Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze)

by Jade Hart

  “What do you mean, Bliss?” Maurice asked, his tone sharp but interested.

  “An intervention for Ocean's obsession.” An idea bloomed. Yes. If we worked together it could work. “Help me distract her. She's injured. She obviously needs to recoup. Tell her she needs to stop teleporting for a while.”

  Maurice chuckled. “She won't agree to that. Even though it hurts her, I've never been able to stop her from going somewhere where she feels she's needed. She isn't like us, Bliss. The urge to save others is too deep. I often wish there was something left in her other than constant guilt that she can't save everyone. Every child she sees is her brother. Every parent is hers. As much as I wish there was a terrified girl in there who just needs some affection, I don't know if there is.” He paused before adding, “Don’t think I’m trying to turn you away; I want you to continue to pursue her.”

  My heart stopped beating at the thought. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I don't want you to be hurt. You have feelings for her. And I wish you could snap her back to life. But—and this kills me to say as I love Ocean as my own—I think you’ll end up being left behind with nothing but a memory. Which makes me selfish, as I want you to try, even knowing that.”

  “And if I don't want that to happen?”

  “Then I’ll help you with your plan.” A pause. “If you do something for me, too.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Do what, exactly?”

  “Who do you work for? I've researched you, Callan Bliss, and you were fired from the Sydney Police. How did you know where Bazeer was?”

  My lips clamped shut. I hadn't signed any agreement saying I couldn't disclose who I worked for, but it wasn't public knowledge. Could I trust Maurice? Hell, Ocean loved the guy. That was good enough for me. “I work for the Korean Central Intelligence Agency. I have better contacts now than the Sydney Police. Why?”

  “I'm going to email you two pictures. I want you to find the men they depict.”

  “Who are you, Maurice? Why do I get the feeling you aren't just an old man living in an ancient house?”

  A chuckle. “That's because I'm not just an old man living in an ancient house. But I'm not going there with you. Find the men. And you may just get your wish about keeping Ocean.”

  My interest level exploded. “Are you going to tell me who they are?”

  Maurice sighed, “I think you can guess. Can’t you?”

  The way he sounded told me everything I needed to know. “They're the Breeze family killers?” Maurice didn't say anything, but I sensed a nod. “Fine. I'll get started straight away. In return, will you help me with my plan?”

  “Fire away, old chap.” Maurice's voice was suddenly lighter. As if he was relieved he'd passed on his burden.

  I snorted with laughter. Ocean was gonna kill me. “I want to kidnap Ocean and force her to go to Bali. If I organize the tickets, will you get her on the plane?”

  Silence.

  Finally, Maurice answered, a smile in his voice. “I'll get her on the plane if you let me organize the hotel.”

  I wanted to hug the old man. “You got yourself a deal.”

  Chapter Thirty-two: Ocean

  I awoke with a sharp pain in the back of my throat, and the horrid tang of antiseptic up my nose. My eyes were scratchy and raw, as I blinked around the room.

  Hospital.

  What was I doing in freakin’ hospital?

  I coughed, gagging on something obstructing my airway. A tube was down my throat. Claustrophobia sunk fangs of panic into my system. Needles pierced my hand and white starched sheets mummified me, holding me prisoner against the bed as I fought for breath.

  A loud beeping grew incessant, keeping pace with my galloping heart.

  Get it out of me. Needles. Tubes. Get it out!

  I couldn't breathe—the tube obstructed everything. Black spots danced in my eyes. Help!

  Footsteps slapped on the linoleum, and a nurse with a black afro zoomed into the room. “Hey, hey. It's okay. Don't panic.” Her movements were fast and efficient as she turned off the beeping and smoothed my forehead. “If you calm down, I'll take the tube out of your throat.”

  My eyes were stretched wide as I struggled to calm myself. I nodded. Please take this thing out of me!

  The nurse pulled some tape off my cheeks and slowly pulled the pipe. It scraped my insides, a snake of plastic pressing on my gag reflex. The second it was gone, I gasped, grabbing my throat with both hands. I screamed. “Holy hell, my shoulder.” Not that my voice worked—it came out more like a frantic bark.

  “Oh, no. Don't move, sugar. You've been in surgery. Your shoulder will be very tender.”

  Tender? It felt as if a hacksaw sliced through sinew and bone. Shit, was this how my parents and brother felt when the chainsaw butchered them to death?

  Blistering tears escaped my eyes, and the nurse hushed me. “There, there. You're okay. Relax, dear.”

  How could I relax when I suffered through images of my brutalized family? It was horrid, wretched, agonizing.

  Bustling around my bed, taking notes, reading charts, the nurse smiled. “You are one lucky little lady.”

  Sniffing, I focused on her and not the past. How did I end up here? What happened? I tried to remember, but everything was a dulled. The last I remembered I was at Maurice's, emailing Callan.

  Callan.

  Tears threatened to fall again. I wanted him. I wanted him to hold my hand and tell me I was okay. Where was he?

  Wasn't I supposed to be at his house? Or wait. Had I already been? What day was it?

  I turned to ask my friendly nurse, but she disappeared. I frowned. Where'd she go?

  The noise of a door clicking closed made my heart rate spike again. A stern man appeared in my field of vision. His black curly hair gleamed against ebony skin, eyes sharp as a sniper’s.

  My nerves sky-rocketed. I squirmed—wildfire erupted in my shoulder.

  Escape. Leave. I called my power, but it only gurgled. No strength to free me. My stomach was empty. I was weak as a grasshopper.

  The man noticed my concern. “Calm down. I'm only here to talk. Relax.” His tone was low, in an attempt at soothing.

  I didn't buy the nice bedside manner. I gritted my teeth and shuffled upward using my one good arm. “Who are you?”

  My eyes never left his as he stole a chair from a small table, and screeched it across the floor. I cringed as he sat close, taking out a pad and pen.

  Ignoring me, he asked, “What is your name?” His eyes pierced mine. He definitely wasn't a doctor.

  “Name?” My brain whirred. I shook my head. “No questions until you tell me who you are.” I crossed my arms, wincing. Pain wrenched a moan from my lips. My eyes dropped to my shoulder which was swathed in bandages. A tiny bloom of blood doused the middle. My eyes snapped shut and memories crashed over me.

  Atsu Bazeer.

  The twins.

  Stabbed.

  Killing Bazeer.

  Blood. Lots of blood.

  My eyes latched onto the man. He smiled. “My name is Inspector Raine. Do you know who you are?” His eyes told me he followed my awakening.

  I was sure memories swam on my face. I couldn't lie about what happened. The only thing I would lie about was the sheer pleasure I felt killing bastard Bazeer. Time to be a demure damsel in distress and play my part flawlessly.

  “Do you remember?” Inspector Raine asked, licking the nib of his pen, before poising it expectantly.

  I nodded and swallowed; my throat burned. “Yes. I remember.” My voice was not my own. I swallowed again, trying to lubricate it.

  “You were found yesterday in hotel suite 4817, thanks to guests who heard a scuffle. You were on death's door due to a severe lack of blood. Three men were seen fleeing the scene.”

  Wait! The twins. “The men, were they carrying two blonde girls?”

  The man nodded. “Yes. An Arab man was seen driving away with two children.”

  I wanted
to scream. Again! I'd failed those twins again.

  I wasn't fit to live. Why didn't I just run and teleport them to safety? Why was I so obsessed with killing Bazeer? I left those girls to suffer so I could satiate my blood-lust. I needed that kill. Craved it. I was selfish—insane—to think I could have that and Callan, too. There was no future. No hope. Because I wasn't prepared to give up my vigilante ways. Not for him. Not for Maurice. Not for anyone. And I wasn’t prepared to let Callan find out what a horrid person I was turning into.

  A single tear escaped my burning eyes. I sniffed. My relationship with Callan ended before it even began.

  Inspector Raine shifted. “There, there. You're safe, girl. But I do need to ask you some questions.”

  I couldn't speak. I stared at the white sheet covering me.

  The inspector asked, “How did you end up in that hotel? Was the machete yours? Did you know the man you killed?” His eyes fell to his notes. “A man named Atsu Bazeer?”

  Think, Ocean. Think of a story. But nothing too elaborate. Lies were hard to keep track of.

  “I was there because—” Cogs moved slowly in my brain, complete sludge.

  The door sailed open and another man entered. This one moved with sharp steps, his black suit crisp against Asian skin. “You don’t have jurisdiction over this woman.” Stern black eyes fell on Inspector Raine. “Out. Now. This is no longer in control of the Durham police.”

  Inspector Raine’s mouth went slack; he stood. “Excuse me. I don't see any credentials. Who are you?”

  “Danny!” the Asian man yelled.

  Instantly, the door reopened and another man appeared. This one was blond, greying at the temples. “Yes, sir.”

  “Debrief the inspector here. I need to speak with this woman.” He looked at me. My stomach shriveled. “Alone.”

  Crap.

  Inspector Raine took his time leaving, but eventually I was left with the man in the black suit. I sucked in a breath. “What do you want?”

  “Your name is Ocean Breeze. Correct?” His voice was clipped, no nonsense.

  Tensing, I nodded. “Yes.”

  He quirked his eyebrow. “Are you sure that's your real name? Don't lie to me.”

  I wanted to throw a switchblade at him. Every single freakin' time. “I'm not lying. Who are you?”

  “That is none of your concern. We were tasked to arrest and shut down the operation of Atsu Bazeer. We had a team standing by, only to have our attempt at arrest thwarted by a whippet of a woman who killed him.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I won't speak until my lawyer is present.” I hoped Maurice had a good lawyer I could borrow.

  The man waved his hand. “You're not in trouble. I've arranged the paperwork so you killed in self-defense.” He cocked his head. “That's correct, is it not?”

  What was going on here? He was letting me go? They caught me red handed. Brain, catch up. “Yes. Entirely.”

  “Just as I thought. Well, you're free to go.” He stormed to the exit.

  “Wait! You said you were tasked to shut the sex operation down.” The man stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Did you? Did you stop it?”

  A slight smile. “Yes. We rescued a multitude of girls and arrested a number of men who were currently on the premises.”

  My heart jerked. The twins. Were they safe? I opened my mouth to ask. I had to know if it was over, if the entire thing was dismantled and the men who bought women would be found and caught, but the man slipped through the door and was gone.

  The nurse bustled back in with a tray full of food. My stomach growled. Saliva pooled in my mouth. “Well, they were a bunch of fun weren't they?” She fluffed my pillow after placing the tray on my lap. Food, oh, how I love you.

  My hands fumbled with the plastic lid and my face fell. A bland sandwich, an apple, and a muesli bar stared up at me. Ugh. Would it be enough to fuel my power to leave?

  The nurse prattled on. “Don't worry, sugar. Your husband called. He's arranged transport for you, so you can return home to your loved ones.”

  My skin pricked, and I froze. My mouth hung open, full of stale sandwich. Husband?

  The nurse frowned at my expression. “You don't have amnesia do you?” Her dry hand pressed against my forehead, worry etching her face. “I'll go get the doctor.”

  I grabbed her hand, swallowing my bite in a rush. “Husband? Who claims to be my husband?”

  She swallowed, shoulders hunched. “Ah, that's right. I wasn't supposed to tell you.” She dropped her eyes. “He said to call him Callan. I'm sorry if I was wrong.”

  Callan? Calling himself my husband? This confusing mess had his signature all over it. Why tell people I was his? Why link his name as my next of kin? A fuzz of happiness settled over me at the thought that he had such strong feelings for me, but then understanding dawned. He did it just to keep tabs on me! Crap, that made me mad. I was not his property! Hot temper oozed in my veins. If he was here right now, I’d give him an earful.

  That sneaky conniving bastard.

  Chapter Thirty-three: Callan

  I kept myself busy. I couldn't think about Ocean in a hospital. Guilt and anger pounced on me every time. It was my fault she was hurt.

  Banishing her from my thoughts, I threw myself into work—drowning myself in searching for the two men Maurice emailed me.

  The likenesses were drawn by a sketch profiler in 1996. How Maurice got hold of them, and not the police, heaven only knew. But he also knew one of their names. Adrian Mathieu. Innocent name for a not-so-innocent man. A man who killed and raped.

  My mobile rang three hours after I spoke to the hospital.

  “Callan speaking.”

  “I thought you want to know. KCIA agent called. Your lady friend left hospital. She safe now.”

  “Tell me how you tracked her, Kim. Tell me this instant.” My body tensed, furious.

  “We have means. I show you soon. I also think you want to know how raid went on Atsu Bazeer, yes?”

  I did the right thing informing the KCIA of Bazeer and his sex trafficking. The moment I emailed Kim with my findings, it was a tsunami of motion. Things were organized in a flash. Arrests organized. Raids confirmed. Precision clockwork. An operation that should've taken months to pull together, took the KCIA hours. I wanted to be part of the raid, but the flight times would’ve meant I was too late. Even though I held a serious grudge against Kim at the moment for spying on me, I loved how streamline the agency was.

  “Tell me. Did it go to plan?”

  “Attack on buildings a success. Sixty-five girls collected. Some drugged, some badly beaten. Most of them used, broken. One warehouse was active whore-house. Girls given cubicle, shot full of some chemical and left to serve many men. Thanks to you, it shut down, Callan. You did good job.”

  My stomach was a shriveled mess, but I was happy it was over. I was ready to let bygones be bygones with the whole spying on me with heat sensing technology thing. I couldn’t stay mad at Kim when he cared as much as I did. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “It not over totally. We have many spread-sheets with numbers and customers for men who bought women from Bazeer. Ongoing mission to search and free remaining girls. You help, yes?”

  My forehead furrowed. “Of course I'll help. Actually, perhaps you can help me?”

  Kim laughed. “Yes. Yes. I help. What?”

  “Adrian Mathieu and an unknown accomplice. Help me find them.”

  “The men who killed your girlfriend’s family?”

  What the hell? I might have huge respect for this little Korean man who taught me, but he needed to start being less secretive. I growled, “Kim. I swear to God. How do you know that and why didn't you share it with me? How long have you known?”

  He chuckled. “Keep pants on. We only know for few hours. We find hard to track Ocean Breeze. You found special one, Callan. Perhaps you introduce us, yes?”

  Animalistic protectiveness made me snap. “No. Flat out, no! You don't go near her you
understand.” Alright, a tad over the top there, Callan. But I couldn’t stop the need to keep her a secret. She was mine. Holy crap, I’d lost it.

  Another irritating laugh. “I no idea you feel so strong. Okay. We keep distance. For now. I call when I find men. No worry, Callan. We keep her safe, too.” He hung up.

  “Ugh.” I ran a hand over my face. I had no right to get so defensive. But Christ, he was annoying. I didn't remember him being so frustrating in Bali. Then again, he always did push my buttons—mainly to get a rise out of me to make me work harder. I needed to calm down.

  Since I now knew the search for Ocean's rapists was under way, I finished booking plane tickets. One from England for her. One from Sydney for me. Leaving in—I checked the time—four hours.

  It gave me time to push my bed to the side, access my secret compartment under my floorboards, and remove just under ten thousand Aussie dollars’ equivalent in South African rand. Keeping it hidden, I headed to the local bank.

  A few strange looks and a bit of paperwork later, I deposited the cash into an account in Ocean’s name. I couldn’t do the entire balance as anything over ten thousand was flagged by the federal police. I’d have to trickle the total over time. I’d give the access card to Ocean in Bali.

  Back at home, time ticked slower as I itched to leave. In a few short hours, I’d be with Ocean, and she’d be forced to have a serious discussion with me. I needed to know exactly where we stood. No more games. No more spontaneous attacking me with sex. She and I would finally talk.

  My laptop pinged with a new email.

  From:19388-3843@encrypted.com

  Date: 20 July 2012

  Subject: Reference OB145DUR

  At 1100 hours, I followed orders to arrange free passage for Ms. Ocean Breeze recuperating in Life St Mary's hospital.

  She is well enough and coherent. Although suffering from a stab wound to the shoulder.

  Upon reading her medical file, I can inform you she has received multiple stitches to her left shoulder. The operation was successful and she will maintain complete use of her joint. She also received a blood transfusion type A+ and was cleared to eat shortly after I left. The paperwork on Ms. Breeze has since gone missing from Life St Mary's hospital as per your request.