by Toby Neal
“I know. Son of a two-headed yak. This could all have been prevented.” Sophie walked over to Sparks.
The pregnant woman had collapsed to the ground, her bleeding hand wrapped in her skirt and pressed between her thighs. She’d stopped screaming, but her gaze up at Sophie was just as hate-filled as before.
Sophie stared down at her. “I pity your child. It will be taken from you as soon as it’s born, while you serve a sentence for murder.”
“Screw you,” Sparks hissed. “You don’t know true love.”
No, Sophie didn’t—and if this was where it ended, she didn’t want to.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sophie tugged at her ex-FBI gray suit jacket as she left the Honolulu PD video conference room, where she’d just finished giving an official statement to Hilo PD regarding the death of Dougal Sloane and the events at the compound. The case was on its way to being officially ruled self-defense by the Honolulu investigators on their case, and her step was a little lighter leaving than it had been going in.
Dunn had insisted on coming in with her for “moral support” even though the detectives interviewing her had made him wait outside. He fell in step with her as Sophie strode down the hall and out the front door of the Honolulu Police Department building. He’d been relentless in his attempts to get her back to work at Security Solutions. “Since you’re out and about, I was hoping you could come into the office for a few. I have someone who wants to see you.”
Sophie stopped on the cement steps outside and turned to him, her heart kicking into overdrive. Would Connor show up at the Security Solutions building? It would be perfectly normal for him to do that, considering he was the boss.
Light wind played with the few curls long enough to cover some of the scar on her head, but the damn skin graft hurt every time she went into the sun. Sophie fumbled in her oversized purse, smacked on her hat and pushed on her sunglasses. “Who is it?”
“Our former client. Sharon Blumfield. Who were you expecting? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Sophie gave a snort of hysterical laughter. She’d hardly slept or eaten in the last couple of days with the depression so bad, the wrestling match in her mind so severe. She’d only been able to get herself together enough to come down to the station because the alternative was a bench warrant for her arrest.
Dunn clapped her on the back.
“Get it together, woman. This is a good thing. Come with me. I promise you’ll like it.”
“Okay. Since you promise I’ll like it. I’ve had too many things I really didn’t like lately.”
She followed Dunn down the steps and got into her vehicle. Dunn was refreshingly transparent and heavy-handed. Whatever else he was, there was no subterfuge in him—and subterfuge was something she’d had enough of.
Sharon Blumfield met them in the reception area on the ground floor of the Security Solutions building, and she wasn’t alone.
Her children, the boy, Lono and girl, Pele, who Sophie and Jake had rescued, put down comic books and stood to greet her—and two more children behind them also rose. Zeus, the thirteen-year-old boy she’d met at the retreat, and his sister Hera were brushed and scrubbed, wearing bright new clothing. Sophie came to a halt in front of the four kids and took off her sunglasses. “Hello. I’m Sophie Ang.”
“And I’m Jake Dunn. Forget shaking hands. You can high-five.” Jake got Zeus to try it, along with a complicated fist-bump combination that made them all laugh. Ice broken, Sophie helped Sharon tug chairs into a rough circle.
“You were Mary Watson at the Society. We wondered where you’d gone,” Zeus said, when they were all seated. “Dougal told me you didn’t like the yoga class and ran for the hills.”
“That’s true, in a manner of speaking.”
“What happened to your face?” Pele asked.
“I got shot. This is a skin graft. They took skin from my hip and put it on my face.” Sophie smiled, hoping it wasn’t too scary of an effect, but their expressions weren’t encouraging. She turned back to their former client. “Ms. Blumfield, thanks so much for bringing the kids in to talk with us.”
“The least I could do. Zeus and Hera are going to live with us—their other relatives can’t care for them right now, and the therapist we’re all seeing suggested we all get some closure by seeing our rescuers in person—and the kids really wanted to see you again.”
Dunn told the story of rescuing Lono and Pele to Zeus and Hera with many an embellishment—enough to make Sophie roll her eyes.
“How do you feel about…Sandoval Jackson’s death?” Sophie asked.
“Our father, you mean?” Zeus was perfectly composed. “He’s going to come back soon. Probably in the body of someone close by, so he can be near us.”
Sophie met Blumfield’s gaze over the top of the boy’s head. The woman gave a slight headshake.
“That’s good then,” Sophie said lamely. “So. Have you any questions for us?”
“We want to see your equipment lab! All the stuff you have, like Batman!” Pele exclaimed.
Sharon laughed. “The kids have been glutting themselves on TV since we all got outside. Old Batman reruns seemed harmless, and now the kids think Jake is Batman and Sophie is Catwoman.”
“Not really. I just think you’re kind of like superheroes,” Pele said, ducking her head in embarrassment.
“It so happens I’ve got a few things I can show you in our lab,” Dunn said. “Follow me.” He took off like the Pied Piper, the kids in pursuit.
“I heard Sloane was the one who shot you,” Blumfield said.
Sophie turned her face away from Blumfield’s gaze. “Yes.”
“The man was a pig. I hated him.”
“He’s dead now. And not coming back.” The memory of Sloane’s drowning body under her knee made her shudder.
Blumfield set a hand on Sophie’s arm. “Your face will get better. And your heart will too. We just really wanted to thank you. All of the children are doing remarkably well in their new homes, with their grandparents and other relatives. I was delighted to take Zeus and Hera—my kids were so used to the group living situation that they cried for days, missing their brothers and sisters. We’re going to bring them all together often.”
“It was very good to see you, to know there’s been a happy outcome for your family. Thank you.” Sophie said goodbye, and left. Dunn would track her down soon enough, probably sooner than she was ready for, as usual.
She needed to go to the beach and unwind—and revisit the scene of the crime.
She wasn’t going to let the hideous memory of what had happened there with Sloane ruin one of her favorite places in Honolulu.
Sophie picked up Ginger from the pet sitter, and drove down to Ala Moana Beach Park.
She used the restroom to change into some running clothes and pulled a billed hat down, slathering her face with sunscreen—not something she’d had to do in the past with her tawny complexion, but the plastic surgeon had warned her that the new skin was delicate and sensitive to the sun.
Afternoon was cooling things down as Sophie leashed Ginger and moved out, picking up a slow jog in the deep warm sand.
She passed the location of the attack. The crime scene tape they’d used to rope it off with was gone.
There was nothing to mark the life-and-death struggle that had taken place there between Sophie and two men. Cool, calm turquoise water lapped against fine-grained sand, dimpled with thousands of happy tourist footprints.
Sophie hit the break wall at the end of the beach and jogged back. She reversed and did it again. When she’d done the length of the beach four times and Ginger was panting and begging to go into the ocean, she peeled off the exercise clothes she’d worn over her bikini and went in, laughing as the Lab chased her. They swam and splashed, and finally Sophie grabbed Ginger’s tail and let the dog tow her into shallow water.
Where would she be without Ginger? The dog brought so much laughter and surprise into her life,
helping beat back the depression’s talons.
She spread out her beach towel and lay down on her stomach, the hat back on, protecting her face. Ginger flopped beside her, tongue hanging out.
Sophie just rested there for a long, sweet time.
The late afternoon sun dried the water on her back. The sound of beachgoers laughing and playing in the gentle water and the breeze in the nearby monkeypod trees—all of it soothed her.
She had a place of her own, interesting work, and friends. She was recovering well from her injuries, and she was discovering new things about herself: what she liked and what she didn’t, and she was making a life out from behind her computers.
That didn’t mean she didn’t still love the tech world. She’d recently set up Ying, Amala, and JinJai, her computers, in the apartment—and the niggle of a new program idea had her playing with code for the first time in months.
But the security concerns about using DAVID remained along with the unanswered consent questions. It was easier, for the moment, just to let DAVID rest awhile.
She didn’t have to know exactly where she was going, or what came next.
But she was lonely.
She missed Connor.
Todd.
Sheldon.
Whoever he was, she missed that brilliant, complicated, fascinating man who obviously played violin as well as all the other things he was able to do—if those callouses on his fingers were anything to go by.
She wanted to hear him play violin.
After days of wrestling with her conscience, she’d come to a decision.
Sophie sat up on her elbows and dug into the pocket of her discarded nylon shorts, bringing out her phone. She clicked to the encoded site she used to communicate with the Ghost, and typed in a message.
Been thinking a lot about our conversation. You were right. I’m a hypocrite.
The little green cursor in the old-school DOS-style format pulsed at her, then green letters unspooled and her heart rate picked up.
Took you long enough to admit it. Two whole days was way too long not to hear from you.
A girl has her pride. I felt betrayed. But I’ve thought it through and I understand why you couldn’t tell me.
Are you going to keep my secret?
Sophie bit her lip. Yes. For now. Subject to review.
I’ll take it, and thanks. I wish Todd had met you first. Everything would have been simpler.
Would Todd have liked me as much as Sheldon did?
Definitely. He’d have turned on his Aussie charm and swept you off your feet.
I’m glad you’re both—because I never liked that accent much.
A long pause. Ginger wriggled closer and snuffled against Sophie’s side, tickling her, and Sophie scratched under her chin.
I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with the accent in public, because Todd is planning to ask you out. But it’s Connor you’ll really get to know, Mary Watson.
Sophie’s fingers flew as she texted. That’s ‘Sophie Watson,’ to you. Bring Anubis down to the beach when you’re feeling better, and we’ll see where we go from there.
It’s a start. I’ll be up and around soon.
Thanks for taking a bullet for me, by the way.
And thanks for saving my life. Things can only get better from here.
Sophie smiled. “You’re right, Connor. Things can only get better from here.” She turned the phone off and lay back down to enjoy the last of the warm Waikiki afternoon sun, Ginger at her side.
Turn the page to keep reading book three of the Paradise Crime Thrillers, Wired Hard!
Wired Hard
Paradise Crime Book 3
Chapter One
Surveillance work was nine parts boredom and one part terror, Sophie had heard. The boredom part was certainly true. Security specialist Sophie Ang sat back in the creaky office chair and swiveled a bit, working a hand exerciser as she watched three video monitors, each covering a corner of the roughly rectangular former baseball field that hid the buried royal Hawaiian archeological site of Kakela on Maui.
The grainy video feed, exposure turned up as much as possible to counteract the darkness, revealed nothing much of interest. The flat expanse of field, still dimpled with the markings of its years as a baseball diamond, was surrounded by an eight-foot, low-budget chain link fence. The only illumination came from the tired amber glow of a nearby streetlight.
After only three hours in front of the monitors, Sophie wished that the Hui to Restore Kakela, the nonprofit that owned the site, had just hired a night watchman instead of Security Solutions’ expensive services.
She put her feet up on the desk and leaned back to stretch, abruptly losing her balance as the old chair tipped.
That woke her up. Too bad the Hui had decided that her partner Jake Dunn was too expensive to afford; she could have used the company—it wasn’t easy to fall asleep around Jake.
Glancing one more time at the monitors, Sophie picked up her phone, texting Connor Remarkian. “This Maui job is very boring. They told me thieves were after priceless artifacts concealed on a buried royal island. It sounded so exciting at the planning meeting on Oahu, but so far, all the job has been is putting in a surveillance system and watching an old baseball field. A lot of unnecessary sitting around.”
Sophie hit Send. She was rationing her communication with the man she was seeing, her natural caution balancing the increasing chemistry between them. They’d had their first official date only a week ago—a trip to the Bishop Museum to study up on Hawaiian relics in preparation for this job.
Connor was still recovering from a gunshot wound that had happened during her last case, but had been more than willing to lean on her as they navigated the Bishop’s floors of beautifully displayed, well-organized artifact exhibits. Discovering more about how intelligent and well-read he was, not to mention his quick sense of humor, continued to attract Sophie. She wasn’t just a person of the body…though his was stellar.
She smiled, remembering photos he’d sent her of him working out—they shared that interest, too.
Connor texted back. “I was wondering how it was. What did you set up to catch the thieves?”
“I have motion activated lights, video surveillance, and a big flask of tea to keep me going.” She unscrewed the thermos and took a sip, glancing at the monitors again. Still nothing.
“Sounds pretty basic. Why don’t they just have a night watchman?”
“I asked the same thing. Apparently, there are security concerns within the organization. Intrigues behind closed doors. The archaeologist who spearheaded hiring me hinted at internal politics. There is concern that…”
One of the sensor lights turning on in the far corner of the field hurt her eyes with brilliance as it blasted on. Sophie slid the phone with its uncompleted text into her pocket and jumped to her feet, reaching for the Taser at her hip. The rusty old office trailer had been parked in the corner of the Kakela site for so many years that it had become a fixture. She pushed open the metal door and, scanning the empty field, trotted toward the light, holding the Taser in a ready position.
No more serious weapons than that were authorized by the Hui on this job, and she missed the familiar deadly weight of her Glock.
Nothing. The white glare of the light reduced the field to a flat expanse of soft, silty soil and bunchy grass around a baseball diamond area.
Directly beneath the light, at the corner of the fence, a black cat, its eyes a glowing flash, jetted away between some bushes.
Sophie re-holstered the Taser. It was going to be a long night. She walked the perimeter of the property, checking the camera angles through a connecting app on her phone.
She reached the corner where active excavation was occurring, and lifted one corner of a large piece of plywood concealing the ruler-straight, five-foot deep rectangular excavation hole, one of several around the site. The orientation tour she had been given with the archaeologist, Brett Taggart, her liaison with th
e Hui, had been informative about the site’s origins and importance.
Taggart looked older than his thirty-six years, with a hatchet face and cynical dark eyes, a cigarette perpetually dangling at his lip. The curved shoulders of an academic were counterbalanced by the sun-bronzed muscles of an outdoorsman, and Taggart wore an Indiana Jones-style fedora with a pair of mirrored aviators and lug-soled boots when he met her at the site to show her around. “What’s the good of being an archaeologist if you can’t play the part?” he said, when she commented on his outfit.
The Hui nonprofit was slowly excavating the site, which had once been a sacred, royal island with a brackish lagoon surrounding it. Around the turn of the century, the lagoon had been filled in with dirt removed from road construction, an attempt to control mosquitoes that were breeding there as the site fell into ruin.
Taggart had pointed out the area she was now observing. “We’re surveying all around the original island site—we aren’t as interested in the fill dirt where the lagoon used to be. We took ground penetrating radar images of the entire site, and have begun excavation as the Hui can afford it, in the areas that seem to be of the greatest archaeological significance.”
“So what could be so valuable that thieves are trying to steal it?” Sophie asked. “The Hawaiians didn’t use gold, or precious gems. I don’t know a lot about archaeology, so what makes an artifact valuable?”
“An artifact becomes valuable because of its rarity and cultural significance. Its collectability is also a factor, especially in the private market.”
“You mean the black market.”
Taggart met her eyes, and his gaze, dark as ale, was sharp and intelligent. “There are plenty of legitimate relics already in circulation that can be bought, sold, and collected. But yes. The black market exists. And that’s what we’re talking about here. The main items we think these thieves are looking for are human bone hooks.”
