by Toby Neal
“It would make a difference to me.” Sophie’s eyes prickled with tears she blinked away. “I want to know you care enough to listen to me.”
“I care, Sophie Smithson Ang.” Connor’s gaze met hers. “Since you’re asking me to, I’ll give up the Ghost.” He smiled a little, and she did too, recognizing the turn of phrase. “I’ll give up my mission because you’re asking me to. Because you’re worth every risk, every price that it’ll take to be with you.” His voice whispered across her skin, melting her. That streak of darkness in him, so implacable and defiant, was compelling. The danger of him was sexy. That he’d put aside his vigilantism for her weakened her knees. “Now, you just have to take a leap of faith and believe me when I tell you I had nothing to do with that agent’s death. I’m very careful about what I do. The Ghost makes sure those who get what’s coming to them really deserve it. What concerns me about the death of this agent is that he is the kind of target I would choose if the Ghost went after someone in the Bureau. He was dirty. Which means someone else knows about me. I have to ask—did you tell anyone?” Connor’s eyes looked bruised and vulnerable for the first time. “Because if you have to trust me, I am also trusting you.”
Sophie sat down on the edge of the bed. “No. No one. Not even my closest friends. And I’ve been tempted.”
He sat forward and hooked a hand around the back of her neck. “Tempted. Ah, I’m familiar with that feeling.” His mouth claimed hers.
Sophie fell across his body and into his arms with a tiny muffled sound of need.
She couldn’t get to his skin fast enough, nor he to hers. The sex was rough and hard and over too quickly. But not the next time. Or the time after that.
Chapter Eight
The next day, Dr. Kinoshita smoothed the tailored sheath dress that was her trademark outfit and tucked a wisp of black hair behind her ear. She opened a file at the table in the guest cottage of Miller’s estate. Seated around her in the cramped space were Sophie, Jake, Jesse, and Ronnie. “Security Solutions’ Vice President Bix and I pulled together all the evidence and information you’ve gathered on Shank Miller’s stalker identifying herself, or perhaps himself, as ‘Blondie.’ I spent the weekend working on a report to share with you.” She distributed copies to each of them. “The first part is just a summary of the information I’ve gathered. Skim through and check for accuracy, please.”
Sophie ran her eyes and a finger down the series of dates identifying when and where contact from Blondie had been made, the type of contact, and other very specific information to the case. After a few minor corrections, mostly from Jake who held the main case file open in front of him, they moved on to the meat of the report.
“I believe this unsub, to borrow from FBI terminology, is a female,” Dr. Kinoshita stated.
“I think that would be obvious, what with all the bridal activity and whatnot?” Ronnie raised his brows in question.
“No.” Kinoshita’s voice was measured. “Stalkers can disguise themselves in different ways, including gender. The sentiments expressed by the stalker may or may not be genuine to his or her real agenda. What convinces me more than anything is forensic evidence in the underwear tossed at Miller during concerts in the initial overtures put forth by the subject. Our lab at Security Solutions identified it as vaginal secretions from the same donor.” She took a sip of the coffee Jesse had fetched her. “So, let’s get into the meat of things. I see an escalation in the pattern of attacks. And you might say that ‘attacks’ is too strong a word to use to describe these overtures. But attacks they are, because Blondie is deliberately trying to unsettle and impinge upon our client with her increasingly urgent fantasy of marrying him.” Kinoshita ran a finger down to the bottom of the last page. “I gave the stalker a tentative diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder with psychotic features. It’s an unusual diagnosis, but I believe it describes both the level of compulsion and lack of reality testing that this subject demonstrates.”
“Reality testing?” Jake leaned forward. Dressed in his usual all black, he radiated tension.
“Reality testing is a clinical term for how grounded a subject is in the demonstrable reality of here and now, time and space. We test this in a subject interview by asking about history, current and past time, and perceptions of concrete items. Of course, I can’t do that with this subject, but the persistence of the subject’s fantasy and the driving quality it has are pathological distortions.”
“That seems kind of obvious,” Ronnie said. Jake scowled at the young man, but Kinoshita inclined her head in his direction and answered deliberately.
“Every commonsense assumption is not necessarily accurate. It behooves us to examine all possible scenarios, and that is what my job entails. For instance, we’ve had cases where an apparent malicious stalker has been a business partner with an ax to grind.”
“We have focused on a bed partner or a disgruntled girlfriend. And there have been many of those.” Jake inclined his head. “Please do give us all that you have.”
Kinoshita handed Jake an open file. Jake frowned. “Shank’s getting home soon. I’ll talk with him about this as soon as possible.”
“But what scenario is the most likely, in your view?” Sophie asked. She felt muzzy-headed from so little sleep in spite of two cups of strong tea, her body sensitive and sated but her emotions raw after Connor’s departure early in the morning. She planned to join him on Oahu after checking out the lead she had on Assan at the Paradise Treasures Gallery.
“A profile I would put on this subject is the following: female, in her mid-thirties to forties, a person who lives alone and feeds herself on fantasy-based content and entertainment-oriented television. She’s following a classic stalker pattern of escalation and she’s getting closer to making an attempt to reach Miller in person. When is Miller due back to this location?”
Jake frowned. “He’s supposed to be back from Quebec day after tomorrow. He was going to take a few weeks off here on Maui.”
“You might consider advising him to take his vacation in another location. Unknown. Keep him off the grid. Perhaps then you can set a trap for Blondie here at the compound. Enlist a confederate who dresses as Miller, and try to lure Blondie out of the shadows.”
Sophie suppressed a smile at the enthusiastic glint that lit Jake’s eyes at this idea. Her partner would always rather go on the offensive. Sitting back inside the walls of the compound and trying to anticipate Blondie’s moves rather than going after the stalker in an active way had been driving Jake crazy.
“I think we just got a new project!” Jake rubbed his hands together. He looked around the table at each member of their little team. “What do you think? All in favor, say ‘aye’!”
Sophie, Ronnie, and Jesse echoed his enthusiastic agreement.
Kinoshita smiled. “And I’ll really make your day by telling you that Bix has already approved this course of action—with all possible safety protocols in place, of course.”
Jake stood up, waving the report. “I want to call Shank and read the pertinent parts of this to him. Get him to change his plans.”
“Sounds like you have a plan. I don’t see the purpose for me to stay on here with this case at the moment,” Sophie said. “My focus is the AI software. If Miller isn’t coming back right away, I should return to Oahu. I have a dog that needs me.” And a boyfriend who wants me.
Jake slowly sat down. “No. You should stay.”
“For what?” Sophie lifted her brows.
“Quite frankly, I think you’ll be safer here at the compound than anywhere else.”
“About that.” Kinoshita gazed at Sophie. “Bix and I conferred. In light of your recent attack, we both think it’s possible your ex might be hiding here on Maui. If that is the case, contrary to what Jake says, you’d be better off returning to Oahu and taking whatever security measures you deem fit. You’ll also be in a better position to work with the FBI on his capture from Honolulu.”
“We agree, the
n. Jake, I wish you luck with this next phase.” Sophie stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few loose ends to tie up before I return to Oahu.”
Like checking out the lead on Assan at Paradise Treasures Gallery.
Sophie was heading back to her new rental car, Mary Watson’s sundress fluttering against her legs, when Jake approached, striding toward her from the security cottage. “You weren’t even going to say goodbye?”
Sophie rolled her shoulders back, irritated. “Goodbye. I’ll see you when either Shank Miller is back on Maui, or you are back on Oahu at the end of this job.”
“You’re up to something. Tell me what it is.”
“Goodbye, Jake. I’ll be in touch,” Sophie said firmly. She got into the lime green Dodge Neon rental and slammed the door. She pulled out of the compound, adjusting her rearview mirror. Jake seemed to fill the driveway, watching her go, his hands on his hips.
Sophie firmed her jaw.
This was none of his business, and she’d handle it herself. She couldn’t endanger either Connor or Jake by attracting Assan’s attention to them. She’d learned the hard way with a previous relationship that Assan would go after any man she cared about.
Her mind flashed back to the early morning hours as she lay naked on her side in the small, lumpy bed at the hostel in Paia, the sheet bunched at her waist, a hand propping up her chin as she watched Connor dress. She enjoyed the warm caress of lamplight over his tanned chest and chiseled abs as he pulled up the tailored slacks and zipped them, threaded a belt through the loops, and reached for the shirt she’d just about torn off him hours before. “Did you find out anything new about your ex?”
“No,” she lied. “Are you going to tell me the lead you have on him?”
“It’s this. He’s on Maui.” Connor’s hands stilled on the buttons of his shirt as his eyes, lit by shadows, found hers. “All the more reason for you to come back to Oahu. Now tell me what you know.”
“No.”
Connor stopped buttoning the shirt and came over to the bed. Just his closeness made her soften with longing, but Sophie held her position, refusing to move as he leaned over her, smelling of soap and man and all the ecstasy they’d experienced. “This is so dysfunctional,” he whispered into her mouth. “I can’t wait until it’s over.”
“Will it ever be over?” She breathed him in, her eyes fluttering shut.
“I hope not.” His mouth closed the distance to meet hers.
Sophie put a hand up to touch her lips, still tingling at the memory. Dysfunctional, for sure, but irresistible.
She could worry about where things were going with Connor when Assan was in custody.
Chapter Nine
His wife had taken the bait.
Facial recognition software, loaded on the gallery’s security cameras, picked up Sophie, even with the hat and sunglasses she wore into the place. Assan watched her on a phone surveillance app, his eyes avid for any glimpse of her face, any betraying gesture. The spotlights of the gallery skimmed over her skin so that she appeared to emerge and then vanish in the grainy feed. He couldn’t see her face, though, hidden as it was by the shadow of her hat, and his hands balled into fists.
Sophie was dressed differently. The camera picked up the solid shape of her toned shoulders, the firm rounds of her butt. He liked how feminine she looked; the floral dress she wore with sandals flattered her fit, beautiful body. She was still strong enough to put up a fight, and that flushed him with heat.
Assan texted his men even as he continued to watch what silently unfolded. He’d lost track of her after that first, botched kidnap attempt, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Sophie approached the gallery’s owner, Magda Kennedy. He and Kennedy had come to an understanding. He was a silent partner, providing cash flow during an uncomfortable crunch. In return, he was staying at lodgings she owned, no questions asked, no details given. She had agreed to the extra security measures that allowed him to watch Sophie as the two women talked, surrounded by stunning artworks, and finally Kennedy led Sophie over to a painting, spotlighted by a harsh beam of light.
She must have some very good trolling program to pick up the crumbs he dropped for her, crumbs too subtle, too personal for the FBI or Interpol—but he’d counted on her being able to find them.
His palms sweat with desire as he watched her.
A smile tugged up his lips as Assan anticipated how ruined she’d be by what he had planned for her next—it would soften her up for when he got his hands on her.
“I’m shopping for my home collection and I would like something with an Asian feeling. I spent some time in Hong Kong in the past. Do you have anything that ties to that area?” Sophie asked, fiddling with her purse strap. This role as a wealthy art-collecting woman didn’t feel natural, but she’d tried to at least look the part, wearing a pair of huge natural pearls given to her by her father, and an upscale sundress.
Magda Kennedy’s crystal blue eyes contrasted with jet-black hair and brows as finely marked as calligraphy. The stunning woman wore a white, off the shoulder Grecian-style dress and gold, kitten-heeled sandals with cords wrapping her calves. She looked as if she’d just walked down from Olympus to sell art in Lahaina.
Her dark brows scrunched delicately. “I don’t have anything from there specifically, but I have an Asian collection I’ll show you.” Kennedy led Sophie toward the back of the gallery. Sophie tried not to swing her head or give any other indication that she was taking in all the information that she could about the gallery and its owner. “This is a beautiful gallery in a prime location. You must do a high volume.”
“It’s a bit seasonal. I’m not out on the floor except during our peak times.” Kennedy spoke coolly over her shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to invest in an art gallery.” Sophie let her sentence trail off, hoping Kennedy might volunteer something. Once again, she was aware of her limitations as a field operative. Her friend Marcella was so much more glib, easily able to interview a witness without seeming to. Truth was, Sophie had no idea how to find out if Assan was involved with this gallery, other than hacking the woman’s computers, which she’d already done. She’d found nothing of interest other than a shortage of cash flow being propped up temporarily by a business loan from an unknown investor. Could that investor be Assan?
“Many people imagine being involved with the art world,” Kennedy said neutrally. “It’s almost as common a fantasy as writing a book.”
Sophie struggled for another leading question. “Do you store all your art on-site?” At least she could find out if there was more of the gallery she could investigate, and look for indicators of Assan’s presence.
Kennedy stopped suddenly, and Sophie almost bumped into her. “Are you interested in a piece of art, or not?”
Heat flashed on Sophie’s cheekbones. “Of course.” She drew herself taller, clipping her words in a haughty manner. “I was just making conversation. I’m happy to take my business elsewhere, if my questions make you uncomfortable.”
“My mistake.” Kennedy turned away. “I think you’ll appreciate this unique piece I’d like to show you.”
The woman was now suspicious, so Sophie ended up paying way too much for an antique Chinese watercolor. She left it at the gallery to be professionally framed because that would provide an excuse to return.
Sophie shook Kennedy’s hand at the door. “Thank you for a lovely art piece that I will enjoy for many years.”
“And mahalo to you for coming in today.” Kennedy had definitely warmed up at the pile of cash Mary Watson had produced to pay for the art piece.
Sophie would have to get more money before she went back to Oahu. Mary Watson’s bank account was periodically filled by Sophie’s trust fund, routed through a couple of shell corporations she had set up. She used it as little as possible, because it could provide a link to her if a searcher was careful enough to find it. She hadn’t yet figured out how to obtain an untraceable stream of
cash to live on as Mary Watson.
Sophie thought about that as she walked out, conscious of a feeling of being watched.
She was beginning to get used to that feeling, a tightness between her shoulder blades as if a finger rested there.
Chapter Ten
Sophie’s burner phone rang on the seat of the rental car as she drove back toward Paia, and she spotted Jake’s number. She pulled over to answer it at a tiny turnout on the Pali, that winding and dramatic cliff route from the main town of Kahului to Lahaina on the western side of the island. Cobalt ocean foamed around black volcanic rocks thousands of feet below, and Sophie’s gaze feasted on the purple-brown smudge of the tiny barrier island of Kahoolawe, resting like smoke on the horizon. “Hello, Jake.”
“Are you still on island? Because I need you to come back to the compound.” Jake said.
“Why?” Sophie frowned. A strong gust of wind batted at the little car.
“Shank is on a plane to Maui from Canada. He got some of those dolls delivered to his hotel in Quebec, and he’s spooked. Refuses to go elsewhere to hide; says he’s coming home to Maui for a badly needed vacation, and that we can use him for bait to flush Blondie out.”
“Afterbirth of conjoined twins!”
“Whatever you just said is my feeling exactly. I called Bix and he agrees you should come back to the house. Help me manage our rock star and the situation. I’ve already worked with the guys on an op to capture Blondie; we’ve got extra security cams and stuff to set up that I’d like to run by you. I really need you here.”
Sophie sighed. “All right. But I won’t stay long.”
“We can argue about that later. For now, get your ass back here.”
“Do not talk to me like I am one of your men to be ordered about,” Sophie snapped.