International Incident

Book 9: Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller

by Melissa F. Miller

Genres: Financial Thrillers; Legal Thrillers

Synopsis

“Probably Miller’s best thriller yet.”

A woman’s scream. A muzzle flash. The crack of a gun.

Sasha McCandless knows she’s just witnessed a murder on a nearby fishing boat. But when she reports the crime to the captain of the luxury cruise ship she’s sailing on, he dismisses her as a hysterical woman.

And just like that, Sasha and Leo’s adults-only, romantic cruise turns from rest and relaxation to an unauthorized investigation into a crime committed in the Gulf of Thailand, outside the jurisdiction of organized law enforcement.

Sasha and Leo will take matters into their own hands to bring down a violent maritime crime ring, but ripples from the incident will follow them home like waves on the ocean.

Release date: June 21, 2016

Publisher: Brown Street Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

Chapter 1

Tumpat, Malaysia

 

Mina lowered her head and kept her eyes fixed on the dusty ground, staring hard at a point just in front of her bare feet. She concentrated on not shaking.

 

This is it, she thought. The last hurdle.

 

She had cut her long, thick hair very short, cropping it close to her skull, and had stolen the neighbor boy’s clothes from the line outside his hut just before leaving her village. The baggy shorts and thin, worn T-shirt hung on her frame. She just had to trust they obscured what curves she had. But still, she thought it best to blend into the crowd as much as possible, avoiding any close scrutiny.

 

The man from the manning agency barked his orders quickly, first in Malay and then again in Burmese, for the benefit of the somber men who huddled together off to the side, apart from the Malaysians. The instructions were deceptively simple. They were to line up to have their teeth and hands inspected. Then they would be separated into two groups: those who would be rejected and those who would have the good fortune to move on to staff fishing boats leaving from Songkhla, across the border in Thailand, in the coming days and weeks.

 

Before she shuffled into line, Mina took a long, centering breath. She had to get a spot on a boat. There was no money left. Her younger sisters’ bellies were empty, and their father was too sick to work—closer now to joining her mother in death than to life. She had two options. The better of the two, by far, was to trick her way into a position on a male-only fishing crew, which the men in the village spoke of with open awe. The fishing crews made unimaginable sums, or so she’d heard.

 

If she was rejected from the crew, the other option was grim. She would have to make her way back to the village and grow her hair long again, then trade her tattered boys’ clothing for a tight-fitting dress and heavy makeup and head for Kuala Lumpur to find work in “guest relations” at one of the clubs, satisfying the physical urges of tourists. A cold shiver of disgust ran along her spine and she stiffened as she fell into line behind the tall, talkative man from the bus.

 

She watched from under her eyelids as the agent for the labor company walked along the line. Most people were sent to the left to await the truck to take them to the port city in Thailand. A few were cast off to the right. Most were muttering softly, cursing their luck.

 

One old man, turned away—likely because he looked too frail to do the work—was weeping, begging, and waving bills. “I have the staffing fee. I have the fee,” he shouted.

 

The agency man snapped his fingers and called the old man over. He fanned out the money and counted it, then nodded and jerked a thumb to the group to the left.

 

Mina hid a smile. She’d heard that most workers didn’t have the staffing fee. This, in itself, was not a problem. The agency would front the money, and the crew member could work it off. But her father had given her his blessing to take what little money remained in the blue and white porcelain bowl that sat near his sleeping mat. She had the fee. She could buy her spot.

 

You can do this, she assured herself as she straightened her spine trying to project an air of vigor and strength. You’ve got this.

 

* * *

 

Port of Singapore, Cruise Centre

 

“You’ve got this,” Connelly whispered in Sasha’s ear, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze as they walked up the gangway track to board The Water Lily.

 

Sasha met her husband’s concerned eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. “I know.”

 

The rational part of her brain recognized that it was ludicrous to need a pep talk to embark on an eight-day, seven-night cruise through exotic locations in Southeast Asia, but rationality couldn’t trump the reality: she missed her babies.  And something behind Connelly’s smile made her think he missed them just as much as she did. After all, the cruise hadn’t been his idea, either.

 

The vacation had been a gift. A surprise arranged by Sasha’s legal partners, purportedly because McCandless and Volmer, PC had just finished a phenomenal fiscal year. But Sasha knew Will Volmer well enough to know that his idea of a year-end bonus was a basket of fruit. Maybe a ham. Assuredly not a luxury cruise—and definitely not one that included international airfare for two, no less. No, the trip had Naya’s fingerprints all over it—Naya had not only cleared Sasha’s trial calendar, she’d arranged for Sasha’s parents to babysit Finn and Fiona for the duration of the cruise. She herself was taking care of the cat and dog.

 

When Sasha had pointed out that Naya, as the firm’s junior partner, had worked just as many hours as Sasha had, Naya and Will had countered that no one else had put up their billable hours while parenting newborn twins. Sasha suspected that the babies were only part of the reasoning behind the gift. She and Connelly had had a difficult year, to put it mildly. She thought he still needed to deal with the fallout from having found his father. In any case, her hesitation about being singled out had faded somewhat when Naya rolled into the firm’s parking lot in a sparkling new Mercedes in place of her ancient Honda Civic.

 

As Sasha handed her cruise card to the broadly smiling crew member at the top of the ramp and waited for the woman’s handheld scanner to beep, registering her card, she made a mental note to chat with Will about the firm’s finances. She hoped their year really had been that extraordinary and that Will wasn’t losing his well-deserved reputation for frugality.

 

“Welcome aboard Mr. Connelly and Ms. McCandless-Connelly,” the woman—Julia, from Sweden, according to her name badge—said warmly as she handed back Connelly’s card. “We set sail in just about three hours. Please, explore the ship and pop into our welcoming reception in the cocktail lounge. I’ll have a porter deliver your bags to your suite when your rooms are ready.”

 

“Fantastic,” Connelly said, as he tried to slip her a folded bill. As cruising rookies, they’d gotten an earful of advice from their cruising-enthusiast friends and relatives, all of which could be distilled into this one rule: when in doubt, tip.

 

Julia apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. She recoiled and pulled her hand back as if the twenty were a spider. Connelly shot Sasha a questioning look, and she shrugged. She had no idea what the problem was.

 

The hostess smoothed her face into a pleasant expression and leaned in close. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Connelly. I can’t accept a gratuity.”

 

Connelly wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Sasha said in an attempt to rescue her husband from what was quickly becoming an awkward social encounter.

 

“If you don’t mind my inquiring, is this your first time cruising with us?” Julia asked.

 

“It’s our first time cruising period,” Sasha told her.

 

Understanding lit in the woman’s ice blue eyes. “Ah, I see. And you didn’t peruse our materials before selecting our cruise line for your maiden voyage?”

 

“To be honest, no. The cruise was a gift.”

 

“Oh, what a lovely gift! In that case, the two of you are in for quite a treat. Sacred Lotus differentiates itself from our competitors by offering a truly pampering, luxury experience where your every need is anticipated and your every wish fulfilled.”

 

Even though Sasha harbored a strong suspicion that the words were taken directly from a marketing pamphlet, the hostess somehow managed to imbue them with such emotion and authenticity that they rang true. She found herself nodding along as Julia continued. “Part of that experience is having a full staff available to assist you without the expectation of receiving any gratuities. In fact, tips are strictly prohibited. Sacred Lotus compensates us very generously, I assure you.”

 

“I see.” Connelly slid the twenty into his pocket with a sheepish grin.

 

Julia smiled back at him. “It’s an understandable mistake. But the gratuities policy is only one of the ways in which we distinguish ourselves. We also offer all onboard amenities and activities at no extra fee. For instance, you can avail yourself of unlimited services at Chamomile and Chrysanthemum, our award-winning spa, take cooking classes with our master chef, or perhaps visit the pottery studio for lessons. We like to say both the horizons and your opportunities for adventure are limitless on The Water Lily.” She wrapped up her spiel then gestured toward the lounge, where several moneyed-looking couples were already circulating, champagne glasses in hand.

 

“Just how good was last year?” Connelly murmured in Sasha’s ear.

 

No kidding.

 

As Sasha and Connelly headed toward the reception, the hostess called after them. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Connelly?”

 

They turned back to her. “Yes?”

 

She trotted away from her station to meet them halfway between the ramp and the entrance to the lounge.

 

“I’m afraid there’s one more thing I forgot to mention,” Julia said apologetically.

 

“Oh?” Connelly said.

 

“Yes, Sacred Lotus also prides itself on offering our guests a truly rejuvenating, relaxing experience. We promise to take you away from the troubles and nuisances of your daily life. To deliver on that promise, we need you to leave behind your responsibilities and worries. So, unlike our competitors, we do not offer unlimited free Internet access. We don’t even offer Internet access for an additional fee. We believe the ability to remove yourself from daily life is priceless, worth far more than constant contact is. We don’t want you to be checking your emails, answering questions from your stockbroker, or reading unsettling news. This is your escape, your respite. So I’m afraid you may not have realized that you are about to go off the grid, as it were.”

 

Beside her, Sasha could feel Connelly eyeing her with some concern. She may not have done her usual level of research about the cruise line, but she’d known not to assume she’d have reliable email access. She’d told her parents and Will and Naya to contact Connelly in an emergency. For all Julia’s cult-like insistence on the value of cutting themselves off from the outside world, Sasha assumed the cruise ship’s systems couldn’t block whatever technology powered her husband’s government-issued Bat-phone.

 

Julia was still looking at them with a worried expression.

 

“Of course, I understand.” She flashed the woman a smile. “We do have infant twins, though. I assume when we’re docked, we’ll have some ability, however limited, to make phone calls?”

 

Julia’s forehead relaxed. “Oh, yes,” she assured them. “Either through your phone carrier or ours, you will be able to check on your little angels when we’re not at sea. And, of course, in the event of a true emergency, a family member or the authorities could reach you through our captain’s communication system.”

 

Sasha imagined navigating this part of the conversation was likely the nastiest part of the woman’s job. People felt obliged to be reachable. Rich, important people, who were clearly Sacred Lotus’s target demographic, believed they had to be accessible all the time.

 

Not her. Nobody called up their lawyer to chitchat. If someone was trying to reach Sasha McCandless-Connelly, Esquire, they had a problem, a grievance, or a complaint. She was happy to let the world’s issues melt away for an entire week. As long as she could check in on Finn and Fiona and the pets, she was more than willing to sail off on a wave of blissful ignorance.

 

Connelly nodded at the woman and put his hand on the small of Sasha’s back to pilot her toward the cocktail party. “Thanks for the head’s up, Julia. I hope we’ll see you around the ship.”

 

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Mina felt the Vietnamese man watching her. Man was a bit of an overstatement, she corrected herself. He was more of a teenaged boy, about her age. She’d heard the others call him Binh.

 

She kept her eyes on the fishing net she was mending and tried to control her heartbeat.

 

Living on the boat was more stressful than she’d expected it to be. The crew shared cramped living quarters. They slept, during the day, in hammocks that hung haphazardly in the small room below deck where they also stored supplies and ate their meals. She passed her days in constant fear of being found out for a woman.

 

She peeked up at Binh. He was still watching her with open curiosity on his face. Her hands began to shake, and the large, dirty needle passed into one of the open sores that had developed on her palms. She inhaled sharply and shook her hand as if that would take the sting away.

 

Everyone on the crew had similar wounds. They never healed because they never dried out. The cuts filled with saltwater and fish slime and developed festering infections.

 

Binh flicked his eyes around the cramped quarters, confirming that nobody was paying attention then, with a resigned sigh, he put aside the knife he was using to gut the small silver fish and returned the fish to the bucket. He walked softly on his bare feet; in a flash, he was crouched beside her, speaking in low Vietnamese.

 

She shook her head and answered in her broken Thai, “No understand.”

 

He gestured for her injured hand. She hesitated and gave him a long look. His brown eyes were sad and honest. They reminded her of her father despite the difference in age.

 

He spoke again. It sounded like he was trying to speak her language, but his Malay was so garbled, she couldn’t make it out. She knew what he wanted though.

 

She held out her palm, still throbbing with pain and infection, and he took it in his own cool, slim hand. He bent his head low and turned her hand this way and that, inspecting the cut. With one smooth, fast motion he reached into a hidden pocket in his raggedy, dirty shorts and produced a small, round tin like a magician. He twisted it open and rubbed white balm over the wound. Her pain began to ease instantly. She made a small moue of surprise and looked up to meet his eyes.

 

The tin had already vanished, no doubt stowed safely back in his secret hiding place.

 

“Thank you,” she said first in Thai and then in Malay. She wished she knew Vietnamese. He’d shown her the first small kindness anyone on the ship had extended her and she wasn’t sure he understood her gratitude.

 

He blinked then nodded. “Binh.” He smiled and pointed at his chest.

 

“Omar,” she answered, giving her father’s name and trying to keep her voice low in a coarse, masculine whisper.

 

He held her eyes for a long moment then said in unmistakable Thai, “Girl.”

 

A shiver of shock ran through her body. She felt herself stiffen. She began to shake her head from side to side. No, no, no.

 

Binh shook his own head and raised his hand. “I won’t tell.”

 

Her head fell back against the rough wall and she went limp. She blinked back tears of relief. He was going to keep her secret. She managed a small smile and jabbed her thumb at her chest. “Mina.”

 

He might have said something more, but just then the man who served as second-in-command to the captain clattered down the stairs and began banging on the walls with his stick. It was the signal that it was time to fish.

 

Mina and Binh scrambled to their feet and fell in with the rest of the crew, jostling their way up the stairs. It didn’t pay to be last above deck. The last two men up would be swatted with the stick and tasked with swimming out into the inky ocean to pull in the nets—a dangerous job in the dark of night. Already one man, a Cambodian named Arun, had gotten tangled in the unseen nets and pulled under. Mina knew that his bloated corpse would bob in her nightmares about the sea the next time she closed her eyes. She threw her elbow into the back of the man ahead of her and wriggled in front of him.

 

* * *

 

“Sasha,” Connelly called, waving at her from across the room.

 

She nodded to let him know she’d heard him and excused herself from the conversation with the retired minister and his delightful librarian wife. As she crossed the parquet dance floor, she reached out and snagged a bacon-wrapped scallop from a circulating waiter’s silver tray. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed. Then she smiled at her husband and his new friends—a deeply tanned man with a shock of silver hair and a pale, blue-eyed woman not much taller than Sasha herself.

 

“Doctor Eleanor and Mister Oliver Kurck, this is my wife Sasha McCandless-Connelly.”

 

The woman juggled her plate of cheese cubes into her left hand and extended her right. “Call me Elli. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Sasha shook the woman’s hand and noted that it was surprisingly calloused, given her expensive gown and their surroundings. “The pleasure’s all mine. What kind of doctor are you—if you don’t mind my asking?”

 

Elli smiled. “I’m a professor of social justice. I teach at the University of Helsinki.” She looked down at her hands. “I just finished up some field work teaching my students how to build tents for refugees. I think I need a manicure.” Her English was flawless and lightly accented.

 

“That sounds like important work,” Sasha said. “And, I wouldn’t worry about your nails. I’m told there’s a spa onboard.”

 

“Ah, yes. This is a very posh ship, isn’t it? The cruise was Oliver’s idea. When he retired from investment banking, he insisted we travel through the exotic parts of Southeast Asia that I never get to see in the course of my research. So, here we are.”

 

Sasha turned to the woman’s husband. “Retired? Congratulations.”

 

His voice boomed. “Thank you. Yes, after twenty-seven years at the Nordic Investment Bank, I’m ready for some adventure. I hear from your husband that he, like me, is enjoying his freedom but you’re a hard-charging law firm partner.”

 

“More like exhausted mother of twins,” she said with a wink.

 

Elli nodded. “Our children are grown, but I remember those years.” She leaned forward, and Sasha caught a whiff of spicy perfume. “Just remember: the days are long, but the years are short.”

 

Sasha was about to respond when Connelly caught her elbow. “If you’ll excuse us, I see the captain.”

 

She cocked her head at the abrupt interruption.

 

Oliver took it upon himself to explain Connelly’s weird behavior. “Captain van Metier likes to introduce himself to each of his guests. He’d stopped by to see us while you were chatting with that couple from one of the Dakotas. He made Leo promise to bring you over when you returned.”

 

“North Dakota,” she interjected then continued, “Well, it was so nice to meet you both. I hope we—”

 

“Oh, don’t worry you’ll see plenty of us,” Elli promised. “The husbands have already been making plans. I hope you weren’t expecting to have Leo all to yourself during this trip.”

 

Sasha smiled. “I know better. Connelly’s a social butterfly. I’ll just be glad to have him to myself in bed.”

 

The couple laughed politely as Sasha and Connelly walked toward the captain. Sasha’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she realized belatedly how she sounded.

 

She turned to Connelly. “Oh my gosh—I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I just meant it would be nice not to wake up to feed someone or change a diaper in the middle of the night.”

 

“I know. But you should have seen their expressions.” He laughed.

 

Her flush deepened and she poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “Better behave. The captain might put you in the brig.”

 

The captain was straight out of central casting. Craggy, weathered face, erect military bearing. When Connelly entered his line of vision, he nodded and turned away from the officer he’d been speaking with and pivoted to greet them.

 

“Captain van Metier,” Connelly said, “I’d like to introduce my wife, Sasha McCandless-Connelly.”

 

The captain smiled and gave a formal little bow from his waist as he reached for Sasha’s hand and clasped it between his own instead of shaking it. “Ah, Mrs. Connelly, how nice to meet you.”