Storm Warning (Assassin In Paradise Book 2)

by Jack Stroke

  Should she go in? It was possible there could be nobody home, or there could be a dozen people hanging out. From past experience these guys didn’t seem the types who would appreciate uninvited visitors.

  The fence that protected the house from the beach continued along the right side and driveway. To the left was thick coastal vegetation.

  Despite the house’s position, the beach in front remained public property. She strode along the sand until she was well past the property, looping around and approaching from the other side. There were no other houses here, only thick scrub.

  Fighting through the vegetation, she soon came to a fence at the far side of the house. If the house did have cameras, there wasn’t much chance of them being pointed in this direction.

  Amber scaled the fence and found herself on a concrete path. Peering through the closest window, the house appeared to be divided into two sections. The main living areas upstairs, while downstairs was for additional guests. Sort of like a guest house, except it was attached to the main structure.

  It had that quiet feel. No one was home.

  Amber followed the sidewall back towards the ocean. The backyard featured an incredibly lush lawn of grass and an old maintenance shed. The shed clearly predated the rest of the house, appearing out of place against the modernist concrete block.

  Following the exposed staircase to the upper level, Amber was greeted by a large infinity pool and a million-dollar view of the deserted beach and ocean.

  She moved slowly and carefully. No sign of any sort of surveillance or anyone home. Yet it was definitely worth being cautious.

  The large glass door inside was locked. It would have been relatively easy to pick if Amber had anything with her to pick it with. She had a look inside. No sign of movement.

  Heading back down the stairs, she continued circling the house. There had to be some sort of vulnerable point. There almost always was.

  Finally, she spotted something. A window. A bathroom window if Amber had to guess. It had been left open a crack. The good news was it appeared big enough to stick a hand through. The bad news was it was on the upper level and couldn’t be reached from the ground.

  Moving quickly, Amber hurried to the maintenance shed. The door was padlocked. The padlock was shiny and new. The door wasn’t. A few well-placed kicks separated the lock from the wood fairly easily.

  Inside she found an old, retractable ladder. Not ideal. She would be taking her life into her hands on this thing. Still, it was better than nothing. She crunched up the gravel driveway to below the window, ladder under her arm.

  Leaning the rickety old thing up against the house, Amber gave it a few shakes. It seemed sturdy enough. Maybe. She climbed with care. The ladder creaked and complained her whole way up.

  Getting closer she spotted two potential problems. One, a flywire screen covered the window. Two, the window was somewhat smaller than she had hoped. Even if she could get the thing open more, Amber had no idea if she would even fit through.

  One issue at a time. The screen was attached securely and didn’t want to budge. Working her fingernails under it, Amber tugged. She didn’t get it off but was able to move it enough to wedge her fingers under. She pulled, working her fingers further under and pulling harder.

  Finally, with one last firm pull, success. The screen came free. Unfortunately, the strenuous movement caused the ladder to lose purchase on the gravel and slip.

  Only slightly.

  However, this high up even a slight slip of a ladder is the last thing you want.

  26

  Amber scrambled, desperately grasping for anything, feeling her footing go beneath her.

  The ladder fell to the ground with a loud crash.

  Arm half through the window, Amber just managed to catch herself on the frame, scratching her underarm and side.

  She dangled, one arm half through the window. This wasn’t ideal. Swaying in the breeze like this wasn’t a long-term prospect.

  The ground was too far away to drop without the threat of injury.

  At least this lessened her options. The only way was in. She was going to have to make herself fit through the window.

  Hoisting herself up, Amber used her free hand to pull the window open. Reaching its maximum width, she attempted to pull her way through the small gap. It was challenging. About halfway in she panicked; she was going to end up stuck. However, with a mix of pulling and squeezing and grunting and swearing, she managed to drag herself inside. Although she did lose a good deal of skin in the process.

  Once in the bathroom, Amber paused, listening carefully. As confident as she was no one was home, she didn’t want any surprises. She went from room to room, looking for something, yet not entirely sure what. Hoping she would know when she saw it.

  The interior of the house was something else. Very modern and stylish. Amber would probably have been more distracted had she not already spent a couple of hours with Danni exploring high-end properties for lease in Port Simmons.

  The location would make a pretty good film set. There were some pretty nice spaces and the view was, indeed, to die for. The house even contained an enormous fireplace, not that anyone would have any cause to use it in this part of the world.

  The lower levels were much the same, just less so. More rooms, less luxurious. Clothes and bags scattered about. Someone was staying here. That’s about all she could tell and she already knew that.

  Amber found nothing else. No drugs or incriminating evidence or anything else. Nothing that she was after. It made sense. No surveillance probably equalled nothing incriminating in the house. Still, there had to be something. A clue of some sort.

  She made her way back upstairs. Out the back was an open-plan area, featuring the kitchen, dining and lounge area leading out to the pool.

  Running her hand along the leather couch, Amber’s eyes scanned the room slowly, not looking for anything particular, merely observing. Hoping what she was after would make itself apparent.

  Ocean View may have been a million-dollar property, but inside it was a lot like any other beach house for rent. Her gaze fell upon old boardgames. Battered copies of Monopoly and Pictionary and chess.

  Beyond that sat a smattering of dog-eared paperback novels. No genre or theme to the choices. A random selection of commercial books. As a group, too broad to appeal to anyone. Books and games weren’t much help to Amber.

  She had to make a decision. To stay or go, that was the questions. Was there something here? A clue she’d missed somehow? Should she stay and wait for them to get home?

  Even if she decided she wanted to approach whoever was staying here, being caught in the house probably wasn’t the ideal way of doing that. No. It was probably time to go.

  Approaching the corridor, Amber spied a notepad sitting on a small round table. The top sheet was blank. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the slight indentations from someone having pressed too hard when they wrote on the page that had been removed.

  Could that be something?

  Now she needed a pencil. Except the house seemed devoid of writing instruments of any kind. She pulled open drawers and searched cupboards. Finally, she remembered the games. The first three mini pencils she pulled out of the Pictionary box were broken or had no led. The fourth was blunt but usable.

  Taking the notepad, Amber lightly shaded the blank page, revealing the words the last person had written on the previous piece of paper. An address appeared. Number two, Beachfront Lane. There was also a name. Connor.

  Entering the address into her phone revealed there was a Beachfront Lane in Port Simmons right by the marina. About a twenty-minutes walk. She had all but strode by it earlier in the day. The address seemed like a good place to check out. Potentially, if these people were getting their operation up and running again, they would need somewhere to store the product. Was this the location?

  Amber tore the page from the notepad and pocketed it. After returning Pictionary to the pile of games und
er the television, she hurried for the exit.

  The front door was unlocked from the inside. A warm sea breeze greeted her in the open air. Time to go. Best not to let anyone know she had been there. That meant putting the ladder away.

  She crunched down the driveway. As she picked the ladder up from the ground, she heard an engine approach, zooming down the driveway. No time for evasive action.

  A black Jeep rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, kicking pebbles everywhere.

  Amber froze, the ladder stretching out beside her. She stared at the two occupants in the vehicle. From what she could see, the driver appeared to be wearing an old-style hat. She was willing to bet the other had a prominent scar running down his cheek.

  Well, looked like she’d found the two guys at least.

  27

  For a time, nothing happened. The two guys in the Jeep stared at Amber. She stared back. Both parties surprised by the presence of the other.

  It perhaps wasn’t quite as bad as being caught actually in the house, but standing there with the ladder under her arm, it wasn’t a whole lot better. There was no pretending her presence here was some sort of mistake. Or that she wasn’t trying to gain entry to the property. The ladder was a dead giveaway.

  Should she run? She was confident she could get away. Make it back around the house and take refuge in the vegetation on the far side of the property. It was possible she could get shot but unlikely. They would need to be excellent marksmen with super fast reflexes. The complication with running was she was holding a ladder.

  She could drop the ladder, pull out her Sig and shoot both men here and now, except that would limit any answers she might be able to extract. And again, holding the ladder made any sort of action like that tricky.

  Deciding quickly, she ignored them, continuing what she was doing.

  “Hey,” came a voice. “Hey!”

  The passenger leaned out of the Jeep, pointing a Glock at Amber. “What the hell are you up to?”

  As suspected, he had a distinct facial scar.

  “Putting this away. I don’t need it now.”

  Amber retracted the ladder on top of itself.

  “What you mean?”

  “I was going to use it to break in. The ladder. I don’t need to now though. You’re here.”

  Confusion radiated off the two guys.

  “Stop. Put that down.”

  “Okay.”

  She placed the ladder carefully on the ground.

  “What do you mean you were going to break in?”

  “That’s fairly self-explanatory I would have thought.”

  “Why?”

  “No one answered when I knocked.”

  This didn’t appear to be a satisfactory response.

  “Put your hands up.”

  Amber did as instructed. There didn’t seem to be a lot of point not to.

  Scar ambled over and frisked her. He removed her Sig, wedging it down the back of his pants. Amber bristled. She never liked other people touching her gun. She resisted the urge to split his head open. Fedora still had his gun trained on her.

  Scar pulled out the notepad page with the pencil shading, discarding it without bothering to read it or think too much of it. He didn’t notice the address.

  Next he removed her fake police ID. He held this up to Fedora.

  “Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a cop.”

  “Looks like it, but you don’t.”

  “Who are you then?” Fedora said while Scar continued going through her pockets.

  Amber decided to take a risk. “Connor.”

  28

  The men from the Jeep froze, glancing at one another.

  “You’re Connor?”

  “Sure.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Connor is a boy’s name.”

  “Maybe. It’s also a last name.”

  Scar studied the ID. “Says here your name is Jemima Johnson, not Connor.”

  “It also says I’m police, which I’m clearly not. It’s fake.”

  The two men exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Why are you carrying around a fake police ID?”

  “You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.”

  Unsure how best to proceed, the two guys led her back inside Ocean View.

  In the large family area, Amber slumped into a couch.

  “Hey. No one said you could sit down.”

  “No one said I couldn’t. Wanna play a game of Pictionary or something?”

  “No, we don’t want to play Pictionary.”

  “That’s good. Pictionary sucks.”

  Scar and Fedora lingered awkwardly. Amber stretched out in her seat.

  “Why were you trying to break in?”

  “I told you. There was no one home.”

  “So you wait, like a normal person. Or come back later.”

  “Well, if I had known you would be back so quickly, maybe I would have.”

  Scar and Fedora exchanged a look. It was pretty clear Amber was lying, yet that tiny bit of lingering uncertainty complicated everything. What if she was Connor?

  “What you want?”

  “I’m Connor.”

  “I didn’t ask your name.”

  “Yes, but I am Connor. Therefore you know what I want.”

  “How about you tell us?” Scar chimed in.

  “Drugs,” Amber said. “Heroin specifically. The good stuff. The pink stuff. You’re supposed to be selling me heroin.”

  “She’s a cop,” Scar said. He dragged her to her feet and forcefully patted her down once more, this time feeling for a wire or some sort of listening device.

  “Then where’s my backup?” Amber asked.

  Fedora flicked his head towards the front of the house. “Check outside.”

  “No backup,” Amber said, “because I’m not a cop.”

  Scar was gone for a few minutes. Now was probably Amber’s best opportunity. Situations like this were an equation. Chance of success weighed against the odds she would be killed. Fedora was holding the gun, but he was distracted. Could she take him down before Scar had a clue what was happening?

  “Anyone out there?” Fedora asked when his partner reappeared.

  “Not that I can see.” Scar said, still rushing from window to window.

  “You guys going to sell me these drugs or not?”

  They ignored her.

  “What do you reckon?” Scar asked.

  “I say we kill her.”

  “Shouldn’t we check with Razor?”

  “You really want to bother Razor with this?”

  “What if she is Connor?”

  “She’s not. She’s… what did that police ID say her name was?”

  Scar nodded, coming around to Fedora’s way of thinking.

  Not good. Clearly Amber needed more than just Connor’s name.

  “Okay. We kill her. Here?”

  “Nah, out there, behind the dunes.”

  An idea hit Amber. “Man, Lev said you were slow, but geez.”

  That got their attention.

  “What are you talking about?” Scar said, striding back over. “You know Lev?”

  “Of course I know Lev. Who do you think put me in touch with you?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Lev? No idea. I haven’t seen him for a couple weeks.”

  “Lev’s missing.”

  “No, he’s not,” Amber said, her tone making it clear how ridiculous the suggestion was.

  She didn’t feel it pertinent to add that she knew precisely where he was - in a shallow grave with Ava and two accomplices and the last remaining brick of heroin. Still, the mention of Lev’s name had the desired effect.

  “All right. Let’s go,” Fedora said.

  Amber didn’t bother to ask where.

  She knew she would find out soon enough.

  29

  All was quiet as Amber exited the house sandwiched between Scar and
Fedora. They weren’t training their guns on her anymore. Yet she wasn’t free to go either. The plan appeared to be to take her to see this Razor person they’d mentioned. Someone higher up the food chain. That would make everything easier for Fedora and Scar. It meant they didn’t have to decide what to do with Amber or figure whether she was Connor or not. Much easier for them to palm off the responsibility and decision making to somebody else.

  “Nice house, Ocean View. Peaceful. Are you all staying here?” Amber asked.

  No response.

  She pointed to the ladder. “Do you want me to put that away before we go?”

  Scar and Fedora weren’t sure. Was this some kind of trick? A means for Amber to escape?

  Fedora said yes. Scar said no.

  “Where did it come from?” Fedora asked.

  Amber indicated to the old shed. Fedora gazed at it like this was the first time he was seeing the structure. Like it had just magically appeared.

  “Leave the ladder up against the house,” Scar suggested

  The black Jeep beeped as the doors unlocked. Scar got in the back with Amber, while Fedora drove.

  “Where’s your car?” Fedora asked.

  “What car?”

  The Jeep rumbled to life.

  “So, what nationality are you?” she asked Scar. “Ukrainian?”

  No response. He was some sort of eastern European. Fedora’s nationality was indeterminable.

  “I’ve never been to Ukraine, but I hear it’s lovely.”

  Still nothing.

  “Can I get my gun back?” Amber asked.

  “Sure. Once we confirm you are who you say you are… Connor…”

  The journey was quick, Amber committing the route to memory. Challenging, because she had never seen most of these streets before, but not impossible. The majority of houses they passed appeared enormous and empty. Summer houses for the wealthy, which sat dormant 11 months of the year.