by Toby Neal
But Marcella’s mouth had tightened and her eyes narrowed. Sophie wasn’t the only one feeling betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just couldn’t.” Sophie opened her mouth and closed it, unable to find words, unable to say anything that would make her choice any more palatable to her friend. She looked down. “I’m sorry.”
Without a word, Marcella jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and headed back toward the memorial service at a run.
Sophie didn’t want to watch what happened next.
She had to get away. Clear her head. If she stayed around here, she’d be dragged into interviews, into testifying, into potentially seeing that man again. And the last thing she ever wanted to do was see or speak to the Ghost—because whatever his real name was, the Ghost was all he was.
Sophie put her foot on the accelerator and pulled out, headed for her father’s apartment, breaking speed limits.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Frank Smithson frowned as Sophie threw her few clothes into her bag along with her satellite-compatible laptop. “Where are you going?”
Sophie glanced up at his weathered, handsome face.
“Dad.” She walked over, embraced him, and leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment. He’d begun the retirement process from his ambassador job with a series of longer and longer leaves, using up his vacation time, and he’d been home during her latest crisis. “I’m sorry. The funeral was really upsetting. I need some time alone. I thought I’d go back to my apartment for a while.”
He squeezed her close, his deep voice a comforting rumble. “I’m always glad to see my girl, even for a little while when she’s stressed out.”
“That was a nice way of describing my last couple of days lolling around depressed.” Sophie had hardly anything personal left there, but she took an extra moment to check the drawers under the bed and the closet. “Thanks for taking care of Ginger.”
“Always happy to spend time with my other girl.” He played absently with the Lab’s ears. “You taking her with you?”
“Of course.” A plan was forming in her mind, but Sophie wasn’t about to share it with her father at this point. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a phone.”
“Don’t take too long about it. After recent events, we now have a three-day rule on being in touch.”
“I hear you.” Her father was tall enough that she had to go on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll get the phone today and text you. Talk soon.”
She slipped on her backpack, tweaked Ginger’s leash, and headed out.
Mary Watson’s apartment had been unoccupied long enough to develop a musty smell. Ginger nosed around and lapped thirstily when her bowl was freshened. Bright sunshine streamed in, and Sophie opened the sliders and windows, letting in a draft of plumeria scent from the big tree beside the building. She emptied her backpack in the bedroom, sorting her belongings from the stint on Maui, and organizing them to help identify what she would need for her plan.
Sitting down, Sophie made a careful list of supplies and errands. First, she needed to go to her bank.
After making sure Ginger had been fed, watered, and done her business on the patch of grass outside the run-down apartment building, Sophie headed out in Mary’s truck.
She took the vehicle to a used car lot and haggled a deal, leaving the truck there and pocketing even less cash than the beat-up old vehicle was worth. At the bank, she accessed her safe deposit box, then pulled out all the money currently in her account, pocketing some cash from that transaction, and carrying out a cashier’s check made out to the name of her third identity, Sandy Mason. At a second bank, she emptied Mary Watson’s account and closed it, removing the cash from that as well. Outside, at a corner kiosk, she bought a reggae-themed trucker hat and a pair of cheap round sunglasses. She walked across the street to a third bank and opened a new account under the passport ID she’d removed from the safe deposit box in the name of Sandy Mason.
Sophie had learned the technique known as the “gray man” during her training at Quantico, with updated lessons from Connor. The trick to moving around undetected was to blend. She was a distinctive-looking woman, so effort had to be made to downplay her unique appearance. She’d created a recognizable but unremarkable persona as Mary Watson; she could do it again with Sandy Mason. Even new identity names had to be “gray”—common enough to be forgettable, but not so bland that they were an obvious alias.
Sophie went to a thrift store and bought an entire wardrobe for her new identity, a bohemian athlete, for under a hundred dollars. Finally, she went to a large sporting goods store and found the remaining items on her detailed list, paying for them in cash.
She took the clothing she’d just purchased to the laundromat. While the clothes were washing, she used the time to strip the tags and packaging off of all the outdoor gear she’d bought. Ignoring looks from other denizens of the laundromat, she unearthed a brand-new backpack with a lightweight carbon fiber frame and waist support strap.
When the clothing was clean and dry, she packed the bag, choosing only the items that would work in the environment she was headed for.
Sophie was pleased at how comfortable the gear was, how light the pack felt when she donned it wearing her new pair of waterproof hiking boots. She’d never gone overnight backpacking before, and it was past time she tried a little outdoor living. She walked, wearing the pack, to a nearby health food store.
By the time food was added to the pack, she was rethinking her initial assessment of the gear being light.
On the bus back to her apartment, Sophie worked on setting up a new phone, briefly accessing her contacts in the Cloud and loading them onto the new, satellite-capable smartphone she’d bought for Sandy Mason. She sent a text to her father from the number. She debated about her friends Marcella and Lei, and decided to wait to contact them.
Her finger hovered over Jake’s name.
He’d been so good to her. A friend as much as a partner. She’d never forget how perfect it had been to lean on him at the fake memorial.
But he was always wanting more, and she had nothing to give. She was a liability as a friend. And he wouldn’t like what she was doing.
She slid the phone into the pocket of the rip-stop camouflage cargo pants Sandy favored, and tugged on the bus’s cable for her stop.
Back at the apartment, Sophie checked the airlines. Interisland flights with room for dogs were unregulated, and there was a plane out that afternoon. Holding the postcard with its photo of Kalalau, she considered. She really should wait until she knew whether or not she was being charged with Assan’s murder.
But if she was charged, she’d be stuck here on Oahu.
Stuck in Sophie Ang’s life. Going through a trial. Maybe even to jail. Truth was, she wasn’t willing to go to jail for Assan, no matter what she was charged with.
Sophie Ang’s future looked bleak. It was time for a change, on a number of levels.
If the Ghost could pull off a total identity change, so could Sandy Mason. The only person who really needed to know that she was alive was her father, and she would send him a text every three days without letting him know where she was. She stuck the postcard behind a magnet on the fridge, made reservations, and secured a kennel on the flight for Ginger.
Today was the day she left behind half measures and stepped into a new life entirely.
Sophie left Ginger in the apartment and headed down to the landlord’s office. The man’s greasy pate gleamed in an overhead light as he opened the door of his unit. “What you like, sistah?” He scratched a basketball-sized belly, sausaged into a University of Hawaii jersey.
“Paying for six months in advance.” All of Mary’s transactions with him had been in cash, so this was nothing unusual. She handed him a stack of money. “I will be coming and going as I have been.”
“Why you gone so much?” The little Portuguese man’s beady eyes assessed her from behind thick glasses.
“I tr
avel for work.” Sophie handed him another hundred. “And I like my privacy. In case anyone comes here asking for me, I don’t live here anymore.”
“Then I need a little something more for security.” The man kept his hand out, and she put several more hundreds in it. He tucked the cash into his pocket. “Safe journeys, then, sistah.” A gold tooth gleamed in his grin, and he closed the door.
It was easy to disappear in a neighborhood like this. She should have let the apartment go, but knowing she had somewhere to return to helped her detach.
Sophie headed back upstairs and unlocked the apartment door.
Ginger gave a woof from inside, but didn’t come out to greet her. When she opened the door, she saw why.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sheldon Hamilton sat in one of her kitchen chairs, rubbing Ginger’s ears. He took off the white straw hat and set it on the table, revealing short-cropped dark hair. “She remembers me.”
The dog panted happily, her tongue lolling in a grin as the man stroked her. Sophie’s skin twitched, remembering how good it felt to be touched by him.
“I remember you too, Connor. If that’s really your name.” Sophie kept her face and voice neutral with difficulty as anger rose in a blistering wave. Looking at him, she distinctly remembered the strenuous and satisfying sensation of cutting Assan’s throat. She eyed the Ghost. She could take him. Her knife was gone, taken into evidence, but she had other means.
“I regret how this unfolded. I brought flowers.” The man leaned aside so she could see a large, perfectly round topiary made of fresh, dark red rosebuds blooming up from a green velvet box. Trust him to bring something unique and special.
“Flowers.” Sophie turned and shut the door, locking it automatically. “Going to take a little more than that to apologize for letting me grieve your death.” She refused to make eye contact, looking at a spot to the left of his shoulder.
“I know.” He remained seated. “I had reasons. And I’m sorry.”
“Reasons. That I can believe.” Sophie walked into the kitchen and set down her purse. She glanced at the closed door of the bedroom, glad she’d left the backpack inside as she filled a water glass, ignoring him as she sipped. She didn’t want him to know what she was planning.
But he’d broken in, and her phone alarm had not gone off. He’d likely searched the apartment. Might even have it bugged.
The best strategy was to confront him and get it over with. But she didn’t want to, and that was the honest truth. She’d run away to avoid ever having to look into his artificially brown eyes again. Maybe telling him that was the place to start.
Sophie squared her shoulders and walked back to the Ghost. “I don’t want to have this conversation. I left the memorial because I never wanted to see you again.”
“And I just got out of a very uncomfortable interview with the FBI that I never wanted to have,” he said mildly.
“Good.” Anger, the fuel she needed, wafted up her body to tighten her fists. “It was past time I shared what I knew about the Ghost.”
“And I expected you to. Which is why I let you think I was dead. I needed time to solidify Sheldon’s identity. Todd’s murder wasn’t on my timetable. Todd was killed by your ex, in case you were wondering. Actually, someone hired by your ex. I was able to track the bomber.”
They locked gazes for a long moment. Sophie hated the way his eyes looked with the contact lenses in. She sank into a chair at the table opposite him. “You talk about Todd as if he were real.”
“Todd had begun to feel real to me.” The man took off the glasses. Reached into his pocket and retrieved a contact lens case. With a couple of economical gestures, he removed the brown lenses, and Connor’s familiar sea-blue eyes looked at her. He reached across the table for her hand.
She jerked away. “Connor. Is your name Connor? I don’t know what to call you any more now that I found out Todd’s middle name is Colin.”
“My real name is Connor. I told you the truth about that. I told you the truth about a lot of it. Just not everything. Because I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t turn me in.”
“And I didn’t. Until this morning.”
“Right.” He blew out a breath, ran a hand through his dark hair. The sight of his familiar hands still did things to her insides that she now wanted to forget. “I came home from Maui and our time together.” He looked up and held her gaze. Images of them in bed at the hostel in Paia filled her memory. “While we were there, I had detected an infiltration into my Pendragon Arches apartment via my surveillance app, but chose to ignore it in favor of being with you and dealing with it when I got back. I’m not sorry for that decision.”
Sophie looked away. “You could have told me about that.”
“But I didn’t. You had enough on your mind. Once back on Oahu, outside my apartment, I was concerned that the apartment’s surveillance AI, whose cameras had been neutralized, registered the presence of explosives.” Connor stood at last. He paced, tension and fatigue in the slump of his shoulders. “The apartment was wired to blow, and it occurred to me that this was a good time to get out.” Ginger got up and walked back and forth with him, inserting her head beneath his hand, and he petted her absently. “The FBI was closing in on the Ghost. Though the investigation into the dead agent was planted, they had begun to put together other cases that were attributable to the Ghost. Your friend, Ken Yamada, had what you both found on that first case and they were digging deeper into Todd, into Security Solutions. And I had an exit strategy planned for Todd’s identity, should I ever need it.”
“Don’t tell me. A cadaver that looked like Todd with dental records doctored to match,” Sophie said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You deserve to be caught. You ran from an investigation. You let me believe you had died!” She bit her lip. “Foul tumor on the devil’s backside! Do you have any idea what it was like to pour over your body in the morgue, trying to identify you? Wondering, all the while, if you could possibly have been devious enough to set the whole thing up?”
“I imagine it was…unpleasant.”
“Your toes, Connor.” Sophie met his gaze with her hard one. “The only unique thing about your body. How handy that they were gone. And no DNA on file or in your apartment? Masterful. But I bet Sheldon Hamilton has DNA in abundance and on record.”
“He does. I put a lot of effort and planning into these identities.” Connor paused in his pacing, his hands on his hips. If possible, the brown hair and darkened brows, contrasting with his light eyes, made him more handsome.
She wanted to hate the sight of him. “And I bet you have a cadaver somewhere that matches Sheldon Hamilton.”
He didn’t reply to that. “Do you want to know how I dealt with the bomb?”
“Not particularly.”
“Nevertheless.” Connor walked to the sink, poured himself a glass of water, and returned to sit. He sipped. “I went into the “Batcave” and used the surveillance equipment in that unit to identify the whereabouts of the bomb. I was able to pause the mechanism, which was motion activated but with a timer. I retrieved the body from its storage location and placed it near the bomb. I removed all of the DNA trace I could find in the place. And then I activated the explosion.”
“Why couldn’t you have told me you were alive in the note you left me at the bank?” Sophie’s question was a cry from the heart. “I held onto hope until then!”
“I wanted to let you go. And I wanted you to let me go. I’m bad for you.” His eyes were wide and stark, pleading for her to understand. “After I left you in Paia, I realized I never should have said I would give up my brand of justice, my mission. It would compromise my very self to do so. I’d have to tell you that, and you’d likely break up with me. This seemed like…a good solution. You would grieve and move on. I would learn to live without you, somewhere else in the world, and I’d continue my work as Sheldon Hamilton.”
“So why did you come back to your memorial then?” Sophie’s lips
felt numb. The words seemed to come from somewhere else. “No one would have caught on to Sheldon Hamilton abroad.”
“I couldn’t stay away.” He whispered. “I missed you too much. I hurt, seeing how badly I had hurt you.”
“I don’t…I can’t.” Sophie stood. “I want you to leave.” She pointed at the door.
“We can still make this work.” He stood, but slowly, as if his joints hurt. “Sheldon may be on a watch list, but they will never be able to prove I’m Todd Remarkian.”
“Unless they catch you with your contacts off.” Sophie shook her head. “No. I grieved you. Grieved the love we had. I won’t live a lie. I won’t pretend you aren’t who I know you are, doing what I know you are doing. I can’t.”
“So, you’re off to live your own lie.” His eyes gleamed turquoise.
Sophie winced at the accuracy. He’d seen the backpack. Likely watched her every move since she left the funeral. She needed to check her belongings thoroughly for tracking devices.
“Maybe so. But I prefer to think of this next chapter as finding myself, and I’m not hurting anyone while I do it.”
“Except for the minor detail of killing your ex and a possible murder charge.”
“Some people just need killing, and well you know it.”
“Hypocrite.”
“Liar. Murderer.” She pointed at the door. “Now go.”
“Give me the Ghost software.”
That square lump of metal and silicate was weighing down the bottom of her backpack, and she wasn’t about to give it back to him. “No.”
“I thought you’d want to be rid of it.”
“I’m not going to help you do your dirty work.”
“Fine. I have another copy, of course. And I trust you’ll see the bigger picture enough at least to keep the software out of anyone else’s hands. Including law enforcement.”
Sophie folded her lips shut and her arms over her chest, refusing to answer. She had no idea what she was going to do with the Ghost software, only that she wasn’t giving it back to him.