Lifesaver in a Bikini: The Cameron Series, #0

By Angelin Sydney

Lifesaver in a Bikini is the prequel to the Cameron Series.

This action-filled, high-intensity, romantic thriller will take you to the edge of your seat. Definitely unputdownable from the first chapter to the last.

When beautiful, sassy ballistics expert Queen Gomez finds herself thrust into the middle of a murder mystery, the media hails her 'the lifesaver in a bikini'.'

Her hunky husband, New York SWAT Officer Giorgio Gomez, tells her to stay in the crime lab and let the detectives handle it. She wouldn't listen. For her, the truth is out there, and she must seek it.

Now, fearless Queenie is in a world of trouble. G is going to have to put his life on the line to save the woman he loves more than Lego.

As a matter of fact, the mystery had started with Belle. A forensic accountant who got in the way of a sociopath's global criminal enterprise.

Enter handsome Australian SAS Captain Bryce Mabo Cameron, and sparks between him and Belle fly. About the gamine beauty, he sums it up best: 'I know why you're in hot water. You ask too many questions.'

As the personal tragedies mount, it's up to them, especially Queen, to solve the mystery and catch the madman before the game gets too rough to play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Massachusetts Books
• Release date: Oct 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781386190325

Angelin Sydney

Before becoming a full-time author, Angelin Sydney was one of the most prolific contributors to fanfiction and fictionpress where her compelling style of story-telling had strong followings. She was a journalist for a daily business paper in the Philippines. Since moving to Australia many years ago, she has had numerous incarnations. She was a banker, insurance seller, housing loan broker, home-stay mother to hundreds of international students, small business operator, casual kitchen hand and a nanny. She’s really been around. Her most consistent role, however, is being a mother to four wonderful people. Sadly, one of them has gone ahead, leaving her to write stories to help others to heal, laugh, hope, and continue to dream. In all honesty, the only thing active about her is her imagination. It is as fertile as the rice fields of the Philippines where she was born. About Her Stories They are original, funny, swoon-worthy, and thrilling to the core. She’s the self-styled queen of romantic comedy and romantic thriller. Follow her on Twitter: @Angelin_Sydney and Instagram: writingangel

Book preview

1: Shot Fired!

QUEENIE CAME OUT OF THE BATHROOM dressed in a white strapless bikini. White always accentuated her year-round golden tan, a genetic blessing passed down from a distant Caribbean ancestor. Most people in their right mind, indeed the male of the species, would have dropped everything just to look at the brown-skinned beauty. Sadly, her husband of a year and life-partner for three was not one of them. She supposed this was what’s referred to in the vernacular as ‘being taken for granted’.

He was at the table fiddling with Lego, building his Star Wars fiefdom, on a day predicted to be sunny with cool afternoon breeze and a chance of evening rain. She sat in front of him yet didn’t receive an acknowledgment of any sort, like she wasn’t even there. She resigned herself to the fact that whenever he was engrossed with something, he suffered from tunnel vision. But she wasn’t the kind to give up easily either. She gripped his hands.

‘G, look at me.’

Finally, he looked up. ‘You look marvellous,’ he said, smiling, then just as quickly returned to his project.

Her eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened. Unwilling to accept defeat just yet, she cupped his face to get his full attention.

‘G, let’s go to the beach. Come on, please.’

He made a face, which she jokingly palmed away.

Who would have thought that a grown man who serves with New York’s elite police team plays with Lego to unwind?

She couldn’t complain though because she’d known that well before she’d said: ‘I do.’

‘I’m always out in the field,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘Today, I just wanna stay home.’

Right there, essentially, was their main issue.

With his SWAT team, he was often out apprehending bad guys while she was mostly in the lab nailing bad people to their crimes. So, on their days off, he was keen to stay indoors, and she wanted to be out and about.

She entertained the idea of staying home to be with him for all of two seconds. At any rate, staying home wouldn’t guarantee they’d spend quality time.

Not when he’s like that, she thought matter-of-factly; and, since when did my personal happiness hinge on his availability? I had lived a perfectly happy life for twenty-eight years before he came along!

That settled it. She went to the bathroom to finish preparing. After a couple of minutes, she came out wrapped in a yellow soft cotton Balinese sarong with kaleidoscope prints of seashells and starfish in reddish-brown colouring. She’d tied her shoulder-length shiny black hair into a pigtail.

She padded softly across the room to pat their canine kids, Lily and Moppet, on the heads.

Four-year-old Lily, a Labrador retriever, towered over Moppet, their three-legged golden retriever.

One glance at their food bowl and she realised G hadn’t even bothered to feed them. Her blood pressure rose. She debated with herself whether to raise the issue and clobber him on the head, but they hardly saw each other these days, so the last thing she wanted was to have a domestic. This was the first time in three weeks she was not seeing the back of him, so she decided it wasn’t worth a stoush, not today. Deep breaths.

The dogs joyously wagged their tails as she filled up their food and water containers. Arms across her chest, she watched with amusement as Lily and Moppet devoured the food like there was no tomorrow. Kneeling on the floor, she gave each of them firm back rubs; they showed their appreciation by nuzzling her face and neck with affection. Right then, she made up her mind to take them to the beach for playtime. Casting a sideways glance at G, who was busy making a Merchant One space vessel, she said, ‘We’ll leave as soon as you guys are done eating.’

She went about slathering coconut-scented sunscreen all over her face and body, then put on a pair of Roman sandals that enhanced the small of her ankle–not that her husband noticed.

He was now in the process of starting an A-Wing Fighter.

She didn’t want to worry about anything but her dogs, so she took nothing of value, not even a towel; her sarong could serve the same purpose just as well. The only accessory she wore was a watch fitted with a tracking device, a gift from G who due to the nature of his job was overly protective.

Glancing at the wall clock, she decided they best leave now as it was already seven in the morning. Moppet, being thick coated, didn’t do well in extreme heat. She grabbed the bottle of sunscreen and a wide-brim straw hat from the stand. Opening the door, she said to the dogs, ‘Let’s go...’

She was on her way out when Moppet barked at her and then at G. Rolling her eyes; she said to Moppet, ‘Okay, just for you.’ She walked back over to her dearly beloved husband to kiss him goodbye.

‘Bye, be careful,’ he said, then returned to what he was doing.

She smiled when she noticed a just-completed A-Wing Fighter.

Anakin Skywalker would be so proud.

The distance from the house to the beach was close to four miles. Being physically fit, she could run it in just over half an hour. The canines were even faster at full speed, but they would never leave her side. It was a familiar sight in the neighbourhood to see her jogging sandwiched between Lily, who often took point, and Moppet just behind. But there would be no running today; just a knee-friendly brisk walk, enough to get the heart pumping and break a sweat.

The neighbourhood was still quiet, with most of the residents enjoying weekend sleep-ins; only newspapers strewn on the front lawn indicated someone has been up and about early. It didn’t take Queen long to reach the esplanade of South Beach, South Staten where the views never failed to lift the spirit of all comers. It was her favourite beach in all NY.

Enticed by the beautiful weather, fitness fanatics were already crowding the beach. Athletes ran on the sand; swimmers splashed in the sea with their body and paddle boards, and people shadow boxed on the grassy knoll.

Ambling slowly across the park towards the beach, they heard the familiar tinkling of the ice cream van’s musical bell. The dogs bolted towards the colourful van with a giant gelato cone on its roof as it stopped at its usual spot.

This is G’s fault, Queen thought, shaking her head. He always buys treats for them and now they feel entitled.

The heavyweight, grey-haired ice cream man smiled warmly as they approached. Many in the community had regarded Wilson as an institution, and he doubled as the de facto tourist information helpdesk. After thirty years in the same spot, no one knew the place and its people better than him. He climbed out of the van and greeted them by name. ‘Hello Lily, hello Moppet, hello Queen.’

‘Hey Wilson, how are you?’ she said as she caught up with her babies in front of the van.

Wilson beamed at her, wrinkles bunching at the corners of his eyes.

‘I’m good. You’re a real sight for sore eyes.’

He hugged her in a fatherly way, then leant down to pat the dogs.

‘I haven’t seen you guys in a while.’

‘Been very busy. I’m doing a different job now,’ Queen replied.

‘I know, G told me. CSI, huh?’

Wilson went back inside the van and started scooping ice cream into two bowls without being asked.

‘Sorry ... Not today Wilson,’ said Queen. ‘I didn’t bring money, so no ice cream for them.’

He looked down at the dogs with his mouth downturned, sympathetic to their plight. The canines stared back with pleading eyes, tugging at his heartstrings. Feeling sorry for the dogs, he said, ‘No, they get treats.’

She knew the battle was lost, so she agreed on one proviso, ‘I’ll pay you next time I see you.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, waving her off.

‘Wills ... Unless you accept payment, they’re not getting any.’

He set two bowls of ice cream on the ground and told the canines, ‘Your Mom is a real toughie. And what would you like, Mrs Gomez?’

‘Go on then,’ said Queen with a bright smile, ‘the usual, please!’

There was no point denying that she too was dying for an icy treat. ‘The usual’ meant two scoops of passion fruit flavoured gelato.

They chatted and caught up with their latest news until the dogs licked the bowls clean, at which point Queen bade him goodbye and herded Lily and Moppet with her towards the beach.

The azure water was very inviting. She untied the twist of her sarong and spread the soft fabric over the sand to use as an improvised Yoga mat. She stretched her muscles from her neck to her calves before entering the water.

The sea was too cold for comfort, but after battling the surf for just a few minutes, her muscles started to burn stored fats, converting this to energy and warming her up in the process.

Lily and Moppet played in the shallow, running in and out of the water, shaking their thick coats of fur, and showering everyone unfortunate enough to stand close by.

An hour later, the sandy beach filled with sunbathers, young couples, and then hordes of teenagers. Later in the day, parents with kids in tow would be arriving, and Queen intended to be gone by then. Children and two big dogs tended not to mix–in the eyes of protective parents, not that she blamed them.

It was tempting to stay longer, but the temperature had soared far higher than the weather bureau’s forecast of eighty-two-degree Fahrenheit. Thinking of the dogs’ welfare, she whistled to get their attention and waved them close. Regulars who were playing with Lily and Moppet responded with a collective, ‘Aww.’

She smiled and apologised.

‘It’s getting too hot for them. I’ll bring them out again next week, promise!’

She put her wide-brim hat on and collected the sarong off the sand, giving it a sharp shake to remove as much gritty sand as possible before wrapping it around her waist. The dogs followed obediently but stopped again at Wilson’s ice cream van.

This time, Queen gave them the look and a firm ‘No.’

Wilson came around to give the dogs a pat.

Standing about two feet away from them was a man, aged in his mid-thirties, bearded and tall. Queen thought that he looked rather out of place, as nearly everyone was dressed for summer: board shorts and not much else for men, and mainly bathing suits for women. Even Wilson with his oversized gut was wearing a cool T-shirt and string cotton pants to battle the heat. This guy was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, dress pants, and leather shoes.

After the cursory inspection, Queen turned her full attention to Wilson, who was waffling on about his three sons. ‘...They’re coming from across America to celebrate my sixtieth birthday.’

Suddenly, without warning, the strange man dropped to the ground. Queen spun around, startled and confused. Blood spread across the ground, oozing from the man’s head, but there had been no sound effect of gunfire, not even a muffled sound from a suppressed firearm. Even Queen, standing two feet away, had heard nothing, the noise of the crowd effectively masking the fired shot.

Queen bent over the shooting victim to check for a pulse though she knew instantly from the entry wound that he was dead.

‘He’s gone,’ she said. She looked up to see Wilson clutching his stomach, blood pouring out of him, his face contorted in shock.

The overweight vendor nearly squashed Queen as he fell, but she jumped up just in time to catch his head before he hit the ground.

She laid him down on his back, assessing where he was hit. She found two bullet holes on either side of his stomach, in and out. Her brain quickly processed the information: one bullet, two victims. The slug went through the first man’s temple and exited out of his cheek. It then continued to travel on a downward trajectory, hitting Wilson, who was standing side-on. The bullet passed through his stomach from the right side and exited to his left, what forensics would call a through and through.

Curious bystanders gathered around. Wilson was losing a lot of blood. She desperately looked around for something to stem the blood flow.

‘Someone call 9-1-1! You – I need your towel,’ she said to a woman. But for some reason, the woman shook her head and refused to hand it over.

Queen didn’t have time to argue. She removed her sarong and ripped it in two, covering the dead man’s face with one piece and used the other to stem Wilson’s blood flow, or else he wouldn't see his sixtieth birthday.

‘Talk to me, look at me, Wilson.’

She slapped him sharply across the face when he closed his eyes, refusing to let him slide into unconsciousness.

The vendor looked at her with glazed eyes.

She tried to keep him talking.

‘Wilson, tell me about your sons. Tell me when they’re coming to see you.’

News vans were at the scene ahead of EMS though a few minutes later, the first of three ambulances arrived.

A reporter, microphone in the hand, stood near the crime scene delivering a live broadcast: ‘This is coming to you live from South Beach. In one of the best days of the year, as you can see, the sun is out, the water is blue as blue as can be, and the people, they’re all here to have a nice day on the beach. But now it is a scene of a gruesome shooting. A man has been killed, another wounded and from where I stand, it appears there may be a third victim. As you can see, her white bikini is covered in blood...’

G WAS PLACING HIS COMPLETED A-Wing fighter jet among his collection on the shelf when his mobile buzzed, vibrating on the table’s surface.

The caller could only be Lieutenant Sharkie. A unique ring tone for the SWAT boss told him so.

‘Hey, Boss?’

‘Are you guys okay? Is Queen okay?’

G frowned, ‘Why shouldn’t she be?’

‘G, turn on the TV.’

A sense of dread enveloped him. Almost instantaneously goose bumps spread along his arms.

He reached for the remote and turned on the television. There, in high definition, was a freeze-framed upper body shot of Queen. She was covered in blood.

G hung up on Sharkie, grabbed a polo shirt which he didn’t bother buttoning up, snatched his car keys and wallet. Barefoot, he rushed to his car.

The number of curious on-lookers had swelled.

G couldn’t get the car close to the beach. He stopped at the first spot available and parked awkwardly in a hurry, a long way from the crime scene. He ran to where the ice cream van was parked, desperately surveying the crowd on the look-out for his wife. He was furious with himself for not being there