Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) (16 page)

“That's not the only thing,” Wade said. He perched himself on my desk, pulling a notepad from his pocket. “I think Emily Snow was abducted by sex traffickers here in Australia.”

“What?” My interest spiked and I snatched his notes. I couldn't make out his short hand. I gave it back with a raised eyebrow. “Explain.”

“When I accessed the missing girl's file it was linked by the system to other disappearances.”

A gush of cold air disappeared down my shirt. More girls missing? Could they be where Ocean was? How was it possible that Aussie women were ending up in South Africa?

“What are the dates on the files?” My voice was low and I was already thinking ahead: I could create a program to source every missing girl with certain characteristics. If there was a pattern, it might give me the evidence I needed.
Stop right there, you've just been fired!
My chest deflated. I was no longer able to help Wade.

Mark continued, “There are a few missing girls dating back five years. Emily went missing four months ago, but there are currently seven girls missing—or at least that's all the computer has found. You could find more though, I'm sure.”

“Can't. Been fired, remember?” I threw my stapler and other stationary items into the box. “I'm sorry, but you're on your own.”

He stood. “You're not going to lie down and not work, Callan. You've probably already got other prospects.” He chuckled when I shot him a look. “All I'm asking is that you help me on this. I'll share what I know, if you can do your twinkle-finger-fancy-pants thing. Deal?”

I eyed him. What he asked was risky. He could get into some serious shit if he was caught. “Give me what notes you have. I'll see what I can do.”

Wade smiled smugly, tucking his notepad into my box. “I'll be expecting a phone call soon, Bliss.”

At least he didn't look too upset. I hoped he was partnered with an intelligent cop who treated him well. He deserved it.

Once I finished packing, I left discreetly. I didn't want to advertise my dismissal. It was kind of embarrassing, but freeing too. Who would’ve thought being fired would make me happier than being employed?

My mind drifted to thoughts of missing girls and sex rings. I stopped myself before I was held captive and unable to think of anything else.

I needed to get home and complete three things first.

Number one: Ocean Breeze was due an email. She needed to put me out of my misery. Was she still alive? She better damn well be.

Number two: A certain Maurice Green was going to receive a nasty phone call. I wanted to know the man who allowed Ocean to put her life in danger.

Number three: Mr. Kim was going to give me a job. A job that allowed me to fight crime my way. The
ruthless
way.

Chapter Sixteen: Ocean

I
t was ten in the morning, but the house still slumbered. It seemed everyone was a night-owl and an alarm clock was forbidden to beep until well after sunrise. Unfortunately for me, I was starving. My ribs protruded and my collarbone was so sharp I thought it would poke through my skin at any moment. My peacock-phoenix necklace was a thread of fire against my aggravated neck. If a gram of gold could hurt, I doubted I could handle much else.

I desperately needed food. With each teleport, calories were depleted. I lost four kilos last night from teleporting four girls. That was higher than usual. A kilo per girl—either I used a lot of power, or I was weakening. I was trapped unless I ate.

I shuffled, light-headed and weak, to the bathroom. The night was a blur. All I knew was I narrowly escaped the clutches of Atsu Bazeer, and slept as if I were dead.

After my third attempt to shower, washing Bazeer's dirty paws off me, I dressed in a flowing lemon sundress I found in the cupboard, and slipped on some jeweled flip-flops. I allowed my hair to air dry and held my breath as I tried my door. Did Clark lock it?

It opened.

Paranoia raised its head, adrenaline spiked, but I casually made my way from my room, heading downstairs. My back was poised, my face a picture of confidence. I draped myself in the act that I was allowed to roam free. I was not a girl to be sold. I was a business associate of Mr. Bazeer's.

My act didn't stop my nose from wrinkling at the sight of the place. The house was worse in daylight. The terrible portraits burned with morning sun, illuminating the bad paintwork. The drapes, which looked rich and elegant by candlelight, were faded, the tie-back tassels un-threading like spidery veins.

I had no idea where I’d get food, but I made my way past the dining room and into a massive chef's wet dream of a kitchen. I smiled. People were awake here.

Three dark-skinned women lifted their heads, eyes flicking to one another.

“It's okay. I'm an employee of Mr. Bazeer's. He said I could get some breakfast.” I grinned.

A bright smile erupted on the girl closest to me. She was missing her two front teeth. I guessed she was only a few years older than me. Was she a sex slave or untainted? Was it abuse that ruined her teeth, or a bad accident? I could never stop looking at people, trying to uncover their secrets. Whether they needed to be saved or not.

Stop it, Ocean. You can't save everyone. Focus on the four girls left upstairs. Then kill bastard Bazeer.

“Go sit. Sit,” the girl said.

I was ushered out of the kitchen and pushed into an embroidered chair at the long dining table. The woman disappeared and I was lost in a sea of cutlery and loneliness. Luckily, I spotted a local paper on the sideboard and entertained myself until the door swung open and the gap-toothed lady returned with a platter of food.

My eyes bugged. Saliva pooled in my mouth.

Mountains of food.
Delicious
salvation. I’d devour it all in preparation.

“Enjoy.” She smiled.

“Thank you very much,” I said to her retreating back. Not waiting for a second, I tucked in. French toast. Fried rice. Eggs. Bacon. Fried bread. Some bean mixture. I inhaled it all. Followed by watermelon, honeydew, and grapes. I wanted to moan. It tasted amazing.

With every mouthful, my molecules hummed with energy. My shrunken, skeletal figure was replaced with curves once again. I didn't know how my body could be wrung so dry, yet stack on the weight just as quickly. But I was thankful I could replenish so fast. I just wished I could get fat so I had reserves. 

The platter was soon squeaky clean and my stomach couldn't hold another morsel. If I had any decency I would’ve been embarrassed by my piggishness. But this was how I survived. Tonight I’d lose another four kilos.

Worry wrapped a cold band around my heart. Would I have enough energy to finish my rescue mission?

The same woman came into the dining room; her mouth fell open. In her hands was a tray of freshly baked rolls.

Standing, I pinched a few. They were deliciously warm.

“You ate all that?” Her eyes rounded.

I laughed. “You're an excellent chef. I blame you for making me eat so much.”

A crooked smile bloomed and she shone with pride. “I can make you more, if you like?”

The idea was tempting, but I’d be alright. I took an extra roll for good measure. “I'm okay. But thank you once again. It was wonderful.”

As I made my way back to my room, I shredded the rolls and ate them. They were a sweet bread, glazed with honey. My fingers were sticky by the time I was encased in my cell.

Even with all the food in my belly, I couldn't help stressing. What happened if I couldn't save all of them?

Don't think about it. You will.

The house was still hushed with sleep. Should I risk going to the girls now? Crap, Clark took my master key. I wouldn't be able to access the rooms.

Nerves made me pace. Unable to deal with the black thoughts circling in my head, I did a search of the room, looking for anything that could help me.

Rummaging in the dresser, I found an iPad. How many of these things did Bazeer own? They were scattered around his premises like placemats. I doubted he wanted me online. I may be his employee, but he treated me more like a prisoner. Wasn’t he concerned that I might call for help? Or was he so cocky he thought no one could touch him?

Too bad for him. My fingers itched to log on. I went to the bed and leaned against the pillows. I would email Maurice. He deserved to know I was close to saving Thembi. I didn't want him to worry.

My heart did a weird flip as I logged on to my account and noticed Callan's name heralding a new message. An image of him at the cop station last night roared back to mind. He was so sharp and reeked of authority in his uniform. His shaggy, surf-bleached hair at odds with the crispness of the law he represented. The way he touched my chin—the spark that flew between us. Why was I so drawn to him?

Ignoring those thoughts, I opened my first email. Maurice beat me to it.

From:
[email protected]

Date:
14 July 2012

Subject:
Be safe

Hello My Dear,

I hope you are well, and things are progressing how they should. I don't know how long you will be. I hate not knowing how you are. However, a young man called and told me about a sex trafficker in South Africa. Sounds like you are on target. I won't ask questions. I will only send my prayers and love.

Be safe, my Sweet Girl.

Love, Maurice.

What did he mean a young man called him? What young man? He couldn't mean. . .
No!
Callan wouldn't go that far. Would he? And how would he know I kept in touch with Maurice?
By reading my emails of course.
That low-life bastard!

My fingers shook with rage when I opened the next email.

From:
[email protected]

Date:
14 July 2012

Subject:
You are in trouble.

Dear Ocean,

Three things:

1.
       
I called your guardian, or friend. I found him by accessing your emails. I won’t apologize for this infringement on privacy as I'm worried out of my brains. Where are you?
Who
are you?

2.
       
I've never seen anything like your arrival yesterday. You were a walking cadaver. How did you lose so much weight? Where did that blood come from? So help the bastard who touched you. And yes, that is a threat.

3.
       
That girl you dropped off? She is currently on a detox program and we have managed to get a name out of her. Emily Snow. She’s from Melbourne, so you did right bringing her to us.

Get in touch with me. Otherwise I’ll hunt you down like you do with those monsters you're messing with. I need to see you again.

P.S. I have almost 170,000 Aussie dollars here in South African rand. I've taken custody of it. If you want it, come and get it.

Callan.

So many emotions fought for a place inside me. I shivered with waves of disbelief, amazement, gratitude, and an unwanted surge of lust. How could a man, who knew nothing about me, get me? How did he know I would respond to a challenge? Come and get it? Fuck, of course I would. That money was mine, fair and square. Or rather, it was bribery for Clark.

This guy drove me nuts! How could I feel so connected to a stranger already?

Letting my answer mellow, I responded to Maurice first.

From:
[email protected]

Date:
12 July 2012

Subject:
Don't fret.

I'm safe. Don't worry. If everything goes to plan tonight I’ll be home in fourteen hours. If I'm not, things have turned for the worse. You know whom I'm dealing with. You’ll know what to do.

I love you.

See you soon.

To anyone else, that might be a heart attack-inducing email. But Maurice was a tough cookie. I tried to keep what I could from him, but this situation. . . well, it could go either way. I wasn't deluding myself that tonight might possibly kill me—either saving those girls, or by murdering Bazeer. However, I was wary of killing. The marks only seemed to bloom when I took a life. And I very much wanted to take a life tonight.