by Toby Neal
“Assan is the first person who comes to mind,” Sophie said. “After what happened to Alika, I believe Assan plans to target not just me, but any man I show interest in. Hence today’s attack on Jake and me. We were posing as a couple in the gallery, and I think it enraged him enough to try to take out both of us.”
“Someone needs to nail that bastard,” Lei said.
“On that we agree.”
They arrived at the estate, and Lei let Sophie out in the turnaround. “I better get back and help Cruz. I don’t have much hope we’ll catch Ang on the streets of Lahaina, but we have to do our due diligence.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky. Someone has to know something about where he is,” Sophie said. “Thank you for…keeping my secret.”
“I’ll try, that’s all I can promise,” Lei said. “Now go soak in a hot tub or something. This mansion must have one.” She waved as she drove off.
Assan packed the VR headset and controls back into their molded plastic case. His hands were shaking with the aftermath of rage and frustration.
He should never have tried to use his toy on his wife and her newest lover, but the sight of them in the gallery had been too much. Self-control was important, except in those situations when he could really let his inner demons out.
The weaponized drone was a sample that his black market arms dealer friend had given him to check out for importing. He hadn’t been able to resist sending it after them.
Jealousy had clouded his thinking. The drone had almost shot Sophie, which would have spoiled his fun—and now he’d tipped his hand that he was in the area for sure. Soon the place would be crawling with cops. His window to capture Sophie was closing.
But he bet that she’d ditch her supports and come looking for him—and he’d be ready.
As for the cops—he loved the United States! Their laws that protected criminals were so helpful. They would have to have probable cause to search this building, and there was no way they would get that.
Still, he had to destroy the case and the controls.
He picked up his phone and hit a number in his Favorites.
“What do you need, Mr. Ang?” Magda Kennedy’s voice was cool, smooth as poured cream. He’d love to get that haughty bitch tied spread-eagled on his sex wheel, screaming—but not with pleasure.
“I need to dispose of something confidential. It must be destroyed in the next hour. And I would like a woman.” His anger had to go somewhere. “Someone who likes things rough and can keep her mouth shut.”
A long pause.
“That will cost you extra,” Kennedy finally said.
“I expect no less.”
She ended the call.
Assan paced in front of the sliding glass windows of the penthouse, annoyed by the sparkle of the sun on the ocean across the street, the sounds of vacationers that wafted up from below. Maui was so shallow. Nothing about its garish beauty and vacation charms had any substance. He couldn’t wait to get back to Hong Kong, a place of depth, mass, and complexity, a truly stimulating environment where anything and everything was available and possible.
A buzz at the door brought him to check the peephole. He opened the door to one of Kennedy’s minions, a blond man in the gallery’s uniform of white shirt and pants. “You have something to be disposed of, sir?”
“Yes. Dispose of this where it can’t be found.” Assan handed the man the sealed cardboard box he’d put the controls into. “Keep the box shut and make sure no one ever finds the site.”
“You got it.” Blond Boy took the box, and then extended his hand.
The fool wanted a tip.
Assan took out his wallet and slapped a hundred-dollar bill into the man’s hand. “Doesn’t she pay you?”
“Not enough for projects like this.” The young man’s hand remained outstretched. Assan put two more hundred into it and the man closed his hand. “This is going straight into a trash compactor.”
“Good.”
Blond Boy left as Assan’s phone buzzed. He picked up.
“I have a number for you for that other thing you wanted,” Kennedy said. “But you didn’t get it from me.” She rattled off the number. “When will you be wrapping up your time on Maui?” Disgust for him colored her chilly voice.
“When my business here is done.” Assan hit the off button. Kennedy was going down. She’d be the last thing he took care of when his business with his wife was complete. She was disrespectful—and she was a loose end.
He called the number she’d given him, and soon entertainment was on its way.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The mansion did have a hot tub. After another couple of seemingly endless hours meeting with Shank Miller about the attack, helping Jake call the rocker’s insurance company to put in a claim on the Bentley, and updating their team and Bix on Oahu, Sophie was exhausted. She slid into the warm water of the bubbling tub tucked under a gazebo of jade vines in a corner of the estate. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back to rest on the rim.
She felt wrung out, twisted, empty. The depression urged her to just slip beneath the water.
Sophie battled the negative thoughts with difficulty. She had to stay focused, finish her job with the AI here at Miller’s, and wait for the dust of the investigation in Lahaina to settle so she could implement her crude plan of attack against Assan.
“This seat taken?” Jake’s voice.
She didn’t open her eyes. “As you can see, the area is vacant.”
“Just another figure of speech.” She heard the sound of the water shifting as he slid in, the sigh of contentment he gave.
She didn’t want to like that tiny, vulnerable sound. Didn’t want to wonder if he looked as good as she knew he did in just a pair of swim trunks. She didn’t want to admit that she felt better with him there, the shadows pushed back by his presence. But she did know all these things, and resented them.
She was done with men. Period.
“What did Lei want to talk with you about?”
“Just a recap on the case.” She wasn’t telling Jake anything about the Ghost.
“Did she have a plan on what to do next about your ex?”
“No.” Sophie opened her eyes to stare at her partner. Unfortunately, Jake did look as amazing in a pair of swim trunks as she’d anticipated, with his ripped arms spread along the rim of the tub, his gunmetal eyes at half-mast as he watched her. “I came here to relax. These questions are not relaxing.”
“Sorry.” He sighed again.
Sophie shut her eyes, and he said no more—but she could feel him watching her, hear every tiny shift of the water lapping against them. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Why don’t you go see Antigua? I’m sure she’d like to spend time with you.”
A long pause.
“If that’s the way you want it.” Jake’s tone was chilly. She heard the rush of the water as he got out, the pause as he picked up his towel, the wet padding of his feet on the paving stones as he walked away.
Sophie gave in and slid under the water until heat and the need to breathe forced her back up to the surface. She got out and rinsed, then went back to her room. She plugged into her computers and worked steadily on the AI training and integration until she was nodding with tiredness.
Someone knocking loudly finally got through the thunder of classical music in her headphones and she went to the door. A tray sat outside containing a small clay pot of curry, half a papaya with lime, an array of fresh steamed vegetables, and a flask of strong tea.
Antigua was a kind and thoughtful woman. A good foil for Jake. Hopefully, he realized that.
Sophie picked up the tray and withdrew back into the room.
She slept, eventually, and got to work again in the morning, looping in video from all over the house, running probability ratios and behavior norms. At last, she booted up her own laptop and DAVID and cycled through her search caches, looking for any sign of Assan or of Connor.
Nothing. The frustration a
lmost made her scream.
Around noon of the next day, Sophie was done with her work on the AI. She stretched her arms above her head, picking up her phone.
The burner showed multiple calls, but Sophie hadn’t set up a voice mail, so she scrolled through them and returned Marcella’s call first. “Marcella. You rang me?”
“Yes. Just wanted to check in about the attack that happened yesterday? Lei said you think it was Assan. She told me you had intel pointing to a gallery in Lahaina. Why didn’t you tell me you had a lead?” Marcella’s voice rose on the end of her question.
“I wanted to handle it myself.” Sophie got out of her chair, stretching stiff muscles, and dropped to the floor to do some yoga poses while they talked. “It was a very thin lead. I did an initial recon before Todd was killed and got nothing, so I didn’t tell you about it. I took Jake for a second look—and I think we triggered Assan. Literally.”
“So, you and Jake were—what? Canoodling?”
“Canoodling?” Sophie frowned.
“Kissing. Getting handsy. You know. PDA—public displays of affection.”
“Hardly. He held my hand, though, and put his arm around my waist. We were impersonating a couple. I was worried I’d alerted the owner to my interest in the gallery on my other visit, and wanted to throw her off.” Sophie pushed a hand through her short, dense hair.
“So, you’re telling me that you think your ex has some kind of surveillance set up at the gallery, and that the mere sight of you and Jake holding hands was enough to have Ang send out a weaponized drone to blow you away?”
“That is what I think. Yes. And that is also why I think Connor was killed by Assan.”
“Connor?”
“Todd’s middle name. Or, I should say—the name he told me to call him. Because his legal middle name is Colin, which I found out after his death.”
“So, how much did you know about his online activities?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
A short, sharp silence.
“There is a lot about this guy you haven’t told me, Sophie.” Marcella’s voice was tight with hurt and the quick temper Sophie had only encountered a few times.
“There is a lot I will never tell you, or anyone,” Sophie said evenly. “The FBI will have to conduct their investigation into Todd Remarkian and his online activities without my help. I hope that won’t be a problem with our friendship.”
“It is right now.” Marcella ended the call with an angry click.
Sophie stared down at the little burner phone in her hand. “You can count on me,” she said, repeating Marcella’s words. But she felt her friend’s frustration and betrayal, too.
Another reason to hate the Ghost.
Sophie got up and packed her belongings, checking the clock. She’d been enclosed in the room for close to twenty-four hours, and had finished the AI training. She sat back down and typed out a quick list of instructions for monitoring and responding to the software, disabled the camera overseeing the den, and opened her door carefully.
No one in the hall.
Sophie carried her tray into the kitchen and set the note on the island in the center, anchoring it with a chunk of rock crystal.
There was no way she was sneaking out of the compound unseen, but she’d chosen the hour the security staff met for their daily briefing, and they’d be too occupied to come out and question where she was going or what she was doing. She took a large cloth beach bag out of the hall closet along with a beach towel, and went into the den.
Weapons issued by Security Solutions were stored in a metal transport locker with a combination lock. Sophie consulted her confidential app containing the agency’s passwords, and a few moments later had the lock open.
Sophie took out several weapons and their holsters along with a couple of boxes of ammo, and wrapped them in the towel. She added some surveillance equipment, slipping everything into the canvas bag. In Mary Watson’s sundress, the bag slung over her shoulder, she looked like she was headed for the beach.
But where she was going, no one could follow.
Sophie had just slung her backpack of personal belongings and the beach bag with its heavy burden into the trunk of the ugly Dodge rental when Shank Miller, wearing workout clothing, his hair tied back in a ponytail, approached her. “Where you off to?”
“Mr. Miller. I’m sorry, I have some urgent personal business.”
“I’m sure.” The rocker leaned on her car door, preventing her from closing it. “We’re concerned about you. Shouldn’t Jake be going with you?”
“No, he’s right where he’s supposed to be—running your security.” Sophie forced a smile. “I’ll be back shortly. Just a little errand. I’m done with the AI and left instructions for the team in the kitchen.” She gave the door a tug. “Goodbye, Mr. Miller, I will see you soon.”
“Stay safe,” the rocker said, frowning. She nodded and started up the car, pulling out and away before he could try to prevent her exit.
She had a lot to do to get set up, and not many hours of daylight left.
As the compound’s gate retracted, Sophie began to pull forward—but hit the brakes when a large black motorcycle, engine revving, bore down on her, weaving through the narrow opening of the gate. A Plexiglas windscreen and helmet prevented her from seeing who was roaring past her car so quickly, almost catching the handlebars on her rental—but she could guess. Blondie was back!
Sophie turned to look over her shoulder, fumbling for her weapon.
The motorcycle skidded to a halt in front of Shank Miller, and the driver raised a weapon.
Miller stumbled back in surprise, his hands up. Sophie didn’t wait to see what happened next. She threw the car into reverse and stomped on the gas.
The Neon shot backward, barreling in reverse down the driveway, and Sophie only had time to hope Miller would be smart enough to jump out of the way when her rental careened into the motorcycle with a shriek of rending metal.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The shock of the rental car’s impact with the motorcycle was much more intense than Sophie had anticipated. Her body flew forward, hitting the airbag as it deployed so hard that her vision filled with colored lights even as her body whipped back again to hit the seat, her head connecting with the hard foam neck support. The airbag pinned her in place for an endless moment, muffling her panic in smothering whiteness.
Sophie batted at the poufy material and the thing deflated, settling around her like a discarded wedding gown. She dug her weapon out of the holster and got her door open, fighting her way out of the enveloping shroud of the airbag. Finally, free of it, she ran around the side of the car.
Shank Miller was flat on his back, several feet from the motorcycle, his eyes closed.
The motorcycle, crunched beneath the car’s bumper, had flung its rider several feet away. The attacker, medium-sized in black leather, had staggered upright and was reaching for the weapon that had fallen to the ground.
Sophie ran toward the leather-clad assailant, turning to spin into a sidekick that nailed the perp in the solar plexus. The invader flew backward, crashing to the ground. Sophie followed up, standing over the cyclist with her weapon drawn. “Don’t even think of getting up.”
Jake, Ronnie, and Jesse barreled out of the guesthouse.
“What the hell?” Jake yelled.
“Miller is down!” Sophie yelled. “Check him!”
Jake ran to the rocker and knelt beside the prone man. Sophie spared a glance to see Miller sitting up, groaning and twitching. “Oh my God, what the hell did he hit me with?” the rocker moaned.
“Taser.” Jake detached the prongs leading from the center of Shank’s shirt to the weapon on the ground. “Hurts like a bitch, but you’ll be okay.”
The figure on the ground was medium size, identity and gender obscured by the heavy leathers.
Sophie leaned down and unclipped the webbing strap of the mirrored helmet and pulled it off the perp’s head.
Blue eyes in a square, pale face. Blond mullet plastered down with sweat. “I’ll kill you, bitch!” said Bobby Miller.
The man’s hand darted toward a knife at his hip. Quick as crushing a venomous snake, Sophie stomped on Bobby’s arm with a booted foot. The snap of a bone breaking was almost as satisfying as the man’s scream of frustrated rage.
Sophie reached down and drew the knife, holding it up. She turned to address Jake. “I don’t think we will have trouble any longer with getting jail time for this man.”
Restraining the hysterically enraged Bobby Miller, communicating with MPD, assisting Shank into the house and getting him checked out, and the ensuing interview with Detective Cruz all slowed Sophie down. She even had to call the car rental company and report the damage to her vehicle.
By then it was afternoon.
She still needed a car and didn’t want to alert Jake to her plans, so she went into the kitchen. She found Antigua working some stretchy-looking dough with her strong, glossy arms.
“Thought I’d make a few homemade pizzas,” the chef said. “Everyone seems to get hungry after a crisis.”
“I’ve noticed that too.” Sophie leaned on one of the counter stools and felt the aftermath of adrenaline threatening to swamp her. She had to stay focused. “My car is being towed by the rental company tomorrow morning and I still have to run an errand. Can I borrow something of Miller’s?”
“Sure. Take the Honda CR-V in the garage—that’s the estate’s runaround car.” Antigua’s shoulders gleamed in the overhead light as the woman kneaded and stretched the dough. “That was amazing, what you did. The kitchen window overlooks the turnaround.” She indicated the long, broad window facing the estate’s driveway. “I saw the whole thing. You didn’t even miss a beat. And even though that man’s lawyer is making noise about his injury, I’m glad you broke his arm.”
