Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  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.”

  “I know.” Sophie twisted her hands together, unsure how much to tell the psychologist, but in need of someone to discuss her situation with. “I had just finished telling Remarkian that I had feelings for someone else. Someone—not available.” Sophie plucked at a loose thread on Mary Watson’s linen pants.

  “And how did he take that?”

  “He seemed to accept it.” Perhaps that wasn’t true, though. She remembered the tight line of Connor’s jaw, the way he had skipped that stone so forcefully into the ocean. “You were right a while ago when you told me you thought I was having an identity crisis. It’s true. I needed to leave my father’s penthouse after being stuck there with anxiety and depression problems right after the shooting. Now I only feel safe in that off-the-grid apartment, and I’m clearly still figuring out my wardrobe choices.” She gestured to the pants. “I’ve realized I don’t want to get beaten up anymore. I’m really quite sick of it. And what that will mean for my MMA fighting, I don’t know yet. I still need an intense physical outlet to manage my depression, but getting pounded in the ring just doesn’t appeal anymore.”

  “What about coaching?” Kinoshita said. “You could take the skills you’ve worked so hard for, and help others learn—and maybe not have to take so many hits yourself.”

  “That’s a good idea. I haven’t been back to Fight Club since I went underground as Mary Watson.” Sophie sipped her tea. “I miss it.”

  “Something to think about, at least. Let’s meet again next week. And sooner, if you have any further stress symptoms, like nightmares, persistent anxiety, or flashbacks.”

  Dunn was waiting for Sophie outside Kinoshita’s office door when she finished with the session, dressed for action in his usual black cargo pants and tee. “I have a possible new case for us. You might like this one. It’s over on Maui.”

  Sophie smiled, and felt the tug of the skin graft tighten across her cheek. “You’re nothing if not persistent. Not going to let me have even a few days more off for this latest incident, are you?”

  “The best way to move on is to get back on the horse,” Dunn said. Sophie couldn’t even be irritated with him because he was probably right. She followed Dunn to his office.

  “I’m not coming back for at least a few more days. But you
can try to get me interested.”

  “How does looting of artifacts at an important archaeological dig site sound?”

  “Wonderfully nonviolent after what we’ve been through on this last case. Tell me more.”

  “I don’t know a lot more, except to tell you that they’re putting us up in a hotel, and there’s an expense account.” Dunn wiggled his brows. “Possibly including a bar tab.”

  Sophie loved Maui, from its beautiful beaches to its mountaintop cloud forests. The Valley Isle always felt like a vacation to visit even when she was working. She’d be able to see her friend Lei and her family, too.

  “Sounds like something I’d be interested in. When I get back.” She gave Dunn a playful shove at his exaggerated expression of relief. “Get everything set up and keep me informed.”

  Her phone buzzed with a text from Connor on her way downstairs.

  They discharged me. I’m at home, at the Pendragon Arches apartment. I think you know the address. Can you come by? Want to see you.

  Connor must be feeling better. She smiled and her fingers flew as she typed a response. Definitely. On my way.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sophie remembered the Pendragon Arches building well from her last big case. The monolithic, Art Deco style apartment building in the ritzy Nuuanu area of Honolulu was one of the premier addresses for the well-heeled living downtown. Security Solutions maintained a couple of corporate apartments there, but she was surprised to find that Connor still lived in the rather sterile unit they’d originally interviewed him in.

  She entered the building, checking in with the reception desk in the foyer. The majestic lobby was decorated in subdued jewel tones, with smoked glass doors and windows, rich burgundy patterned carpet, and crystal chandeliers: quite formal for Honolulu, and an indication of the security concern and wealth of the residents of the building.

  The desk called up to Connor’s apartment and then directed Sophie to the elevators. The case that had gotten her involved with Security Solutions had ended up with a body in one of the company’s apartments and a confrontation with the man who’d done everything he could to ruin her life.

  Sophie squelched the traumatic memory and focused on the task at hand as she rose nine floors in the beautifully appointed elevator car.

  Connor had not changed the two brass urns that marked the doorway of the apartment. She knocked, and almost immediately a young Filipina woman in a white nurse’s uniform answered the door. A nametag identified her as Monique. “Please come in.”

  “Hi Monique. I’m Sophie. Glad to see that Mr. Remarkian is getting some professional care.” Sophie entered the living area at the nurse’s welcoming gesture, stepping into the familiar room with its leather couches, large flat screen TV, and another brass urn holding bamboo canes and long imitation tikis, a designer’s idea of tropical decorating.

  “Yes. He’s finally resting comfortably. The move over from the hospital put a good deal of strain on him.”

  Sophie frowned. Where were Connor’s parents? The closest people in his life should be there to take care of him in this crisis. What would she have done without her father helping her recover from her injuries? It made her throat tight to think of Connor so alone. “Who engaged your services?”

  “I’ve been retained by Security Solutions and I’m here full-time until he recovers.”

  Sophie paused the woman with a hand before they left the living room, her heart thumping. “How bad is he?”

  Monique smiled. “He’s going to be fine. Doctor told me there’s no evidence of any brain trauma, and while painful, he’s having a normal recovery for a gunshot wound of this type. He’ll be up and around in a week or so.” She patted Sophie’s arm. “Eventually there will be nothing to show for it but a sexy scar and a good story.”

  This woman thought she was Connor’s girlfriend. Sophie cleared her throat. “Happy to hear my friend is going to make a full recovery,” she said stiffly. “Where’s his dog, Anubis?”

  “The dog was here at the apartment when Mr. Remarkian was injured. His housekeeper took Anubis to the pet sitting service he uses when out of town.”

  “Oh, good.” Sophie wished she’d thought of this earlier. Poor Anubis must be so stressed without his master. “Can I get that information? Maybe I can take him out for a walk.”

  Monique wrote the name and number down and handed it to Sophie. “I’m sure Mr. Remarkian would be relieved to have a friend look in on his dog. Follow me.”

  Connor was propped up on pillows in a masculine-looking bedroom done in shades of jade and plum. His head was turned away on the pillow, his eyes shut. His color was sallow in spite of his tan, the stark white dressing wrapping his upper shoulder and chest, a sharp contrast. Monique held a finger to her lips and pointed to a round, comfortable armchair placed beside the bed. Sophie sat down, drawing her legs up into it, curling up to wait as Monique gently closed the door on them.

  She heard the soft rustle of Monique doing something in the kitchen. She rested her head on the back of the chair and relaxed.

  Sophie wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but she woke to the sound of Connor’s voice.

  “What a sight for sore eyes.” Connor’s voice sounded like a rusty hinge. Sophie stretched her legs and sat up with a smile. His changeable eyes were pouched in dark circles, and his tan lay like paint over his pale skin.

  “Monique seems nice. But where is your family? I know from having my dad around that recovering from a gunshot is a good time to be surrounded by family.”

  “I’m an only child. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t get along with the relatives who are left.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sophie uncoiled from the chair. “Do you need anything? Water, pain meds?”

  He scooted to one side of the bed, grimacing, and patted the pristine sheets beside him. “Just sit with me. You make me feel better just being here.”

  Sophie carefully lowered herself into the spot next to him. She wanted to make Connor feel better, she wanted to comfort him—but Sheldon Hamilton was a ghost never far from her thoughts.

  She had made a pun, but it wasn’t funny.

  She couldn’t lead Connor on. She made sure several inches separated them and put a pillow behind her back. “Monique told me you’re going to be okay. What do you remember about the attack?”

  “I remember making a jump for the gun. Nothing else.” His tone was grim. Connor reached for her hand. His was warm and dry. She lifted it and turned it over, traced the calluses on it—he had thicker skin on his fingertips, and in the web of his palm beside his thumb.

  “I thought you were mostly on computers, like I am. But these calluses tell a different story.”

  He pulled his hand away, tucked it under the bedclothes beside him. “Rock climbing and martial arts are my hobbies, besides hiking. I like using a bo staff. There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” He seemed to be withdrawing from her.

  Sophie was uncomfortable with the proximity anyway, and got up off the bed. “Well, I just wanted to see that you were all right. I’ll come back another time.”

  Connor stared up at her. “We were having a conversation about something important when we were rudely interrupted by Sloane’s attack. I’d like to revisit that.”

  Sophie didn’t want to revisit that conversation about where their relationship wasn’t going. “Now does not seem like the time. Get some rest.” She stepped away, but Connor leaned forward, catching her hand, and groaned at the pain of the abrupt movement. He gave a firm tug, and she stumbled toward him, kneeling on the bed in the place she had just vacated.

  “Look at me, Sophie.”

  Sophie didn’t want to hurt him. Eventually she raised her eyes to his. There was more gray than blue in them now.

  “Every day that goes by, Sheldon looms larger between us.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Never mind that Sophie was obsessively checking her email, looking for more of those beautiful photographs.

>   “Please go lock the door.”

  “Why?” But she got up to lock it, feeling a curl of apprehension.

  “There’s something you need to know about Sheldon.” Sophie didn’t like the set, white determination on Connor’s face.

  Maybe Hamilton was married. Maybe he was an international porn king. Maybe he was something even worse than the murdering vigilante she already knew he was.

  She shook her head. “Don’t tell me anything. Let him tell me.”

  Connor struggled upright, wincing. “Help me up.”

  “I’m sure that’s against doctor’s orders.”

  “Screw the doctor’s orders.” Connor swung his legs to the side and pushed himself upright. “I have to show you something.”

  “Why can’t it wait?” But Sophie helped him anyway, because he gave her no choice. She looped an arm under his and lifted him to his feet. The effort made him white with pain.

  “The bedroom door is locked. Where are we going?”

  Connor pointed to the closet.

  Sophie shook her head. “You need something, I will get it for you.”

  “Get me walking.”

  She staggered, his weight solid and heavy as they navigated to the closet door. He fumbled in his pocket for something. She spotted a key fob in his hand, much like the one she used to use when she turned on the computer rigs in her apartment. “Open the door.”

  Sophie slid the door open to reveal a big, deep closet with a large wood organizer, thick with folded shirts, neatly hung ties, and polished dress shoes. Connor hit the fob, and the organizer moved aside and folded back against the wall with a gentle creak. A doorway was revealed, just an outline against the back wall.