Paradise Crime Thrillers Box Set

by Toby Neal

  Sophie didn’t look up, just tweaked her arm away and tugged Anubis closer. The Doberman could appear threatening to strangers who got too close, and though he had never attacked anyone to Sophie’s knowledge, Connor’s funeral wasn’t the place for a first time.

  Sophie just didn’t have the energy to be social, to exchange pleasantries or trite, meaningless expressions of sadness when her despair was too great even to verbalize.

  They arrived at a large, circular concrete pad inlaid with a mosaic design featuring the symbols of many of the major religions. Densely planted royal palms surrounded the space, giving the area a feeling of a tropical room with the sky as a ceiling. A lava-stone crypt stood ajar to one side, lined with shelves holding ash containers. Connor’s remains, in a brass urn, rested in the center of a mosaic mandala.

  There were no chairs. This was likely going to be a short service. What was there to say, after all, about a man so young, so isolated and secretive? Sophie clenched Anubis’s leash, the chain cutting into her palm.

  The small, quiet group filed around the mosaic area, filling in a semi-circle, with Marcella on her left. Sophie felt Jake’s presence loom up into her space, warm and intrusive, pushing Marcella off to the side. He took her dangling hand in his, and squeezed it.

  His solid physical presence felt like a boulder she could lean on. Sophie sighed and rested against him, inhaling his familiar scent. She hadn’t seen him since the debacle in Lahaina. During the last few days’ isolation at her father’s apartment awaiting a decision on whether or not she’d be charged with Assan’s murder, she’d wondered dimly where he was. She still hadn’t gotten a new phone to replace the one Assan had smashed, hadn’t had the strength to deal with the rigmarole of setting it up. Her father had fielded calls on the apartment’s landline while she struggled with her depression—and mostly gave in to it. The past couple of days spent in her bed were a blur.

  She had met with Dr. Kinoshita for a post-incident debrief and trauma counseling on Oahu late in the day after making her statement at MPD. Sitting in the psychologist’s cool modern office at Security Solutions, Sophie felt disembodied, distanced from her surroundings—an observer. Getting out of bed that morning at her father’s had been extremely difficult.

  Kinoshita wore a mint-green sheath dress with a pearl choker. One side of her sleek bobbed hair was held back with a gold clip in the shape of a butterfly. “How are you doing, Sophie?”

  “I feel like I might not really be here,” Sophie said. “I’m having trouble today. My body doesn’t feel real. Even when I pinch myself.” Sophie did so, hard, and the twist of pain was like a dim, faraway sound heard through a fog. Maybe enough pain would put her back in her body—that had worked in the past. She should go to the gym for another round with that Tongan fighter.

  The psychologist looked up from her notes, dark eyes sharp behind modish black reading glasses. “When did this feeling start?”

  “Ever since I rescued Lei.” Two days. Two days was all it had been since the events in the basement in Lahaina. Two days of a persistent sense of detachment, as if she were stuck in some kind of plastic bubble, and everything was simply too much effort.

  Kinoshita told her about “depersonalization,” and that it was a symptom of having experienced a severe trauma, or could be part of an overall anxiety or depression disorder. “I’m depressed,” Sophie said, tired of hiding, of trying, of the never-ending effort of it all. “I think I need medication.”

  So now she was taking a little white pill in the mornings. Not that it had made a bit of difference, though Kinoshita said it would take a few weeks to feel any better…and here she was at Connor’s memorial.

  Sophie’s feet were too far away and her hands too close. Her body felt like an ill-fitting dress, hot and pinched. Only Jake felt real in the whole tableau around her.

  The officiant was a short, rotund mixed-Hawaiian man in a dark shirt and pants, draped in a tapa-cloth kihei robe. He picked up an ipu gourd and began a strong percussive beat, his voice rich with the vibrato characteristic of a Hawaiian chant.

  The ancient words in a foreign tongue washed over Sophie. She shut her eyes, letting go of her thoughts, letting go of control. She was conscious only of Jake’s hand holding hers, his shoulder under her cheek, the warm strength of Anubis leaning on her leg, and the knowledge of Marcella on the other side of Jake. Even in her weird detachment bubble, she was loved.

  The thumping of the ipu and the alchemy of the chant allowed her mind to float free and remember Connor.

  His easy smile, hiding a brilliant mind. His laughter and generosity. His wicked, wonderful genius. That incredible musical ability. His touch, lighting her up, healing her damaged heart.

  That he was gone, when she’d finally opened that heart—such bitter sorrow she couldn’t even really feel it.

  “You okay?” Jake whispered, lifting the hat to speak into her ear.

  She nodded, and the motion of her head caused the tears filling her eyes to spill down her cheeks.

  The kahu ended the chant. He said a few words about the fleetingness of life and the building of legacy. Todd Colin Remarkian would be remembered for what he had built, for the fortune he had left to rescue shelters that would help so many neglected and abused animals. He would have done much more, but he’d been lost too soon.

  They had no idea how much more.

  What would happen to the balance of evil in the world, with the Ghost no longer there to even the odds? The heavy brick of the Ghost software remained tucked away in her rucksack like it was nothing special. She hadn’t tried to unlock it since Maui.

  Bix had asked her to say a few words, but Sophie had refused, sure she could not articulate anything meaningful for public consumption.

  Sophie kept her eyes down as Bix addressed the group. “Todd was tireless in his efforts to bring security to our clients by helping make the world a safer place. He was instrumental in developing the first ever artificial intelligence home surveillance system. His contributions will live on and continue to affect the world through different applications for years to come. Here from abroad, to speak a few words about his longtime business partner and friend, is the co-founder of Security Solutions, Sheldon Hamilton.”

  Sophie went rigid with shock. Sheldon Hamilton!

  And just that suddenly, she was fully alert, back in her body.

  The man who’d steadied her by the elbow, the man standing quietly on the other side of Anubis on her right, moved forward.

  That man was also the one whose death they were mourning.

  And Sophie was the only one who knew it.

  Sheldon Hamilton turned to face them in front of the brass urn, and opened his mouth to speak at his own funeral.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Connor/Todd/Sheldon’s eyes were dark brown. He wore a white straw fedora that cast his features into shadow. Fashionable square-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses obscured the line of his brows, and a goatee changed his chin from the front. He’d even put on lifted shoes and altered his posture.

  If she hadn’t known him so well, she’d have been fooled like all the rest.

  Sophie’s mouth had gone completely dry, but her skin felt clammy, her extremities numb.

  How had she forgotten about Sheldon Hamilton? When the bomb went off and Connor supposedly died, he should have been the first person for her to track down. Instead, she’d wasted time looking for Connor’s blond Todd Remarkian identity.

  The enormity of the betrayal drained the blood from her head. How could he have let her grieve him?

  She swayed and must have made some sound, because Jake squeezed her hand, hard. She could hardly feel his grasp.

  “Todd Remarkian was a bundle of contradictions,” Sheldon Hamilton said. His voice was different than Connor’s, deeper and rougher. Probably a tone-altering device hidden beneath his buttoned collar.

  He’d told her once that the secret to disguise was that people saw what they expected to see—bu
t a few key details went a long way.

  Whatever this man had to say about the death of his own fake identity, she didn’t want to hear. The hypocrisy was too much to bear.

  “Here.” Sophie thrust Anubis’s leash into Jake’s hand. “Give this dog to Sheldon, his rightful owner. I have to go. I’m not feeling well.”

  She spun and strode away across the grass, breaking into a jog at the edge of the ring of palms, covering her face as if overcome by emotion.

  She was overcome by emotion!

  Rage at her own stupidity: she’d been so obtuse, blinded by grief that she’d forgotten all about the alter ego he’d already fooled her with once. Rage at him: how could he have watched her suffer as she had? How could he not have given her even a clue in the letter he left her in the safe deposit box?

  Her eyes burned. Her diaphragm stuttered with the effort to breathe as heat and cold chased over her skin. Only sheer reflex and the need to flee kept her moving.

  Sophie reached the pearl-colored Lexus SUV her father had given her on graduation from the FBI. She hadn’t bothered with the Mary Watson identity since she got back from Maui. Now that Assan Ang was dead, she’d thought the need for pretense was over. But it would never be over. Her life was one long pretense.

  “Sophie!” Marcella had come after her.

  Damn it!

  Sophie beeped the car open.

  Maybe she should have walked up and ripped the Ghost’s beard off in front of everyone instead of running away. The man was slipperier than a barrel of eels, but he was standing there at his own funeral, vulnerable. He’d run to avoid the FBI’s investigation, most likely. This was her moment to both even the score, and restore her friendship with Marcella.

  She leaned her forehead on the door, the handle in her hand, debating. Even though Connor had hurt her, she felt horrible turning him in. He had her guts in knots, the cobra-headed hyena!

  Her friend reached her. Marcella set her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Sophie looked up. “No, I’m not. This is all too much.”

  “I have good news. Something to make you feel better. A witness has come forward on Maui.”

  This was so out of context that Sophie looked up to meet her friend’s eyes. Marcella nodded. “Yes. We have a witness who has gone on record to say that he was tasked with disposing of a drone mechanism the day of the attack on you and Jake in Lahaina. The man he described matches Assan Ang. The witness works for Magda Kennedy, so Lei is excited that they might finally be able to make a case against the gallery owner, too. This will really strengthen the argument that you killed Assan in self-defense. I hope knowing this helps, a little bit.”

  The sympathy in her friend’s eyes…

  The vicarious suffering Marcella had gone through on Sophie’s behalf, the stress, the days of caring for Sophie when she was in bed, grieving…it was wrong.

  “That is good news.” Sophie opened the car door and tossed the ridiculous hat she wore into the back seat. “But Marcella, I’m not sad. I’m furious.”

  “Why?” Marcella’s arched brows snapped together. “The anger stage of grief?”

  Sophie laughed, bitterly. “If only it were that.” She blew out a breath and said it. “Sheldon Hamilton is Todd Remarkian, and he’s the Ghost cyber vigilante. And he’s very much still alive, after letting me believe he was dead.” Everything around her felt too bright, and a buzzing noise filled her ears. She made herself blink.

  “What?” Marcella wore a wine-colored dress that looked great with her bold coloring, but as she paled, the dress reminded Sophie of old blood against her sallow skin. “Say that again.”

  “Get in my car so we can talk.” Sophie wrenched open the driver’s side door of the Lexus.

  Marcella ran around to the passenger side and got in as Sophie shut her door.

  “You have to go grab Hamilton before he disappears.” Sophie turned on the vehicle to activate the air conditioning.

  “I can’t, without probable cause!” Color flooded back into Marcella’s cheeks. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Here’s what happened.” Sophie outlined the events of the original case that had put her onto the Ghost’s existence. “I didn’t tell you, or Lei, or anyone—but I began a relationship with the Ghost online.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m not proud of it. But he fascinated me.”

  “Go on.” Marcella’s voice was steely. She had taken her phone out, recording Sophie.

  “I didn’t know who he was, for sure, but I thought the Ghost was Sheldon Hamilton. I first got involved with him while trying to capture him, but later…I began to have feelings for him, and he led me to believe it was mutual. Later, when I started dating Todd but was going to reject him in favor of Sheldon, who was supposedly overseas…Todd revealed that Sheldon Hamilton was an alias of his.”

  Marcella’s gaze was sharp and hard. “And you didn’t tell me any of this.”

  “No. I was…caught up in his games, I guess. I thought what we had was real.” She pushed a fist into her aching solar plexus, hunching over the pain. “Truth be known, I was intrigued by his version of justice. His whole purpose in life was his vigilantism. But he said he’d fallen in love with me, and had to be honest with me. And so, he shared his secret with me.” Sophie raised her eyes to Marcella. “He even said he’d give up the vigilantism because I wasn’t okay with it. And now you know how honest he really was with me. Now go arrest him, before he disappears again.”

  But Marcella’s mouth had tightened and her eyes narrowed. Sophie wasn’t the only one feeling betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just couldn’t.” Sophie opened her mouth and closed it, unable to find words, unable to say anything that would make her choice any more palatable to her friend. She looked down. “I’m sorry.”

  Without a word, Marcella jumped out of the car, slammed the door, and headed back toward the memorial service at a run.

  Sophie didn’t want to watch what happened next.

  She had to get away. Clear her head. If she stayed around here, she’d be dragged into interviews, into testifying, into potentially seeing that man again. And the last thing she ever wanted to do was see or speak to the Ghost—because whatever his real name was, the Ghost was all he was.

  Sophie put her foot on the accelerator and pulled out, headed for her father’s apartment, breaking speed limits.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Frank Smithson frowned as Sophie threw her few clothes into her bag along with her satellite-compatible laptop. “Where are you going?”

  Sophie glanced up at his weathered, handsome face.

  “Dad.” She walked over, embraced him, and leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment. He’d begun the retirement process from his ambassador job with a series of longer and longer leaves, using up his vacation time, and he’d been home during her latest crisis. “I’m sorry. The funeral was really upsetting. I need some time alone. I thought I’d go back to my apartment for a while.”

  He squeezed her close, his deep voice a comforting rumble. “I’m always glad to see my girl, even for a little while when she’s stressed out.”

  “That was a nice way of describing my last couple of days lolling around depressed.” Sophie had hardly anything personal left there, but she took an extra moment to check the drawers under the bed and the closet. “Thanks for taking care of Ginger.”

  “Always happy to spend time with my other girl.” He played absently with the Lab’s ears. “You taking her with you?”

  “Of course.” A plan was forming in her mind, but Sophie wasn’t about to share it with her father at this point. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a phone.”

  “Don’t take too long about it. After recent events, we now have a three-day rule on being in touch.”

  “I hear you.” Her father was tall enough that she had to go on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll get the phone today and text you. Talk soon.”

  She slipped on
her backpack, tweaked Ginger’s leash, and headed out.

  Mary Watson’s apartment had been unoccupied long enough to develop a musty smell. Ginger nosed around and lapped thirstily when her bowl was freshened. Bright sunshine streamed in, and Sophie opened the sliders and windows, letting in a draft of plumeria scent from the big tree beside the building. She emptied her backpack in the bedroom, sorting her belongings from the stint on Maui, and organizing them to help identify what she would need for her plan.

  Sitting down, Sophie made a careful list of supplies and errands. First, she needed to go to her bank.

  After making sure Ginger had been fed, watered, and done her business on the patch of grass outside the run-down apartment building, Sophie headed out in Mary’s truck.

  She took the vehicle to a used car lot and haggled a deal, leaving the truck there and pocketing even less cash than the beat-up old vehicle was worth. At the bank, she accessed her safe deposit box, then pulled out all the money currently in her account, pocketing some cash from that transaction, and carrying out a cashier’s check made out to the name of her third identity, Sandy Mason. At a second bank, she emptied Mary Watson’s account and closed it, removing the cash from that as well. Outside, at a corner kiosk, she bought a reggae-themed trucker hat and a pair of cheap round sunglasses. She walked across the street to a third bank and opened a new account under the passport ID she’d removed from the safe deposit box in the name of Sandy Mason.

  Sophie had learned the technique known as the “gray man” during her training at Quantico, with updated lessons from Connor. The trick to moving around undetected was to blend. She was a distinctive-looking woman, so effort had to be made to downplay her unique appearance. She’d created a recognizable but unremarkable persona as Mary Watson; she could do it again with Sandy Mason. Even new identity names had to be “gray”—common enough to be forgettable, but not so bland that they were an obvious alias.