STORM SURGE
ALEX WESTMORE
Published by Inspired Quill: October 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The publisher has no control over, and is not responsible for, any third party websites or their contents.
Storm Surge © 2018 by Alex Westmore
Kindle Edition
Contact the author through her website: www.alexwestmore.net
Chief Editor: Sara-Jayne Slack
Cover Design: Mallory Rock
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
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DEDICATION
To my Lovebug who has taught me how to be in the moment. It’s so easy to get lost in my head as a writer, but you have shown me how to go below my shoulders to spend more time with my heart. I am a better person because of you. I am a happier person because of us. Thank you for everything. We’ve got this.
This one is also dedicated to all my readers who started off loving Delta and company enough to launch a 30-year career of a writer who wanted to bring a smart, edgy, monogamous heroine to life. Delta was the cop I never was (or ever would be), and she came at a time when so many other lesbian private eyes, detectives, and other mystery-solvers slept with witnesses, villains, and everything in between. I wanted to give readers a character who lived by very high standards that didn’t always coincide with the laws she had sworn to obey. Delta may have broken a lot of rules, but she never strayed from her relationship. I like to believe my readers appreciated that about her. I know I do.
Without readers who have supported me these last three decades (who knew we’d be doing this dance together for so long?), I would not have had the amazing life I have lived. I’ve met so many fascinating people and traveled all over the world talking about writing. It’s been such a fabulous ride that I cannot thank you enough. The best I can do is to keep writing for you.
So I’d better get back to work.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Storm Surge
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Series From This Author
It was like coming out of anesthesia: blurry vision, voices drifting in and out like a radio signal losing frequency. Something moved above Delta’s head, but she couldn’t focus enough to see what it was. Her body was numb, and this strange, groggy feeling smothered her. Delta tried to lick her dry, cracked lips, but even that simple gesture took more energy than she possessed. As she struggled to keep her eyes open, she noticed a hazy figure before her, like some cosmic ghost hovering between worlds.
When the misty figure dribbled water between Delta’s cracked lips, most of it ran down the sides of her face. Her parched mouth wasn’t cooperating. Sighing heavily, Delta closed her eyes and tried to clear the cobwebs from her head.
As the sickness raged through her body, Delta floated. Frequently, sleep gave a temporary peace from the nightmarish flashbacks she’d endured these last few… hours? days? How long had it been? Fever made everything impossible to decipher. What was real? What was a figment of the flames roaring through her body? Time both stood still and raced past.
Then the visions changed. All she knew was that darkness, like a moonless night, engulfed her entire being. It was so black and so cold; as if she’d been swallowed in the vacuum of outer space.
Someone had saved her life. Beyond that one memory, Delta’s dreams were filled with blurry visions of the jungle, of shooting a man in a warehouse, and of her lover, Megan Osbourne. Delta tossed her head and sighed, falling deeper into a sleep that knew only nightmares.
Megan stood at the large bay window of the Gran Hotel staring at the street below, her long blonde hair tied neatly in a ponytail. Remembering the last time Delta had run her hands through Megan’s hair brought a rare smile to Megan’s face. Delta had the most incredible touch, it was electrifying.
“Where are you?” Megan murmured, her eyes searching faces in the crowd. It had been three days since Delta had disappeared among the foaming waves of the blue Caribbean. Three long, grueling days of searching, of phone calls, of praying. Three days, and not one shred, not one sign that Delta Stevens had even been to Costa Rica. Three days and this living, breathing nightmare was beginning to take its toll.
Megan had thought that nothing in the world would match the horror of being kept a sexual slave for the Colombians who had infiltrated Costa Rica’s rain forest in search of gold unearthed after the 1991 earthquake. She didn’t think anything could be worse than be forced to have sex with a man in order to stay alive. She couldn’t have imagined a fate as terrifying as having to scurry through the pitch black rain forest, fleeing a band of angry soldiers who were all too eager to perform sexual atrocities on her again if they found her alive.
She had been wrong.
The greatest horror in her life was watching helplessly as the woman she loved plummeted hundreds of feet into the water after being shot twice by the pursuing Colombians. That horror multiplied as each fresh day yielded no clues. Had Delta survived the fall? Had she drowned? Had she swum to shore, only to be recaptured by her pursuers? The questions taunted Megan.
Three days of not knowing whether Delta was being brutalized or tortured was eternal hell on earth for Megan, who would have changed places with her lover. Three days of trying not to think about a life without Delta was far worse than anything General Zhan had made Megan do. He could have skinned her alive, and the pain would have been nothing compared to the anguish she had felt when Delta slipped from her grasp. A part of Megan was torn from her when Delta plummeted into the Caribbean.
Watching an old woman shuffle down the pot-holed street, Megan fought back the oft-threatening tears. These moments of sorrow, these flashes of grief increased with every hour Delta remained missing.
Delta had to be alive. After almost three years together, and countless adventures, Megan believed with all her heart that she would feel it if Delta were dead. She had no doubt about the strength of the ties that bound them together. They were each other’s heart and soul. They had suffered the loss of loved ones, and seen their circle of friends grow. Together, they had brought down cop killers, and taken care of their best friends Connie and Gina when a psychopath threatened their lives.
Connie Rivera, Delta’s partner and best friend, would eat glass for Delta and Megan if she thought it would help. She would spend the rest of her life looking for Delta if need be. That was just how they were…supportive through it all.
Delta had supported Megan as she left the “oldest profession” in order to get her business degree. Their lives were so deeply intertwined, Megan did not know where she ended and Delta began.
Turning from the window, Megan studied the diminutive Latina who had not slept for more than two of the last seventy-two hours. Like some whirling dervish, Connie had set into motion a myriad of agencies to ensure that anything and everything that could be done to find Delta would be done.
One phone call after another, Connie had asked, yelled, and sometimes pleaded for people’s help. The American embassy was useless. After all, who really believed that drug runners from Colombia were mining for gold in the heart
of Costa Rica’s largest rainforest and using kidnapped women from all over the world? Simple disbelief created the void of assistance Connie was seeking.
The American Embassy had told them to wait until the Drug Enforcement Agency arrived to take their statements. It was all Connie could do to keep from laughing. The DEA (she believed) was owned by the cartels. Who did they think they were kidding? She wasn’t about to wait around to step into a body bag. The runaround she had received was a joke, and when Connie had left the embassy she laid out just how on their own they were. When their helicopter landed in Panama hours after Delta plunged into the sea, the Panamanians merely shook their heads and looked away, so scared were they that the individuals Megan spoke of were part of one of the most powerful cartels.
They had received absolutely no help from the Panamanian government, and, much to their surprise, were asked when they would be leaving. All the Panamanians did for them was patch up their wounds and send them back to Costa Rica.
Connie had even contacted a friend in Washington, D.C., who sadly explained to her that relations between Latin American countries and the U.S. were tenuous at best since the banana embargo had stirred up anti-American sentiments. Even her own government had failed to offer assistance, and, since then, Connie had sought help from any place possible. She didn’t care if she had to hire convicts to scour the rainforest and sea floor for Delta; she wasn’t leaving Latin America without her best friend. Period.
Even now, she was pacing back and forth with a phone in her right hand and a clipboard in the other, speaking in the clipped Spanish Megan had become accustomed to hearing from her. In a word, Consuela Maria Dolores Rivera was amazing. Fluent in five languages and possessing a black belt in karate, there appeared to be no limit to what she could do.
Until now.
Now, not even Connie’s genius-level IQ could locate Delta, and that was beginning to wear down her normally persistent tenacity. In the three years they’d known each other, Megan had never seen Connie so close to panic, and it was beginning to frighten Megan. Connie was usually so calm under pressure, but this void of answers drove her closer to the brink of terror. Staring at her friend now, Megan wondered how much time they had before Connie hit the wall.
“Gracias,” Connie said, hanging up and immediately dialing again. Holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder, Connie’s eyes met Megan’s. Try as she might, there was no hiding the fear and desperation in her eyes.
“Gotta call Gina again,” Connie said, tearing her gaze away.
Sighing, Megan nodded slightly, still watching Connie as she paced across the floor. Connie was more than Delta’s best friend; so much more. Together, those two women had shared a part of life no one would ever truly understand. More than soul mates, Delta Stevens and Connie Rivera were almost one and the same. They shared a connection that Megan could never fully comprehend, but that did not prevent her from appreciating it. They were two equal halves of something mystical, something magical, and Megan feared what might happen to Connie if Delta really were… really were… Megan shuddered at the word hanging on the edge of her mind.
“I love you. Be careful,” Connie said, hanging up the phone. Tying her waist-long black hair into a knot behind her, she turned to Megan, her face a mask of anxiety.
“Don’t tell me,” Megan said, stepping up to Connie. At six feet, Megan towered over every woman she knew.
“I couldn’t talk her out of it,” Connie said, shaking her head. “She has a flight coming in tomorrow.”
Megan’s eyebrows rose in question. “I thought you both agreed she should stay home.”
Releasing a pained sigh, Connie shrugged. The dark circles under her eyes and the weariness of her countenance explained why Gina was on her way. Connie tried to seem okay on the phone, but her voice sounded as exhausted as she looked.
“Couldn’t fool her tonight,” Connie said, lying down the bed and rubbing her face. “She heard right through me. You don’t stay together as long as we have and not know each other’s voices. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“And the baby? Isn’t flying dangerous for a fetus seven months along?”
Connie shook her head. “The baby will be fine. I just wish Gina had listened to reason. She shouldn’t come here. There isn’t anything she can do except…”
“Except hold you together, my friend. You’re starting to come apart at the seams. That’s what she’s hearing. You won’t admit it, Con, but you need her here.”
“She should listen to reason. There’s the baby to consider.”
Megan sat on the bed and held Connie’s hand. “Since when have any of us been reasonable? You’re the most important person in her life, even more so than your baby. If the positions were reversed, could she stop you from coming?”
Connie shook her head sadly. “Not a chance.” Connie barely smiled. “She made a good point that we could use someone as our home base. But she’s not, and I repeat, not going into that jungle. I don’t care what she says. Going into that goddamned jungle is out of the question for her.”
Megan squeezed Connie’s hand. “And are we?”
Connie’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at Megan. “Are we what? Going back?”
“Uh huh.”
Looking up at the ceiling, Connie shrugged, heaving another pained sigh. “I don’t see any other choice, do you?” Locking eyes with Megan, Connie reached out and squeezed her hand in return. “It’s been three days, Megan, and we haven’t turned up a damn thing. She’s out there somewhere. I know it.”
The rainforest, on a postcard or from a plane, looks like the Garden of Eden, with its multitude of greens and the vibrancy of life. The rainforest is something the primary school kids back in the states are learning about protecting. They’re shown beautiful tropical pictures and azure-blue waterfalls. To many, the rainforest is paradise.
It needs protection from logging, and its wildlife ecosystems need protection from pollution. But in reality, when poachers are hunting endangered species, when drug runners use it to hide out, and when your lover is lost in it, it is anything but paradise.
“I’ll go to hell to fight Satan himself if it means finding Delta.”
Connie nodded. “Knowing what you know of General Zahn, that’s exactly what we might have to do.”
Megan stared into Connie’s coffee-brown eyes and knew that, for all her apparent bravado, Connie Rivera was scared to death.
“You don’t think he has her, do you?”
Connie shook her head. “If he does, she’s dead.”
Megan visibly recoiled. In the three days since Delta had fallen, no one had used Delta’s name and that final word in a sentence together. Pulling her hand away, Megan stood and walked back to the window. She had not asked Connie what her heart told her; for fear that she wasn’t prepared for the answer. But now that they had decided to go back into the forest, she had to ask. She had to know. Turning from the window, Megan gritted her teeth and voiced the question she knew they had all been battling with. “Is she?”
Connie slowly rose to one elbow, not taking her eyes from Megan’s.. Part Native American, Connie believed the powers of the spirit, and she believed that her spirit would know, unequivocally, if and when Delta Stevens ceased to exist. It was part of the incredible bond they shared, and Connie would bet her life on it. She would know the instant the light no longer shone in Delta’s eyes.
Shaking her head, Connie’s sigh matched Megan’s. “No, Meg, I don’t think she is. I’d know. Delta’s alive out there somewhere, and it’s up to us to find her.”
“You think she made it out of the water?”
Connie grinned for the first time in three days. “I’m sure she’s washed up on some shore somewhere, giving the natives grief.”
Again, Delta forced her eyes open as foreign words splashed her ears like the tide on a beach.
“Mayor. Oh.” The voice sounded like it had seen the better part of a century.
“Sí. Fiebre abajo.”
A soft pair of hands lifted Delta’s heavy head and gently spooned some lime-tasting liquid into her mouth. It had that medicinal aftertaste of the syrup her mother had once forced down her throat when she had pneumonia. That medicine had given her horrendous hallucinations of breathing walls and purple monkeys. To this day, those visions were as real to Delta as any memory. She could only hope such visions could not locate her here. Wherever here was.
Delta tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on the owner of the softer, younger voice on the other end of the spoon. At least two women appeared to be caring for her, that much she knew. Delta could not latch onto any clear memories. The visions visited her often, and the effort she expended to understand them was exhausting her.
Fatigued by the effort and aided by the medicine, Delta closed her eyes and floated way before succumbing to the cloudy inner filmstrip of her memory bank.
She saw herself running to Megan, who was yelling something Delta couldn’t hear. The whirling sound of helicopter blades were like white noise. In her fevered visions, Delta pushed to reach the helicopter, but something prevented her. Outside of this vision, Delta’s breath came in ragged bursts.
One year, while playing softball in college, Delta was attempting to steal second base. Half way there her hamstring snapped and rolled up the back of her leg like a window shade. She had crumpled to the ground, incapable of standing. That was sort of how her leg felt as she leaped for the leg of the helicopter as it took off. She managed to grab the leg as the ’copter whirled off. Megan reached for her, and just as their hands touched, Megan let go. Delta rolled back and stretched her arms, her fingers clawing at the sheet.
No. Megan would never have let Delta fall. One minute, she was being pulled up into the helicopter, and the next… Delta fought the haze drifting in and out of her mind. Something had caused her to let go of Megan’s hand.
Storm Surge (Delta Stevens Crime Logs Book 6) Page 1
