by Toby Neal
He couldn’t wait to see her. When the opportunity to look for finish trim for some cabinetry materials presented itself, he took the excuse to fly to the Big Island.
Sitting in the helicopter, he monitored the police band on his radio. The band was alive with a major emergency involving the jail. Alika had been studying the law enforcement codes used in communication, interested in anything that had to do with something Sophie might be involved in.
He locked up the helicopter and walked across the tarmac to the airport area, carrying his overnight duffel, and caught a shuttle to a nearby car rental agency. He secured a work truck for three days, hopefully enough time to find the wood he needed—and to see Sophie at least once.
Seated in the truck, Alika tried her number again, almost a reflex; but this time, she picked up.
“Alika!” Sophie’s husky voice with that accent gave him “chicken skin.” He could hear noise in the background: raised voices, clattering. “I’m at the jail. There’s a disturbance. This isn’t a good time.”
His heart rate spiked. “Are you okay? Are you safe?”
“Yes. I believe so. Though the exact extent of the riot and its aftermath are still being determined and contained.”
“Holy shit! Well, I just called because I wanted to let you know that I’m on the island and would like to see you while I’m here.”
There was a short pause. He could tell how distracted Sophie was by her lack of response and the brisk, “That’s fine. I’ll call you later. Goodbye,” with which she ended the call.
Alika stared down at his phone. Never a good idea to get his expectations up when it came to Sophie. She’d made him no promises. He had made her none either. Too bad for him that the mere sound of her voice turned his innards to mush.
He had come here for work, and he had work to do. Enough with the navel-gazing.
Alika fired up the truck and programmed the address of the exotic hardwoods sawmill he had come to visit into the GPS. He’d call her tonight and take a temperature check on dinner.
Chapter Three
Byron Chang laced his fingers together over his belly and leaned back in his leather chair. He narrowed his eyes at his cousin Terence, seated across from him in the high-ceilinged office of the downtown Hilo warehouse building where Chang Incorporated conducted a legit import/export business. “I’m not a patient man, cuz. We need to get my bruddah out dat jail.”
“I’m working on it.” Terence handled legal and computer-related business for the family. “But you need to acknowledge that Akane’s habits have drawn too much attention.”
Terence was dressed, as usual, in hipster jeans with some kind of fancy basketball shoes and a tight black T-shirt. He looked like something out of a freakin’ college catalog, and he talked like it too. “Just telling you like it is, Byron. Akane knows that we would cover him for his work for the family, but this extracurricular shit he was into…well, he’s on his own for that.”
Byron’s mouth tightened. His brother Akane did a good job as the Chang enforcer, but doing the family’s dirty work had led to an unhealthy habit of knife-stalking victims, sanctioned and unsanctioned, in the jungle. “You don’t speak for the family, Terence. You gave that up when you passed on being Healani’s heir.”
As firstborn son of the firstborn son and bearer of the Terence Chang name, the kid in front of Byron had had it all handed to him—and Terence had turned it down, going straight with a legit online tech business and importing company. Byron had stepped up to lead after another fiasco had cleared out competition from a couple of half-cousins.
Righteous anger heated Byron’s chest. Terence acted like his privileged, college-educated shit didn’t stink. “Akane is my brother. Doesn’t matter what he’s done; we are not leaving him to rot in jail. That blonde tweaker chick and the lady private investigator are going down. With them gone, there won’t be a case. Everything they have on Akane is hearsay; there’s not a shred of physical evidence connecting him to any of those bodies. He was good at making sure of that.”
Terence smoothed one leg of his skinny jeans, cocking an ankle on his knee. It was a wonder the asshole could move; those pants were so tight. “Akane is a liability. He’s attracting heat and publicity. And even if you kill off these witnesses, he is going to need to be watched like a rabid dog. You going to be the one holding his leash? Because rabid dogs bite the hand that feeds them.” Terence was talking about his own recent problems dealing with an out-of-control half brother and sister who’d gone on a revenge spree against the cop involved with their father’s death.
Byron shrugged. “We aren’t leaving Akane in jail. Sends a bad message.” Terence was probably right about Akane. Loyalty was important, though, and protecting their best enforcer sent a message to those beneath them about the lengths the Chang family would go to protect their own, and their interests. “I’m listening to you, T. But all I hear is flapping lips. Until you’re ready to step up and serve the family by getting your hands dirty, you have no voice here.”
“I’m guessing Rayme is going into Witness Protection. And that security investigator woman that kicked Akane in the balls seems pretty capable, so you may not be able to do damage control.” Terence was still giving attitude. “I think we should just leave Akane in the system.”
“And I said no. Getting rid of the witnesses is not going to be a problem.” Byron knew something that Terence didn’t. He smiled confidently. His brother would be free in a week or two.
Terence set his fancy shoes down on the polished floor and stood. “I’ve gone straight, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the family. You’re making a mistake out of misguided loyalty. Would Akane do the same for you?” Terence held Byron’s gaze. “My guess is no.”
Dust spiraled in a column of light shining through one of the high old windows of the historic and functional warehouse. The building had made it through the great Hilo tsunami of 1946. It had been a Chang warehouse then, and it would still be serving them in another hundred years. Byron would protect it, and the family’s interest, with his dying breath. “I don’t bother with regrets or looking back, college boy. Don’t watch the news if your stomach can’t handle what comes next. Get gone and don’t come by my office without an appointment again.” Byron depressed an intercom button on his desk and said, “Lani, Terence was just leaving. Make sure my cousin gets his allowance envelope on the way out. Wouldn’t want him to feel shorted from his cut of this quarter’s profits.”
“Yes, sir.” Lani and Byron had an appointment in the book later involving her on her knees under his desk, but his assistant knew how to keep up appearances at the front end.
Terence shook his head. “I hope you’re making the right call about Akane.” He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Byron reached into a locked drawer in his desk and withdrew a new, unregistered cell phone. He pressed down the ON button for a pre-programmed number and put the phone to his ear. Time to make sure those witnesses were out of the way.
Chapter Four
Pim Wat swam slowly in the warm, saltwater infinity pool, looking out through the Plexiglas side that faced the ocean. The pool was built on the top floor of the Kona Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and the transparent side, so many stories up, gave a feeling of swimming through sky and sea.
She enjoyed the exotic view, the silky feel of the water on her skin. After her swim, she had a massage and facial scheduled, then calling in favors to contact the CEO of Security Solutions to locate her daughter.
Sophie Malee was proving problematic. Her female offspring was no longer the biddable, sweet child she’d been.
Pim Wat speeded up her lap, annoyance a prod to her spine. She was growing impatient with Sophie Malee’s stalling about her proposal that she join their clandestine organization. But the girl was right. Why should she be loyal to a mother that had sold her out to that foul gangster Assan Ang? What incentive did Sophie Malee have to cooperate and get involved with the Yām Khûmk�
�n?
What Pim Wat needed wasn’t incentive, but leverage. Something to force the girl to work for them. Damaging information or consequences that would ensure Sophie Malee not only came on board but didn’t go to the Americans with anything she learned about the organization.
Pim Wat had a file started on Sophie back in her room, all she’d been able to assemble through the Yām Khûmkạn’s spy network—and it wasn’t enough.
Sophie Malee had few friends, a powerful rogue computer program, and a ridiculous dog. Two men, Jake Dunn and Alika Wolcott, were pursuing her. It had been three, but Todd Remarkian had been killed by Assan and his henchmen. Which of the remaining two Sophie preferred was difficult to determine.
Pim Wat had files on Sophie’s suitors also. She had documented their habits, financials, relationships—but she hadn’t yet determined their weaknesses, or how they could be used to gain Sophie’s cooperation.
But she didn’t want to threaten Sophie Malee until she had to. “Better to entice a monkey with fruit” was an old saying she knew to be true. Once Sophie picked a partner, the Yām Khûmkạn would have the advantage Pim Wat needed.
In the meantime, she’d get that meeting with Security Solutions’ CEO and track down her daughter. The thought gave Pim Wat new energy. Her arms scythed through the water, smooth as a shark swimming.
Chapter Five
Sophie unlocked the door of the tree house she was renting, enjoying the creaking of the branches around her and the shushing of their leaves. The platform deck on the compact, two-story tiny house swayed, a little like the deck of a boat. Twenty feet up in the center of a massive banyan tree, Sophie felt safe and soothed by the constant sounds of nature all around her.
Sophie’s therapist, Dr. Wilson, had put her in touch with the owner, a woman in her sixties who operated a number of quirky, alternative dwellings on her large property just outside of Hilo. The tree house sported a composting toilet, an instant heat propane water heater, and solar operated lights and power. One of the practical features of the tree house was the hand crank dumbwaiter used to bring supplies up and down.
Sophie’s yellow Lab, Ginger, had needed coaxing to deal with the daily rides up and down in an enclosed box, but she had soon gotten used to it. Sophie had already rewarded Ginger with a dog biscuit and loaded the dog inside the dumbwaiter at the bottom of the tree.
Sophie cranked the wheel that raised the crude elevator, thankful for the exertion that warmed up muscles tight from the many hours of sitting and tension that had followed the jail riot, as security protocols were followed and statements taken about the attack.
One thing was obvious: two potential killers, now dead, had targeted Holly Rayme. Rayme would have been “a sitting duck,” as Sophie’s friend, FBI agent Marcella Scott, would have described her, if Freitan and Matsue hadn’t been on hand to defend her.
Sophie would have to remember to ask Marcella to explain that colloquialism. She’d heard it used many times and it still didn’t make sense.
After letting Ginger out of the dumbwaiter and filling the dog’s food and water bowls, Sophie walked through the small, compact downstairs and went up the tiny metal spiral staircase to the bedroom and bath. She turned on the photovoltaic lantern that provided the tree house’s main source of illumination and shed her clothing into a hamper. She showered in the small tub surround, soaping up briskly.
As Sophie slid soapy hands over the curlicued Thai tattoos decorating her outer thighs, inner arms and navel, she remembered her partner Jake touching the markings, his big hands exquisitely gentle—and powerfully possessive.
They’d crossed a line on that last case, and she couldn’t regret it. Jake had been a thoughtful, passionate lover who warmed her inside and out. He’d been able to draw her out of her depression. All of which was good—but Jake didn’t want to continue as “partners with benefits.” He wanted exclusivity, and she wasn’t ready for that.
And to complicate things further, Alika had called.
Her MMA coach, friend and sometime boyfriend was on the island, and wanted to see her. Was it wrong that she wanted to see him too? That she had feelings for more than one man?
“Why are you in such a hurry to decide?” Dr. Wilson’s wise voice spoke in her mind. “They’re big boys. Just be honest about how things are for you and let the chips fall where they may.”
Thankfully, Sophie had an appointment with the psychologist coming up soon. Dr. Wilson seemed to see nothing wrong with Sophie’s dilemma. “You’re figuring out who you are,” she’d told Sophie recently. “Each of these men appeals to a different side of you; each of them has something to give you and teach you. Don’t rush the process just because it’s uncomfortable.”
She couldn’t call Alika back yet. There was another call she needed to make, one she wasn’t looking forward to.
Sophie dressed in the breathable, utilitarian hike/sleepwear she liked for the cooler temperature of the area. She heated some leftover stew, fragrant with lemongrass and seafood, and poured it over a bed of rice. She carried her dinner, along with a steaming cup of aromatic tea, to the little computer workstation she’d constructed in the corner of the minuscule bedroom.
The tree house’s elevation took her up high enough to bypass any interference that might slow down her laptop’s powerful satellite uplink. She was secure and safe here from any but the most sensitive spy signal equipment—and the tree house’s location in an isolated commune was an additional layer of cyber protection.
She moved the slender bamboo chair aside and pulled up a corner of plywood flooring under the carpet. The narrow space hid a small daypack. She removed the square, boxy-shaped external solid-state drive that contained the Ghost software program. She plugged it into the laptop, waited for it to load, and then launched the software, battling that conflicted feeling she got whenever she had contact with the Ghost.
Connor.
Her ex-boyfriend, a man who lived under the alias of Sheldon Hamilton, CEO of Security Solutions.
Computer genius, violinist, athlete, entrepreneur, inventor, billionaire.
Vigilante.
Activating his software automatically sent Connor a message that she was online and available to communicate with. She had been interacting with him as little as possible since their breakup, but now she needed him.
Holly Rayme had been processed out of jail into Hazel Matsue’s custody. The U.S. Marshal had refused to give Sophie or Freitan any further information about their location or security protocols.
“Once a client is in our custody, they’re ours. I’ll call you once I have Rayme settled in a safe place,” she told Sophie. “We can get together and talk about how to team this. But here is where we part ways until the trial,” she told Freitan at the jail.
“Understood. Keep her alive,” Freitan said.
Matsue had left, towing a reluctant Rayme toward an unmarked beige Toyota 4Runner. A shadowy figure behind tinted glass showed Sophie that Matsue had further backup, and she was glad of it.
Weeks before on a hike in Kalapana’s fresh lava flows, Sophie had discovered the body dump of a murdered family. Further investigation had determined that they had been in WITSEC. Matsue had boldly asserted that no witness under the Marshals Service’s protection who followed safety protocols and direction had ever lost his life—but that case had uncovered a leak in the program’s operation on the Big Island that had led to the family’s assassination.
Sophie had contacted the Ghost about it. The Ghost specialized in dealing with the unreachable, and some sort of leak within WITSEC was just the kind of challenge he loved. He, of all people, was able to hunt down and identify a breach in the agency’s security. Connor relished nothing more than to turn whoever was involved against each other using his unique computer skills and the Ghost software.
Connor had let her know he was making progress at unearthing the source of the leak, and now that Holly Rayme was Sophie’s client, she needed to find out exactly what tha
t progress was.
The photovoltaic lamp created a reflection of her face on the dark surface of the monitor, inactive but for a pulsing green cursor as she waited to see if Connor reacted to her use of his program.
Sophie studied the outline of her visage.
She’d been told she was beautiful before a recent gunshot wound had disfigured her. Now, whenever Sophie saw her face, the scar was all she noticed.
In the monitor’s reflection, the shape of her face was still a pleasing oval. Her lips were full, her nose straight, her brows a symmetrical bracket above her eyes.
That was where the good news ended. Sophie’s eyes were misaligned; one tilted up, one down. The extensive graft and prosthetic used to patch her shattered cheekbone had pulled the skin of her face in slightly different directions. A pink line of scarring bisected her cheek and ran all the way up into her hairline, as if she’d taken a slash from a knife or other sharp object. The color of the graft was slightly different too, the pale gold tone of skin from Sophie’s hip.
Still. She should be grateful. Other than curious looks upon meeting her, people treated her normally. The three men she was close to had shown no sign of being repulsed.
The green cursor unspooled as Connor made contact. “Sophie. Are you there?”
“Waiting for you,” she typed back. “I need info about the WITSEC leak. My client is in the program, and I want to make sure she’s safe.”
“We should talk on the phone.”
But then she’d have to hear his smooth, buttery voice, and resist the feelings that voice stirred up.
Sophie had thought she loved him. He’d been the first man she’d slept with after her abusive husband. They’d begun a relationship she thought was going somewhere special and permanent.
