by Toby Neal
“My therapist suggested this location.” Raveaux shut the door and put the bar on behind her. “She said being around other people might help with my grief.”
She turned to face him. “And has it?”
“No. But I am moving on as best I can.” The words felt as bold as if he were propositioning her. His neck felt hot.
“That is all anyone can do.” She walked through his sparsely furnished living area to look out the sliders. “Great spot, Raveaux.”
“I like it for running and swimming at night.”
“Perfect.” She smiled as she turned back to face him. Pearls like drops of moonlight swung on tiny chains at her ears.
“Now that you’re here, I will put on the steaks. Wine is on the counter.” He gestured to the deep green bottle and the single goblet he had purchased for her.
Returning to the kitchen, he turned the gas on high, superheating the already warm iron grilling skillet. He turned on the overhead fan and submerged the mushrooms in the sauce.
“Where’s your glass?” Sophie asked from behind him.
“I don’t drink. Alcohol became a problem for me after my family died.” He would be brutally honest with her, always. And now that he had told her this, he could never take a drink in front of her without being accountable for the words he’d uttered.
It felt like relief. It felt like freedom. And it was a little frightening, just like having her in his space in a purely social context.
Raveaux rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine, and tossed the seasoned ribeyes onto the raised metal grill in the center of the pan. The meat crackled.
“That smells incredible,” Sophie said. “I’ve never felt so hungry.”
Raveaux turned to face her and picked up his glass. He lifted it toward her. “To new partnerships.”
“Yes.” Sophie’s expressive brown eyes held his, and there was something new in them: a bruised quality, defiant anger. Something had happened since they’d talked last. Her gaze held something hot and dark that he’d never seen before. She slid off the raised stool at the bar and stalked over to him, standing a little too close. The bowl of her goblet rang forcefully against his glass. “To new partnerships. May they be deeply fulfilling.”
They drank. He turned back to the grill; she returned to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. He breathed easier with more space between them. “How do you like your steak?”
“Medium rare.”
“Oui. Moi aussi.” He flipped the steaks, tossed the Caesar, pulled a baguette out of the oven and sliced it.
“You move like a matador in the kitchen.” Sophie’s voice was warm.
“A pretty compliment. I hope the food holds up to it.” He checked the steaks, and gestured with his head. “Can you bring me the plates?”
She fetched the china and stood holding the plates. Even with the smell of rich sauce filling Raveaux’s nostrils as he served, her tropical scent tantalized him.
They carried their food out onto his small lanai.
“Oh, this is lovely.” Sophie settled herself in her chair. She gestured to the expanse of beach, palms waving as the last of sunset’s hues faded from cloud-galleons sailing the horizon. “I can see how hard it could be to stay depressed in a place like this.”
From the nearby pool complex, a burst of children’s laughter drowned out the jazz drifting from the apartment. Raveaux smiled wryly as he tipped his head toward the sound. “But then, there’s that. A double-edged sword, always reminding me of what I no longer have.”
Sophie nodded. “I understand. Only a little—but I am childless for a month at a time. I cannot imagine your loss, nor do I want to.” She held her glass out toward him. “To moving on, as best we can.”
“Oui.” He clinked his glass against hers, and they drank their second toast.
Raveaux watched out of the corner of his eye as Sophie picked up her knife and fork, and attacked her steak with vigor. She cut a large, juicy segment of meat and soaked it liberally in sauce, making sure a couple of mushrooms were speared on the tines. She forked the large bite into her mouth.
She moaned as she chewed. Her eyes fell shut. Her head tipped back. Finally, she spoke. “I think this is the best steak I’ve ever had.”
Raveaux felt his lips tug upward, an unfamiliar sensation. He addressed his plate. “The sauce takes a while, but some things are worth waiting for.”
They ate in silence. The only sounds were the wailing sax from the music playing inside the apartment, the fading of the children’s voices as they were herded out of the pool by some adult, and the clinking of their silverware. Overhead, the palms soughed, and the waves washed gently on the beach. Raveaux enjoyed the feeling of every one of his senses being stimulated; it was a beautiful half hour of time, and that they didn’t converse made it somehow profound.
Sophie finished first, sitting back at last with a sigh. She lifted her wineglass. “Sublime. I need a refill. Do you?”
“Oui, merci.”
She picked up his empty glass along with hers, and walked back into the apartment.
The sight of Sophie’s clean, empty plate, the last of the sauce mopped up with bread, gave Raveaux a warm, full feeling that went perfectly with his own satisfied belly. He pushed his plate aside as she returned. “The moon is full tonight. Should be some antics starting soon down here on the beach.”
“Antics?” Sophie’s teeth shone like pearls in the dim light as she handed him his drink.
His neck flushed for the second time that evening. “Am I saying it wrong in English? The wolf howling at the night sky. Craziness. The tourists throw their clothes off and run into the ocean at the full moon.”
She was still smiling, all shadow and fluid edges, as she sat down. Her arm brushed his. “Je comprends. Perhaps that’s what we need. A little craziness.”
Raveaux squeezed his drink glass—was she saying what he thought she might be? Was he ready for that? The way his dinner congealed suddenly into a cold, hard ball in his belly told him no. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”
“Ah. Then I’d better show you what I found on Samson’s computer and be on my way.” Her voice had gone businesslike. She got the hint. “Shall we go inside? I need a little more light on the laptop than is available out here.”
Inside the apartment, Raveaux felt his jangled nerves settle. They’d flirted a bit. Nothing inappropriate, nothing that couldn’t be backed away from. He closed the glass slider on moonlight and gentle waves. “You must have worked fast since we talked on the phone earlier.”
“It didn’t take long because I’d already made a copy of Samson’s hard drive.” Sophie had the laptop open on the coffee table already, her long golden fingers flying as she leaned forward and typed. “I am storing both editions on her machine for simplicity’s sake. There wasn’t much on here, just a basic office program. I ran my search keyword DAVID program and did not come up with anything of interest. But when I ran a spyware diagnostic program, I found this.”
Raveaux switched on the bamboo standing lamp and circled around the table to sit beside her on the couch, leaving plenty of distance between them. “Show me.”
Sophie turned the laptop toward him. “See? It’s a keylogger. Someone was spying on Samson.”
Raveaux was familiar with keyloggers, spyware that could record every stroke of a keyboard and redirect it elsewhere. “Wireless broadcast tracking, or email?”
“Email. Whoever was spying on Samson wasn’t close by.” Sophie pointed at the screen. “Results were sent weekly to this IP address.”
“Think it’s masked?”
“I don’t know. Ran a global positioning diagnostic on it, and it’s in San Francisco.”
Raveaux met Sophie’s eyes, startled. “That’s where I’m going tomorrow—to the Finewell’s office in downtown San Francisco.”
“I know. And that’s why I’m coming with you after all. We can track this location after the meeting. See what we se
e.” Sophie closed the laptop and stood, all in one fluid motion. “I’ve moved the meeting up to twelve thirty, to give us some time for that. We’ll be taking the corporate jet, because there’s no commercial flight that will get us there in time. Thanks for a great meal. Get some sleep. Meet me at the airport at four o’clock in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sophie: Day Five, Early Afternoon
Sophie smoothed stretchy black dress pants down her thighs, her hands prickling. She wasn’t nervous, she was alert as she faced the gleaming mahogany double doors of Finewell’s, San Francisco.
She glanced over at Raveaux standing beside her. Her partner tugged at a lustrous tobacco-brown tie, straightening and smoothing it in a gesture that imitated hers with her pants. The rich color of the tie exactly matched his eyes as he glanced her way. His dead wife probably picked it out for him.
“You forgot your name tag.” Sophie tapped her jacket’s lapel, where she’d already fastened her faux insurance investigator ID.
Raveaux’s mouth tightened. She could have sworn he’d almost smiled last night, when she took that first bite of his fabulous cooking. He took the ID out of his pocket and clipped it onto his lapel.
Sophie grasped one side of a pair of ornate brass door handles, and tugged it outward.
The lobby of the sixth-floor suite in downtown San Francisco’s swanky business district was as elaborate as one might expect for a multi-million-dollar auction company specializing in estate sales: elaborate Turkish carpets, shining brass, glossy wood, and original oils lit by a crystal chandelier all communicated an atmosphere of money and class.
Sophie hefted the calfskin briefcase she carried and strode up to the receptionist’s curving teak desk. “We’re here to meet Fred Matthews.” Sophie held up the ID badge on its extendable clip. “We’re from Fidelity Mutual Insurance Company, and we have an appointment.”
“Yes, indeed. Mr. Matthews is expecting you.” The receptionist had bright white-blond hair in a tailored bob that reminded Sophie of platinum and diamonds—she was a decorative note, just like the crystal overhead.
“I hope your office has gathered all the video records we asked for,” Raveaux said.
“Of course. They were delivered to Mr. Matthews’ office.” The woman depressed a button on her console with a scarlet-tipped finger. “Mr. Matthews? Your appointment is here.”
“Send them in.” The manager’s voice sounded as clear as if he were standing before them.
Sophie led the way, uncomfortably aware of Raveaux at her elbow. It was hard to admit, in the cold hard light of day, that she’d considered sleeping with him last night.
Not that he wasn’t attractive.
Dapper in an elegant suit with that gorgeous tie, Raveaux had been turning female heads their whole trip. No, it wasn’t that he didn’t intrigue her on a number of levels—she even liked the man, let alone his cooking! But she must have been having some kind of reaction to Connor’s devastating news to even consider getting involved with a colleague again.
Matthews, an imposing older black man, stood up from behind an expanse of burled walnut desk topped in glass. “Welcome to Finewell’s, San Francisco. You must be Mr. Raveaux. I’ll admit, you’ve got me mighty curious about the security breaches. And who is this lovely lady?”
“Sophie Smithson.” Sophie stepped forward to shake the older man’s strong, dry hand. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
Raveaux gestured elegantly, indicating the office. “Do we need to be concerned about . . . confidentiality?”
Matthews snorted. “This is my private office.”
“Any amount of time as a policeman will make one a bit paranoid,” Raveaux said. “And I was a detective for many years. Would you mind if we give your office a quick security sweep?”
“You never know who might be listening,” Sophie chimed in. “We discovered breaches in the Honolulu office video system and on computer.” She set her briefcase down on the edge of Matthews’s desk, popped the brass clasps, and removed a surveillance detection instrument.
“Well, since you came prepared—wand away.” The man fell silent as Sophie scouted the office, searching for bugs. Raveaux utilized a different device, checking for video.
They finished at the same time, returning the equipment to the briefcase. “Your office is clean. We can speak freely,” Raveaux said, as Sophie closed the case with a snap.
Matthews sat down abruptly. “Well. That’s a relief. You had me going there, for a moment.”
“Tell us more about the burglary your branch experienced last December,” Raveaux said.
“As I told you on the phone, we lost an important heritage jewelry collection.” Matthews took a file out of the side drawer and opened it. Sophie leaned forward, along with Raveaux, to peer at glossy promotional photos of a set of what appeared to be blue diamonds. “These are the Nelson family jewels. The patriarch was an investor in South African diamond mines, and kept some of the best of them for his wife.”
The sparkling stones shone like bits of deep blue sky surrounded by clear white diamonds. Like the other set, this parure included a necklace, drop earrings, a hair clip, and a bracelet.
“Tell us about your security intake procedures,” Raveaux said. “We are familiar with the way the Honolulu firm handles its intake and security, but we need to know how your team does things.”
“Virtually identical to the way the Honolulu office handles their intake,” Matthews said. “In fact, Ms. Samson, who’s affiliated with the Honolulu office, was the one to do the assessment coordination of this set.”
Sophie resisted the urge to make eye contact with Raveaux. It was important that they were able to get their own impressions of this man, his office, and how things were done before they gave him any more information about Samson or their case. They had not discussed when to share the news that Mel Samson might have been involved with the theft, and of her subsequent suicide.
“This is why we need to review your data recordings of any times that the diamonds were in the firm’s custody,” Raveaux said. “We may be able to see something others could not.”
“Of course, that’s why my assistant processed the video for you.” Matthews opened a drawer, and slid a stick drive across his desk.
Sophie picked up the drive and slipped it into her briefcase. “Thank you. I’m sure your security team already reviewed all of the footage.”
“They did. However, they found nothing to report. We had to report the missing diamonds to the police in order to activate our insurance claim, but they have pretty much washed their hands of it. They had no leads, either.”
Sophie was not surprised. Local law enforcement in San Francisco was likely swamped with much more pressing crime than the recovery of expensive gems whose loss would be covered by insurance. “Is there a detective whose information you could share with us so that we can interview him or her?” Raveaux asked.
Sophie didn’t have much hope anything would come of that, but it was always good to “leave no stone unturned” as her friend Marcella would say. She liked Raveaux’s initiative.
“Yes.” Matthews handed over a file. “Here are all the reports, including the contact people with the insurance company. They also sent out their own investigator.”
Sophie slid the file into her briefcase. “If there is nothing further that you can give us, do you have a couple of confidential computers where we can review this footage on site? Otherwise, we will have to take it with us to review it privately.”
Matthews raised his hands. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a computer lab or anywhere for you to work, unless you want to use a conference room. We do have a copy of this footage, already stored. You are welcome to take that flash drive. The usual agreements hold about confidentiality of our procedures, yada yada.”
They said their goodbyes. “We will be in touch in the next day or two,” Raveaux said. “Please keep our work confidential as well. We don�
��t know who in the company might be involved with this scheme.”
“Absolutely.” Matthews showed them out.
As they got on the elevator, Sophie’s belly grumbled—it was well after lunchtime, and the light meal they had on the plane had been a long time ago. Unfortunately, with the short notice about the flight, there hadn’t been time to get the galley properly stocked. “Would it be all right if we get something to eat before we go to check out the IP address?”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Raveaux said with a quick flash of teeth—but still, no smile. “Let me pick the place. I have a favorite spot for crab on Fisherman’s Wharf.”
Sophie’s stomach growled in agreement with this plan. “Lead on, partner. I’ve been to the Wharf with my father, many years ago. We’re both fans of Dungeness crab. Hopefully, it’s as good as I remember.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Pim Wat: Day Unknown
Pim Wat was floating somewhere warm. The dull pulse of pain she was so used to, a backbeat to the gray place she lived in, was gone. Pleasant sensations washed over her like gentle waves lapping on a warm beach.
Something was different.
Fear seized her. This was some new trick. They’d found her, deep inside herself. They were trying to root out her soul . . .
“Beautiful One.”
His voice. The Master was calling her.
But was it a trick? Some new mind game McDonald and his henchmen had come up with? Pim Wat struggled to cling to the gray, to run deeper into it.
“Beautiful One. Come back to me. You’ve been punished enough. It’s over now.”
No one could speak like he did. No one, human or instrument, had a voice like his, a Stradivarius of a voice that could bend time, move mountains, orchestrate the rise and fall of nations.
At least, she’d always believed so.