The Immoral

By Jay Lang

Heartbroken after a recent break-up, police dispatcher Danny Stewart secludes herself on her Deep Cove liveaboard boat. Outside her dreary work life, Danny’s only daily contact is her best friend, Kara. Or, she had been. Before the fast-talking Adrien Kiji sauntered into her life. Before the calls stopped.
When an eventual meeting with Kara reveals a black eye, Danny knows there’s danger. But she doesn’t know the worst of it — until Kara appears on her doorstep, clutching a laptop packed with intel on Adrien’s sex trafficking ring. For a few hours, there’s hope...until Kara disappears again. And the next day, her suicide note appears.
Everyone—including Danny’s new cop girlfriend—believes Kara jumped from the Lionsgate Bridge. Everyone...but Danny. Armed with nothing but an incriminating flash drive, Danny ventures into the sickening world of sex trafficking to find the truth. What she finds is far more shocking than she could’ve imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228620518

Jay Lang

Born and raised on the West Coast of BC, I was an actress for a number of years before becoming a clothing designer for rock bands. After deciding that I needed a change, I moved out of the city to attend university and learn the craft of creative writing. Hush, is the first LGBTQ2 thriller I have written. I am a huge fan of thrillers which prompted me to write a novel in this genre. I love including LGBTQ2 characters in my stories, as I feel that there is not enough available fiction that include the LGBTQ2 community.

Book preview

The Immoral

Jay Lang

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228620518

Kindle 9780228620525

PDF 9780228620532

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 9780228620549

BWL Print 9780228620556

LSI Print 9780228620563

Copyright 2021 by Jay Lang

Cover art by Pandora Designs

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Chapter One

The sound was intentional, unmistakable. I am not alone.

I slowly rise from the narrow cot and tiptoe through the small cabin, overwhelmed with the feeling of impending doom. With each doorway I pass, my breathing stops and my heart pounds as I anticipate someone lunging from the darkness.

A sliver of light from the crescent moon casts a dusty blue glow through the grimy windows and illuminates the front door—freedom.

Carefully, I glide forward. I’m almost there.

Heart pounding and legs weak, I reach out and touch the small round doorknob. I’ve made it.

Then, the floor creaks from behind and a wave of terror rushes over me. My back tightens and I freeze, as though a cold hand has clutched the back of my neck.

Terrified, I turn to face my fate.

* * *

Semi-conscious, I open my eyes and take a deep breath. The air is thick with ozone.

I roll onto my side and look out the window. Angry clouds churn above the small cove. Electricity fills the pilothouse and the hair on my arm stands on end. Instinctively, I grab my phone from the pillow and check for any texts. Nothing from Kara.

I get out of bed, struggling to keep my balance as the boat rocks. The wind whipping across the bay generates swells that slap hard against the hull as I walk out onto the stern to check the ropes and set down extra buoys between the dock and the boat. Hard sprays of sea water sting my face as gusts of wind push against me.

Back inside, I wipe my wet face on my sleeve and sit at the settee to catch my breath. I glance at the clock and see that it’s 4 AM. Considering the storm that’s brewing, there’s no way I’m going to get back to sleep. Since I have to be up at 5:30 for work, I decide to gather my things and drive to the 24-hour café in the village, where I’ll hang out until my shift starts.

I work as an emergency dispatcher for the local police station. After thirty-seven calls and a half-pot of coffee, all before lunch, I’m running on pure adrenaline and caffeine. I can’t wait for the day to be over when I can climb onto my boat and into my bed.

About an hour before my shift ends, a call comes in from a woman, requesting to speak with an officer. She sounds panicked. I ask her what the nature of her complaint is. The woman tells me her teenage daughter, Molly, has been missing for four days. She says she wasn’t worried until she went into Molly’s laptop and found a conversation between her and an older man.

I quickly put her call through to an available officer. A nauseous feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. I’ve only been working at the police station for a year and although I never deal with the people face-to-face, some of the calls stay with me long after my shift ends.

After I’ve signed out, I’m making my way to my locker when I hear my boss calling my name. I turn to see Marty, a portly, half-balding man, walking toward me, followed by a female officer.

Danny, I want you to meet Officer Sasha Flannagan, Marty says. She’s just been transferred from the Courtenay detachment.

The officer is about 5’9 and has long brown hair and an athletic build—attractive. She looks to be in her late twenties, like me. I nod and smile before turning my attention back to my locker. I’m too bagged to engage in superficial chatter.

* * *

The Lionsgate Bridge is beautiful and offers the most picturesque views of Stanley Park and the Burrard Inlet. However, when it’s rush hour and you’re stuck behind throngs of slow-moving cars, the beauty escapes you.

As soon as I turn onto Dollarton Highway toward Deep Cove, my cell phone beeps. Hoping it’s a text from Kara, I pull over to the shoulder and slip my phone from my jacket pocket.

The message is a notification from the marina telling me to expect interruptions with our shore power. Great, just one more hurdle to add to the day.

The rest of the drive home, I think with disappointment about the lack of communication from Kara lately. We’ve been best friends since grade school and rarely went a day without speaking.

It pissed Sarah off. Near the end of our relationship, she’d accused me of cheating on her with Kara, never believing my claim that Kara was my best friend. My sister.

It was all projection, anyway. Sarah was already cheating on me at that point. And when she left, Kara was the only thing keeping me from delving too far into depression.

That is, until she met that slimy loser, Darien, and suddenly our daily calls petered to nothing.

Now, not only am I combatting my heartache alone, but I’m also worried about Kara. Every time I’ve tried to call her, her messages are full, and all of my texts have gone unanswered.

She was so crazy about Darien when we met him at the club. Not me. I saw through him right away—the way he slicked up to us, hair gelled back and the buttons on his shirt undone. But the real character reveal wasn’t in his appearance. It was in what he said. Almost instantly, he told Kara how surprised he was to see such a beauty without a guy on her arm. Soon after that, he was whispering in her ear, making her giggle and blush. When I tried to ask him a bit about himself—where he was from, or what he did for a living—he ignored me. When I persisted, he shot me a cold stare before returning to his whispering.

When Kara and I were driving home, I tried to share my apprehension about Darien, but all she did was gush about how handsome and wonderful he was. She’s always been the gullible type, even in school. She was appreciated for her striking beauty more than her intellect—a tall blonde with the perfect figure. Her personality is much like her looks. Pleasing and perfect.

She and I have always been polar opposites. I am of average height and have curly brown hair and prefer the au naturel look, whereas Kara loves make-up and filling her closet with the latest trends. But regardless of our obvious differences, we’ve been best friends since the day we met.

Weeks ago, we were talking on the phone, and she excitedly described the new flooring and cupboards Darien was having installed in his posh West Vancouver home. Kara had her own apartment, but as soon as Darien suggested she move in with him, she gave her notice and moved out the same day.

After talking briefly with the marina manager on my way down the dock, I’m finally home on my boat. On my way through the galley, I look for what could have fallen out of the cupboards during the storm. Other than two coasters and my small wall clock, everything seems in order.

As much as I want to succumb to my exhaustion and drift off to sleep, my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Kara. Even though I know I won’t get a response, I text her, asking for a reply as soon as she can.

* * *

There’s something magical about the morning after a storm. Everything seems brighter and more alive.

Walking out onto the stern, I stretch and take a deep breath of cleansing sea air. The early morning sun pokes over the horizon and casts a brilliant hue of orange and red over the water. For a few moments, I watch a mother duck and her babies swim through the marina, the ducklings making squeaky noises as they try to navigate easy access to shore.

After I’ve made a cup of instant coffee and have a quick spray off in the head, I change into my work clothes and pack my bag. After grabbing my phone off my bed, I notice that Kara still hasn’t responded. This is getting ridiculous.

I’ve thought of calling her parents to see if they’ve heard from her, but I don’t want to make them worry if she hasn’t. I decide if I haven’t heard from her by the time I get off work, I’m driving out to Darien’s and knocking on his door. Enough is enough.

My day at the station goes much the same as every other: lots of calls and commotion and no time to catch my breath. By noon my head is spinning, so I decide to spend my lunch break at the small park next to the station.

I find a wooden bench in front of the playground. Pulling out a bottle of water from my bag, I watch as a young mom and her small toddler head to the swing set.

I hear my name being called from behind me. I quickly turn to see the attractive female cop I met with my boss yesterday.

Hi, she says, coming up to the bench.

I smile, feeling self-conscious. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, showing her perfect bone structure. Her eyes, a light blue. I never noticed how striking they were at our brief meeting yesterday.

Mind if I sit?

Of course. I mean, of course not. Oh great, my first words to her and I sound like a raving idiot.

I turn my attention back to the mother pushing her child on the swing. I don’t want to look at the beautiful girl beside me. I feel too bland and frumpy right now.

Your name is Danny, right?

I nod. I really want to ask her to remind me what her name is, but that meant having to look at her.

She tells me how she loves Vancouver and is so happy to have been transferred here. I respond in the usual way: That’s great. Glad you like it. Yeah, Vancouver is very pretty.

She goes on, talking about the small apartment she’d found in Yaletown that’s central to everywhere in the city core. I can tell she’s trying hard to engage in conversation, but I can’t think of anything but one-word, predictable answers.

Finally, after a few silent and awkward moments, her phone buzzes and she stands. Well, my break is almost up. I just needed to get out of the building and breathe some fresh air. It was nice talking to you, Danny.

Yeah, you as well, I say, flashing her a quick look. Have a great rest of the day.

As soon as she leaves, I turn to watch her lean, shapely body walk away. I am such a fool. How could I completely shut down like that? I’ve been around a lot of beautiful women—never have I turned into Forrest Gump when they talk to me.

Maybe it’s the fact that my ex left me for another woman. That definitely left a deficit in my self-confidence.

The rest of the day goes as predicted, the same amount of non-emergency emergency calls from the public and the same rhetoric among the staff. When I’m packing up to leave, Marty drops the new schedule in front of me. Before he walks away, I quickly ask him to tell me the name of the new female officer.

Did you forget already?

Yeah. I was really tired yesterday.

She’s cute, isn’t she? He winks.

That’s not why I want to know her name, I lie. I need to know it for transferring calls and stuff.

Her name is Sasha Flanagan, he says as he walks away.

I repeat her name a few times under my breath, imprinting it in my mind.

* * *

Deep Cove gets a lot of rain, which means it’s not uncommon for a blanket of clouds to block out the sun over the strait.

The dreary weather makes me feel weighed down and heavy. I think about where I’m at in my life and where I’m not. I always imagined that I’d be in a committed relationship and happy at this age.

It’s not that I mind my time alone. I don’t. But being alone too much sends my mind to dark places. I’ve always been that way. When I would stay with my grandmother during the summers and spend too much time in my room, I would withdraw. Become introverted.

My grandmother would pick up on these mood changes. She would say, You can succumb to the darkness or exist in the light. The choice is yours.

Other than my recent break-up and the fact that my best friend has fallen off the map, there’s no obvious reason why I’m feeling this uncomplacent. The mundane robotics of my job and my lack of ambition to complete even the most mundane tasks all point to one thing; I’ve been walking the same path for so long, I’ve made a deep rut, and now I’m stuck in it. Maybe I need something new, something exciting to inspire me.

Maybe I need a muse.

Chapter Two

Due to the all-too-frequent power outages at the marina, I have no shore power. I’m forced to grab a gut-bomb at the drive-thru on my way to Darien’s.

I can’t help but wonder what could be so distracting in Kara’s life that she couldn’t call or text me. I don’t think we’ve gone a day without communicating in some form since we met. Even when she was fourteen and had her wisdom teeth out and all she could do was mumble, she called me. This is out of character, and something is up.

I’m somewhat surprised to see the gates open at the base of the driveway. It’s dusk and too late for gardeners to be working. I turn up the long driveway that winds around the giant spruce and thick bushes.

Just as I approach the turn-around at the front of the three-story brick house, I notice two men and a young girl exiting from the main entrance and walking toward a black Cadillac SUV. The men look to be in their late thirties, with slicked back hair and black tracksuits. The girl, a scantily dressed blonde in a short tartan skirt and white blouse, tries to balance on stiletto platform heels. By the look of her face, I’d place her in her late teens at most. I hope to hell she’s a daughter or a niece to one of them. If so, they should teach her how to dress more age appropriate. She looks like a kid trying to be a grown-up.

I pull my car over and wait. After the girl gets into the back and the two guys climb into the front, the SUV slowly drives past me.

There’s a state-of-the-art intercom beside the door and a camera pointing down from the tall arched entrance. I push the green call button and wait. After a few long minutes, a voice crackles through the intercom speaker. What can I do for you?

I recognize the condescending, annoying voice almost immediately. Hi, Darien. It’s just me, Danny.

I know who you are. How the hell did you get past the gate?

It was open.

He pauses. So, what do you want? he finally says.

What a stupid thing to ask. I came by to speak with Kara. I haven’t heard from her in a while and I’m starting to worry.

There’s another long pause, then his annoying voice returns. She’s busy. She’s fine.

That’s great, Darien. And as soon as she comes to the door and I see her with my own two eyes, I’ll be on my way.

There’s a third long pause. Then, a different voice comes through the intercom speaker. Danny, go home and I’ll get a hold of you tomorrow, okay?

It’s Kara. Her voice is different. Weaker and stressed.

Immediately, all sorts of alarm bells are going off in my head. What the hell is going on?

Kara, can you just come to the door for a quick second?

No, I can’t right now. Just please go, Danny.

Feeling powerless, I agree to leave under the condition she contacts me tomorrow. The last thing I want to do is cause her stress. I get the feeling she’s already dealing with enough.

* * *

As soon as my alarm goes off, I jump out of bed, make a quick coffee, then head to the v-berth closet to pick out something less dowdy to wear to work. After selecting the most flattering pair of pants I own and a form-fitted white eyelet shirt, I curl my hair and dig around in the