by Toby Neal
Sophie pushed the wheeled chair out from her desk and stood to face him, apprehension tightening her chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I care about you. I…” Waxman ran a hand through his immaculately barbered hair. “I don’t want you to leave. Please stay.”
Sophie backed up a step. “All the more reason, then, that I need to leave.” She softened her tone. “Ben. I don’t feel the same. And I never could.”
Silence drew out for several long moments as they gazed at each other. The warm light in Waxman’s eyes died out, leaving them an ashy gray.
“I understand. I’ll look for your resignation in the morning.” Waxman drew himself upright and walked out, shoulders squared. The light over the doorway lit his silver hair briefly.
Regret twisted Sophie’s gut. He’d been a good boss, a great mentor, and a sometime friend—but she wasn’t attracted to him that way.
The long-simmering situation with DAVID and the hidebound attitude of the FBI had finally brought things to a head. She found a box and packed her few personal items.
Just like that, her time at the FBI was over.
Chapter Three
Ginger, Sophie’s yellow Lab, leapt out to give her an ecstatic greeting as Sophie unlocked the red lacquered door of the penthouse apartment owned by her ambassador father. Ginger had been at doggie daycare all day with plenty of exercise and company—but the dog never failed to act as if they’d been parted for weeks any time Sophie returned.
Ginger’s slobbery affection was a balm. Sophie dropped to her knees in the doorway and embraced the dog’s sturdy neck. “Oh, hey, girl. I need a hug today.”
She fetched the dog’s leash off the hook beside the door and they rode the elevator down to the ground floor as Sophie called her best friend, fellow agent Marcella Scott, to tell her the news.
“I’m quitting the Bureau,” she said baldly when Marcella answered. She endured the shriek of negation and the peppering of questions. Sophie took Ginger outside to do her business on the scrap of lawn beside the elegant edifice as they talked. She was still on the phone when Jenns Rudinoff, head of building security, contacted her. She ended the call with Marcella to take the call.
“Ms. Ang, there’s a detail from the FBI here with a search warrant.”
“What?” The sentence wouldn’t compute. Sophie yanked Ginger’s leash and sprinted back toward the entrance. “Where are they?”
“At the check-in desk.”
Sophie strode through the double doors into the elegant lobby, Ginger tight to her side. Fellow IT operative Special Agent Bateman, doughy and pale, and Ken Yamada stood at the security desk. “What the hell is this?”
“Let’s speak privately.” Ken’s austere face was pale with strain. Bateman carried a black briefcase of tech tools and looked shifty-eyed.
“I hear you have a search warrant.”
“I would prefer we spoke privately,” Ken repeated. Sophie walked to the elevator and stabbed the button. They got on, Ginger panting and wagging with excitement to see her mistress’s friends. As the doors closed, Sophie pointed to the dome of the security camera in the corner, so they rode up to her apartment in tense silence. Arriving at the small square foyer area with two doors to the penthouse apartments, Sophie whirled on them. “Ken! What the hell!”
“Waxman called me back in to work. Said you’d quit and that I was to serve you with a warrant for the retrieval and removal of company property. Namely, your DAVID program.”
“I’ve been through this already.” Six months before, Bateman had verified that DAVID was removed from Sophie’s home rigs; she’d offloaded it to the Cloud for safekeeping and retrieval. With this latest development, Sophie hadn’t had time to even take a shower let alone prepare for the swiftness of Waxman’s response.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Bateman’s face was blank.
“Show me the warrant.”
Ken produced it and handed it to her, his eyes downcast and movements slow. “Waxman told me you quit. Please tell me it’s not true.”
“True. And with this monkey shit going down, I’m obviously making the right decision.” Sophie’s hands shook so badly that she couldn’t get the door keys into the lock. Ken took them from her and opened the door. Sophie deactivated the alarm as Ken gestured with his chin to Bateman.
“Go. Do what you have to do and don’t take a minute longer.”
Bateman headed for Sophie’s bedroom with its triple bank of computers, set up to mirror her FBI workstation.
“Bateman won’t be able to get in without this.” Sophie pressed a button on her key fob that activated the triple-protected workstation. She turned away, facing the grand sweep of windows that was one of the nicest features of her father’s swanky apartment. Tears pressed against the back of her eyes as she balled her fists at her sides. “This is so wrong. I own that program.”
“I’m sorry this happened. I was in shock when Waxman called me to come in and serve this on you. What happened between the team meeting and now?” Ken’s voice was soft with compassion.
“Waxman told me DAVID was denied for use by the FBI and was being ‘confiscated.’” Sophie made air quotes with her fingers. “A security and liability risk. On top of today’s fiasco with the Society of Light case, I’d had enough.”
“I’m surprised Waxman let you resign.” Ken’s straight brows had drawn together in concern.
Sophie covered her face with her hands. “Like he can stop me. To top it off, Waxman apparently has…feelings for me. I told him they weren’t reciprocated. I had to leave, with all of that.” Sophie stuck one of her fists in her mouth and bit down on her thumb to keep the pain inside. “Everything I worked for. Everything I built…”
“Waxman’s always been a straight-up guy—a bit of a prick, as we all knew. But going after you personally? No. He wouldn’t do that. This warrant is simply shutting a door you left open on your way out. And I’m damn sorry about it all.” Ken shook his head. “I hate to say it, but ultimately you might be happier in the private sector. Your skills will be in huge demand in the general marketplace, even if you can’t use DAVID.”
Bateman reappeared, case in hand. “Removed and saved one copy of the DAVID software to backup hard drive. Computer’s clean. Cloud access to Bureau files is shut down. Security clearances are revoked.” Bateman raised round, pale blue eyes to meet Sophie’s. “I’m sorry. This hella sucks. We’re going to miss you bad in the IT lab.”
Sophie couldn’t bring herself to speak. It was all she could do to keep the tears from falling. Bateman headed for the door and shut it.
Ken knew she didn’t like a lot of touching, but he folded strong arms around Sophie, pulling her close. She rested her head on his shoulder briefly as he squeezed her tight. “You’re going to be okay. I know you are, partner,” he said softly. “You’re going to come back from this stronger than ever. The FBI’s lost the best agent I’ve ever known today.”
Sophie let out a sob she’d held locked in her throat, but stood rigid, trapped in her feelings of grief and loss, unwilling to cry on the shoulder Yamada offered. Ken crushed her close for a long moment, then held her away, gazing into her eyes with his best samurai stare. “Don’t let this get you down. You’re better than all of us combined.” Ken walked out and shut the door behind him.
Sophie made it to her bedroom on shaky legs and sat down at her computers. Her brain felt spongy as the depression, always waiting for her, rolled in like a damp and sticky fog. She had a few things to do before she took to her bed.
Sophie composed her resignation letter carefully. She stated her reasons for resignation to go on record for any future litigation, and emailed it to Waxman. She wrapped up the Society of Light case by emailing Sharon Blumfield the Bureau’s decision, but adding that private security firms were available to assist in either getting the children out or collecting data for her family court case. She listed several, including Security Solutions, the one she’d i
nvestigated some months before.
There were good people at Security Solutions, including the CEO, Todd Remarkian, who had become something of a friend. They’d gone on a couple of hike-runs together, and she liked the upbeat, hardworking Aussie. Ginger adored Anubis, the dignified Doberman Todd had inherited from his partner who’d gone overseas.
And that partner was someone Sophie kept in touch with. She opened the private chat room contact she maintained with the man calling himself the Ghost. Logging in under her username of MMA Fighter, she typed out a note:
“Thought I’d let you know I resigned from the Bureau. I won’t be hunting you on their behalf anymore. Not that I ever got close enough to catch you. Still, it was fun to try.”
Sophie paused, fingers poised above the keys.
There was always the chance the Ghost was logged in and would see her note in real time. The hope that he was online mattered enough to frighten her. They exchanged messages several times a week, and Sophie had come to anticipate the flirty, sharp-edged, bantering exchanges with the man she suspected was Sheldon Hamilton, an eccentric billionaire and former CEO of Security Solutions, now living abroad at an unknown location.
As minutes went by, the heartbeat pulsing of the green cursor on the black background of the chat box gave her a lonely, vulnerable feeling.
Here I am, it seemed to say. Here I am. Please hear me. Please answer me.
And as usual, no one responded.
Sophie killed the window and pushed back from the desk. She shut down the rigs with a push of the key fob. She closed the heavy blackout drapes she needed to sleep, turned off her phone, stripped off her clothes, and crumpled into bed. She let Ginger come up on the jade-green silk comforter, and she embraced the warm, hairy, loving dog.
The Labrador licked the tears that flowed down Sophie’s cheeks as she finally wept for all she’d lost.
Chapter Four
Morning was distinguished from night by Ginger licking her face again—the drapes cut the light so completely there was no way to distinguish the two. Sophie rolled to look at the glowing red numbers of her bedside digital clock: 10:00 a.m.
“Oh, girl.” She tossed the covers aside. “You need to go out.” Ginger whined in agreement.
The depression she’d struggled with on and off since her late teens had swept Sophie under. Every movement felt forced and sluggish, like swimming through tar. Sophie walked through the apartment naked, as was her habit. She put the teapot on to boil water and took out a ceramic teapot, her body remembering the habitual movements of the morning ritual.
She would take one day to indulge in the depression. Really wallow.
After all, she didn’t have anywhere to be today.
Or any day.
She was unemployed.
The thought made Sophie bow inward, hunching around the pain. The kettle dropped from her nerveless fingers into the elegant oval steel sink.
Tea wouldn’t help. Nothing would help. She just needed to take the dog out. Then she could go back to bed and stay there until she felt better. If she felt better. The murk was so thick that ever feeling different seemed impossible.
Sophie dressed in running clothes and took Ginger outside into a bright Honolulu day. Mynahs chattered in the blooming rainbow shower trees on her block, colored petals fell like confetti in the warm breeze. Doves cooed and danced courtship to each other on the sidewalk as Ginger did her business on the scrap of lawn. Sophie’s eyes registered it all, unseeing.
Ginger tugged and whined, looking down the sunny street with its swishing traffic, waving palms, and busy walkers. Sophie usually ran with the dog on her days off. Ginger wanted to do what they usually did, and bathe in all the glorious smells.
“No.” Sophie twitched the leash and headed back into her building.
Ginger frolicked in the lobby, bouncing and cheerful and way too energetic without exercise. Possessed by that deep exhaustion, Sophie walked Ginger to security and left her there to be picked up by the Doggie Daycare service that usually took care of her during the day.
She was too flattened even to feel guilty about neglecting her dog as she got back into bed and shut herself into the dark.
Dealing with Ginger and her needs were the only activities Sophie engaged in for the next two days.
Sophie slept, or she simply lay in her room staring at the ceiling.
Hello, darkness, my old friend.
She reviewed her life, hopelessness sapping her energy as her thoughts cycled through negative, repetitive patterns. She’d fought hard to escape from the disastrous marriage to sadistic businessman Assan Ang. She’d also fought hard to build her career in the FBI. She’d created DAVID and tried to make the world a better place.
All for nothing.
Of course she still had a copy of DAVID’s software, stored on a hard drive in a safe hidden in the apartment—she was too smart to let the FBI take it from her. But the fight ahead just felt too difficult right now.
She should get up. Exercise. Call her father, or her friend Lei on Maui, or Marcella. Eat. But she did none of those things.
The depression wasn’t passive. It felt powerful and destructive, a fierce predator that held her in its jaws, shaking the very life out of her.
Sophie stared at the blackness of the bedroom ceiling, her eyes wide open. They were dry and unseeing as desert stones. It felt like if she waited long enough, her body would just cease. Turn off. Begin crumbling away as if she’d never been.
A pounding at the door.
The pounding stopped.
Started again.
Stopped.
If she ignored it long enough, whoever it was would eventually go away.
The alarm system activating was a shrill throbbing electronic tone that demanded a response. After the apartment was breached six months ago, Sophie’d had it tied straight into the building’s security. Now, if she didn’t deactivate it, police would be on their way.
Sophie groaned and threw on her sleep tee, walking with an effort to the panel by the front door. She deactivated the alarm.
“Sophie! Open up right now or I’m breaking in!”
Marcella. Her friend’s voice was loud but muffled by the solid door. She might have known Marcella would persist. Sophie opened the door. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.” Marcella’s cheeks were flushed with the effort of pounding on the front door to the point that the alarm was triggered. Wisps of sleek, chocolate-brown hair had escaped from the chignon she’d nicknamed the FBI Twist. There was no hiding her gorgeous, curvy figure, but Marcella played it down in a plain white blouse and gray slacks. “You look like hell. When did you eat last?”
Sophie shrugged and let go of the doorframe. Marcella followed her in as Sophie pressed the intercom button on the blinking alarm panel. “This is Sophie Ang.” She spoke the all-clear code and let go of the button. “Marcella, I know you mean well. But please. Leave me alone.”
“Of course not. Clearly you don’t know what friends are for.” Marcella set her hands on her hips. “What the hell did you quit for? You’re going to win this DAVID thing. You need to stay in the fight and stick to your guns!”
Sophie turned and walked away. She flopped face down on her bed.
“Sophie, I’m fixing you something to eat. Go get in the shower. You smell disgusting.” Marcella headed for the kitchen. “Get to it, or I’ll call Marcus to come over and help me put you in the shower whether you like it or not.”
Marcus Kamuela. Marcella’s intimidating Hawaiian HPD detective fiancé tolerated Sophie for Marcella’s sake, but they weren’t friends. The thought of that burly man hauling her by the scruff of the neck to the shower was humiliating, and Marcella would follow through on that kind of threat. Sophie was too depressed to be embarrassed, but that next phase of shame wasn’t far off—she could smell a whiff of it like smoke in the air.
She got to her feet, shuffling to the bathroom. She could hear Marcella talking on the phone in t
he kitchen, probably discussing her with Lei Texeira, their mutual friend. Sophie groaned aloud. “Daughter of a stillborn water buffalo!” Cursing in Thai just didn’t feel satisfying enough so she tried a string of English cusswords.
Those didn’t work either.
Sophie turned on the water. She avoided looking in the mirror. She’d just see her skin gone sallow, purple circles under her eyes, her cheekbones jutting.
At least her cropped hair was too short to give her any trouble.
Under the flow of water, the smell of coconut soap brought her beautiful mother Pim Wat Smithson back. This was the cycle that her mother went through. Sophie had her to thank for this ‘sickness of the soul’ as her father called it.
Mama had been depressed as long as Sophie could remember: withdrawn, lethargic, prone to tears, and unresponsive to her daughter’s needs, with rare times when she came out from beneath the disease to bloom like a flower. To reach adulthood and fall prey to the same affliction Sophie had struggled against with her parent felt like one more rock in the bag of them around her neck.
Marcella opened the door, letting steam out. “Hurry up in there. Food is almost ready.”
The door shut with a bang.
“Ugly sister of a poxy whore.”
“I heard that!” Marcella bellowed from the kitchen. “And I can’t understand it, but I know it’s not nice. I’ll kick your ass in the ring, ’cause that’s where we’re going next.”
Sophie snapped off the water and shook the extra water off her hair. Her brain sloshed in her skull with the abrupt head movement. She just needed to comply long enough to get Marcella off her back and then she could go back to bed.
Several hours later, Marcella said goodbye and left Sophie at the building after a thorough trouncing at Fight Club, the gym where they both practiced MMA fighting. The Doggie Daycare had dropped Ginger off, and she waited at the security station. Heading back up to the apartment holding the dog’s leash, Sophie had to admit she felt better.
