by Toby Neal
“I know.” Sophie twisted her hands together, unsure how much to tell the psychologist, but in need of someone to discuss her situation with. “I had just finished telling Remarkian that I had feelings for someone else. Someone—not available.” Sophie plucked at a loose thread on Mary Watson’s linen pants.
“And how did he take that?”
“He seemed to accept it.” Perhaps that wasn’t true, though. She remembered the tight line of Connor’s jaw, the way he had skipped that stone so forcefully into the ocean. “You were right a while ago when you told me you thought I was having an identity crisis. It’s true. I needed to leave my father’s penthouse after being stuck there with anxiety and depression problems right after the shooting. Now I only feel safe in that off-the-grid apartment, and I’m clearly still figuring out my wardrobe choices.” She gestured to the pants. “I’ve realized I don’t want to get beaten up anymore. I’m really quite sick of it. And what that will mean for my MMA fighting, I don’t know yet. I still need an intense physical outlet to manage my depression, but getting pounded in the ring just doesn’t appeal anymore.”
“What about coaching?” Kinoshita said. “You could take the skills you’ve worked so hard for, and help others learn—and maybe not have to take so many hits yourself.”
“That’s a good idea. I haven’t been back to Fight Club since I went underground as Mary Watson.” Sophie sipped her tea. “I miss it.”
“Something to think about, at least. Let’s meet again next week. And sooner, if you have any further stress symptoms, like nightmares, persistent anxiety, or flashbacks.”
Dunn was waiting for Sophie outside Kinoshita’s office door when she finished with the session, dressed for action in his usual black cargo pants and tee. “I have a possible new case for us. You might like this one. It’s over on Maui.”
Sophie smiled, and felt the tug of the skin graft tighten across her cheek. “You’re nothing if not persistent. Not going to let me have even a few days more off for this latest incident, are you?”
“The best way to move on is to get back on the horse,” Dunn said. Sophie couldn’t even be irritated with him because he was probably right. She followed Dunn to his office.
“I’m not coming back for at least a few more days. But you can try to get me interested.”
“How does looting of artifacts at an important archaeological dig site sound?”
“Wonderfully nonviolent after what we’ve been through on this last case. Tell me more.”
“I don’t know a lot more, except to tell you that they’re putting us up in a hotel, and there’s an expense account.” Dunn wiggled his brows. “Possibly including a bar tab.”
Sophie loved Maui, from its beautiful beaches to its mountaintop cloud forests. The Valley Isle always felt like a vacation to visit even when she was working. She’d be able to see her friend Lei and her family, too.
“Sounds like something I’d be interested in. When I get back.” She gave Dunn a playful shove at his exaggerated expression of relief. “Get everything set up and keep me informed.”
Her phone buzzed with a text from Connor on her way downstairs.
They discharged me. I’m at home, at the Pendragon Arches apartment. I think you know the address. Can you come by? Want to see you.
Connor must be feeling better. She smiled and her fingers flew as she typed a response. Definitely. On my way.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sophie remembered the Pendragon Arches building well from her last big case. The monolithic, Art Deco style apartment building in the ritzy Nuuanu area of Honolulu was one of the premier addresses for the well-heeled living downtown. Security Solutions maintained a couple of corporate apartments there, but she was surprised to find that Connor still lived in the rather sterile unit they’d originally interviewed him in.
She entered the building, checking in with the reception desk in the foyer. The majestic lobby was decorated in subdued jewel tones, with smoked glass doors and windows, rich burgundy patterned carpet, and crystal chandeliers: quite formal for Honolulu, and an indication of the security concern and wealth of the residents of the building.
The desk called up to Connor’s apartment and then directed Sophie to the elevators. The case that had gotten her involved with Security Solutions had ended up with a body in one of the company’s apartments and a confrontation with the man who’d done everything he could to ruin her life.
Sophie squelched the traumatic memory and focused on the task at hand as she rose nine floors in the beautifully appointed elevator car.
Connor had not changed the two brass urns that marked the doorway of the apartment. She knocked, and almost immediately a young Filipina woman in a white nurse’s uniform answered the door. A nametag identified her as Monique. “Please come in.”
“Hi Monique. I’m Sophie. Glad to see that Mr. Remarkian is getting some professional care.” Sophie entered the living area at the nurse’s welcoming gesture, stepping into the familiar room with its leather couches, large flat screen TV, and another brass urn holding bamboo canes and long imitation tikis, a designer’s idea of tropical decorating.
“Yes. He’s finally resting comfortably. The move over from the hospital put a good deal of strain on him.”
Sophie frowned. Where were Connor’s parents? The closest people in his life should be there to take care of him in this crisis. What would she have done without her father helping her recover from her injuries? It made her throat tight to think of Connor so alone. “Who engaged your services?”
“I’ve been retained by Security Solutions and I’m here full-time until he recovers.”
Sophie paused the woman with a hand before they left the living room, her heart thumping. “How bad is he?”
Monique smiled. “He’s going to be fine. Doctor told me there’s no evidence of any brain trauma, and while painful, he’s having a normal recovery for a gunshot wound of this type. He’ll be up and around in a week or so.” She patted Sophie’s arm. “Eventually there will be nothing to show for it but a sexy scar and a good story.”
This woman thought she was Connor’s girlfriend. Sophie cleared her throat. “Happy to hear my friend is going to make a full recovery,” she said stiffly. “Where’s his dog, Anubis?”
“The dog was here at the apartment when Mr. Remarkian was injured. His housekeeper took Anubis to the pet sitting service he uses when out of town.”
“Oh, good.” Sophie wished she’d thought of this earlier. Poor Anubis must be so stressed without his master. “Can I get that information? Maybe I can take him out for a walk.”
Monique wrote the name and number down and handed it to Sophie. “I’m sure Mr. Remarkian would be relieved to have a friend look in on his dog. Follow me.”
Connor was propped up on pillows in a masculine-looking bedroom done in shades of jade and plum. His head was turned away on the pillow, his eyes shut. His color was sallow in spite of his tan, the stark white dressing wrapping his upper shoulder and chest, a sharp contrast. Monique held a finger to her lips and pointed to a round, comfortable armchair placed beside the bed. Sophie sat down, drawing her legs up into it, curling up to wait as Monique gently closed the door on them.
She heard the soft rustle of Monique doing something in the kitchen. She rested her head on the back of the chair and relaxed.
Sophie wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but she woke to the sound of Connor’s voice.
“What a sight for sore eyes.” Connor’s voice sounded like a rusty hinge. Sophie stretched her legs and sat up with a smile. His changeable eyes were pouched in dark circles, and his tan lay like paint over his pale skin.
“Monique seems nice. But where is your family? I know from having my dad around that recovering from a gunshot is a good time to be surrounded by family.”
“I’m an only child. Both my parents are gone, and I don’t get along with the relatives who are left.”
“I’m sorry.” Sophie uncoiled from the chair
. “Do you need anything? Water, pain meds?”
He scooted to one side of the bed, grimacing, and patted the pristine sheets beside him. “Just sit with me. You make me feel better just being here.”
Sophie carefully lowered herself into the spot next to him. She wanted to make Connor feel better, she wanted to comfort him—but Sheldon Hamilton was a ghost never far from her thoughts.
She had made a pun, but it wasn’t funny.
She couldn’t lead Connor on. She made sure several inches separated them and put a pillow behind her back. “Monique told me you’re going to be okay. What do you remember about the attack?”
“I remember making a jump for the gun. Nothing else.” His tone was grim. Connor reached for her hand. His was warm and dry. She lifted it and turned it over, traced the calluses on it—he had thicker skin on his fingertips, and in the web of his palm beside his thumb.
“I thought you were mostly on computers, like I am. But these calluses tell a different story.”
He pulled his hand away, tucked it under the bedclothes beside him. “Rock climbing and martial arts are my hobbies, besides hiking. I like using a bo staff. There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.” He seemed to be withdrawing from her.
Sophie was uncomfortable with the proximity anyway, and got up off the bed. “Well, I just wanted to see that you were all right. I’ll come back another time.”
Connor stared up at her. “We were having a conversation about something important when we were rudely interrupted by Sloane’s attack. I’d like to revisit that.”
Sophie didn’t want to revisit that conversation about where their relationship wasn’t going. “Now does not seem like the time. Get some rest.” She stepped away, but Connor leaned forward, catching her hand, and groaned at the pain of the abrupt movement. He gave a firm tug, and she stumbled toward him, kneeling on the bed in the place she had just vacated.
“Look at me, Sophie.”
Sophie didn’t want to hurt him. Eventually she raised her eyes to his. There was more gray than blue in them now.
“Every day that goes by, Sheldon looms larger between us.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Never mind that Sophie was obsessively checking her email, looking for more of those beautiful photographs.
“Please go lock the door.”
“Why?” But she got up to lock it, feeling a curl of apprehension.
“There’s something you need to know about Sheldon.” Sophie didn’t like the set, white determination on Connor’s face.
Maybe Hamilton was married. Maybe he was an international porn king. Maybe he was something even worse than the murdering vigilante she already knew he was.
She shook her head. “Don’t tell me anything. Let him tell me.”
Connor struggled upright, wincing. “Help me up.”
“I’m sure that’s against doctor’s orders.”
“Screw the doctor’s orders.” Connor swung his legs to the side and pushed himself upright. “I have to show you something.”
“Why can’t it wait?” But Sophie helped him anyway, because he gave her no choice. She looped an arm under his and lifted him to his feet. The effort made him white with pain.
“The bedroom door is locked. Where are we going?”
Connor pointed to the closet.
Sophie shook her head. “You need something, I will get it for you.”
“Get me walking.”
She staggered, his weight solid and heavy as they navigated to the closet door. He fumbled in his pocket for something. She spotted a key fob in his hand, much like the one she used to use when she turned on the computer rigs in her apartment. “Open the door.”
Sophie slid the door open to reveal a big, deep closet with a large wood organizer, thick with folded shirts, neatly hung ties, and polished dress shoes. Connor hit the fob, and the organizer moved aside and folded back against the wall with a gentle creak. A doorway was revealed, just an outline against the back wall.
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 na
me.”
“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?”
