The Mac Ambrose Series: 1-3 (Boxed Set)

by HN Wake

  But safe from what? Josh, what the hell are you involved in?

  She was very reluctant to enter bungalow 3.

  Mac stood on the wooden porch of bungalow 3 for a long time, listening to the birds and the ocean. The key fit smoothly in the keyhole and the heavy keychain—a piece of driftwood dangling a thick rope—swung back and forth. The knob turned easily.

  She hesitated. What if her worst suspicions were correct? What if the Samoan had been here before her? What if there was a pool of blood on white tiles?

  The cold fear returned, creeping through her veins. Not again, please, not again. And please, not Josh.

  With a push, the door creaked open on salted, rusted hinges. Compared to the beating sun, the room was dark. Her eyes acclimated as she listened to the silence, and stepped inside.

  There was no body. She let herself exhale.

  The bed was made with white, course sheets. A simple wooden chair was tucked up under a basic desk. The floor had been swept. The wastebasket by the door stood sentry and empty.

  She stepped quickly through and peeked into the bathroom. It was also empty.

  The tension in her shoulders lightened.

  The bathroom had been cleaned. A toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste sat upright in a glass and one grey towel hung neatly on the rack. She felt the toothbrush: the bristles were bone dry.

  It was all just a little too close to home. She closed her eyes for a moment to regroup and gain some objectivity.

  It didn’t work: the memories rushed in.

  The Four Seasons hotel room was expansive and gorgeously decorated in muted grays and taupe. Recessed lighting cast a warm glow across a plush, grey carpet. A huge window overlooked the Harbor. It was as silent as a vault.

  Josh shut the door behind them and took her in his arms. This kiss was intense, deep, and demanding. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He bent down, grabbed her up under her knees, and carried her to the bed. It all became a blur.

  The bed was firm.

  The sheets were soft.

  His hard chest tasted of chlorine and salt.

  His hands were direct and demanding.

  He was infinitely familiar with a woman’s body.

  He entered her slowly and took his time.

  She threw her forearm across her mouth, bit into her flesh, and screamed around her teeth. Her climax came quickly, her body convulsing.

  Josh’s own climax shuddered in response.

  In the aftermath, he held her close as their breathing returned to normal. She admitted to herself he was a masterful lover, that he must have studied women’s anatomy. A part of her also wanted to believe that this proved his sensitivity, understanding, and goodness.

  She leaned up on his chest and gave him a deep, gentle kiss. She uncoiled out of the bed, dropping her feet on the soft carpet. The scent of their lovemaking tickled her nose.

  She padded across the long room. Kowloon’s lights cast a glow against the sheen on her skin.

  From the bed, he said, “There’s a toothbrush in there for you.”

  She stopped and turned, a grin growing. “Did you buy it for me?”

  “Specifically.”

  He had thought of her. He had planned for her. She felt safe, wanted. “That was a good guess that I’d be coming up here.”

  “The odds were very much in my favor.”

  She laughed a warm, authentic laugh.

  The shock of the cold marble against bare feet in the unfamiliar bathroom made her suddenly feel exposed. Vulnerable, she glanced at her small breasts and the patch of hair between her legs then stared at her flushed face and the stubble-rubbed skin on her neck.

  Who was this wanton woman? The rational chess master fought to regain control.

  But tonight, with Josh Halloway, she wanted so badly to feel safe in her nakedness. She wanted to trust him.

  Staring back at her reflection she nodded, whispered, “You’re okay. You’re valuable.”

  She unwrapped the new toothbrush and used his toothpaste. She washed her face.

  She imagined what it might be like if they let this blossom into a relationship. She had an image of them holding hands and walking to brunch in the morning. She would take him to the restaurant with the best Hot and Sour soup. She would show him where she got foot massages and they would sit together, giggling like kids as the masseuses ground into their feet.

  As she padded back through the hotel room she bent to pick up her clothes off the floor, but they were already draped on the armchair.

  She looked over at him with an inquisitive grin. “What are the odds you knew I like to tidy up?”

  He was grinning. “Pretty high up there. Mac, I’m telling you, I get you.” He lifted the sheet to expose his nakedness, his readiness. “Come on back in here, my pet. We’ve got some business to attend to.”

  She felt completely desired.

  In bungalow 3, she sat down on the bed and let the ambience sink around her. It was an efficient, utilitarian room. But it had charm. The wood floor was shined despite being varnished years earlier. The rug was a kilim probably purchased through the trading route with the Middle East. A fan circled overhead, disturbing the air slightly.

  Why were you here, Josh?

  There was only one flat, pillow on the bed. Two empty glasses sat on the desk. The drawers of a large teak desk were closed.

  What did you do here, Josh?

  She dropped down to her knees, lifted up the bedspread, and checked underneath. Nothing. She opened the desk drawers. Nothing. She lifted the rug. Nothing. She checked the armoire again, lifting the folded shorts and T-shirts from the top shelf and shaking them out. Nothing.

  She sat back down on the bed. She imagined Josh wanting to hide something in this room. The amoire was huge and appeared heavy. She stood, curled her fingers around the back of it, and hefted it away from the wall with all her strength. It moved an inch. She peered back in the newly created space along the wall.

  There. A worn, blue backpack had been hidden behind the amoire. She pulled it out and emptied its contents: a fake passport, three credit cards in the same fake name, a cheap cellphone, and a roll of dollar bills. It was an emergency escape pack.

  The cold mist moved quickly through her.

  If Josh had disappeared intentionally, he would have taken his emergency pack.

  She repacked the backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She took photos of the entire bungalow and closed the door behind her. The hot sun did nothing to warm her skin.

  Josh had gotten himself a hideaway hotel room in this sleepy town and then had disappeared unexpectedly. There had to have been foul play involved. So now she knew the answer to “what happened?” The new question was “who?”

  She pulled out her Agency Blackberry.

  Langley, VA

  “I’m going to be late tonight,” Odom said into the phone.

  His wife answered, “I made quiche.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What should I do?”

  “With the quiche?”

  “Yes. Quiche isn’t good cold.” Short, staccato in her Vietnamese accent. “I throw it out.”

  “No, don’t do that.” He attempted to placate. It was a useless ritual performed regularly. “I’ll eat it cold.”

  “You won’t like it.”

  “I’ll eat it cold. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t worry.”

  He knew that to be true. She resented. All the time. She resented being so far from her family. She resented him for bringing her here. She resented him that they didn’t have children. She resented not having friends here she could confide in. She resented him his distance, his long work hours, his slavish dedication to his job and the self-worth he got from his slow but steady rise in the Agency.

  He knew all this, and he did nothing to ease her burden. He didn’t know how to ease her burden and if he had thought about it, he would have to admit that after twenty years of her resentment, he didn’t w
ant to make her life better.

  Anyway, where would she go if she had enough courage to leave him?

  “It must be important,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Whatever you work on, late this week.”

  “It is.”

  “But you can’t tell me.”

  He remained silent. This argument came up at least once a week. It was a broken, repeating record between them.

  She said it again. “You can’t tell me.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “No, I can’t talk about it.”

  “Fine. I leave quiche out.” She hung up.

  On his screen a message arrived from Mac. “Something has happened to Josh. I found his operational base. He left behind his emergency pack. It’s not looking good. Foul play is involved.”

  He pushed his fingers up under his glasses and pressed them against his eye lids.

  12

  Miri, Sarawak Province, Malaysia

  On her return to Miri, Mac found the expat bar on a small side street that led away from the ocean and the Luak Esplanade promenade. It was a busy street, but not a high-rent street. Stalls and kaki limas (three legged push carts) were being set up as the sun set over the town. Lights were coming on in the stalls and restaurants. People were strolling home after work. Many were sitting down to noodle bowls. Kids had changed out of school uniforms and were running, kicking soccer balls.

  The bar was called the Hidden Cove. It had a nautical theme. Fishnets were strung across the ceiling and buoys hung on the walls. The Rolling Stones was playing in the background. A few young expats sat along the teak bar.

  She had guessed this would be Hector’s hang out. It was the type of place you advertise a scuba operation not far from your shop. She had been right.

  He was on a stool at the bar, chatting with the bartender.

  She sat down lightly next to him.

  He blinked up at her. “Vivian! Hi! How you doing? How’s the Marriott? You ready for another dive?”

  Hector introduced her to the bartender.

  She smiled at Hector then at the bartender, ordered an Asahi Japanese beer. The bottle was cold, the silver label slick with ice water. She took a long sip; the trip to the Miri Beach Resort had been tiring.

  She shifted in her seat toward Hector, said, “So I went out to Miri Beach Resort. Josh Halloway wasn’t there.”

  Hector glanced at the bartender and lost his smile. The look they shared was of fear. Neither said a word. The bartender shuffled away.

  “Seriously,” she said. “I need to find him. I’m starting to worry about him. He’s a good friend.”

  “How do you know him?” Hector kept his gaze forward, toward the mirror behind the bar.

  “We were friends in KL. I did some work for his oil company two years ago and then we just became friends. I haven’t heard from him in weeks and that’s unusual. He’s not answering his phone or his email. And I know he was out here.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, pretended to be on the verge of tears. “You may be the last person to have seen him. And I may be the only person in the world looking for him.”

  Hector shook his head, reluctant to tell her the story. Finally, he said, “Josh has been coming here for over two years. We are friends. That weekend I had a few new divers. One of them was a young man, an American student. He was on a student year in a clinic here in Miri. We did probably six dives that weekend. Back-to-back both mornings and then a single dive later.”

  She was patient.

  “That’s a lot of time on the boat together,” he said. “The med student and your Josh got on. Really well. I would say, exceptionally well.”

  This sounded like a lead. Her voice was slow, her question non-threatening, “What did they talk about?”

  “I’m not sure, but about meeting up after the dive trip. Like in a few weeks or something.”

  She was on high alert. What was Hector talking about. Why had he held back this information? “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  Hector glanced toward the bartender who was studiously ignoring them. “I was scared to tell you.”

  “Why?” She held her breath.

  He looked down, afraid to speak it, and whispered, “That med student, the American…he was killed last week.”

  Her heart rate spiked. “What? Last week?”

  Hector nodded.

  She leaned in conspiratorially, urging him to trust her. “What was his name?”

  “Dominick. I forget his last name.”

  She squeezed Hector’s hand, stood, and said, “Thank you.”

  Back at the hotel she ran an internet search for the murdered American med student. A short article on an English news site, Malaysiakini.com date a week prior covered the incident.

  US Medical Student Stabbed in Miri

  Two nights ago in the town of Miri, a medical student was killed in a street fight. According to police, Dominick French, and a friend had been enjoying drinks at a local bar when a scuffle broke out inside the bar. The two young men helped the bartender break up the scuffle. Two hours later, the two foreigners exited the bar. It appears Dominick was ambushed just as he reached his home. His body was found the next morning by a housekeeper inside the yard’s fence. According to the autopsy report, Dominick died from multiple stab wounds.

  The article was accompanied by a large photo of a smiling, young white man.

  Josh Halloway had befriended the medical student Dominick French.

  Then, French had been stabbed to death.

  She had an unpleasant flash of the Samoan and could not shake an icy premonition: had Josh met the same fate, but his body remained hidden?

  She searched the internet for more information on Dominick French. He was twenty-five years old and from Chicago. He had arrived in Miri a year earlier and worked in a clinic outside town. She searched for the name of the friend mentioned in the article. She found it ten minutes later.

  The friend, Raphael Costa, worked at the same clinic.

  The medical clinic, a square cement-block building painted bright white, had a wide porch lined with plastic chairs. It sat back off the road behind an open trench running with sewage. A wire fence encircled the square plot of land.

  The taxi dropped her off outside the gate. Ten kids stood guard on the other side of a small bridge spanning the trench. They had open smiles and bright innocent faces.

  She smiled as she approached. “Good evening.”

  In unison, they replied in a sing song, “Good evening.”

  “How are you?”

  With varying degrees of confidence, they replied, “Fine.” They each gave her big toothy grins.

  Kids are the same the world over, she thought.

  Up along the porch, the door and front windows were open to catch the evening breeze. Inside, a standing fan clicked back and forth from the corner of the front room. The walls were painted a bright yellow, in an attempt to make a clinic more inviting. The nurse at the small reception desk looked up and motioned her into the back room.

  Mac found him packing boxes. “Raphael?”

  Raphael Costa was wiry and small. He had kinky black hair and smooth, olive skin. His eyes were recessed and the skin around them was darkened, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep. He held out his hand. It was a limp handshake that accompanied the introductions.

  She kept her tone subdued, somber. “My name is Vivian Maier, I’m with the South China Morning Post out of Hong Kong. I was out on holiday last week and ran across the story of Dominick in a local paper. I’m so, so sorry about what happened.”

  “You’re a reporter?” His look was curious.

  “I’m a reporter for a paper out of Hong Kong.”

  “The South China Morning Post?”

  “Yes. Can we chat for a bit? Maybe out on the porch?”

  Thirty minutes later, Raphael ended his story. It had been the same one she read about in the paper. Dominick French had been assaulted outside
his home. Multiple stab wounds.

  She reached out to Raphael, “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  He hung his head, gave it a small shake. “We heard they found his assailant.”

  “What?” She held her breath.

  “Yeah, a few days ago.” His eyes were dazed. “They arrested him, but then he got out on bail or maybe they did not have enough to hold him. It was kinda weird. Because the next morning they found him dead in a ditch.”

  The coincidences were piling up. “What?”

  “Yeah, like totally weird. Almost like some kind of local vigilante justice stuff. I mean, to let him out and then almost immediately he was murdered. It’s just suspect.” He looked around. “I’m not into whatever is going on here. It’s just way too involved and I don’t understand it all. I told my parents, I just didn’t feel safe here anymore. I’m too young, you know? To die out here, so far away from my family. I have a younger sister. She’s thirteen. She is heading into middle school in the fall. I want to be there to protect her. That’s what older brothers do: we protect our young sisters. I talked to the university yesterday. They said it was fine for me to cut my assignment short. They are sending me an airplane ticket.”

  What else did Raphael know? She encouraged him to keep talk. “When do you leave?”

  “I think it’s in like two days. I told the clinic yesterday. They are fine with it. Everybody is fine with it.”

  “So can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure.”

  “Dominick went diving a lot - out of Miri. The Monkey Divers.”

  He finally broke a small, faint smile. “Yeah, that was awesome. We found them like eight months ago. We went, I dunno, once a month? It’s awesome out there.”

  “You went with him?”

  He nodded.

  She smiled sympathetically at him. “I was just there.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, it’s amazing.” She paused. “So were you with Dominick there last month?” She hid her eagerness. She wanted him to believe she was just getting background information for her story.