by Toby Neal
A breathless dizziness tightened Sophie’s gut. “What is this?” The setup reminded her way too much of the hidden ‘safe room’ where Assan Ang had performed his most intimate tortures on her.
Connor didn’t answer. He hit the fob again, and the door on the far wall retracted smoothly, revealing a bedroom identical to the one she was standing in.
Signs of a man’s occupation were evident inside: a shirt was draped over a leather bench at the base of a king-sized bed dressed in a garnet-colored spread. A modern abstract in bold, hot shades on the opposite wall gave a feeling of the molten lava of the Big Island. A clutter of personal items filled a calabash on the dresser: watch, a handheld grip exerciser, a dog’s toy ball. Unlike the designer room they stood in, this one was very personal.
Sophie helped Connor forward, biting her tongue on all of her questions. She sat him on the edge of the bed because she couldn’t hold him up anymore.
She glanced back through the opening into Connor’s bedroom, then at his face. His eyes were closed, and one hand pressed against the wound on his chest.
“Tell me what this is about,” she whispered.
“It’s easier to show you. But we have to go to another room. I just need a minute to get my breath.”
Sophie scanned the bedroom, looking for clues. Nothing of interest on the koa entertainment unit. A large dog bed next to the bed they sat on made her frown. Could that be for Anubis?
He draped an arm over her shoulders. “I’m ready. It’s just in the next room.” He pointed.
Sophie hefted Connor’s weight. He hissed in pain and she gave his hand a comforting squeeze. They limped to the door and Sophie inhaled sharply as she opened it.
The home office was set up much like how she arranged her computer rigs: three large monitors with the computers hidden under a desk. A rack of exercise equipment filled one wall and a second work area, complete with three more computer monitors, was set up in the L of the desk.
Violins in different sizes hung from a wooden rack on one of the walls.
The air was cooler than normal, optimal for computers, and soft, dim natural light came in through heavily tinted windows. Sophie lowered Connor into one of the office chairs.
“Sheldon’s a programmer. Is this his office? Has he been here all this time, right here in Honolulu?” A potent sense of fury and betrayal raised Sophie’s voice.
“Yes. And this is his office.” Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly in pain.
She looked over at the exercise equipment and recognized the chin-up bar.
Sheldon Hamilton must have set up a camera on a timer and posed naked for her on that very rack, creating images of his body she would never forget.
“I thought he was overseas. And all the time he was right here, playing a game with me.” Sophie’s gut churned. “I should have known.”
Connor used his foot to pull out the second office chair. “Sit.”
Sophie sat, grinding her teeth. “Where is he?” Her hands fisted and twitched with the need to hit something. Maybe her days in the MMA ring weren’t over yet.
“Right here. He’s right here.”
Sophie’s breath blew out in a gust. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m Sheldon Hamilton.” Connor shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. The Aussie accent was gone. “Always have been.”
But Hamilton had dark hair, dark eyes. Glasses. A goatee… Nausea rose to choke her.
“Why?” It was the only word she could force past the obstruction in her throat, and she knew it sounded tiny, just a minuscule puff of air that couldn’t begin to express the pain and disillusionment swamping her.
“The short answer?” Connor pushed a hand through his blond hair, tufty and unstyled from his stay in the hospital. “Plausible deniability.”
“Is there anything you’ve told me that is true?” Sophie stood up, balling her fists.
“My real name is Connor. Not Todd. Not Sheldon. Only you know that it’s my real name.”
“Oh, what a gift. A generic first name. I feel special and important to you.” Sarcasm wasn’t her style, but Sophie wanted to hit him—and she couldn’t because he was already folded over in pain from a bullet he took trying to save her. She wanted to run, but that wouldn’t help the bombshell of this revelation be any different.
So she stood up and paced, up and down the length of the room, calming herself with movement as she always had.
“You had to hide the identity of the vigilante, the Ghost.”
“Exactly.” Connor blew out a breath. “I couldn’t risk being caught, by either law enforcement or by those I had manipulated into…doing things. Not all of them are dead, you know.”
The kidnapping gone wrong that had uncovered the Ghost on her last case leaped into her mind: carrying Anna Adams, six-year-old kidnap victim, past the sprawled bodies of criminals who’d shot each other after receiving a mysterious text from an unknown sender.
“You’ve been mixed up with organized crime. You’ve manipulated a lot of people into killing each other and turning each other in.”
“Yes, I have. The mob has its uses, and they have expiration dates when those uses are done.”
“But why? Why the Ghost? I asked you this before…” Sophie found herself rubbing the numb-but-tingly skin graft on her face.
“Because there are too many who will get away with what they do. I feel compelled to tip the balance of the scales. Because someone must, and I can. You’re not so above it all that you didn’t ask me for the kind of favor only I could do.”
“An honest answer at last.” Sophie made herself stop rubbing the scar and spun to walk back again, fighting an urge to use the chin-up bar—but he would see that as acceptance, some obscure reference to the photos—the photos of him! And she was far from accepting this. “I told you that I couldn’t agree with what you were doing. There are too many dangers in circumventing the system.”
“And we agreed to disagree, but I knew you saw me as a handy ace in the hole for cases that didn’t go the way you wanted. And I was okay with that.” Connor looked up at her at last. “Want to know how I did it?”
“I don’t need to see your hair dye, your fake glasses, your glue-on goatee,” Sophie snarled. “But I do need to know why you played with my emotions as Sheldon Hamilton. And why you’re revealing yourself to me now.” Tears stung as she stared into his eyes, breathing too fast.
“I discovered you as Hamilton. I fell in love with you as Hamilton: through watching you on video. Through our duel of wits. Through getting to know the woman you are.” Connor held her gaze. “I love you. I’m not afraid to say those words. I’ve never known another woman like you, nor will I ever meet anyone to equal you.”
Sophie sat back down in the chair, a puppet with cut strings.
“I encouraged you to become attached to Hamilton because he was all I had to connect to you, and I didn’t know how to bridge the gap between his identity and Todd’s. I tried to build a friendship with you through Todd, but from the first, I knew it was already too late—I could tell you felt no attraction to Todd, and I couldn’t help hoping it was because your emotions were engaged elsewhere. And then you told me you had feelings for Hamilton the other night, even though I’d been able to kiss you as Todd…” He paused, and through her own labored breathing, Sophie heard his anguish. “I almost died the other day. I can’t go on living a lie with you. I see no way out but to trust you as myself. Trust you to keep my identity as the Ghost secret—or turn me in, as you see fit. Whatever you choose, I won’t fight it.”
“I have to get out of here.” The room’s walls seemed to be closing in on her. Sophie tried to stand but her knees buckled. Relax. Breathe. He’s not going to hurt you. The bastard just said he loves you.
“I’m so sorry,” Connor said. “I would like to start over.”
His words got her on her feet. Sophie turned to spear him with a glance. “With who? Hamilton? Remarkian? Who are yo
u? You know my history. How could you imagine I’d ever be able to trust you after this?”
“Connor! I’m Connor, and that’s the truth, and all that really matters!” Connor’s face was white with effort and pain as he thumped his chest, his wound. “See me, I’m right here. Have the courage to know me! You’re a hypocrite, Mary Watson!”
Sophie winced as the arrow struck. They stared at each other for a long moment. There was no sound in the quiet room but both of their ragged breathing.
“Goodbye, whoever you are,” Sophie said.
She turned and left—but she didn’t run out, because that would have given him too much power. She squelched the little voice that told her how hard it was going to be for him to make it back to bed alone with his wound. She didn’t walk out of the secret apartment, either, because she hadn’t yet decided what to do about the Ghost, and Monique would wonder how she’d disappeared.
No, she went back through the secret door, and out through his bedroom, shutting the door behind her and telling Monique something had come up and that she had to go. “Mr. Remarkian is resting. Don’t go in until he calls for you.”
And once she was safe and alone in her car in the underground garage, Sophie covered her face with her hands and cried.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Three days later, the Security Solutions helicopter entered the Waipio Valley through the wide, deep opening of its bay. As always, the sight of the place stole Sophie’s breath: the patchwork of small farms, the winding green snake of the river, the thick vivid layers of green vegetation, the steep, velvety slopes of the valley, and the tumbling plume of the huge waterfall at the back.
“This is a stupid idea,” Dunn said into Sophie’s comm. “There’s nothing new here. I don’t know why we’re doing this.”
Sophie didn’t reply, because she could see the stress in Dunn’s tight muscles, in the big hand he clenched and unclenched on his thigh. This field trip was Dr. Kinoshita’s idea, since both of them were having trouble sleeping and flashbacks relating to the case. “You need to have closure, a different experience out there. I will come with you. We’ll process,” the psychologist had insisted.
Sophie had cursed long and fluently in Thai as Dunn got up and walked out of the conference room when Kinoshita had delivered her bomb—but now, here they both were, with the psychologist up front with the pilot.
The cult compound came into view, the gate around it still closed.
Hilo PD had informed them that the site was empty, the crime scene tape removed now that they had recovered the remains from the garden area. The cult, expelled by police, had taken the opportunity to relocate to their location in Costa Rica—with the exception of Sandoval Jackson, prevented from leaving the country by removal of his passport and a million-dollar bail pending his court date.
Sophie felt her pulse pick up as she identified the place where she and Dunn had gone over the wall, marked by a gap in the wire.
The dump truck was gone, as was the pit, now filled in with sifted soil. The accountant who’d committed suicide and the first woman to disappear, Mandy Newburt, had been buried deep, under the labyrinth’s central mandala. Sophie could almost feel the toe bone she’d found in the dark that night in her hand—forensics had matched it to the missing Amy Fillmore.
Amy Fillmore and Jennifer Roberts had been dismembered and integrated into the compost heap. The rich black compost, made of yard waste and manure, had been run through a shredder after it was well broken down. The bodies had then been spread over the huge garden. No wonder those lettuces were so lush.
Sophie wasn’t sure if she was airsick or just nauseated by the thought of the salads she’d eaten at the retreat.
The chopper settled into the center of the compound. The pilot got out, checking something on the landing gear and giving them a moment of privacy. Kinoshita turned back to face them as they removed their helmets. “How are you two doing?”
Dunn looked pale. His eyes were the gray of a winter storm. “Never wanted to see this place again, quite frankly.” He glanced at Sophie. “Last time I was here, my partner was bleeding like a stuck pig, her face all shot to hell, and I was carrying her to this chopper wondering if she was going to live.”
“I’m fine now, thanks to you.” Sophie touched his arm. “I’m absolutely sure I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t got up from being electrocuted to rescue me.”
“And maybe I’d be the one with the pirate look now. Damn, you stole that sexy scar from me.” Dunn was trying to make light of it, but Sophie could see the strain in his face, his body. “And then, because I didn’t kill him, Sloane came after you again, and Remarkian almost died.”
“It’s not your fault.” Sophie said. “Can you two give me a moment of privacy? I want to go check out the gravesite. Alone.”
Dunn shook his head no, but Kinoshita nodded in agreement, so Sophie hit the handle of the helicopter and pushed the door open.
The humid air smelled of diesel fumes from the chopper, but also of the lush green growing scent that was such a part of the valley. The yurts were deserted, their doors closed, as Sophie walked around a couple of them toward the former garden. Nothing stirred in the compound but a forgotten towel, flapping on a clothesline behind one of the buildings, and a loose chicken that ran squawking at the sight of her.
The silence was strange when she remembered so much sound during the retreat: the background cluck of the chickens, the chatter of the children, the music of guitar and flute.
Sophie hadn’t expected to be sad that this place was over and done.
The huge hole she remembered standing on the lip of had been filled—smooth, raked-looking soil made a blank expanse. Sophie knelt at the edge of the disturbed area, lifted a handful of soil, sifted it through her fingers. Of course. The police had gone through all of it looking for bits of the bodies. What a messy unpleasant job that must have been…
“I can’t believe you had the nerve to come back.”
Sophie stood, the handful of soil clutched in her fist.
Jessie Sparks faced her from twenty yards away. The woman before her looked like a scarecrow ghost of the pretty woman she’d been, the bulge of her pregnancy distending a smock-like orange dress. Her shiny, curling brown hair now hung in matted clumps, her plump cheeks were caved in, and her legs looked too skinny to support her swollen body.
Sparks held a gun, pointed at Sophie—a chrome Beretta.
The cult must have bought them in bulk on sale. The irrelevant thought appeared and seemed to hover, as if in a comment bubble, over Sophie’s head.
I’m getting awfully tired of looking down the barrel of this particular model.
Sparks had been concealed in one of the yurts whose door still hung open. They should have checked all the buildings to make sure that the compound was clear.
So much for the therapeutic visit.
Dunn is going to be so pissed.
Each thought blipped through her mind separately.
So this is the kind of stupid thing that you think about right before you die.
“I’m sorry.” Sophie slowly raised her hands. “For whatever it is you think I’ve done.”
The helicopter’s view of her position was blocked by one of the yurts. She flicked her gaze around, looking for Dunn. She had her weapon, but it was snapped into her shoulder holster and might as well be on another planet.
“You killed him.” Sparks’s hands shook. She raised the pistol and tracked from Sophie’s head, to her chest, to her abdomen and back again as if unable to decide what to shoot first. “You killed the love of my life. My baby’s father.”
“What do you mean? Jackson’s alive.” Sophie’s lips felt numb. The madness in the young woman’s eyes was somehow more terrifying than Dougal Sloane’s murderous intent.
Someone had come to the door of the yurt. A man stood behind Sparks.
“Jessie.” The resonant voice with its Scottish burr was smooth as cream liqueur. “Jessie, wh
at are you doing?”
“This woman killed Dougal.” Sparks’s hands trembled but her eyes were steel. Sophie could feel the young woman’s emotional instability oscillating around them like a force field.
“Did I hear you say—Dougal was the love of your life?” Jackson was descending the stairs behind Sparks. “But you’re with me.”
“No, no, I’m not. Never was. This is Dougal’s baby.” Sparks let go of the gun with one hand so the other could caress her rounded abdomen. “I slept with you so I wouldn’t get kicked out of the Society.”
Jackson approached her, his voice flowing like oil over troubled waters, his gaze serene, as Sparks divided a glare between him and Sophie. “We can work all of this out. You shouldn’t stress yourself. It’s not good for the child. Perhaps it’s Dougal coming to join you again, when you give birth.”
Sparks reared back in revulsion. “That’s totally perverted! You are a fake, Sandoval, and I’m done swallowing your lies!”
She turned and shot Jackson, the report of the weapon shockingly loud.
Sophie dove for the ground as the cult leader’s hands came up to clutch his neck, blood spurting between his fingers. Sparks spun back and shot the place where Sophie had just been standing.
She fired again and again, screaming with rage, as Sophie rolled frantically—until the sound of another gunshot, much louder, silenced the onslaught.
Jake Dunn, saving her again.
Sparks’s wailing cry showed she was still alive. Sophie, face turned sideways in the soft loam of the gravesite, closed her eyes and murmured a prayer of gratitude.
She turned her head at the thunder of Dunn’s footsteps passing and saw him kick the pistol away from Sparks’s foot as the woman screamed in outraged horror and pain. Even from where Sophie lay, she could see that Sparks was missing two fingers.
“You okay?”
“Good shot, Jake.” Sophie let Dunn pull her to her feet. “Good thing Sparks has terrible aim.”
“Tell that to Sandoval Jackson.” Dunn gestured with his head to where Dr. Kinoshita and the pilot were vainly trying to administer first aid to the cult leader as he bled out messily. “We really screwed up not checking that the compound was clear.”
