Paradise Crime Series Box Set

by Toby Neal

  She couldn’t see Sloane handing her over to police, if that’s who was at the gate. She had too much to say for them to let her go. Sloane would stall, argue, deny, and maybe while they were doing that, she could get away.

  The sirens had attracted the inhabitants of the yurt above her. She heard the creak of feet on wood, the muffled sound of conversation. Yes, this was a good distraction. Maybe she could make it to the hole in the razor wire of the fence.

  Sophie pushed the broken lattice out and, after a quick check to see that the coast was clear, she burst out from under the yurt. She found a hidden vantage point where she could see that it wasn’t police, but a yellow fire truck at the gates. The compound’s refusal to open up had drawn a crowd of inhabitants as the firemen shouted and the cultists denied entry.

  Sophie scuttled along the row of yurts set close together and worked her way toward the wall. It seemed impossibly high. She looked around wildly and spotted a small round table with a couple of chairs. She grabbed the table and dragged it over to the fence, jumping up onto it. Her ribs screamed a protest as she reached her arms up and jumped. Her fingertips scrabbled on the splintery wood and she slid down, almost falling backwards off the table but catching herself at the last moment.

  She needed more power.

  Sophie bent her legs, tightened her abs, and jumped as high as she could reach, her fingertips catching on the top of the fence. She brought her legs up with a groan, pushing herself higher to take some of the strain off as her arms flexed. Her shoes, sensible rubber-soled sandals with thin leather straps, gained a tiny purchase on the rough wood and pushed her just a little higher, enough so that her arms could haul her upright.

  Poised at the top, she glanced back—and saw three of the children watching her. She lifted a finger to her lips, her gaze begging for their silence, and then she pitched herself over the wall.

  She landed in a graceless heap on her shoulder, her whole body jarred violently by the fall. She lay there a moment, gathering breath and fortitude, listening for the sounds of pursuit. But there were none. There was only the sound of excited voices inside the compound and the flash of the fire truck’s lights.

  She didn’t want to approach the truck. She wanted to check in with Dunn—who knew what Dunn had told them to get them to come to the compound’s gate? But she felt certain Dunn was responsible for this distraction.

  Sophie gathered herself and ran, holding her side, into the long, tall grass.

  Dunn was not at the observation camp when she returned. The small, camouflage colored, waterproof shelter was still in place, as was the crude viewing area he had constructed.

  Dunn was probably monitoring the situation from closer at hand. But was he working directly with the fire department? There was no way to know until he returned. Sophie found a jug of water and drank gratefully, then ate three protein bars in rapid succession, followed by a handful of ibuprofen from the medical kit.

  The observation post was meant to look like a hunter’s camp if discovered. Dunn had set the stage with a camp chair and a few empty beer cans, along with spent shotgun shells fallen on the ground. Dog-eared copies of Guns & Ammo, Soldier of Fortune and Penthouse gave a picture of his reading interests.

  Her partner had taken his communication equipment with him, so there was nothing to do but wait. Sophie lay down in the shelter on a sleeping bag that smelled strongly of Dunn, and immediately fell asleep.

  “I was hoping you would turn up here,” Dunn said from above her.

  Sophie woke abruptly and stared up at her partner. His expression was hidden in the shadow. Sophie pushed herself up on an elbow with a groan. Immediately Dunn dropped to his knees beside her, touching her shoulder, turning her face into the light. “Are you injured?”

  She pushed his hand away. “I’m okay. It’s just my ribs.”

  “You’re the only woman who’d say that with the shiner and fat lip you’ve got. Let me get the medical kit.” Dunn turned away, rustling around in a duffle bag. He insisted on dabbing her many small wounds with antibiotic ointment and a Q-tip, and finally, she stretched out so he could examine her ribs.

  Dunn felt along the side she indicated, already purple and black with bruising. His fingers were deft and gentle, but she hissed in pain at his touch. He tugged her shirt down abruptly. “I don’t think they’re broken. Maybe cracked, but hopefully just some serious bruising.” Dunn rocked back on his heels. “Got anywhere else I should check?”

  “Took a couple of good ones on the head. Knocked me out.”

  “Let me get a look.” He shone a flashlight over her head, feeling gently along her scalp. Sophie shut her eyes against the pain and the light. “Didn’t break the skin except for a little wound back here, but you’ve got a couple of goose eggs going on. Someone beat the shit out of you.”

  “Dougal Sloane. An experienced fighter that likes inflicting pain.” Sophie shuddered.

  Dunn dug in his duffel and handed her a shiny metal flask. “Here. Medicinal purposes.”

  Sophie didn’t argue. The whiskey felt hot and smoky and burned the bruise on her mouth, but the bomb of comfort it brought as it hit her belly felt relaxing. “Thank you for sending in the fire department. They provided enough of a distraction for me to get out of the camp.”

  “It was all I could come up with. I knew the cops weren’t going to go down there on just an anonymous phone tip. I pretended to be a neighbor seeing suspicious smoke. Had to use the Bat-phone.” He waggled the scrambler-equipped satellite device, a clunky black instrument with a rubber antenna. “I was getting ready to spring you myself after the cult turned the fire department away—but I thought I’d check if you’d come back here first.”

  “Dougal Sloane likely killed the women. He’s Scottish. Some sort of ex-military. And he does Sandoval Jackson’s dirty work.” Sophie filled him in on her week in the cult and its denouement as Dunn began packing up the camp.

  “So other than going to the police with your injuries and your experience with Sloane, you have no evidence for us to share with them?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “I’m afraid not. The ninhydrin spikes were damaged by the rain and I suspect are inconclusive even if I could get my things back. But what I have now is a firm conviction that those women were murdered, and that their bodies are somewhere on the grounds. We need to move forward on this. Sloane won’t hesitate to kill again.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Back on Oahu the next morning, freshly showered, her injuries treated, Sophie faced Kendall Bix, VP of Operations. “No, I did not gain any actionable evidence,” Sophie said. “But I’m willing to share my personal experience at the hands of Sloane, and try to help Hilo Police Department get a search warrant.”

  “Certainly we should tell them about what you saw and experienced.” Bix indicated her bruised face with a twirled finger. “But then we would have to tell them why you were there, what you were doing, and why it was under false pretenses. And anything they eventually discovered could be the fruit of a poisoned tree. If you follow me.”

  “I certainly do.” Sophie’s eyes felt gritty, her throat dry and sore, and pretty much every muscle in her body ached. The three of them sat, silent and glum, around the polished table. “I have some credibility. I was an FBI agent for five years.”

  “Then perhaps you can tell us exactly how Sloane identified you?” Bix drilled her with his gaze. “You’re new with us. We hired you based on your record, and by your own admission you were never a field agent. Tell us exactly when and how Sloane was onto you.”

  “Sloane approached me to be Jackson’s bed partner. I went along, to see how they recruited and treated women, to see what I could find out about the wives. Jackson decided we weren’t a fit. I was relieved when he dismissed me, quite frankly. I’ll do a lot for a case, but I’m not sleeping with someone to keep my cover. Maybe I played a little too hard to get, and that raised his suspicions. So be it.” Sophie held Bix’s gaze. “The man is hyper vigila
nt and paranoid, and Jackson gives him free rein and turns a blind eye. That’s the dynamic.”

  Dunn spoke up at last. “It was a risky op. Why else was I hanging out for four days on that mosquito-infested ridge? That paradise down in the valley is really a little slice of hell. Give Sophie the day off, boss.”

  Bix smacked his hand down on the table. “We’re still skunked until we have something we can go to Hilo PD with.” He pinned Sophie with a glare. “I don’t want all you went through to have been in vain.”

  “I have a friend, a detective at South Hilo PD. Let me talk to him. Give him a hypothetical about what Sophie found out and our case, and see what he says,” Dunn said.

  “All they need is to search that camp with cadaver dogs,” Sophie said. “Those women, along with an accountant, are there. I just know it.”

  Back at her apartment, Sophie’s burner phone was full of messages: three from her father, two from Marcella, and two forwarded texts from the Ghost.

  She’d save those for last. A reward for getting through the others.

  Sophie texted Marcella that she was back and safe from an off-island op, but not in shape for socializing. The return call to her father was much more difficult.

  “Why aren’t you in the apartment?” Her dad had a resonant voice, now wound tight with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Are you safe?”

  Sophie stifled an involuntary smile. When had she ever been safe? She looked down at the tattoo on the exterior of her thigh reminding her of courage. On the other thigh was freedom.

  Sometimes one didn’t come without the other. She’d chosen a career that pitted her against dangerous enemies. She’d never be entirely safe—but that was hardly the point.

  “I’m fine, Dad. Like I told you in my message, I’ve left the FBI and I’m working for a private security firm. I had an operation on the Big Island for the company, so that is why I was out of touch. I went off the grid and left the apartment because I wanted to stay under everyone’s radar with all that has been going on with the DAVID program.”

  She filled him in as best she could, and when he was finally reassured, she felt even more exhausted, ready to sleep for a week. But she had a couple of email notifications to read that she actually looked forward to.

  Did you like what I sent you? That had come from the Ghost two days ago.

  Then, another one yesterday.

  I guess you took offense. I’m sorry if the photos were over the line.

  Sophie opened her email again and looked at the photos he’d sent. God, he was beautiful—what a set of back muscles and glutes. They ought to be blown up and framed. That would give Marcella something to tease her about! Her involuntary smile hurt.

  On impulse, Sophie stretched out on her bed and lifted her shirt. She took a photo of her abs that showed her navel surrounded by its mandala of elegant, tiny Thai writing. Some of the purple bruise from her ribs had crept down to mar her golden-brown skin, but it just looked like a shadow in the photo.

  She emailed the photo to him, with a note: I was AFK on a job. Here’s something private you will have missed in that video. You did not offend me with your photos. I approve of working out, as you know, and would not be averse to a few more.

  Was she being too forward? Had she showed this mysterious man, someone she was hiding from as much as the FBI, too many of her hopes, dreams, and desires? The message of her tattoo was right there to be translated if he so chose.

  There was no way to tell, but it felt right.

  She hit Send and turned out the light.

  Ginger snuggled onto the air mattress, her nose resting on Sophie’s back. Sophie let Ginger stay, as glad as the dog was to be reunited.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sophie slept until Ginger’s persistent licking woke her up. When she rolled painfully onto her good side to check the clock, she was shocked to see that eight hours had passed. Her phone, in vibration mode, buzzed around on the floor like an angry bumblebee. She picked it up, her voice gravelly. “Hello?”

  “Sophie, it’s Marcella. I got your text, but you agreed to let me come over when you were settled and I don’t like not hearing from you for five days.” A pause for breath. “What happened? You sound terrible.”

  “I told you. I was on a job on the Big Island. Things got a little rough.” Sophie sat up with care and fended off Ginger’s affection. “It’s just as well that you called. I have to get up anyway. Ginger needs to go out. But you have to make sure you’re not followed, coming to my place.”

  Marcella snorted. “I’m an agent. I know how to look for a tail. Who are you hiding from, anyway?”

  “I don’t know, really.” Sophie straightened the tank top she slept in and levered herself up off of the air mattress. “I just know I didn’t want to be in that apartment anymore, where anyone who wanted to could find me.”

  “That’s not true. The Bureau keeps your address secret.”

  “Yes, but it’s not secret from them.” Sophie worked herself up to standing and padded into the bathroom, the phone at her ear. The sight of her battered face in the mirror was alarming. She turned on the sink and splashed a little water on her cheeks, wincing as it hit her split lip. “I’m not looking so very good today. My face looks like that time I got a pounding from the Punisher at Fight Club.”

  Marcella sucked in a breath. “That was a bad one. Okay, you don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. But let me come over.”

  “That’s fine. I haven’t eaten all day. I’ll meet you at the front with Ginger. We have to take a walk around the block anyway. Let’s get a bite at the noodle house and then you can come up and see this place.” She looked around and shook her head. “Not that there’s much to see.” She told Marcella the address.

  Sophie put on a Mary Watson floral tank dress and walked Ginger around the block a couple of times, breathing shallowly and moving slowly, though her ribs felt better.

  Ginger nosed and sniffed and squatted, delighted that for once Sophie wasn’t dragging her along at a run. Late summer in Honolulu was steamy, but evening brought cooler air in from the ocean, causing the shower tree near her building to drop bright petals onto the sidewalk, softening the warm concrete. Laundry flapped gently as bright flags, hanging from the railings of nearby apartments.

  Marcella was parked in her black Honda sedan in front of Sophie’s dilapidated apartment building upon her return. Her friend rolled down the window as Sophie approached.

  “Can’t say I care for the place.” Marcella pushed large Jackie O sunglasses up onto her sleek, chocolate-brown head. “But I’ve seen worse.”

  “Mary Watson has simple tastes.” Sophie said. “Can you drive us to the noodle place?” Marcella eyed Ginger, who panted and wagged in appeal.

  “I’m not driving your dog anywhere in my nice clean car. Let me come up now, and you can leave her in the apartment.”

  “She’s so happy I’m home. I can’t bear to leave her again so soon.” Ginger always acted grief-stricken at any separation. “But you wouldn’t like Mary’s car, either, so I’ll leave her.”

  Marcella was unimpressed with the interior of Sophie’s apartment. Hands on hips, she surveyed the bare space with a jaundiced eye. “This is not going to help your depression.”

  Sophie felt a waft of anger. Marcella was never short on opinions, and Sophie had heard enough of them. “My depression is not your concern.”

  Marcella’s big brown eyes flashed with annoyance. “Right. I’m your best friend.” She gestured to the barren space. “Why didn’t you think of coming to stay with me and Marcus?” Marcella had moved in with the big Hawaiian detective not long ago, and they shared a cute little plantation home on the outskirts of Honolulu.

  Sophie blinked. “You don’t need me and Ginger getting in your space, reminding you what it’s like to be single.”

  Marcella winced as if Sophie had slapped her. “What is with you today? Anything you need, you only have to ask. The fact that yo
u’re so paranoid that you went off the grid and assumed a new identity and rented this hole of an apartment for no good reason shows me how little we really know each other.”

  “This isn’t about you, Marcella.” Sophie’s heart pounded with anxiety—she was offending her closest friend and ally. But she was angry, too, at being forced to explain a decision she didn’t entirely understand herself. “This is about me needing to feel safe. Find my own way. Out from under Dad’s money. Out from under the FBI. I’m figuring out who I am.” The truth of this insight, so spontaneously reached, burst across her brain.

  “And who you are is Mary Watson?” Marcella gestured to the light sundress skimming Sophie’s body, the pretty sandals on her feet.

  Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m kind of having fun finding out. I like dressing up as Mary Watson. A lot of my life has been about reacting to what happened with my ex. Escaping him. Finding a way to defend myself—through my work, through Fight Club. Confronting him set me free in a way, but it’s also taken a while for the effects to really be felt.”

  “I think you should talk to Dr. Wilson. She’s a good shrink, and she might have something to say about how you’re handling the stress of the DAVID situation. Who has threatened you so badly that you have to hide out?”

  Marcella didn’t know about the Ghost—her friend knew that he existed from Sophie’s big last case, but never the extent of their communication or ongoing involvement.

  And it wasn’t that Sophie felt unsafe from the Ghost—it was more that she wanted to be in control of when and how she finally met him. She wanted to be in control of who knew her location, including visitors like Pillman and the other IA agent who’d shown up unannounced at her door.

  “I have to do this right now. I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not asking for your approval.”

  Marcella’s well-marked brows rose and her mouth tightened. “Obviously.”