Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  As the powerful engine sputtered and died, she had her answer. “Foul offspring of carrion birds!”

  Sophie left the steering area and fetched the spare tank of gas. The Chris-Craft could be gassed from an inside filler neck in the gunwale; Nam had gone over the speedboat’s operating manual with Sophie before she’d departed, helping her pack it with weapons, ammo, money, a native woman’s outfit, bedroll, and some limited foodstuffs.

  Sophie wished she could take Anubis, Connor’s Doberman. In the weeks of her physical rebuilding, he’d been a constant and faithful companion, and company of a sort. Though he could provide a measure of protection on her journey, she couldn’t bring him. With his exotic looks, the dog would draw too much attention as they traveled.

  Sophie emptied the last of the small gas can into the tank and took a heading with the electronic GPS, gazing out over the tossing sea toward a hazy horizon line. Ugh, she was still so far away from shore! The smell of gas was thick in her nostrils as she radioed in to Nam.

  “Come in, Home Base. This is Pearl.”

  She spoke in Thai so as not to draw attention, and she’d chosen Momi’s name as her handle. Every time she spoke it, that name reminded her of the urgency of her mission.

  “This is Home Base.” Nam’s voice crackled through the handheld.

  “Refueling with backup tank. May not make it to the destination today. Any word from the forward location?”

  “No word.”

  Sophie’s heart sank, a hollow sensation under her breastbone.

  “Keep me posted. Pearl out.” Sophie put away the radio.

  She was beyond worried about Jake and Connor’s mission. She had sent messages repeatedly but to no avail, and the two weeks had come and gone. There was nothing she could do besides alert Security Solutions VP, Kendall Bix, of the team’s return date being missed. She’d given the current head of the company all she knew about the status of the current mission and the fact that the men should have returned to Phi Ni by now.

  She opened the choke so that the influx of fuel could make its way through the lines, and fired up the ignition. The engine caught after just a few tries. Sophie checked her heading again, and pushed the throttle forward.

  The Chris-Craft leapt up onto a plane, the ocean purling back from its bow within seconds. Though a weighty craft, its sleek lines created tremendous momentum once the boat was in motion. Sophie programmed the adjusted heading into the speedboat’s guidance system, sat down in the pilot’s chair, and fixed her eyes on the distant smudge of the horizon as she held the wheel steady.

  Gazing through the windshield, Sophie saw a flying fish lift off the water, and soar beside her. Up ahead, a cloud trailed a rainbow—it was raining near the coast. Long rays of sunlight played over the waves like fool’s gold, but the beauty brought her no pleasure.

  The boat was a problem.

  Assuming she was able to make it to the distant shore, where could Sophie stow such an expensive craft? She would need it to return to the island, and her journey to her family’s former home was still going to be a long distance on foot if she couldn’t figure out a ride. She needed to keep a low profile that would not attract the Yām Khûmkạn’s attention—it was best to assume that they had eyes and ears everywhere. The boat would certainly be attention-getting.

  Sophie ran out of gas several kilometers short of the coast. “Foul demon spawn!” The speedboat wallowed in rolling waves as the sky changed from blue to indigo, and the dying day cast red beams over her shoulder.

  She picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned the coast. Though tantalizingly near, the mainland was still too far away for her to attempt to swim in the waning evening light. She could too easily lose her way once in the water—not to mention encountering electric eels, sharks, or box jellyfish, hazards of these waters.

  She had to find another way.

  Sophie turned three hundred and sixty degrees, scanning the horizon with the binoculars. She spotted a nearby atoll to the east. One of the many outcrops off of the coast, this one appeared to be downwind. The Chris-Craft was already floating toward it, propelled by the light evening breeze.

  Sophie opened the closed bench at the stern, looking for anything to help get her the remaining distance, and was delighted to discover a small electric trolling motor.

  Sophie eyed the main coastline again. Still too far away, given the challenges of wind and time. But perhaps, in the morning, if the wind cooperated, she could make it to shore with the trolling motor. She’d worry about where to hide the boat to begin her overland journey once she got there.

  Sophie dropped the trolling motor off the stern of the Chris-Craft and tightened down its clamps, attaching it to a narrow lip on the gunwale. She checked that the mechanism was hooked up to its accompanying battery, and turned it on with a switch on the side.

  Forty-five excruciatingly slow minutes later, Sophie nudged the sleek bow of the speedboat into a tiny, sheltered bay between jagged arms of rock. She hurried to the bow, put out a rubber bumper guard, and tossed a loop of bow line over a boulder. She then cranked the rope tight around the cleat. The Chris-Craft squeaked as it rubbed against its rocky mooring, secured.

  The light of sunset flamed across the back of the craft not in shadow as Sophie descended into the tidy cabin in the bow. There was no point in exploring the atoll; she had work to do, and this stop was a mere pause point.

  Sophie got out her laptop and pulled up saved photographic maps of the area. She studied her route: hopefully, she would land near a fishing village and be able to make her way up a small dirt road to a more major thoroughfare that led toward Bangkok and the Ping River. Once on that road, Sophie could likely hire someone to drive her the rest of the way.

  The route looked deceptively easy. “I hope it actually will be,” she said aloud, missing the company of her Lab, Ginger, who’d provided companionship and an excuse to talk to herself when alone. Ginger, and Jake’s dog Tank, were probably being spoiled by Alika and his family. That reminded her that she was overdue for updating Alika. As Momi’s father, he deserved to know things had shifted.

  Sophie took out the satellite phone she’d kept turned off with the battery removed, and reassembled it. She sent Alika a text that she had a lead on Momi, and hoped to know more soon.

  Sophie fixed a simple meal of dehydrated food and ate it mechanically even as her belly cramped with anxiety. Her mind ground over what had happened to Jake and Connor, and what was going on with her precious daughter. What could have happened to the men, preventing them from communicating or returning? What more could she do to help?

  And who was caring for Momi? Was she healthy? Given proper nutrition? Held and loved? Would she be emotionally or physically damaged by being kidnapped, as Sophie had been?

  No. Momi would be fine. She was too little to remember any of this, and Sophie was betting her life that Armita was caring for her with love. They’d be reunited soon.

  But the men? There had to be more she could do. An idea burst across Sophie’s brain: CIA Agent Devin McDonald.

  Sophie and Connor had been working with the agent on a plan for Sophie to become a confidential asset for the spy agency, reporting on the activities of the Yām Khûmkạn, as her mother drew her deeper into involvement with the clandestine organization. That plan had been put on hold when Sophie discovered she was pregnant. Sophie had informed the agent she was no longer interested in their proposal and was severing ties with her mother for the foreseeable future—she’d instinctively known Pim Wat was dangerous to her child, and how right she’d been!

  The jowly CIA agent had reluctantly accepted her dictum, but told Sophie, “Keep in touch. Things can turn on a dime in this business, and you may well want our help or vice versa.”

  “Turn on a dime” was a new saying to Sophie, but it made sense—and things had, indeed, spun in a new direction—and maybe McDonald could do something to find out what had happened to Jake and Connor.

  She called Mc
Donald’s number, routing through an untraceable scrambler site that connected via satellite. She and Connor had tried to use this method to keep in touch, but the jungle terrain had provided too much interference. Out here on the open ocean, she connected with his secure voicemail almost immediately.

  “Agent McDonald, this is Sophie Smithson.” She released a trembling breath, rubbing the scar on her cheekbone and organizing her thoughts. “A lot has happened since we last spoke. I don’t know when I will actually be able to connect with you again, so I need to give you some urgent information. Sheldon Hamilton, CEO of Security Solutions, my partner Jake Dunn, and a party of seven trained mercenaries from our company have all disappeared from communication while trying to penetrate the base of the Yām Khûmkạn in Thailand.” She gave as many details as she could about the mission. “I am headed to meet someone else who has provided proof of life of my child, and I’ll be off the grid while I pursue this lead. But if you could investigate what happened to the rescue party, I would be . . . deeply indebted to the CIA.” Sophie was basically signing up to work for them with this message, but who cared? If the agency could do anything to find out what had happened to Jake and Connor, and potentially get them back, it was worth it. “Please try me back at this number and leave a message.”

  She ended the call and stared down at the clunky phone in her hand.

  She was out of ideas at the moment. Once she had Momi secured, she could come up with other plans. Despite her worries, she had to rest now. She would need all of her physical, mental, and emotional resources to deal with tomorrow.

  Sophie disassembled the phone and closed down all of the visible light into the cabin as soon as the sunset had finished its annoying pageant. She took her antidepressant and a holistic sleep aid. She lay down on the cabin’s bunk and shut her eyes.

  Maybe there was a divine entity who could help when she’d reached the end of what she could do. “Divine Force in the universe, please protect my dear ones, especially Momi, Connor, and Jake. Help me know what to do at each stage of this journey—speak to me through insight and intuition, and show me which way to go and what to do. Help me save them. And tonight, give me sleep so I can be strong for tomorrow.”

  Sophie shut her eyes, and willed herself to sleep as she’d learned to do under Assan Ang’s cruel hand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Day Twenty-Five

  Jake began breathing slow, deep breaths as Igor and Pim Wat’s minions fetched the water vessel. He filled his lungs to capacity, oxygenating his blood, keeping his eyes closed and body consciously relaxed.

  Pim Wat wouldn’t know that he’d almost been a SEAL, but had gone with the Green Berets instead; she wouldn’t know that he loved free diving and could hold his breath for close to five minutes, up to seven in a pinch.

  Not that any of that mattered. Igor would keep going until Jake sucked water and thought he would die.

  But the sensation of drowning was familiar, and the truth was, he wasn’t afraid of dying. He was only afraid that he’d never see the woman he loved or his child again; that harm could still come to them.

  He had to keep that from happening.

  The men set the water vessel down, a big metal tub that likely had some other, mundane purpose, like doing laundry. Maybe washing babies.

  Jake pushed fear away with powerful memories: Momi’s newborn, vulnerable little form, the baby’s kitten-like cries melting his heart, as she first entered the world. He and Alika had helped under the midwife’s direction: cleaning up and cutting the cord, wrapping Momi up tight, and watching as Sophie put her baby to the breast for the first time.

  He’d been there for Momi’s first minutes of life. Reveled in the whole intense experience of her birth. Nothing could take that from him.

  Dirty water, greenish and filled with sticks and leaves, splashed into the tub from buckets the ninjas dumped into it.

  Jake couldn’t hold onto the memory as the tub filled.

  “How can I get a message to Sophie?” Pim Wat lifted Jake’s chin, forcing his eyes up to meet large brown ones that were eerily like Sophie’s. “I need to speak to my daughter.”

  This was a new question. Until now, she’d just repeatedly asked where Sophie was.

  “Sophie was not involved with this mission. We came to get the baby back.” Jake’s heart beat with slow, heavy thumps as he continued to breathe deeply. Pim Wat could not reach Sophie with the news that they were captive. Sophie might give in to her mother’s demands and trade herself for them. He and Connor still didn’t know what Pim Wat really wanted with Sophie and Momi, but it couldn’t just be simple family fealty. “We left her in Hawaii, recovering from the birth.”

  Pim Wat’s eyes narrowed. A smile ticked up the corners of her full mouth. “The first information you actually give up, Jake, and it’s a lie. Why am I not surprised?” She gave Igor a head nod.

  Jake sucked a final breath as ninjas, positioned at each of his shoulders, shoved him forward and down. His face splashed into the dirty water. Igor’s hand on the back of his head held him under.

  Jake began a count. Leisurely, slowly. He would go to a hundred. After he got there, he’d go to another hundred. The process of counting kept him calm and distracted; he would not waste effort and oxygen struggling.

  One alligator, two alligator, three alligator. . .

  He got to three hundred. Igor pulled him up when he began to struggle.

  Pim Wat’s brows were scrunched with annoyance—clearly, she’d had to wait longer than she’d wanted to. “How do I reach Sophie? I just want to get her a message. No harm will come to her, I promise. She is my daughter, and you are her lover. Do you think I want her angry with me for killing her boyfriend? Please. Just give me a way to contact her.” Those familiar brown eyes shone with sincerity.

  Tempting. Oh, it was so tempting. Just give Sophie’s phone number to end the suffering? He could buy time, give a fake one . . . Pim Wat was Sophie’s mother. Surely, she wouldn’t harm Sophie?

  No. He could not give in. This woman was evil. She’d stolen Sophie’s child. She had no good in mind for either of them.

  Shivers passed over Jake. His bowels felt suspiciously loose. He had fought hard for that count to three hundred. He wasn’t sure he had it in him for more. Somehow, he’d have to find that strength.

  A movement drew Jake’s gaze toward his companion.

  Connor had rolled over to face them and got himself up onto his knees, though his feet were bound and wrists shackled behind his back. The man’s glasses had been knocked off in the capture. Oddly, one of Connor’s eyes was blue, and the other one brown.

  What the hell? Why did the guy wear brown contacts? And why did he look so familiar, all of a sudden? He reminded Jake of someone . . .

  “Stop. Please.” Connor’s jaw was tight; his mouth pinched. Yeah, it was no fun watching a buddy get tortured—but he couldn’t let Connor crack. Jake gave his friend a slow wink as he sucked deep breaths, re-oxygenating.

  “Do you care to intervene, Mr. Hamilton?” Pim Wat addressed Connor. “Want to answer my question and end your friend’s difficulties?”

  Jake shook his head behind Pim Wat’s back, narrowing his eyes and mouthing “No.” Igor must have seen because he grabbed Jake’s hair and yanked his head back to hold him immobile.

  Thankfully, Connor shook his head.

  The ninjas and Igor plunged Jake under again. He began his count, but the burn in his chest was immediate. His body was starved for oxygen. Not good.

  Overhead, through the water, he heard voices arguing. He couldn’t make out the words. Was Connor giving in? Anxiety made Jake aware of the growing heat in his lungs, of the way his extremities were beginning to twitch and tremble. Eighty-nine alligator, ninety alligator, ninety-one alligator . . .

  His head was yanked out of the water. A fist rammed into his solar plexus, blasting out his remaining air. He didn’t have time to breathe again before he was thrust under once more. His body we
nt into shock from the pain and loss of air, and his solar plexus expanded in a reflexive gasp. Water filled his throat and lungs with liquid fire.

  Something no one tells you is that drowning really hurts. Ocean water, river water, pool water, toilet water—it all burns like acid going down, then smothers you like a fucking anvil on your chest.

  But he wasn’t going to die like this, drowned like a rat in a tub by these assholes. No way.

  Jake got his bound feet underneath him and heaved up with all of his remaining strength, throwing his body backward.

  The ninjas couldn’t quite hold him—that’s what happened when a two-hundred-pound, six-foot-two man fought for his life against a couple of hundred-and fifty-pounders. Jake got his face clear and tried to suck a breath, but his lungs were too full of water for it to work. Igor threw himself bodily on top of Jake’s head, and down he went again.

  Red spots. Roiling water. Blows and pain. The roar of his laboring heart.

  Memories lit his brain in lightning flashes: running with his sisters in a wheat field toward the sound of the ice cream truck. Happiness.

  Dropping in a parachute over Cambodia—the rush, a sense of wonder at the beauty of the world.

  Sophie’s face, her eyes closed, her lips parting for his kiss.

  BLACK.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Day Twenty-Six

  Dawn was barely a pewter glimmer on the silky black ocean when Sophie woke. She fixed herself a cup of strong tea, ate a tasteless but necessary protein bar, and went topside.

  She reassembled the satellite phone and checked for messages: nothing.