Storm Warning (Assassin In Paradise Book 2)

by Jack Stroke

  The roads cut back in towards Port Simmons and more familiar ground for Amber, then down to the marina. About 100 yards past the last boat they turned right, bringing them to a small office building. A small, single-storey box of a place. A sign out front indicated this was the home of Cards ’n Care - Port Simmons’ own greeting card company. Or at least it was once, in more prosperous times.

  Judging from the general appearance, the space had been disused for a while, until quite recently. In a sense, the building was similar to the old shed where Amber found the retractable ladder - easy for the mind to skip over it and not notice.

  Sensible choice. Good small size business with a warehouse and loading bay.

  The only telling factor something was amiss was the sizeable guy out front all dressed in black. Similar to Scar he appeared to be of Eastern European descent, most likely Ukrainian as well. Not terribly smart, having him standing here. Dressed like that he gave the impression of a bouncer, making the place look like a nightclub exterior. Still, there was not a lot of foot traffic about, so no one to really notice him.

  Fedora parked the Jeep. They got out.

  Amber spotted an external surveillance camera immediately.

  “Don’t worry,” Fedora said. “They’re disconnected. We’re not stupid.”

  Amber wasn’t so sure about that.

  The guard nodded to the three of them as he opened the door. Just like a bouncer would.

  The warehouse floor was sunken, the door inside leading to a small platform and a set of metal stairs. At the bottom of the stairs another guy stood guard.

  The small warehouse was a mess. Boxes everywhere. Again, perfect hiding spot for drugs, in among all the chaos.

  Package strapping littered the floor, making it near impossible to move without the thin strips clicking and clacking underfoot.

  The building was open plan. About half the space taken up by what Amber assumed to be a printing press. A few offices sat off to one side. Large windows revealed them to be empty.

  A couple stood in the far corner, deep in discussion. A woman and a man. They appeared to be the only other people about. It was possible there could be others at the back entrance by the loading bay. It didn’t look like it though.

  So, the couple, the two guards and Scar and Fedora. Six in total. Amber would have felt more comfortable if she had her Sig. Six was a lot when she was unarmed.

  The woman saw them approach and strode over. She was relatively small, with a distinctive haircut - her jet-black hair shaved down to the scalp around her ears. Razor, Amber assumed.

  Deciding offence is generally the best defence, Amber strode up to the woman, hand extended.

  “Nice operation you’ve got here. Smart location. You must be Razor.”

  Razor wasn’t buying it, looking Amber up and down.

  “Who are you?”

  Amber scoffed. “Connor, of course.”

  “You’re Connor?” Razor swung around to the man tailing her. “Then who the hell is this?”

  Uh oh.

  30

  Sensing danger, Connor, the real one, attempted to pull out his gun from the front of his pants. He was too slow on the draw. Fedora had his Glock out before Connor got the chance.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He froze.

  Razor looked from Amber to Connor and back again.

  “Where’d she come from?” Razor asked Fedora and Scar.

  “I’m right here. I can speak for myself.”

  Stepping forward, Razor struck Amber hard across the mouth with the back of her hand.

  “Quiet.”

  Not deterred, Amber answered anyway. “I was at the house. Like you said. Ocean View.”

  It was a risk, but it wasn’t as though Amber was flush with good options. Razor glanced at Fedora who nodded.

  “She had a ladder. She was trying to break in.”

  “And she wanted to play Pictionary.”

  “Pictionary?” Razor said.

  A look from Scar made it clear Fedora should keep his mouth shut.

  “She had this on her.” Scar handed over the fake police ID.

  “A cop was trying to break into the house, and you brought her here?”

  “She said she’s not a cop.”

  “I’m not. The ID is fake. I’m Connor.”

  “No, you’re not,” the real Connor said, failing to realize he was winning and should probably just keep his mouth shut.

  Razor examined the ID. “Doesn’t look fake.”

  “The best ones never do.”

  Everything went quiet, all eyes on Amber and Connor. Razor took her time.

  “See, here’s the thing. I never told Connor about Ocean View, did I, Connor?”

  Connor, the real one, shook his head.

  “The plan was always to meet here,” Razor went on. “So what’s more likely? The person who met me here, like they were supposed, when they were supposed to, is Connor? Or the person breaking into the accommodation they should have had no idea about is Connor?”

  Once again, Amber fell back on the idea of confidence trumping truth. Acting in a self-assured manner to try and sell the most outlandish of lies. At the very least, confidence generally created a little doubt.

  “No. You’re wrong. You told me about Ocean View.”

  In this case her bravado didn’t do Amber a whole heap of good.

  “Told you we should have got rid of her,” Fedora told Scar.

  “Did you at least check her for a wire?”

  “Of course. No wire.”

  An unpleasant smile crowded Razor’s features. “See, I have no idea if you’re a cop or not, but I do know this. You’re not Connor.” She turned away. “Kill her.”

  “You can’t kill me,” Amber said.

  “Why not?”

  “They know I’m here.”

  “Oh, so now you are a police officer?”

  “Yep,” Amber said. “The place will be swarming with agents any second.”

  It was a last-minute, hail Mary. One which didn’t work.

  “Oh, really? Any second, you say?”

  Razor paused to accentuate the silence.

  “There you go. That’s a couple of seconds. How long would you like us to wait?”

  She paused some more, enjoying herself.

  “See, if anybody knew where you were, wouldn’t they know you were in trouble? Wouldn’t they be here right now?”

  Waiting for another second, Razor dropped the fake ID to the floor and turned away.

  “Kill her.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t care where. One of the offices. Just kill her and get rid of the body.”

  Amber racked her brain, trying to think of something else she could say. Or do. Nothing came to mind. Nothing except concern. She did her best to ignore that. It couldn’t help. Whatever, she had to do something and quick or she was about to die.

  Right here. Right now.

  What she needed was a distraction, which meant, in a way, Ben turned up at the perfect moment.

  31

  It was one of those situations which seems so incongruous the mind can’t make sense of it. Even when Amber accepted she was actually seeing what appeared to be playing out before her eyes, her brain didn’t want to believe it.

  The guard from out front appeared at the door, dragging Ben in with him. Except… Ben? How? Why? The guard yelled in Ukrainian, attracting everyone’s attention.

  If nothing else, the distraction snapped Amber to action. Ben had to be protected. She barrelled into Fedora, driving her shoulder into his chest and knocking him to the floor. The unexpected blow caused him to drop his weapon. Amber scooped up the Glock, spinning towards the entrance.

  It is never a good idea using a weapon without testing it first. The thing could malfunction or not be loaded or any number of possibilities. Amber didn’t have that luxury. Fortunately, Glocks tend to be reasonably reliable.

  She fired, puttin
g a bullet between the guard’s eyes. It skewed a little to the left, but not too bad at all.

  The guard flew backwards, missing a piece of his head.

  The two events, the guard entering with Ben, then getting shot, happened almost instantaneously, giving everyone else no time to react.

  Quickly the building dissolved into panic.

  Connor went for his gun but was too slow again. Amber put two in his chest before he had fully drawn.

  She spun around, weapon ready. Razor and Scar raised their hands in surrender. Fedora did the same from the floor.

  For his part, Ben stood there, dithering, instead of doing the sensible thing and taking cover. Or even better, bolting for the exit.

  “Alright, everybody. Just relax,” Amber said, the sudden silence engulfing everything.

  She focused on Scar.

  “Toss my Sig on the floo —”

  Several shots rang out in quick succession. Amber felt the bullets rush by her hair. None made contact. She spun around. It was the second guard. Clearly he was no marksman. Probably why he was guarding the inside of the door.

  “Hey! Stop! No!”

  Ben charged along the platform towards the guard. Brave but foolhardy. He had no weapon.

  Hearing him approach, the second guard swung around.

  Everything descended further into slow motion.

  “No,” Amber yelled.

  Too late. The guard fired. Loud and sudden. Ben fell from the platform. He hit the floor with a sickening thud.

  “Ben!”

  Amber blew off the top of the second guard’s head before he was able to get any more shots off.

  The sound of the gunshots was replaced by the scramble of footsteps. People running in every which direction. Amber dashed for Ben. In her peripherals, she could see Fedora, Scar and Razor bolting for the loading bay exit.

  She didn’t care. Ben had been shot.

  32

  Amber dodged boxes and mess, charging as fast as she could. She had to get to her godson. Was there any chance you could save him? Not likely. Amber had seen firsthand the damage bullets could do from such a close range.

  He was on the floor, very still.

  “Ben…”

  She sprinted up to him. There was no blood.

  “Ben?”

  Gingerly, he moved.

  “I’m all right,” he puffed. “I’m all right.”

  “But… He shot you…”

  “No. He missed. I jumped. Well… fell.”

  Ben cradled his left arm and winced.

  “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Amber, they’re getting away.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I’m fine. Go get them. Hurry!”

  It was tough to leave him, but the kid was right. No point letting them all escape.

  With a spike of adrenaline, Amber tore a path through the warehouse.

  “Don’t touch anything,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  There was a chance the others had simply retreated to the loading bay and were lying in wait. Unlikely though. Razor must have had no weapon. Amber had relieved Fedora of his. Scar panicked. People generally didn’t change tack for no reason. They were running.

  The rear exit deposited Amber in a concrete yard surrounded by a chain-link fence. An open gate led out onto the street. Amber dashed through.

  Looking around, she spotted Fedora running one way, Razor the complete opposite direction.

  She made a split-second decision to follow Razor. It made much more sense to go after the leader rather than one of the foot soldiers.

  Taking off down the street in hot pursuit, there was a good 50 yards between them. No point shooting now. It was an extremely low percentage shot.

  Razor was headed for the marina. Amber slid the gun down the back of her pants. Running along the open streets, waving a gun around is always best avoided if possible.

  She was fit and quick on her feet this Razor, but not as quick as Amber. The gap between them narrowed. If they kept like this for much longer, Amber would have her.

  Arriving at a cyclone fence, Razor slowed. Damn it. She obviously had a key. Amber didn’t. The spiky-haired woman slipped through the gate, sending it crashing shut and locked before Amber could make it through.

  Amber arrived and yanked on the gate pointlessly. Was there another entry point? Not one she could get to and keep Razor in sight.

  Razor lingered long enough to smirk at Amber before she kept running.

  Jumping up, Amber scrambled her way over the fence. She was fast. Not as fast as going through the gate, yet still swift.

  By the time she flipped over the top and dropped to the concrete below, Razor had regained her significant lead. She was headed down a pier towards the berths, which was either entirely moronic or she had access to a boat. Unlikely she planned to swim for freedom.

  Despite her lungs burning, Amber pushed herself to run hard. Boats were trickier to start than cars. They took longer to get moving. Amber still had the chance to catch up.

  Pain charged up Amber’s body, telling her to slow, but pain was temporary. This was what she trained for. She could do it. She could get to the boat before Razor got it moving.

  Up ahead, Razor boarded a speedboat. In seconds she was gunning the engine.

  This was going to be tight. Amber watched her detach the rope. She closed the distance between them fast. Her plan was simple. Launch off the pier and land in Razor’s boat. She pushed herself even harder, ready to leap…

  At the last second she skidded to a stop. It was too far. If she leapt, she might make it onto the boat. Just. More likely she would end up in the water.

  Razor wiggled her fingers with a little goodbye wave.

  And just like that, she was gone.

  33

  Amber drank in her surroundings. She took her time, pausing and deliberately breathing deeply. Panic and annoyance were of little use. Taking a moment here to make the right decision was vital as opposed to the first impulse.

  There were several other speedboats around. Could she take one of those? She needed something fast, preferably a boat with an electric starter.

  It was a challenge to override the feelings of concern she was letting Razor get away. Fortunately she was in Port Simmons. Her patience was rewarded when she recalled the brand new Candela she had spotted earlier.

  The hydrofoil speedboat. Perfect.

  Its owner must have been out in it that morning. It was tied up, but that was all. Ripping off the metal cover, Amber exposed the wires running to the engine, quickly identifying the starter and the ignition. The engine promptly rumbled to life under her. She untied the boat from the mooring, dragging the rope on board with her.

  At first the speed was acceptable. Soon though, Amber was able to deploy the hydrofoils, lifting the hull above the surface. No drag meant the boat moved damn fast. The Candela closed the gap to Razor’s boat quickly, bouncing over the gentle swell of the Port Simmons’ waters.

  What was the best option here? Back off a bit and follow Razor to see where she was headed? Except it would be pretty hard not to be spotted. Besides, there was no point providing Razor with an opportunity to get a weapon or backup or anything like that. Better to catch her out here. On the water.

  Amber thrust forward on the throttle, drawing her close. Close enough to see the stubble of Razor’s shaved head. She pulled out Fedora’s Glock and fired.

  Unfortunately, Razor anticipated the shot, wrenching the wheel to the side, turning her boat sharply. It was a good move. Muttering, Amber followed suit. Razor knew how to handle her vessel. No matter. Amber would get her next time.

  It took a few minutes for Amber to get herself back into position. She had the advantage of the Candela being a superior craft. Except as she approached, she was aware of her engine starting to smell. Evidently she had bypassed the cooling system in her rush to get the engine started. Given how heavily she was riding the throttle, that didn’t gi
ve her a whole lot of time until the boat died completely. She had to make these next shots count.

  Getting as close as possible, Amber watched for any tell-tale signs Razor was about to alter her course again. She did. Same move. Amber responded, not losing any position this time. Perfect. Raising the Glock, Amber pulled the trigger.

  All she got was an empty click.

  She tried again and again. Nothing. Out of bullets.

  Angrily, she tried to calculate how many times she had shot the gun. Five maybe? Nowhere near ten. It was useless though. Clearly the clip hadn’t been full when she claimed the gun off Fedora. What a fool, going around with a half-empty gun. Too bad. Why hadn’t she put a bullet in Razor’s engine? That would have at least slowed her down.

  Amber could hear a whine from her own boat now, to go with the smell. She had moments at best. Having the boat conk out and Razor get away was pretty much worst-case scenario at this point. She needed to act fast.

  Grabbing the rope from the front of the boat, she tied a loop and lassoed Razor’s outboard motor. The first attempt missed, but she hooked it the second time. The boats were now attached.

  Foolishly, Razor took the decision to go after the rope. She must have panicked. Abandoning the wheel, she grabbed for the rope with both hands, trying to dislodge it.

  “Hey. No!” Amber yelled.

  Abandoning the wheel meant abandoning the throttle as well. Razor’s boat slowed and veered right.

  Seeing what was coming, Amber had no time to do anything except react.

  She dived over the edge, hitting the water as the two boats collided.

  Already higher thanks to the hydrofoils, The Candela rose like it was mounting Razor’s boat and sliced right through it.

  Amber hit the water just as the Candela’s propeller struck the other vessel’s fuel tank.

  A tremendous explosion rocked Amber, even beneath the surface.

  Amber swam underwater for a few moments before coming up for air. When she did, she was greeted with a scene of absolute carnage. Flaming wreckage from both boats surrounded her. What was left of Razor floated face down in the water close by.