edge here. At least Amber hoped so. Two sets of footsteps moved about on the deck.

  A man and woman chatted about nothing terribly important or interesting. Once again, Amber berated herself, demanding to know what she was doing out here. The whole thing was almost certainly nothing. People enjoying a sailing holiday and she was busy invading their privacy for no good reason. The loud clump of footsteps suggested at least one of the people had headed back below. Where was the other one?

  What were her options? Amber couldn’t simply float here forever. The beach was due west. She decided to swim out to sea and then double back towards The Point. Getting out of the water there, instead of the beach, was merely playing the percentages. The people on the boat were more likely to look towards the beach. The chances of her being spotted were reduced slightly with this course of action. Less likely she would be seen at all. Or maybe they’d see a shape and not put two and two together that it was a person.

  Plenty of Mother’s training had been in relation to breath control, allowing Amber to swim far greater distances underwater than a regular person. She decided to go for it. Diving down, Amber glided as far as she could from the boat for about two minutes. Coming up for air was nerve-racking but necessary. Breaking the surface, she resisted the urge to turn back and see if the people on the boat were watching her. After a quick deep breath, she dived below the surface again.

  She made it to the rocky outpost of The Point, hopeful no one had seen her.

  She was barely out of the water when she discovered someone had.

  32

  “Would you like a towel?”

  The voice startled her. A figure stood between her and the sun, making their features challenging to discern. She knew exactly who the figure was though.

  “No, thank you, Vaughan.”

  The fact he was there was frustrating enough, but it was made all the more annoying by the fact he didn’t appear to even have a towel.

  Amber struggled out of the water, her feet poked and prodded by the sharp, slippery rocks.

  “You’re welcome to ask, you know, kid.”

  Kid again. What was with this guy?

  “Ask what?”

  “Ask where the best places to swim are. I would suggest not here. Too tricky to get in and out. Unless, you know, you have a thing for rocks.”

  “Thanks. I could have figured that out myself.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  Vaughan leaned against a large boulder to watch. The task of getting out of the water, already awkward thanks to the location, was not made any easier by his presence.

  “Would you like me to carry you?”

  “No… I wouldn’t like you to carry me. Why would I? Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  “You’ve got no footwear, kid. I’ve at least got shoes.”

  “I’m fine. And I’m not a kid. And I don’t need your help. Stop smirking at me.”

  “Got it,” Vaughan said, his smirk not going anywhere.

  Amber made it to the safety of a large, dry boulder.

  “Why did you choose to get out here? Looks like this swim is like the rest of your holiday.”

  “How do you mean?”

 
“Impromptu and poorly thought out.”

  Scampering from rock to rock, Amber headed for the relative safety of the grassy foreshore.

  “Great. Are there any secrets around here?”

  “Is your impromptu holiday supposed to be a secret?”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just not sure why I’m the topic of conversation.”

  “This is Paradise Cove. Full of secrets but nothing to talk about. You’re new and so some interesting gossip during the off-season.”

  Vaughan followed Amber off the rocks and onto the grass.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just hanging about when I spotted you going for a dip and I thought, that’s not something you see every day - an adult going for a swim in their clothes, so I hung about to watch.”

  Amber cocked her head to one side, squeezing the water out of her hair.

  “You would want to be careful.”

  “How so?”

  “People don’t like it when you board their boats uninvited.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “What boat?”

  He pointed at the sailboat.

  “I didn’t go on the boat. I just went for a swim.”

  “Okay. Next time you don’t go on that particular boat, though, be careful. You never know who might be watching.”

  Vaughan mimed taking a picture of her with an invisible camera before strolling off along the foreshore, back in the direction of Paradise Cove.

  Amber glanced towards the boat. No sign of any movement on board. Treading lightly across the prickly grass, she made her way back to Hidden Beach to retrieve her shoes.

  Gosh, Vaughan got under her skin. Did he know something about the sailboat or was he just being his usual smart-ass self?

  33

  The morning warmth meant Amber had largely dried off by the time she arrived back at Paradise by the Bay. She found Joan hanging out some washing. She attempted to give her a hand but Joan refused. Amber half expected Joan to quiz her about the swim, given how fast gossip seemed to travel in Paradise Cove.

  Joan took her time with the washing, no need to rush. It was almost hypnotic, reminding Amber she wasn’t fully acclimatised to Paradise Cove time just yet.

  “Hey, can I ask you about Vaughan…”

  “Sure. Megan said you were interested in him. He’s very handsome.”

  Amber bristled. “I’m not interested in him.”

  “Okay, you’re not interested in him. What did you want to know about him?”

  “Does he call you kid too?”

  “No. Why would he?”

  “Doesn’t he call everyone kid?”

  “Kid? No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I have ever heard him call anyone kid.”

  “Does he seem on the level to you? Aboveboard?”

  “Sure. He keeps Ben company. That’s a good thing. Good for Ben to have some male role models. Other than Grubby in the bait shop.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do you ask if you’re not interested?”

  “I don’t know. Something about him just seems a little off to me.”

  Joan stopped what she was doing so she could touch Amber’s arms. She furrowed her brow. “Are you wet?”

  “Yeah. I had a quick dip.”

  “In your clothes?”

  “Never mind.”

  Joan rubbed Amber’s arms, her original intention. “You’re not jumping at shadows, are you, Amber?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s just a niggling feeling. Ben said Vaughan just showed up one day…”

  “You just showed up one day.”

  “I guess.”

  “Paradise Cove is like that. It’s different from regular places. People tend to just appear and disappear. It’s not like the city. Or maybe it is. Maybe in the city, there are just more people, so you don’t notice. People turn up here to find themselves. Some stay, some don’t.” That comforting smile Amber recalled so well from her childhood spread across Joan’s face. “I know there are plenty of things to worry about in the world, and you seem more worried about them than most, Amber, but I don’t think Vaughan is one of them.”

  “You’re probably right.” Amber thought back to the sailboat. “It’s good advice. You’re right. I probably am jumping at shadows. I have been all day.”

  Joan returned to hanging out some large white sheets. “Are you sure you’re not interested? He is very handsome.”

  “You said that. Maybe you could date him?”

  Joan smiled patiently as she worked.

  “I haven’t been on any dates in a while. I don’t really date anyone. Not outside of work.”

  Joan stopped once more. “What does that mean?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Why would you date people for work?”

  “It’s difficult to explain. Not dates really. Just work. Never mind.”

  Joan’s crinkly eyes stared straight through her.

  “Amber, let’s have lunch tomorrow, okay? Just you and me.”

  “Okay. Why not?”

  “We can go somewhere nice. Into Port Simmons.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And remember, you’re safe here. Stop jumping at shadows. You’re here to relax, aren’t you? So relax.”

  Amber decided to do as she was told. It was good advice.

  Except the shadows kept jumping out at her.

  34

  That night Amber dreamt about something insignificant involving being chased. Even before it was over, the dream was forgotten, lost in a haze of thoughts and memories and whatever else floated through her mind. She felt her breath catch in her throat. Her mouth was dry. Without opening her eyes, Amber knew she wasn’t alone.

  A large man loomed over her bed. Over her.

  She waited for a hand to slap her across the mouth or a blow to her head or something. Nothing came. Which meant the large man probably wasn’t there. The stench of cheap red wine hit her.

  Pierre. Of course it was. His round shape should have alerted her to the fact it was Pierre immediately.

  He stared down at her, his face an unnatural shade of purple, bloodshot eyes bulging out of his head. Despite her best efforts to ignore the memories, they came rushing at her with vibrancy and force. Amber had drowned Pierre six months earlier on a job. Was the talk of dates with Joan what had rustled Pierre up from the depths of her mind?

  The two of them had been on a night out together, Amber having to flirt and laugh and kiss the large man where appropriate. Teenage Amber probably would have found this disgusting, but at the time he was simply a job. The target. Pierre had been a gentleman all through dinner. A little handsy maybe, but mainly a gentleman, unable to quite believe his luck at having snared a pretty woman such as Amber. There was nothing lucky about it. And when he excused himself to visit the restroom, she snuck a little something in his glass. Mixed with red wine, it was enough to mess with his movement and balance.

  Once again, Amber again attempted to fight off the memories. Once again, she had little success. Hard with Pierre’s head only an inch or so from hers.

  Back in Pierre’s hotel room, she had headed to the bathroom and run a bath. He thought she was running it for herself and liked the idea, some fantasy playing through his head, unaware the bath was for him.

  He still had a drink in his hand when she struck, tripping the sizeable man and forcing his head under the water. The wine had spilled all over his top and the bathroom tiles. The wooziness made him unable to fight back effectively and quickly he stopped moving at all.

  Operational tradecraft recommended not looking at a target’s faces once they are dead, yet Amber had anyway. She stared at Pierre, lingering unnecessarily. Was that the beginning of her problems? And now here was the same face two inches from hers, staring down at her. Bulging bloodshot eyes. Face stained with purple blotches.

  “You can’t hurt me,” Amber told Pierre, although more at
tempting to convince herself. “You can’t hurt me.”

  Pierre said nothing, those red bug-eyes continuing to stare.

  An unexpected whirring took Amber’s mind away from her portly intruder. A phone. Except, what phone? It took Amber a few moments to track down the device’s whereabouts. Eventually she found it in the side pocket of her bags. The phone was the burner she had used after her last job. She must never have got rid of it. More sloppiness. That meant one of two things - the call on the other end was either a wrong number or it was Mother. Neither option made her keen to answer.

  Amber sat on the far side of the bed, away from Pierre and his bloated face. When would he disappear again? Experience said he would vanish at some point, simply not be there anymore. There was no way of knowing when that might be though.

  The phone stopped. The screen indicated this wasn’t the first attempted contact. There were numerous messages. Almost immediately it vibrated again. With no idea whether she should or not, Amber pressed the button to answer and waited, not saying anything.

  “Amber?” a male voice said. Tony. Mother’s assistant.

  “Hey, Tony.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Not a lot.”

  Maybe she should tell him she was sitting here with Pierre. Would that help? It was liberating, telling the truth sometimes.

  “Mother’s worried about you.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  She must be if Tony was actually calling instead of messaging.

  “She needs to speak to you.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”