by Toby Neal
She jumped and whirled. Connor had come up from the sea, wearing a wetsuit, a board under his arm, his face hidden by a blond beard.
“Night surfing.” Sophie smiled. “Good one. You surprised me.”
“I have to work hard to beat the best.” Connor reached her and lifted the short-brimmed straw hat she wore to kiss her. The beard tickled wet on her cheeks.
She laughed, giving the whiskers a gentle tug. “No one would identify you in this.”
“Nor you, Mary Watson. You look very ‘Hawaii girl on a date.’ I like it.” Connor pressed a handful of her wig’s long black tresses to his nose. “Even smells real. Will you keep it on for me…later?” He wiggled his brows.
“Ha. We need to talk.”
“Women. Always with the talking.” His chuckle was strained.
“Not really a joking matter, Connor. We can go to my hostel.”
He fell in step with her and they walked the couple of blocks through the warm, plumeria-scented night, holding hands, blending perfectly in the casual beach town atmosphere. Connor stowed his surfboard outside the room’s door, and once in her unit, he unzipped a waterproof fanny pack to show a change of clothes—and the Walther PPK he favored. “I’ll shower and change, if you don’t mind.”
“Please do. I’ll fix some tea.” There was nothing else to eat or drink in the bare space.
Sophie had the tea ready in a pair of paper cups when Connor came out, toweling his short blond hair. She enjoyed the way he moved in the lightweight, upscale trousers he wore with a silk polo shirt that showcased his muscular torso. The fact that he’d come in from the ocean with those clothes to change into—so James Bond it was ridiculous.
Connor sat beside her on the bed since there was no other furniture, and took the tea. “Thanks. Can’t help wishing this was something stronger.” They sipped. “So. You wanted to talk.” He patted the bed. “I have something else in mind.”
Sophie smiled, his words igniting a warmth that sang along her nerve endings in spite of everything. She had to focus to remember their difficult conversation, his agitation, the uncomfortable questions from Lei and Pono. “You’re wrong about Jake and me, and our relationship. He’s my partner. Nothing more.”
Connor’s sea-blue eyes were intent as he toyed with the realistic-looking scruff on his cheeks. “I’d still like to move one of you off-site.”
“I’m off-site. And not interested in him, as you have occasion to know.” She scooted closer. Their knees brushed. “Don’t tarnish my good opinion of you with petty jealousy. It doesn’t become you.”
“No, it doesn’t. I know that, and I can’t seem to help myself.” He leaned toward her. Their shoulders touched. The hairs on her arms lifted and her nipples tightened. “I don’t feel entirely in control around you. And that troubles me,” he whispered into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I know it does. Marcella would call you a control freak.” Sophie moved away from his magnetic pull by standing. She paced. “We have to talk about the Ghost.”
“Damn it.” Connor leaned back on the bed against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. His body filled the bed, radiating unsettling power. “Whatever they told you—it’s a lie.”
“Tell me what’s going on. How did they link the Ghost with this agent’s death?”
“I’m looking into that and I smell a rat—someone fed intel to the Bureau, setting me up. The Ghost didn’t target that agent. There are plenty of other bad fish to fry without tackling any in the Bureau. Until you came across the Ghost’s existence on that case last year, no one was aware of its activities.”
“It’s strange that you talk about yourself in the third person.” Sophie put her hands on her hips. “I hope you know that.”
“That’s how the Ghost is. Separate, in its own little black box. A necessary evil for good.”
“That is only a coping mechanism for justifying what it is that the Ghost does. What you do.” Sophie’s breath came fast, anger flushing her body and tightening her muscles. “Deny it however you like—you kill people.”
“But I don’t. I provide information to evil people and they do what they do to each other. Very different from pulling a trigger.”
“But you are judge and jury, deciding who knows what, manipulating these people. And now the Bureau is on to you. They’ve got something on you, and it could put you away forever.”
“You say that like you care.”
“Of course, I care! Son of a two-headed poxy goat! Way more than I ever wanted to!” Sophie’s hands balled into fists. “You’re endangering us!”
“What I am and what I’ve done as the Ghost was in play long before I met you. Even if I’d stopped the day we got together, it wouldn’t make a difference from all that went before.” Connor’s eyes were dusky blue in the low light.
“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, then. 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.