Page 1 of The Perfect Deception (Jessie Hunt #40)

Six Weeks Ago

Ash Pierce hadn’t killed anyone in days.

As she leaned back on the poolside chaise lounge chair on the Fiesta Cruise Line’s megaship, Jamboree, she noted that technically, it had been two days since she committed murder. That was when she had butchered Camille Overton, the woman whose identity she was currently using.

A waiter came by Ash’s lounge chair. “Would you like some coffee, ma’am?”

“That would be lovely,” she said, not looking up at him.

With her sunglasses and Camille’s broad-brimmed sun hat, it would be nearly impossible for the waiter to see her face, but she wasn’t taking any chances. In fact, this was the first time she’d been outside of her—or rather, Camille’s stateroom—since boarding the ship in Ensenada.

And she was only doing it now because it was 7 A.M. on the last morning of the cruise and the pool deck was mostly empty. In just over an hour, she anticipated being on dry land at the Port of Long Beach. From there she could go anywhere, and she knew where she was going.

Relaxing on the deck of a cruise ship was a far cry from how she’d spent most of the last five weeks.

After escaping from the L.A. County Courthouse on the eve of her trial for multiple murders, Ash had managed to sneak across the border into Mexico, where she’d hidden on a cargo ship all the way to Guayaquil, Ecuador.

She spent several weeks there, holing up in a grimy hostel while she formulated her mission and her plan to achieve it.

The mission was simple. She was going to kill private detective Kat Gentry first, then bratty teenager Hannah Dorsey, and finally Hannah’s step-sister, LAPD criminal profiler Jessie Hunt.

The three of them had essentially ruined her life.

Prior to taking on the assignment to torture and kill Kat and Hannah last summer, her life had been pretty great.

After formerly serving as a Marine's Special Operations element leader and later, as a CIA asset who conducted covert assassinations, she eventually transitioned into work as a hitwoman for hire.

To look at her, one would never guess what she did for a living.

Pierce, 34 years old, had a tiny frame, short black hair, and pale skin, all of which together suggested someone fragile.

But Ash wasn’t fragile. She was deadly. As a result of her skill set, she made great money and was generally able to keep a low profile, other than when she was killing people of course. It was a pretty good life.

But then it all fell apart. Everything seemed okay until that June day last year.

She had kidnapped Kat Gentry and brought her to the desert to torture her, but hadn’t realized that Hannah Dorsey had followed them.

The teenager got the jump on her. Ash was arrested and incarcerated for months before she eventually busted out.

So there was unfinished business with both of those two.

But Guayaquil was a long way from Los Angeles, so she had to bide her time. She also had to find a way to get back to L.A. without getting caught. Then she had to determine how best to eliminate all three women, preferably without being re-captured.

She hadn’t solved the second part of that equation but she’d almost completed the first. She left Ecuador in a cargo shipping container, where she lived for two weeks.

During that time she was dependent on the crew member she’d paid off to secretly bring her food and water and periodically dump her bedpan overboard.

When the boat arrived at the Port of Ensenada in Baja Mexico, the crew member came for his final payment and to help her leave the boat.

She thanked him profusely before slitting his throat with a switchblade, zipping him up in her sleeping bag, and locking the shipping container.

It was located deep in the bowels of the ship and wasn’t scheduled to be offloaded until it reached San Franciso, so it would be several more weeks before anyone tried to open it.

Once in Ensenada, Ash went to the cruise ship debarkation point and waited patiently for Camille Overton to appear. It had taken Ash lots of research, including hacking the cruise line’s database, to find someone who met her needs. That was Camille.

A single 33-year-old accountant from Santa Clarita, an hour north of L.A., Camille was traveling alone. She was taking her first vacation in three years and had booked a shopping excursion for the day in Ensenada.

Unfortunately for Camille, she and Ash were about the same age and had similar builds and skin coloring. Ash had black hair, which she’d dyed blonde to disguise herself. But she had recently purchased a wig to match Camille’s brown hair.

Once Ash saw Camille, she followed her to a local open-air market and eventually introduced herself.

She quickly won the woman over and convinced her to bail on the official excursion with its stops at overpriced stores, promising to show her shops with real bargains.

They became fast friends, eating and shopping together for several hours.

After she was sure that she had Camille’s trust, she mentioned a jewelry shop she’d discovered the last time she was in Ensenada that had amazing deals.

“It’s a little off the beaten path on a quiet side street, which might be why the prices are more reasonable than these tourist traps in the main market. Do you want to see if we can find it?”

“For sure.” Camill smiled broadly. “I’m always up for a good deal.”

So Ash led her off the main road and into the alley she’s chosen earlier that morning. “I remember now. This is a shortcut to get there.”

Once they were in the center-most part of the alley, where it wasn’t visible from either adjacent street, Ash stopped.

“I need to fix my shoe. I think there’s pebble in it.”

She knelt down and saw that the two giant plastic garbage bags and burlap sack were still where she’d left them earlier, resting beside the brown wig and a hunting knife, all of which were under a tattered cardboard box. After making sure everything was in place, she stood back up.

“You know I think we’re only a block from the water.” She nodded down one end of the alley. “Can you see it from here?”

Camille looked in that direction. Ash made quick work of the accountant, who never saw it coming, grabbing her head and twisting it in one sharp brutal motion that snapped her neck. Ash then eased her lifeless body to the ground.

She didn’t see any reason for Camille to suffer. The woman was collateral damage but she hadn’t done anything wrong. She was just lonely and friendless, which made her easy pickings.

This method of killing wasn’t just humane.

It was also less bloody than some other techniques, which was important for what she had planned.

She undressed Camille, then quickly changed into the woman’s clothes and put on the wig.

After making sure Camille’s cross-body bag had her ID and ship sail pass, which allowed her to re-board the Jamboree, she moved on to the nitty gritty work.

She cut off Camille’s fingertips, removed her teeth, wrapped her body in the first garbage bag, and then pulled the second bag over the first, before tying everything off and dragging it all into the burlap sack.

After that, she hoisted Camille’s body over her shoulder and made the challenging two hundred yard walk through the alley, across the service road, and down the harborside steps to the water’s edge.

By the time she got there, she was sweating and her legs burned.

Camille probably topped out at 110 pounds, but that added up quickly when carrying it.

This was a quiet section of town, more industrial than touristy in nature. No cars passed by and the only people she saw were a quarter mile away, fishing. They never looked her way. That was good because she still had work to do.

She grabbed the old anchor she’d bought from a supply warehouse earlier that morning and then hid behind a trash can, where she wrapped the six feet of chain and the attached steel anchor around the sack, tying it off as best she could.

Then, after one last glance at the fisherman to make sure they were still oblivious, she rolled Camile Overton off the esplanade and into the water.

The woman bobbed there for a few seconds before quickly sinking into the inky depths.

Ash turned and made the long walk back to the ship. She stopped into a cheap souvenir shop and picked up a “I Love Ensenada” baseball cap, which she wore low over her face as she returned to the Jamboree. She swiped Camille’s ship sail pass and was allowed on without incident.

The cruise wasn’t over. The Jamboree still had that evening and a whole day at sea before it returned to Long Beach.

She spent virtually all of it in her stateroom, ordering room service for every meal.

She didn’t want to take any chance that Camille had made friends on board who might note the discrepancy between the old and new versions of her.

But no one called the room. No one knocked on the door to check on her or ask if she wanted to attend an evening show or go to one of the clubs to dance the night away.

By the time she woke up this final morning of the cruise, Ash knew that she should probably feel a pang of sadness for Camille and the solitary life she’d led right up until it ended.

But that wasn’t really part of her constitution.

The best Ash could do was note that, at least in her last moments, Camille thought she’d made a new friend.

Ash decided there was one way that she could acknowledge the woman who had made her return stateside possible, she would spend a little time appreciating the ship on her hostess’s dime. If Camille couldn’t enjoy a beautiful morning on the pool deck of the Jamboree, then Ash would do it for her.

She sipped her coffee, luxuriated in the cool morning air, and stared into the distance as the California coast grew closer with each passing moment. Very soon she’d be back in America.

Then the real fun would start.