Free Ocean Kills (Ocean Breeze) by Jade Hart

Unlike Adrian Mathieu and his unknown accomplice who stole my family from me. They were next on my hunt-to-kill list.  
    My hands shook slightly as I copied down Bazeer’s business address. My hour was almost up, so I decided to check my email before calling it quits.
     
    From: [email protected]
    Date: 12 July 2012
    Subject: Are you Ocean Breeze?
    Hello,
    I am trying to find a woman. Aged twenty-four. Was arrested last night in Kings Cross, Sydney. If this is you please contact me on the above email address. It is imperative I talk to you. (regarding your file and what happened on the night of the 10 July 2012.)
    Thank you for your time,
    Callan Bliss
    Officer, New South Wales Police.
     
    Holy shit! Was this guy for real? He tracked me down? And how the freakin’ hell did he find my email? He must’ve violated a whole stack of laws to find that personal piece of information, because it sure as hell wasn't on my file. Email was my only form of contact, and only with Maurice. No phone. No Twitter. No Facebook. No online presence of any kind. It was too risky when you were in the killing game.
    To respond or not to respond? I glared at a poster of some computer game princess, biting my lip. Should I ignore this cop who seemed determined to get hold of me? Or play with him?
    Hitting reply before I could stop myself, I typed:
     
    From: [email protected]
    Date: 12 July 2012
    Subject: Bugger off.
    Ocean Breeze does not exist at this address.
    Good luck next time.
    P.S Even if she did exist, she would not want to talk to a cop.
    Good day.
     
    I pressed send before I could think, then panicked. I shouldn't have done that. He didn't know it was me. He was fishing, and I just tugged his line. At least I didn't take the bait. He’d be waiting till the end of the world before I responded again.
    Leaving the dark grotto of computers, I headed straight to McDonald's and grabbed a Fillet-o-Fish combo. With my mouth full, I planned my attack.
    Thembi was close by. Atsu Bazeer wouldn't have sold her yet, or defiled her. She was worth more to him untouched. . . or at least I hoped so. French fries lodged in my throat at the thought. What if? Don't think that. You'll save her before anything happens like what happened to you. Focus and save her.
    After my meal, I walked directly to Atsu Bazeer's office. It was located in a swanky new part of Century City. Of course.
    The foyer of the soaring sky-scraper featured sheets of glass reflecting the buildings opposite, which were bordered by countless palm trees. The security guard opened the oversized door for me. I gave him my biggest smile. Time to turn on the charm.
    Crap, I should've stopped to buy a new outfit. A low cut top would do best, and a skirt, but I unbuttoned the top of my blouse and fluffed up my chest. Tousling my hair, I pinched my cheeks, and strode toward the pretty little receptionist.
    “Can I help you?” she asked in a prissy voice.
    Would she be so prissy if she knew Atsu Bazeer sold women like her? My skin crawled.
    “Yes. I have an appointment with Mr. Bazeer. He's expecting me. What floor should I go to?” My voice was sharp but friendly. No ounce of uncertainty, or hint at the fact that it was a bold-faced lie.
    The girl blinked then tapped her keyboard. “Um, he's on floor thirty-four. I'll get someone to take you up.”
    I grinned. “Oh, no, don't worry. I can manage. Thanks so much.” Not giving her time to respond, I jumped in the glossy elevator and pressed the button for thirty-four. The ride allowed me time to check my secret weapons were easy to hand. My entire body was a weapon, since I’d trained ruthlessly in martial arts, but I kept knives on me, too. In my left bra-cup there was a switchblade. In my back jeans pocket rested a box-cutter. And in a special pouch I'd sewn into my sleeve nestled a serrated knife that caused more damage when I pulled it out than when I pushed it in. I knew that from personal experience.
    The elevator