by Toby Neal
Connor’s stomach tightened again. Bile tickled the back of his throat as the urge to vomit rose in him.
“To truly master yourself you must first see yourself clearly, and then completely and totally accept yourself as you are. There is no other true baseline for growth.” The Master’s voice was burned into memory; Connor could still see the firelight reflected in the man’s violet eyes as he delivered this nugget of truth.
Connor had just suffered a hard day on the training field, landing on his ass again and again. He’d been battered and bruised, sure he was too old, in his thirties, for the rigors of training that had defeated men who joined when they were much younger.
At the time, Connor had believed that nugget of wisdom pertained to his body—but it turned out the Master was talking about character. The Master had carefully doled out each idea when Connor was most able to hear it; and now, in the man’s absence, he had a new level of insight.
He had lied to himself on a number of levels. One of them was that he had used Sophie to keep his interests in the United States going. The Master’s sources in the CIA had confirmed that Jake had turned his Sheldon Hamilton identity in as the Ghost vigilante. Those sources confirmed that there was a case being built against Sheldon Hamilton by both the FBI and CIA. Hence, Connor’s direction to Sophie to have that persona declared legally dead after a year of no contact.
Sophie was the only person he trusted implicitly. When he made his will, he’d known he was leaving her both a burden and an opportunity. He’d also counted on her to “keep his seat warm,” as she said, so that he could return to it.
He’d manipulated her . . . but he’d also sensed her potential for leadership; maybe there were parts of the job she enjoyed. He could hope so, couldn’t he?
And Jake? During the hardship of their attempt to get Sophie’s baby back, he’d come to love the man like a brother, but he hadn’t trusted him with the knowledge of his dual identity.
Why? Because he’d known that knowledge had the potential to drive a wedge between Jake and Sophie. He loved Sophie—enough to want her to be happy with the lover she’d chosen, a man who’d wanted to be her one and only.
Jake had reacted in anger in turning Connor in to the agencies, but he bore Jake no ill will. The man had been betrayed, even if there was no malicious intent behind it.
What would have happened if Connor had told Jake the truth while they were naked and shackled together, between bouts of being tortured? Would Jake have been able to accept and believe that Connor meant no harm to him and Sophie? That Connor had given up on trying to win Sophie back, that he just wanted Jake, Sophie and Momi to be a happy family?
Sadly, he hadn’t told Jake his secret when he had that chance. There might have been a possibility the man would have believed him, when they literally couldn’t escape from each other and Connor had no reason to lie . . .
“Life is a series of forking roads,” the Master had said once. “You take the one that seems best to you. If you’re a thoughtful person, you consider before you choose. But only in hindsight are we able to see how the turns we’ve chosen have led to now. And still, we have to accept all we’ve done and been, to reach our fullest potential.”
Connor shut his eyes, surrendering to regret, to sorrow . . . and then a flicker of that most elusive feeling, acceptance.
It was what it was.
Each of them had been a free agent. Jake could have worked through his issue about being lied to. Sophie could have tried harder to win Jake back. And Connor? If he’d known they’d broken up, would he have been able to get through the rigors of the last two years?
No. He would not have stayed the course.
Knowing Sophie was single would have pulled him away from his training. He’d have found a way to return to her, to Anubis, to his island, Phi Ni, to his company . . .
That flame of hope that Sophie might love him again someday flared up bright and hot. He’d ruthlessly crushed it to set her free, but now it scorched him with joyful possibility. Maybe they could be together again . . .
She was single. She was running his company, taking care of his dog. Maybe even living in his house. Waiting for him to come back. “Keeping it warm for you,” she’d said.
His heart gave a squeeze of pain. He thumped his left pec and coughed. “Freakin’ hell. Love actually hurts,” he muttered aloud.
But how could he return, even if Sophie would entertain the idea of a relationship?
The Yām Khûmkạn compound had become destiny, refuge, and prison. He could conduct his life as the Ghost from here, unfettered by any government, and he’d added to his skills exponentially as he’d set out to do. But the minute he left the compound, he’d be the target of the FBI and CIA and probably Interpol, too.
An answer would come to him eventually; a door would open.
He would use what the Master had taught him to stay the course and focus on the outcomes he wanted.
And he wanted it all: the power and reach of the Yām Khûmkạn, his role as the Ghost vigilante, and the woman he loved.
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie: Day Three
The next morning, Sophie circled her friend Marcella in the mixed martial arts practice ring, her arms cocked and ready, her knees bent, looking for an opening.
Marcella stood upright, her lush figure packed into a pair of tight spandex shorts and an exercise bra, her chocolate hair drawn back into a ponytail. Her friend had always been more of a kicker than a striker, and that was evident in her stance. “Come on, Sophie!” Marcella taunted. “You’re the one who wanted a workout!”
“That was last night. But you were too busy sleeping to get out of your warm bed.”
“Who says I was sleeping?” Marcella grinned. “Marcus gave me a fine workout of another kind. You’re just jealous, you and your battery-operated boyfriend. Ha!”
“Foul-breathed cow!” Sophie charged, dodging Marcella’s kicks. She grabbed her friend around the midsection and tossed her to the ground. Only minutes later, she had Marcella on the mat, thumping for mercy.
“Sexually frustrated, anyone?” Marcella panted as Sophie let her up. “Sorry I teased you about B.O.B.”
“That wasn’t nice,” Sophie growled. “I am a little lonely when Momi’s at Alika’s. I’m woman enough to admit it.” The blown-up picture of Connor’s naked body doing a pull-up flashed into Sophie’s mind. She should probably take that picture down. If he ever returned and saw it there . . . “I’m just . . . oh, cursed seed of conjoined twins. Jake and Felicia returned Ginger to me. They moved to California together.”
“Oh, damn!” Marcella’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth with a hand. “I’d hoped you were over him. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. He brought me back Ginger. That’s something.” Sophie wished she could tell Marcella about Connor’s call, but her friend had been part of the FBI investigation into the Ghost; Connor’s ongoing presence in her life had to remain a secret from everyone but Dr. Wilson, who was bound by confidentiality.
They walked around the ring as Sophie described her encounter with Jake the other evening. “It just seems like everyone around me is happy and settled. Jake and Felicia. Alika and Sandy. You and Marcus. Lei and Stevens. I’m just . . . unlucky in love, I guess.”
Marcella shook her head. “Oh, girlfriend. I’m sorry I was so insensitive with that crack about you not getting any, but it’s your fault too. You’ve hidden yourself in that CEO office and are using Momi as a chastity belt. Not much can get going while you’re locked in motherhood mode.”
“But it’s not just me now. I can’t risk Momi getting attached to anyone who doesn’t work out.” And she just didn’t feel ready; didn’t feel over Jake, or Connor either, for that matter.
“But how can you get to know anyone if you don’t give them a chance? Men falling in love with you is still your crazy superpower,” Marcella said. “Waxman is still carrying a torch for you after all this time.”
&n
bsp; Sophie’s brows lifted. “Carrying a torch. What a strange phrase that is.” Her boss at the FBI had declared his feelings the day she quit, and she’d done her best to forget that little episode.
“Yep. He was just asking if you were still single, if I thought you’d go out with him for a cuppa coffee.” Marcella brushed down her exercise gear with gloved hands, getting rid of dust from her takedown. “I told him hell would freeze over first.”
“That’s not actually true, Marcella.” Perversely, her friend’s words made Sophie want to see her former boss again. Ben Waxman had been more than a mentor to her; though she hadn’t reciprocated his feelings at the time, thinking of him now, she felt a surge of affection. “I would have a cup of coffee with him. Maybe more, if the conversation was good.”
“I’ll pass that on. Apparently global warming has cooled down hell.”
Sophie punched her friend lightly on the shoulder. “I have time for one more round before I meet with my new partner Raveaux. I’ve left the CEO office to work a case that’s pretty interesting—a diamond heist. There’s some kind of master thief operating behind the scenes, manipulating thefts from a major auction house.”
“Ooh!” Marcella’s eyes widened. “Diamond heist? Perhaps you need some FBI assistance?”
“We’re off the books,” Sophie said. “I will let you know, as well as the good people at Interpol, as soon as we have someone to bring to justice. The interesting thing about doing private work is that . . . many times, the client wants things to stay private.”
Marcella snapped her fingers in disappointment. “Dang it. Just say the word if you want company. Other than the new guy, of course.” Marcella quirked a brow. “Tell me about him.”
“Raveaux is older,” Sophie said. Let Marcella think Raveaux was a doddering old senior citizen—he probably wasn’t more than forty, but she didn’t want to encourage the matchmaking gleam in her friend’s eye. “A retired French detective with international connections. I’m hoping to track the architect of the thefts online and have some kind of dialogue. But we don’t know how far we’ll get beyond the immediate problem of the current batch of diamonds missing—the auction house we’re working for doesn’t want word getting out that they’ve been breached. They just want the thefts to stop.”
She still didn’t know enough about the master thief, his network, or anything really. She had to lure him out, get him to respond to an email with an embedded tracker . . . The best way to deal with the thief was to get some kind of leverage on him! Blackmailing the mastermind into giving up his activities, at least as far as their client, Finewell’s, went, was likely a better strategy than trying to gather enough evidence for an arrest . . . And how better to get the dirt on him than her DAVID software? And then, to set him up, she could use the Ghost program—its unique tracking and overwriting capabilities could be used to break in and send messages from almost any source to manipulate a mark.
Marcella snapped her fingers. “Earth to Sophie!”
“Sorry, I was just having an idea about my case.”
“Since you seem distracted, maybe I can take you on the next round.”
They circled again. This time, Marcella’s roundhouse kick sent Sophie into the ropes. She came back with a grappling hold, but her friend seemed to have dug deep to some core of inner power, because Marcella took her down next, crowing and flashing victory signs to scattered applause from the rest of the gym after she finally let Sophie up. “You’re getting soft, my friend, as well as distracted.”
“I know,” Sophie wiped her face with a thin gym towel. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“Want to come have dinner at our place? You could bring those rowdy dogs.” Marcella and her husband lived in a little plantation-style cottage on the edge of Honolulu, and Sophie, Momi, and Armita enjoyed dinner with them at least once a month.
“Let me get through today and see if I can get away from the computer long enough,” Sophie said. The women parted ways with a hug, and Sophie headed to the showers before her meeting with Raveaux.
Chapter Seventeen
Connor: Day Three
Connor was still up and hard at work on the computer when someone knocked on the door of the lab. “Enter.”
Nine’s voice came from over his shoulder. “It is time for morning drills, One.”
Connor glanced up at the narrow, slit-like window. Sure enough, the faint gray of dawn showed. Connor paused, lifting his fingers off the keyboard, stretching back fully.
“I am still working. Have Pi run the men through their routine.”
He had lost track of his body in the hours immersed into the Ghost software, connecting neglected threads of situations his computer had tracked in the two years he’d been gone.
He had also gone looking for the Master and Pim Wat.
Locating the general area of their likely location had not been too difficult. He had simply used the satellite he’d hacked to track the helicopter the Master had left the compound in, followed the helicopter to where it landed, a private airport where the Master had then boarded a small aircraft. Connor had been able to pick up its company and number and tracked its trajectory. The small craft had landed on an unidentified island off the coast of Japan.
Connor suspected that it was the Master’s hideaway, and that Pim Wat was already there.
He wasn’t the only one to enjoy a private island . . .
“Can I bring you some tea? Breakfast?”
Connor looked around, surprised that Nine was still there. “My apologies. I was up all night. I should get some rest instead of food right now, though.”
“As you wish, master.”
“Don’t call me that!” The objection burst out of him forcefully. He held Nine’s gaze with his own. “The Master will be back, and I doubt he would appreciate losing his title.”
“I merely meant to honor your position,” Nine said with dignity. “But I will do as you say.” He cleared the tray from the previous evening and left the room.
Connor stood up. Stretched. He really did need to get some rest, but he felt satisfied with not only cycling through the Master’s business correspondence, but getting back into his own vigilante role, so long neglected.
Now he just needed to figure out how to integrate his leadership with the day-to-day running of the compound. He could not absent himself regularly from the drills—his headship was too tenuous at this point. But perhaps letting Pi take charge on occasion could solidify the man’s loyalty, and satisfy his need for power.
Connor powered down the computers and touched the wood of his violin lovingly, stroking it as it rested in its case. The violin reminded him of the other things he loved: Anubis. His island. Sophie . . .
How was her child growing? How was motherhood treating her? Temptation to pull up some surveillance rose in him—but he had already decided not to disrespect her that way.
Connor locked the computer lab door and took himself to bed for a nap, satisfied.
He had located the Master geographically. Now he would have an excuse to contact Sophie again, to tell her where he thought Pim Wat was, and ask her what she thought they should do.
All in all, a good night’s work.
Chapter Eighteen
Sophie: Day Three
Sophie’s phone rang as she pulled out of the parking lot at Fight Club. She already had her Bluetooth in her ear, in case of any work calls. “Sophie Smithson.”
“Sophie? It’s Agent McDonald.” The portly CIA man sounded tense—but then, he usually did. Sophie pictured his florid face, watery blue eyes, and blondish combover. McDonald looked like an aging golfer, not a deadly operative, part of his dangerousness. Sophie navigated the Lexus into another stall to take the call. She definitely didn’t want to be caught in traffic for what he was likely about to tell her.
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, Agent McDonald.” Sophie kept her voice carefully neutral.
“That’s because there hasn’t been
any useful intel from your end,” McDonald snapped.
Sophie’s hackles rose. The man always put her on the defensive—no matter what she provided the CIA, it never seemed to be enough.
“I wasn’t aware we were working on any further projects together,” Sophie said. “I consider my debt to the CIA discharged.”
“I decide when your debt is discharged, not you. And with what’s been going on with your mother, that might be a while.”
“I am not accountable for my mother’s actions. You cannot judge me by them.” Sophie struggled to keep her voice crisp and calm.
“Yes, yes, I know all of that.” McDonald cleared his throat. “I called with a purpose, and that is to let you know that there was a raid on the facility last week, and your mother . . . she was extracted.”
Even though she was prepared for this, Sophie sucked in a breath. “Extracted? Was anyone hurt?”
“No casualties. Some injuries. Must’ve been a crack team, because nobody saw or heard anything. The guards were rendered unconscious with blow darts, and when they came to, Pim Wat was gone.” McDonald crunched loudly on the mints he chewed when anxious.
“I hope you’re making every effort to find her.” Sophie’s chest hurt with anxiety and old trauma. “Pim Wat is dangerous.”
“So you keep saying. But quite frankly, the woman has been nothing but a limp dishrag the last two years. We haven’t gotten two words out of her, in spite of numerous attempts at interrogation. She seemed to have gone into a catatonic state, according to our doctor on site. She refused to eat, so she weighed less than ninety pounds at the time of her kidnapping. Pim Wat’s about as dangerous as a starved kitten right now.” He crunched a few more of the mints. “Of course, we’re trying to track the kidnappers. They got out by helicopter, but where they went—all that is still under investigation. I just thought you should know, as her next of kin.”