Relic_An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller

by Fiona Quinn

  Brian saw anguish fill Sophia’s eyes.

  “It killed me that you walked away. Ran away. It hurt that you were suspected of a crime, and that I was the one who needed to find out if you were culpable or not. It hurts to see you struggling so hard to keep your head above water. I’m in awe that you’re able to put one foot in front of the other. One thing I realized through all this is that my love for you isn’t going away. I could still love you, Sophie, even if you got so desperate that you’d do something like sell artifacts to ISIS. I’d turn you in and help bring you to justice, that’s my job. But I’d want to be there to make sure the boys were okay, that you were supported.”

  She tipped her head back and looked at him with a sardonic twist of her lips. “In prison? You’d come visit me in prison and talk to me on the phone while we put our hands up on the glass between us? Put some money in my account so I could buy cigarettes to pay people not to attack me?”

  She wanted to goad him into a fight. He worked to keep everything on an even keel. So far, he’d done okay delivering the facts. Telling his story. “If you broke the law, yes.”

  “And you thought I could.” Now there was a fire in her gaze as her anger heated up. “How could you? We’re talking about people I care deeply about. Friends of mine being tortured and killed. Their heads chopped off for propaganda and stuffed between their feet in the town square. Their families. Their homes destroyed.” Sophia’s hands flung out as she spoke to show the enormity of her anguish. “Syrian children are starving. Their hospitals are being bombed.” Her hand came to land on her head as she whispered, “My God, what kind of person would facilitate that? How could you think that of me? I spend every day—every day—working to stop ISIS.” She put her hands on the cushions on either side of her, as if to brace herself upright. “How could anyone who says that they love me think that I helped to fund terror?”

  Brian felt his own emotions tipping toward pissed off. Not at Sophia, but at the circumstances. “In a normal life, you’d never consider it. But my god, Sophia, the shit that’s been thrown in your direction for years now? It’s a miracle you aren’t strung out on drugs or in the loony bin.”

  She suddenly stood. “You know what? Get the hell out of my house.” She moved to the door and threw it wide. “Please, I need you to leave.”

  Brian pushed to standing. “Sophia, that sounds permanent. I don’t want to go until you tell me when I can see you again. That, at the very least, we can work together.”

  “You can’t. We can’t. I need to put a lid on this box and file it in the closet with all the other boxes of crap I’ve got stacked in there. Tomorrow, I’ll request that you not be part of our detail when Nadia and I go to Peru. If I’m very lucky, I’ll never see you again.”

  Silently, Brian moved out the door, and Sophia shut it behind him. She didn’t slam it, but there was a finality about it, nonetheless.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Brian

  Monday p.m.

  “Brainiack here.”

  “Fucking hell, man, this is soul crushing.” Nutsbe was calling in from headquarters.

  “She still crying?”

  “Since you turned the surveillance back on. You want to tell me what hell you said to upset her like that? ‘Cause when you get back here, I’m going to Kick. Your. Ass. It’s not enough that she finds a dead body, is arrested, interrogated, and hears her best friend is a Hamas asset all in one day? She held it together like a champ. What the hell did you do to her that turned on the waterworks?”

  “I for sure didn’t make things better.”

  “You were supposed to go home and tuck her into bed, give her a big-ass dose of sleeping meds and sing her a lullaby. Seriously, man, what the hell happened?”

  “She’s unhappy that she trusted me while I distrusted her. She no longer wants me involved in her security.” He dragged a hand over his face. “I guess we can put Gage in play. I’ll have to talk to Titus when I get in.”

  “You weren’t sleeping with her, were you? We’ve got rules for a reason.”

  Brian was surprised that Nutsbe was yelling at him. Nutsbe usually kept a solid emotional distance from their clients. Getting stoked like this was out of character. “No, Mom, I didn’t touch her,” Brian said.

  Sophia must have gotten under Nutsbe’s skin. Sophia had a way of doing that. She was strong as hell, but it was a translucent strength. Underneath, her vulnerability glowed through. That combination was nose candy to an operative addicted to adrenaline. Someone they respected and wanted to rescue at the same time amped their protective instincts. They’d done a shit job with the rescue. He had, Brian qualified. He’d done a shit job protecting Sophia.

  “You’re going to have to explain the surveillance blackout. That wasn’t kosher, dude. I’d get my story together for Titus. In the meantime, I have your location as the Community Center.”

  “Affirmative. I’ll keep watch on my phone apps. What time is Thorn relieving me?”

  “Zero two hundred hours. He’s in the racks now, getting some Zs. I’ll do an on-the-hour check. I guess tomorrow I can get her moved so we can stand down. Is she still talking to me?”

  “She’s only requesting that I get the boot from her detail. You should be fine.”

  “Here’s to a quiet night then, man.”

  Brian had gone to the store for provisions before checking in with Nutsbe. Now, he forced himself to eat before he opened the apps. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to swallow while watching Sophia cry. And one thing he’d learned as a FAST operator was to eat when you can. Running out of fuel could be deadly.

  He ate, drank, and went into the Community Center to use the men’s room. Back in his car, he felt like a coward as he looked at his black phone screen. It was time to face up to what he’d had a hand in creating. He opened the app to find Sophia on the couch, crying. As he watched, there was a weird scraping noise in the background—metal against rock—that he couldn’t place. Brian drove down the street. Parking at an empty house with a for sale sign, he hiked over to the copse of trees at the top of the cul-de-sac.

  Joe was shoveling the dirt from his father’s grave into the hole. Brian watched as Joe planted the rest of the flowers, put the plastic holders in the recycling bin, then pulled his hose up the hill to clean off the sidewalk, water the new plants, and wash the extra dirt out of the road and down the culvert. It looked nice when he was done. Brian wondered what was going through the man’s mind as he did those tasks. Brian would have been suspicious of Joe’s actions, had they not determined earlier in the day that Joe’s fingerprints weren’t on the trowel or construction materials that had punctured Sophia’s tires.

  Brian made his way down to talk to Joe, crossing over Kay’s yard to stay out of Sophia’s view in case she were to glance out the window.

  “Joe,” Brian said in a tone designed not to startle the guy. Joe came over with his hand extended for a shake.

  “Thank you for finding Dad. We can give him a proper burial now.”

  “How is everything going? What are the police saying?”

  “They did an autopsy. They said he didn’t aspirate any dirt, so he was dead when he was buried. There was no signs of a fight or external force. He was scraped up from being dragged by his ankles. That happened after he died too. A heart attack did him in. Then someone hauled him to Sophia’s house and buried him.” Joe rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t figure that one out. That or the other thing.”

  “What other thing?” Brian asked.

  “Someone cut off his left thumb and took it with them. They had a cadaver dog out sniffing around, thinking they might find it.” He pointed toward the trees. “I’ve tried to figure it out. I asked if maybe an animal might have bitten it off while Dad was in the garden. You know, moles are carnivores, and we’ve got a bunch of them around here.”

  “What did the medical examiner say?”

  “It was cut off with some kind of sharp shears. Someone wanted his t
humb. The police called it a trophy. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Brian put his hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Joe blinked. “Yeah, it’s a weird set of sensations. I’m sorry he’s gone. Relieved though. Part of me is glad he’s at peace—things were getting hard there toward the end. And then there’s that odd gnawing sensation that I failed—it’s sort of like shame. Yeah. I’d call that shame. I’m embarrassed someone got hold of my dad’s thumb.” Joe looked over at the garden. “Sophia said she’s putting her house on the market. I figure that’s going to be a good thing for me to do too. I don’t think I can drive home every day and look at those flowers.” Joe reached out and patted Brian’s shoulder. “Thanks again for everything you all did for me and my dad.” He gathered the hose, hung it on its hook, and went back inside his house.

  Brian pulled his phone from his pocket. Son of a gun. “Nutsbe, you’re going to want to get a hold of Rochester’s medical examiner’s report,” Brian said as he made his way back to his car.

  “Ruh-roh.”

  “Joe Rochester just told me his dad died of natural causes, got dragged to Sophia’s house and buried in her garden, but lost his thumb to a pair of shears. The thumb is MIA.”

  “That’s some serious shit going down in crazy town. If Sophia would stop crying, I’d go over and pry her out of there. Take her to a hotel.”

  “You saying you’re too chicken?”

  “I’m good to go toe-to-toe with a wacko who steals thumbs from dead guys. Shoot, give me a room full of ‘em. But a woman in tears? Nope, not going near that.”

  “Stay sharp. I’m out.” Brian swiped his phone to end the call and climbed into his car. He drove to the Community Center, parking once again in the shadowy corner of the lot away from the lights that had blinked on now that it was dark. He opened the app to do his penance and watch Sophia cry. He found her pacing and muttering under her breath in a foreign language.

  She went to the cupboard and pulled out the PIN creator and put it in her purse. She stopped and looked around. “Are you watching me?” she asked the ceiling in English.

  Brian wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Ashtart or whatever she thought was in the ether.

  “Are you listening to me?” she asked, her focus sliding across the room and up into the crown molding.

  Brian chewed his upper lip as she wandered from room to room, scanning.

  “You are, aren’t you? You’re watching. How creepy is that?” She was looking over her family room, pulling down the pictures to look behind. The lamps. She got a screwdriver and pulled off the electrical plates—all the places where the TV spies hid their surveillance.

  Brian’s phone rang.

  “Brainiack here.”

  “You seeing this?”

  “Yup. You want to fax me over a copy of the warrants, so I have them in hand when the cops show up?”

  “You need to intervene.”

  “How? She’s kicked me off the case.”

  “Lynx. I’m going to send Lynx over. She’s got a soft spot for our girl Sophia.”

  “Lynx left for Atlanta, remember?”

  “Margot and the kids. I could shoot them over there.”

  “There’s a crazy person who took a thumb trophy nearby, and you want to send in Sophia’s kids?”

  “Shit.”

  “Yup.” Brian tapped off the phone and watched Sophia take apart her eating area, then her kitchen.

  “I’m going to find you. I know you’ve put something here.” Her body grew rigid, her eyes wide. “My bedroom?” she whispered. “Were you watching me sleep? Did you watch me get dressed?” she yelled toward the ceiling. “That is so messed up. That is so creepy!”

  Brian watched her storm up the stairs and could hear her in her bedroom. It sounded like she was throwing things around, then there was a squeak of springs, and Brian imagined she’d thrown herself across her bed. The sound of muffled sobbing filled his comms, hammering home the fact he was a piece of shit for telling her what he needed to say. Selfish. Self-centered. Just plain dumb.

  Time passed and now there was silence. Brian hoped Sophia had cried herself to sleep.

  Brian wiled away the silent hours listening to an audio book playing low on his CD player. He still had Sophia’s house up on his phone. Every five minutes, he’d do a camera check of her interior. He got to the camera that focused up the stairs and wished he had a way to check on her in her room.

  Brian remembered the pill bottle on her bedside table, and he thought about the fragility that Lynx had talked them through. He thought about the paper they were handed with the five-hundred and fifty-five plus reasons why she was in health-threatening, if not life-threatening, straights. Phone in hand, he got out of his car to pace. He thought about how he’d noticed when he was down talking to Joe that Sophia’s car had been parked too close to the road, which meant that the infrared perimeter alarm wouldn’t engage if someone were to come onto her property from the front. He thought about how the person who had dug up Sophia’s garden and buried the body knew how to move in her yard without turning on the lights. Had to be a guy—Rochester weighed a good hundred-and-sixty pound. A hundred-and-sixty pound of dead weight was hard to drag. Did the guy know about the thermal cameras? Or the new lock system?

  Brian looked at his watch, zero dark thirty. Thorn was probably en route. He called Nutsbe. “Brainiack here.”

  “Copy. What have you got?”

  “Night as dark as Satan’s heart.”

  “I hear you. Nothing’s happening up at Sophia’s house. She was on the rampage and then all I got was sobbing. There’s been nothing for a couple hours. I was about to call you. I looked back at all the interior video from the point you left her place. I’ve got nothing. Of course, the lights have been off downstairs, and the interior cameras aren’t thermal. Kind of feels wrong. My antennae are up—”

  “We’re on the same wavelength. I’m going up to look around. If Thorn’s playing Sleeping Beauty, shake his ass out of bed, would yah?”

  “Wilco. Out.”

  Brian drove to the empty house with his beams off. Turned the dial so he could exit without the interior lighting up. He did a quick weapons check and pulled his tactical gloves on. Yeah, something was making his senses hum. Brian’s eyesight grew keener, his ears increased their acuity. He shifted his head left and right, taking in the whole panorama. A car drove up the main road. An owl hooted over to his right. Brian dropped his weight, flexing his thighs, to walk low and slow across the street and silently into the trees. There, he pulled out the black bag that held his phone. He gave the area a quick sweep before he lowered his head, looking into the bag that kept the light from his cell from giving his position away. He checked the cameras on the back and front of the house. He checked the left side then the right. While the view from three of the sides had shown glimmers of color—a dot of yellow from a bird in the tree, a bit of blue, red from the neighbors’ windows—the cameras on the north-east side showed complete darkness.

  Brian pulled out the case with magnetic comms buds that slipped into his ear canal, he tapped the collar he wore against his vocal cords that translated the movement of air passing up his throat into words and sentences. “Nutsbe we’ve got a situation,” he mouthed.

  “Copy. What’s your sitrep?”

  “Cameras on the on the right have been tampered with. I’m showing black.”

  “Copy. I have the same. And I know why. On my tape, while the police and CSI were on scene, a guy in a suit and tie, looking like a detective, was on the side of the house, shutting a window. That in itself was odd. But then he pulled out a can of silly string and shot crap all over the camera lens. He must like his true crime shows on TV.”

  “You recognize him?”

  “Negative. He kept his head down or a hand over his face the whole time. I’m assuming that Sophia opened the window, and he wanted an entrance point. If she forgot that she’d opened it, s
he’d forget to go lock it. And this is the one in her guest bathroom. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  Brian made his way forward. “Her van is parked in front of the alarm. We wouldn’t have gotten a ping from that.” He pulled out his night vision monocular and scanned the house. “I’m going in.”

  “Copy. Thorn is four minutes out. I’ll send closest available for back up.”

  “Keep an eye on the interior, let me know what you get.”

  “Wilco.”

  Brian used the phone app to disengage the alarm and unlock the front door. He slid his tools into his pockets. He did another quick weapons check and worked his way up to Sophia’s house. If someone was in there, Brian wanted to get the jump on them before they had a chance to panic.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Brian

  Tuesday early a.m.

  Brian was on the stairs, making his way up with his shoulder pushed against the wall, his gun stacked with his flashlight. He hadn’t engaged the beam. He preferred to approach in the dark.

  He heard a chuckle in Sophia’s bedroom. Brian pressed his body against Sophia’s half-open door and sidestepped until he got a view of her bed. A man’s form, in women’s clothes and a cheap blonde wig, hunkered over Sophia. In the dim nightlight, Brian could see the tango lift the hem of Sophia’s nighty in his hands and ease it up. Sophia lay flat on her back, not moving.

  Brian slapped the door open. It banged into the wall.

  The man turned a startled face in his direction.

  “You. Hands in the air,” Brian commanded, shooting the flashlight’s high-lumen beam into the man’s eyes.

  “Thorn on scene,” Nutsbe’s voice said softly over his comms.

  The man ducked behind the bed.

  Brian hadn’t seen a weapon on the guy. Even so, he kept his shoulder against the wall and kept a low profile as he edged into the room. As he came parallel to the end of the bed, the tango uncurled, leaping toward Brian. With the angle and the dark, Brian refused to pull the trigger on his gun. There was no way he was going to endanger Sophia. Brian shoved the gun back in his holster as the man brought his weight against Brian, knocking the flashlight from Brian’s hand and burying something hot and sharp into his gut. The man scrambled to get past him, but Brian grabbed the guy’s dress and rolled him, then slammed his fist into the man’s head. The tango lay between Brian’s knees shrieking, as Brian pinned him with one hand around the throat, while he pummeled him with angry punches.