by Toby Neal
Your dad, Marcus, and I wanted you to be a little more at home in your place. Hope you like what we did! We love you, beautiful. ~ Marcella, Marcus, and Frank
She opened the sliders, letting the evening breeze blow in. Ginger lay down on a brand-new dog bed her friends had put near the door. She called Marcella and her dad and left tearful messages thanking them for the surprise. “You don’t know what it meant to me to open the door and find the apartment looking like this.” She set the phone down, but it almost immediately buzzed again.
“Marcella?” She answered it without checking the caller ID.
“I wondered if today was finally the day you were going to pick up.” Connor Remarkian’s cheerful Aussie accent brought a flush to her cheeks.
She’d been dodging his phone calls ever since the hospital and hadn’t seen him in all that time. It was hard to forget that the last time she’d seen him, they’d kissed. What would he think of her now? And how much did she care?
She still wasn’t sure.
“I needed some time to recover from the injuries I got on the Big Island.” Sophie hated how wooden her voice sounded. She was so bad at this relationship thing.
“Totally understandable. Bix has kept me informed of your progress. But I had hoped we were at least friends, and you would let me…help you somehow. Be a support.”
“I’ve been going through a lot. I’m sure you heard I was shot in the face, and I don’t look…like me anymore.” Her voice broke on the last word and she covered her eyes against the prickle of tears. She hadn’t cried throughout the whole ordeal. Why was she crying now?
“I have to see you.” His voice sounded rough. “When can I see you?”
Sophie dashed the tears off her cheeks, feeling the sag of her eye, the dented, dimpled surface of her skin with her fingertips. The truth hit her as she rubbed the wetness away—she didn’t want things to go any further with Connor, because she couldn’t stop thinking about the Ghost.
And he hadn’t written her in all this time.
Fuzzy memories of the Ghost talking to her in the hospital still made her skin prickle. Had Sheldon Hamilton visited her there, or had that just been wishful thinking? No one could tell her if he had or not, but the feeling that he’d had something to do with her waking up was too persistent to ignore.
This was a conversation that needed to be had in person with Connor—he deserved that much. She glanced around the apartment. She might have furniture now, but the fridge was still empty.
“I need to go out for something to eat. Why don’t I meet you for a night beach walk at Ala Moana Beach Park after?”
“Can we eat together, too? Could that count as the date you asked me on that we never had?”
Sophie pinched the bridge of her nose, embarrassed. “I guess.” She named her favorite noodle house, and they set a time.
Sophie brought in the rest of her things, fed the dog, and put away her clothes. Wearing a pair of slim black jeans and a tank top with pearl earrings and Mary Watson’s straw hat, Sophie drove to the noodle house.
Connor was already seated at a corner table. Sophie was surprised at the lift in her spirits to see him. He rose to greet her, sea-blue eyes intense as they traveled over her face, body, and clothing, registering the changes as she approached. He hugged her, knocking her hat back and making her laugh.
“You look great. It’s so good to see you.”
“Likewise.” Sophie liked the feel of his arms around her, but detached herself. They sat.
“What’s your favorite dish here?”
“Saimin.”
“Good thing. It’s a saimin place.” They laughed.
Sophie was relieved that he didn’t comment on her face. It must be improving.
After eating, they walked down toward the beach park along the sidewalk. “I feel naked without Ginger,” Sophie said. “But the restaurant changed their rules. They used to let me tie her up on the sidewalk outside.”
“Anubis is moping at home, too. He always likes an occasion to see her, as do I.” Connor took Sophie’s hand, squeezed.
Sophie felt the words she needed to say about the Ghost on the tip of her tongue, but couldn’t bring herself to speak them yet. This was so nice. He felt good beside her—his acceptance a balm, his presence easy.
They reached the park, and headed for the water’s edge, where they slipped off their shoes. Little wavelets splashed their feet, and the night wind thrummed in the palm trees. The moon on the water lit their way.
“I expected you to look much worse, with the way you’ve been hiding from me. Hideous. A Halloween witch with a single eye, at the very least.” Connor swung her hand, clearly trying to broach the subject in a lighthearted way. “And for the record, it wouldn’t have mattered to me if you did look like a witch.”
Sophie couldn’t even smile. “I don’t know how much better I’m going to look than this.”
“You’re beautiful. But then, I suspect that it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you that, you won’t believe them. I wonder if you believed it even before your injury.” He stopped her, turning to place one hand on her shoulder, one on her mutilated cheek. “This was never about your looks for me… Well, okay, it might have started that way—but it hasn’t been about that for a while now.”
Sophie took a step back. Her heart hammered with anxiety. She hated to hurt him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to—but she owed it to him to be honest. “I have feelings for someone else.”
“I don’t think Alika Wolcott is coming back to Honolulu.” Connor’s eyes were hidden and dark with the moonlight on them from above, but his voice low and definite.
“So you know about him, then. And you’re right, that’s over between us. It’s not him I was talking about.”
“Who, then?”
Sophie hadn’t expected his urgent persistence. “I’m not ready to talk about it. Just like I’m not ready…to talk about what we might be to each other.”
“Fine. We’ll go as slow as you need to.” Connor was making an effort to rein in the frustration she could still hear in his voice. “But it’s hard knowing that some mystery man is making a move on you while I’m being a gentleman.”
“I’m trying to be fair by telling you.” Sophie bit her lip. She pulled her hat off and slapped it against her leg, releasing tension. “Okay, then, since you won’t let it go. It’s Sheldon. We’ve been in touch online, and I need to know…what’s between us. He visited me in the hospital, I’m sure of it, and I think he has feelings for me too.”
Connor tipped his head back to speak to the heavens, throwing his hands up. “Of all the people!”
“I’m sorry. I know he’s your friend.”
They fell in step together again. Sophie was surprised at the relief she felt at having told Connor the truth. “You know that he’s the Ghost. But what you probably don’t know is that…we’ve kept in touch since last year’s case. I know it’s crazy to feel this way…and believe me, I wish I didn’t.”
“I warned you when we went hiking that he wasn’t ever going to be available. For a relationship, or anything else.” Connor’s voice was tight with tension, the words bitten off.
“But he came to me in the hospital. He said he’d see me when the time was right.” She heard the pleading in her voice. “You know him better than anyone. Tell him I need to see him. I need to know if he…”
“Why would I help you with that?” Connor picked up a stone, skipped it across the ruffled surface of the black ocean. They were close enough for the warm tropical waves to splash over their feet. “The guy is competition.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“Hell if I’m going to help him take you from me.” Having declared himself, Connor seemed as relieved as Sophie was to have acknowledged the proverbial elephant. He took her hand again and swung it a little in the dark as they walked.
Sophie felt the constriction in her chest lifting and something else replace it, something lig
ht and bubbly. She’d told him, been as honest as she could be, and they were still talking. “So I guess I’ll just have to keep looking for the Ghost on my own.”
“Better yet, you can give that shit up.” She could see the crinkles of humor beside Connor’s eyes as he tried to lighten his tone. “Let the Ghost play his little online mind games with criminals. I’m here, and I’m real.” His hand felt big and warm, pleasant. “And I want to be with you.”
She wondered how it would be to have Sheldon’s hand holding hers—and almost couldn’t breathe at the thought.
The spit of a silencer at close range was almost lost in the sighing of the waves, but Sophie couldn’t miss the sear of pain on the outside of her left bicep. She gasped. “Gun!”
She ducked low and spun to face the threat, but Connor shoved her behind him.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see moonlight shine on Dougal Sloane’s bald pate as the big Scot walked toward them, gun hand extended, the familiar chrome Beretta lengthened by a cigarlike black protrusion—a silencer. Connor had gone very still, and for some reason she was reminded of the way Anubis could stand like a statue, all coiled menace.
“You’re hard to kill, Mary Watson.” Sloane kept advancing. The next shot couldn’t miss. Sophie edged out from behind Connor. Her mind settled into that focused place where she went when she needed to. Just another couple of feet, and she could reach him.
But Sloane stopped just outside of range and lifted the pistol, waggling it back and forth between them.
“Which one of you would like it first? This is nothing personal.” Why did they always say that? It was such bullshit. “Just cleaning up loose ends, Mary. With you out of the way, there’s no case against me.”
Connor shoved Sophie down and aside, and leapt for Sloane’s gun hand.
Sophie gave a cry, falling to the sand as the weapon fired. Connor’s body hit Sloane. The two men went down, landing in the shallow water at the water’s edge and rolling in the surf as they grappled with each other.
Sophie scrambled to her feet, belly tightening with nausea as adrenaline flooded to her system.
Connor had to have been shot.
There was no way Sloane had missed at that range.
Sure enough, it was Sloane who stood up in the shallow water. He turned to push his foot down on Connor, submerging his motionless body.
Sophie launched herself with all her strength, hitting the big bald man in the back of the neck with her protruding elbow, knocking him face down into the water. But he was still holding the pistol, and he brought it up out of the water, firing, firing, firing, the spit of the rounds a deadly rain—fortunately he couldn’t get an angle to hit her.
Sophie used her body weight to keep Sloane submerged, her knee between his shoulder blades. She grabbed the arm holding the pistol, and using all her upper body strength, twisted it behind his back until she heard, and felt, the pop of his shoulder dislocating. His body jerked beneath her as he released a gust of bubbles, and the pistol fell from his fingers and sank to the bottom.
Sloane thrashed, trying to get a purchase to stand and toss her off. Small waves, the uneven sandy bottom, and his strength all contributed to Sophie having trouble staying on his back and holding him under.
Sloane managed to get his feet underneath him, and surged upwards with a gasp that threw her backwards. She landed in the shallow water, scrabbling backwards crabwise on her hands and feet towards the shore as he spun to face her.
One arm dangled useless, but Sloane’s good hand reached toward her as he coughed and bellowed in rage, staggering out of the shallows toward her.
Sophie lashed out and caught his knee from the side, a tricky move she had learned in her MMA fights. In matches it had to be done carefully or it would break the knee joint—but this time, she wanted to break it.
Sloane went down with a cry, his leg collapsing, bringing him to his knees in the water. Sophie burst up to hit him from the front, capturing his head in a chokehold and drawing him up against her hip. Holding her wrist with the opposite hand, Sophie winched down the pressure on his windpipe as he tore at her arm, punched at her legs. Dougal Sloane wasn’t going down easy.
Her eyes strayed to Connor, floating face up in the water. He was going to drown, if he wasn’t dead already.
She choked Sloane into unconsciousness, and the minute he went limp, she dropped him with a splash.
She ran to Connor’s body, grabbed him under the arms, and hauled him up onto the beach. She could see an oozing black hole where the round from the Beretta had penetrated his upper chest near the shoulder.
Sophie laid Connor on his back. His mouth flopped open and water flowed out of it as she turned him onto his side and thumped on his back. An ear against his back told her his heart was still beating.
She heard splashing, and looked up to see Dougal Sloane standing, big as a mountain, staggering in the water. She turned Connor over so more of the water could drain out. It was the best she could do at the moment.
Sophie hurtled back into the water with all the momentum she could muster and caught Sloane around the waist. Hitting him with her shoulder in the groin, she startled an exhalation of air out of him as she knocked him backwards into the water, arms churning. She landed on his chest with her knees and shoved his head under, all the way to the bottom.
She held him down by the neck.
Waves splashed into her face as Sloane thrashed, but she kept her knees on his chest, sucking gulps of air between waves as she held him down with all her strength.
His whole body seized, spasming. He heaved convulsively beneath her as he inhaled ocean water. Whatever people said about drowning, it wasn’t a peaceful death.
But Dougal Sloane didn’t deserve a peaceful death.
Sophie stayed on him until the last tremors and shudders were gone, until she was absolutely certain he wasn’t getting back up.
She splashed back to Connor’s body on the beach. There was foam at his lips and he still wasn’t breathing. Sophie took a pulse. His heart was beating sluggishly, but regularly.
She had to get the water out of him. She had to get him breathing again.
Sophie hauled Connor up onto his stomach, so that his solar plexus landed across her bent knees. She made sure his head, inclined downward, was turned to the side and that his mouth was open. She lifted one of her knees, increasing the downward angle, and pounded on his back with all her strength.
Water gushed out of Connor’s mouth. Every time she hit him, more came out. In between blows to his back, she screamed for help.
Chapter Thirty
Sophie sat down on the beige suede couch in Dr. Kinoshita’s office at Security Solutions. She crossed her legs, hands locked around one knee. After telling her tale multiple times to the police and spending the night in an interrogation room, Sophie was in no mood to repeat it again—but Bix had sent her a text ordering the interview with the psychologist.
Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, her body bruised and sore, and her throat still hurt from screaming for help two days ago.
Dr. Kinoshita came out from around her desk and seated herself opposite Sophie in a wingback armchair. The psychologist’s dark brown eyes searched her face. “You look exhausted, Sophie. How are you holding up?”
“I wouldn’t be here if Bix hadn’t ordered it.”
“I totally understand. Can I get you some tea?”
“I’d love some, thanks.”
Kinoshita remembered that she wasn’t a coffee drinker. Not too many people did, and it showed the psychologist’s thoughtful attention to detail. Kinoshita turned on an electric kettle over on a sideboard, fussing with a tea bag and mug. “I am personally so grateful to you for saving Todd.” Kinoshita slanted a glance at Sophie over her shoulder. “Mr. Remarkian is essential to Security Solutions, especially with Sheldon Hamilton’s departure.”
Sophie had to consciously remember that Todd was Connor’s first name. Apparently Kinoshita wasn�
��t close enough to the CEO to know that. “It was really frightening trying to bring him back from drowning. The doctors are still not sure if he sustained some permanent neurological damage from oxygen deprivation—but at least he’s going to make it.” Sophie hadn’t even been able to visit Connor in the hospital with the police on her like fleas on a dog. Dunn had kept her informed of Connor’s changing medical situation via text messages. “I heard he had surgery for the bullet wound, and is due to be discharged tomorrow.”
Kinoshita brought Sophie the mug of tea and a coaster for the blond, Danish-style wood coffee table. “Now that we’re all settled, why don’t you take me through what happened step-by-step.”
Sophie took a moment to muster her thoughts, smoothing Mary Watson’s linen pants down to her knees, flexing her fingers. “It started with my leaving my father’s apartment.” Sophie took Dr. Kinoshita through the series of events, keeping it as simple and factual as she could. There were many points in the story when her voice trembled, or she needed to get up and pace—particularly when describing the Faustian dilemma of killing Sloane, or saving Connor.
“I gambled. And I’m not sure I won.”
“The fact that you could subdue Sloane at all is practically a miracle,” Kinoshita said.
Sophie smiled. “You and I clearly have a different standard. I’m a trained FBI agent and an MMA fighter. I’d gone against him before and almost lost, so I knew what I was up against, but Remarkian gave me a chance by attacking him first.”
“Yes. It appears that he pushed you out of the way and made a grab for the man’s weapon.” Kinoshita poured more tea into Sophie’s mug. “Are you two dating?”
Sophie moved uncomfortably, kicking her foot in its pretty but sensible sandal. “I guess you could call it that. It’s more like—spending time together.”
Kinoshita sipped her tea. “Well, he certainly tried to help you.”