Kelly’s Justice. I lived in Vanuatu, South Pacific, for 9 years and loved setting my book there.
Blurb: Kelly normally needs no help solving international security problems, but when someone from her past damages her reputation and threatens her life, she needs assistance. Joining forces with her old friend from the Australian army, now an expert on South Pacific politics, they destroy an island drug cartel and rescue kidnapped teenagers. https://books2read.com/SuziLoveKellysJustice
Excerpt
Working in tandem, Kelly and Grant hauled their captive up and supported him as they hop-walked him back towards the shed.
“Are the kids all there? All five of them?”
“I didn’t hang around to find out,” Grant said. “You screamed. I ran.”
Back at the shed, the rest of the team had things under control. The three most mobile hostages were climbing into the van and one of the girls was being supported by a tall young man who had his arms around her shoulders and was helping her move towards the vehicle.
Kelly and Grant looked inside the shed. The last girl was being carefully moved from the dirty mattress on the floor onto the folding stretcher they’d brought with them in the van.
They rushed forward to help as this girl looked battered and bruised, though she was being incredibly brave as they settled her on the stretcher. Four of them picked up the ends to carry her as carefully as they could to the sunshine outside. As they lifted the stretcher, she gave a pained moan and held her left arm to her chest. The edges of the stretcher had folded inwards and squeezed her arm, causing all color to drain from her face, so thankfully the distance to the van wasn’t far.
Looked like a dislocated shoulder and possibly broken bones in her forearm, but her other limbs looked okay and her only bleeding was from a gash on the side of her face where she’d obviously been struck, hard and repeatedly. No clothing appeared to be ripped or missing on this girl or the others, so though they had obviously suffered physical abuse, thankfully there was no outward evidence of sexual assault.
The other four teens squashed onto one seat, leaving one free to slide in the stretcher and ensure that the injured girl didn’t need to climb up, or to sit upright. Unfortunately, island roads were made of compacted coral and were notoriously full of potholes, so the poor girl would definitely suffer on the drive back to town thanks to the rocking and bouncing of the van.
Jacky was doctoring minor injuries on the boys with antibiotic cream and dosing them with water and pain killers, but overall the three boys appeared to have suffered less abuse than the two girls. Both girls looked teary, a combination of shock and relief at having been rescued before their abductors had administered any more beatings. Or had escalated the level of their abuse.
“What are your names?” Kelly asked. Even though she’d read the briefing notes, she wanted these kids to tell her their details themselves so she could list the kid’s injuries and have a full report to send back to Marci. Their anxious families would be relieved to hear the five teenagers were all alive and safe, but would want to know every detail of their children’s injuries.
She quickly jotted a list of the kid’s personal details.
Kimberley, 18, daughter of the American senator who had requested Marci’s help. Lacerations to face. Antibiotic ointment applied and was given pain killers. Probable dislocated shoulder and broken bone in forearm and put into a sling.
Brodie, 18, American.
Aaron, 17, American.
All three American college students who had volunteered to help rebuild four schools in different villages after their mini conference wrapped up.
Ryan, 18, Australian waiting to join the Air Force.
Catrina, 17, about to start training as a nurse.
List completed, Kelly started questioning the group to try and work out who had taken them, and more importantly, why. Their story seemed to be a case of wrong place, wrong time, more than a deliberate attack and kidnapping as four out of the five had no high profile or super rich parents.
The kids had decided to spend their day off from their community work by going by boat to the town of Port Vila, the main town on the most populated island. They’d hired a car and went exploring the local villages and beaches. At a coastal village, they’d bought local food for lunch and were driving to another beach to enjoy their lunch when they’d taken a wrong turn.
By the time they’d realized their mistake and were attempting to turn their rental car around, a vehicle full of men had driven up the dirt road behind them and blocked in their car. The new arrivals had yelled lots of demands, but the teenagers hadn’t understood the language being spoken and had signaled, by arm gestures and pointing down the road, that they would drive away.
After ten minutes of total confusion on the parts of both parties, the group of kids had been forced out of their rental car and marched, at gunpoint, up the track. Using guns rather than words, the newly arrived men had herded the group into the front section of the large shed, where they’d been held captive for the past few days.
Their captors had singled out the two girls as the weakest members of the group after the three young guys had tried to bluster their way past the men and their guns and get to the road. Unfortunately, every time they’d attempted an exit from the shed or a bolt for freedom, they’d been confronted by a line of men carrying weapons and forced back into the shed.
Broken English man had targeted the two girls, battering them repeatedly with a barrage of questions about who the girls were, where they’d come from, how many kids had been with them and why only five of them had driven down this road. Doing their best to explain with broken English and mimes, the girls had tried desperately to convince their captor that they’d turned their rental car around as soon as they’d sighted the shed. And that they knew nothing about what was happening at this remote shed. They were simply tourists looking for a swimming beach. Nothing had worked. Not their mimes, broken English or their begging.
