Relic (Uncommon Enemies: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 2)

by Fiona Quinn

  Nadia bustled in with a fragrant cup of chai. Sophia accepted it gratefully.

  Outside, an engine powered down the drive. Brian went to get the door. He came back with her keys. “Who’s your neighbor across the way? The one who looks out the upstairs window every time I come over.”

  Sophia reached for her keys, glad to have them back in her possession and away from the curious eyes of Iniquus operatives. “Will Sheppard or his wife, Janice. Ignore them. They’re paranoid, but for good reason.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because,” Nadia said, “this neighborhood is filled to the brim with looney tunes.” She squinted at Sophia. “You need to move.”

  Sophia pulled the pillow from behind her head and buried her face it in, muffling her reply. “If it weren’t for nine-tenths rules, I’d be out of here in a heartbeat.” Sophia moved to hug the pillow, looking up to find a line creased between Brian’s brows.

  His eyes had brightened with what she had come to call his ‘duty focus.’ “That didn’t answer my question.”

  “In the case of the Sheppards, the women in the neighborhood think it’s a hoot to get liquored up and run up to their house and ring the bell or throw rocks at their windows to wake them up.”

  “Why do they do that?”

  “That’s not all they do,” Nadia said. “They have neighborhood parties once a month—they grill at the end of the cul-de-sac, everyone brings a dish. Nice, right? Not really. They get drunk, send their kids home, and then do things like take off their shirts and bras and streak half-naked to the stop sign and back. Why? Because they’re crazy.”

  “How often do they get drunk?”

  “Whenever the kids don’t have school,” Nadia answered.

  “Every time?”

  “So…someone brought my van back?” Sophia could feel anxiety catching hold of her breath. She needed to change the subject fast.

  Brian tipped his head to study her for a long moment. “Yes, they did, and we had all your tires replaced with run-flats,” he finally said.

  Sophia pulled her shoulders up to her ears. “What is that?”

  “The other day when you got the flats, I thought we had the problem solved. The tires Iniquus put on the right-hand side of your car were self-sealing. If you drove over a nail and then pulled it out, the tire would fill the hole. Unfortunately, they work best when the puncture is small and in the middle of the tread. Your puncture was another piece of construction debris.”

  Sophia turned her scowl toward the window.

  “There are some things you should know. A run-flat is basically a tire with sidewalls reinforced to support the weight of your vehicle even if they go flat. That means you can drive on a flat tire, and I want you to. You are not to stop and change it. Just keep driving home or to Iniquus or some other place where you feel safe. Then call me or the Iniquus hotline.”

  Sophia swung her head toward him.

  “I programmed the number into your phone as number one on quick dial. When you call, they’ll know who you are and where you are. You need to tell them the circumstances so they know whom to dispatch. Today, Lynx was only a short distance from you and was able to get to you in less than three minutes, while I made my way to you. There is always a Panther Force operative on duty. You always have support. Okay?”

  When had he programmed her phone? Sophia wondered. She didn’t like what Brian was telling her. Sure, it should put her at ease that a group of hot-shot retired Special Forces guys were at her beck and call. There was a time back in high school when that genre of book was her preferred reading. But living vicariously through the words written on a page and living them in real life… They created completely different body responses. Knowing that it might be necessary to push that button on her phone to save herself or her kids… Sophia’s eye caught on the photo of her boys and held.

  Brian waited until she turned her attention back to him. “You can still have a blowout with these tires, though. It’s not a foolproof solution. How about you make it a habit to check your tires for anything foreign before you get in the car to drive?”

  “I can do that,” Sophia said.

  “Sophia, this is important. You’ve been parking your car at the bottom of your drive under the crepe myrtle. You need to park at the top of the hill next to your mailbox. I know it’s a hassle, with the kids and all. But the person who’s sabotaging your tires is using that tree to hide behind.”

  “Someone is doing this on purpose?”

  “Sophia, come on, be serious. This is life-threatening.”

  Sophia thought she caught a hint of exasperation in Brian’s tone.

  “I told her the same thing, but she thinks she’s just jinxed. And the ‘bad luck’,” Nadia made air quotes with her fingers, “is her paying for her sins.”

  Nadia’s comment felt like the betrayal of a sacred trust. Sophia couldn’t believe she had said that aloud.

  Brian leaned forward and waited until Sophia was looking him directly in the eye. She couldn’t hold the intensity of his gaze, so she lowered her lashes to shield herself.

  “What sins, Sophia?” he asked gently. “What have you done?”

  Sophia rubbed her palms up and down her thighs and focused back on the picture of her boys.

  Brian must have realized she had zero intentions of answering him, because he moved the conversation along. “You drive with your kids in the car. Today, when the tire blew, you almost had an accident. Yes, you got to the side of the road and out of harm’s way, but it scared you so badly you had a seizure. What if your boys had been with you then? What if you were on the side of the highway, and you were unable to protect them?”

  Sophia’s whole body began trembling. Nadia moved over to her side, reaching her arms protectively around Sophia. Sophia buried her head against her friend’s shoulder. Her mind flashed back to the accident last June that would later take her mother-in-law’s life. The boys had been cut and bruised but hadn’t needed hospitalization, thank God. She now wore the long silver scars where her arm was pieced back together. The thought of another accident was terrifying—the shrieking brakes, the splintering glass, being thrown around the cab despite her seat belt. Sophia pulled herself away from Nadia and caught Brian’s gaze. She nodded. “I can do that, park at the end of the drive. Make it a habit to check my tires.”

  “Here’s the thing that I want you to keep your eyes out for. If someone is doing something to you and you take that something away, they don’t just stop. They’re going to look for another way to get to you. If you experience anything new, anything that seems off, you call me. Immediately.”

  Sophia reached for her bracelet, sliding her finger into the gold ring that was part of the clasp. Shit.

  “Now, you were calling me when your tire blew, what did you need?”

  Sophia cleared her throat. “The neighbors were all pissed at me this morning. I bought high-powered lights thinking they would make me safer, but I was up all night with them flashing on and off. Will Sheppard across the street was livid—even Marla around the corner, where you’d think the trees would have protected her from the light show.”

  Nadia squirmed forward on the seat cushion. “You didn’t sleep again. You’re going on three nights now.” It was a stern, sisterly rebuke. “No wonder you’re having seizures on the side of the road. You know better. Your doctor told you, point blank.”

  “When’s the last time you had a good night’s sleep?” Brian asked softly.

  Sophia clasped her hands in her lap like a penitent. “June, 2011.” She tried to laugh it off.

  “Nadia told me that you’ve been diagnosed with PTSD and NEAD, and I know that sleep issues can go hand-in-hand with those diagnoses—but right now, I’m talking about you being kept up by external forces. The lights going off. The alarm…”

  “She has sleep medication, but she refuses to take it because she’s afraid the boys will need her.”

  “Sophia? How long?”

 
; “I can’t think of a time I got to sleep all the way through the night since I moved here a year ago. Something seems to happen most every night. Some of it I can explain away, some things make no sense at all.”

  “Give me a for instance.”

  “I don’t know—I can’t think of anything beyond lights and alarms at the moment. If I remember, I’ll tell you. In the meantime, if you’d help me shift the sensors on the lights to make a pet corridor, it will stop the light show. I must have had some raccoons in my yard or something. I need my neighbors to calm down.”

  “You think that was an animal doing that?”

  “Do you have another explanation?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Brian

  Wednesday p.m.

  The Panther Force door cracked open, and Lynx leaned in. “I had a few minutes, so I wanted to poke my head in and see how Sophia is doing.”

  “We were about to go over today’s events,” Brian said. “Do you have a few minutes? It would be great if you could give us your input.”

  Lynx stood out in the war room like a red balloon in a black-and-white photo. Her job with their fellow Iniquus team, Strike Force, included an array of hats she wore. From what Brian had seen, her main duty was to shock the system. The Iniquus environment was constructed of rigid lines and industrial chrome. The operatives and support staff wore shades of black and gray. The men in their compression shirts were able-bodied and hard, while Lynx went out of her way to look soft and pliable. Lynx wore reds and pinks in decidedly female styles. Brian had seen her work time and time again. The person who was being interrogated would be steeled against most of their tactics, then Lynx would walk in, sit down, and smile. She’d chat with the person; and soon there would be a font of information being shared.

  Lynx was as capable in mind and body as any of the force operatives—she was the Iniquus wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. And she got away with it because she was, in fact, genuinely kind.

  While they waited for Thorn to show up, Brian took a minute to lay out the basics of what they knew about Sophia, and why they thought she might be the one they needed to target in the case.

  Nutsbe moved to pour yet another of the ubiquitous cups of coffee that fueled Iniquus. “Anyone?”

  “Yes, please. Cream and sugar,” Lynx said. When Nutsbe turned his back, she leaned over to talk under her breath. “This can’t be easy,” she reached for Brian’s hands. “I saw how you looked at her. I know how affected you were by her seizure. You had a relationship with her in the past?”

  Brian reached for an impassive response. Gripped it. Forced it into place.

  “Brian, we were in the middle of a crisis, and you responded naturally. This isn’t censure, I’m checking in on you, that’s all.”

  Brian tried to brush it off. He liked that Lynx was tuned in when she was developing a case. Having her skills turned on him felt intrusive. “Sophia and I met one night months ago. It was a fun evening. She’s a lovely woman. Yeah, I’ll admit finding out she was the subject of an FBI investigation rocked me. I thought my instincts about people were pretty solid.”

  “I always trust my instincts.” Lynx’s voice was pure conviction. “That first impression is everything. Things can happen thirty seconds later that work to change your mind, but that first visceral emotion, that first understanding, that’s the one that will bear itself out, even if someone plays a charade for years.” Lynx paused. “From what I saw when the curtain was pulled back, that must have been one hell of a first impression.”

  Brian swallowed. Yeah, seeing Sophia walk into the hotel bar had pretty much rocked his world. His first impression was that she was his. His first thought was, “Well, it’s about time.” He hadn’t stopped to examine that thought in the moment. It felt like he’d been waiting for her to show up, and boom there she was. Easy. Natural. A done deal.

  Nutsbe put a mug with a trigger handle in front of Lynx that read, “Keep Calm and Squeeze Gently.” He winked at her.

  “You could try,” Lynx said.

  Nutsbe laughed as he took his seat. “No thanks, I like the fact that my spine’s intact.”

  They turned as Thorn made his way into the room. “Sorry. I stopped by forensics on my way here and the tech got chatty. What have we got going on? This whole tire deal is from bizarro land.” Thorn tossed a file onto the table and took a seat in their circle.

  “I have a theory,” Lynx said.

  Nutsbe took a gulp from his mug. “I thought you might.”

  “Gaslighting.”

  Brian leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

  “Let’s start with the PTSD first. It’s significant. Sophia and Nadia were kidnapped, gone for days. Sophia developed PTSD where Nadia did not. I’m wondering if in the FBI file there’s any more information about the women’s experiences, how they were treated, if they were kept together. Not to say that all people come out of a traumatic experience in the same way, but I’m wondering if, as a the younger of the two, or for some other reason not readily obvious, Sophia was singled out to get information from her or possibly to be turned.” Lynx pinched at her bottom lip, her attention turned inward. “I would guess that Nadia recovered from the experience because she was given the opportunity to. Sophia went from the kidnapping to her father’s debilitating health crisis, to her brother’s motorcycle accident, to an unplanned pregnancy, to her boyfriend’s head injury, to the marriage, to violence at home, to a new baby. She was overwhelmed in a very short time, and those crisis events seemed to present themselves on some kind of horrible continuum. Sure, her system went haywire this morning. Who’s wouldn’t?”

  “Do you think she could be guilty?” Brian measured his tone carefully.

  “From what little I’ve seen and read in her file, all the ingredients for the stew are in the pot. Possible? Absolutely. She’s a woman in crisis, and where that crisis would cause her to react one way as an individual—as a mother of two small children, the only family they have, she would have to feel desperate. Is her guilt probable? I just don’t know. I wouldn’t think so—but people with their necks under the guillotine will do improbable things to extricate themselves.”

  Brian flashed back to the garage when he’d offered his car for Sophia to use to pick up Chance. She’d said, “Desperate times mean desperate measures” like it was her mantra.

  “I’m surprised the woman can walk and talk, let alone be so high-functioning. As you’re working through this case, your team needs to be aware of how fragile she is.” Lynx pulled out a printed list and laid it where the men could get eyes on. “When I got back to Iniquus this morning, Nutsbe let me peek at the intake file he’s compiling. I was looking for stressors to apply to the Holmes and Rahe stress scale. That’s a scale put together after they studied about five thousand medical files, trying to pinpoint a correlation between illness and life events. They developed a chart with forty-three stressors—some could be read as positive, like a new job, or a pregnancy, others are obviously devastating, like the death of a spouse. The forty-three stressors were each given a numeric weight. The death of a close family member, for example, is worth sixty-three points. It turned out that if a patient scored over three-hundred on their table in a year’s time, it was predictive of a serious illness.”

  Brian scanned down the list while he listened. Change in financial status, thirty-eight points, housing issues, thirty, troubles with in-laws, twenty-nine, end of school, twenty-six, change of living conditions, twenty-five, change in residence, twenty, change in sleeping habits, sixteen… Five-fifty-five plus. He put his finger on the total. “What happens when you get to five-fifty-five plus?”

  “She has a much higher number than that. I was getting depressed just tabulating it. First, you should know that that number happened over the last five years, between 2011 and 2016. I didn’t try to break it down to individual years, because stress is accumulative. Also, PTSD and NEAD seizures have their own physical and mental impact. What I wanted you to see
here is that your client, who is also the subject of your investigation, is walking a tightrope. She could lose her balance and fall at any time.”

  Brian’s physical reaction to that statement surprised the hell out of him. It was as if he grew and expanded, his nostrils flared, and he wanted to race forward, smashing and destroying anything and everything that put Sophia and her boys in harm’s way. He squashed those feelings down when Lynx turned her perceptive gaze on him. He needed to stay in this game, and the truth about his feelings for Sophia could easily get him sidelined. “You used the word gaslighting before.”

  “I’m curious about her series of flat tires. It is certainly a weird way to try to kill someone, but think about the impact. Right off the top, there’s the cost of replacements, the inconvenience. Dig deeper, and there’s the sense that whenever you drive there’s the additional threat of losing control of your car, your safety, the safety of the children, the chance that you’ll hurt others and incur more significant costs. June of last year, the family was in a car accident.”

  “It totaled the car,” Nutsbe said. “The mother-in-law, Jane Campbell, sustained injuries that led to her death six months later. Sophia incurred hospital bills for herself and the boys.” Nutsbe rubbed his thumb across his chin. “The thought of a car accident would have a specific and significant impact on her, since she survived one.”

  “It also led to her moving to the high-stress neighborhood.” Thorn tapped the file he’d brought in. “Forensics concludes that the metal found in Sophia’s tires on Monday and those found today are from the same source. They sent an investigator to follow the route that Sophia took from the time the mechanics put the GPS tracker on her car. The team couldn’t find anything that would pose a threat. There’s no construction on that route. Forensics was able to lift fingerprints from all three pieces, and they are all the same. There are no matching prints in the database.”