by Toby Neal
Wired Dark
Paradise Crime Book 4
Toby Neal
Contents
Title Page
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Acknowledgments
Excerpt Wired Dawn
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Wired Dark
A Paradise Crime Novel
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By Toby Neal
Copyright Notice
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© Toby Neal 2017
http://tobyneal.net/
ISBN: E-book: 978-0-9973089-7-6
Print: 978-0-9973089-8-3
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
Cover Design: Jun Ares [email protected]
Format Design: Tricia S. Nolfi
Created with Vellum
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“Glam (style) really did plant seeds for a new identity. I think a lot of kids needed that sense of reinvention. Kids learned that however crazy you may think it is, there is a place for what you want to do and who you want to be.”
~David Bowie
“In the social jungle of human existence, there is no feeling of being alive without a sense of identity.”
~Erik Erikson
“We are all instinctively struggling to reach our potential—and some of us completely remake ourselves numerous times in order to do so.”
~Toby Neal
Chapter One
His wife’s room was almost ready for her.
Assan Ang looked around a bare white space. He liked the simplicity of it: just a king-size bed, and the great wheel mounted on the wall with all its straps and accoutrements. Off to the side, a locked metal cabinet.
No windows. Windows were just an opportunity for escape and distraction, and he liked to keep her in the dark when he wasn’t visiting.
The floor was covered with a deep, plush collection of hand-knotted Persian rugs. A screen hid a toilet, plastic shower stall, and sink in the corner. The door into the hallway was soundproofed and reinforced. A slit in the bottom with a metal flap provided enough space for a plate to slide in so that he could feed her.
The king-size bed dominated the room. An iron bedstead, already equipped with restraints, was set off by white satin sheets. White looked good against Sophie’s tawny skin, the rich golden-brown color of good tea with just a bit of cream in it. He could hardly wait to see her naked on that bed.
Assan walked over and unlocked the steel cabinet filled with instruments of pleasure and torture. Just looking at the floggers, dildos, rings, clamps, blades, and electrodes made him smile.
Breaking her again was going to be such a joy.
Doms in the lifestyle were supposed to find willing submissives to partner with. To his mind, that defeated the whole purpose.
Assan took their wedding photo out of his pocket and sat down on the bed, holding it in his hand. Spending time in memories of their marriage and rehearsing the excitement to come kept him focused—and he needed to stay focused. Sophie had proved harder to retrieve than he had ever anticipated.
Sophie’s face seemed to glow in the photo. Her radiant smile, from within the frame of her wedding veil, was filled with a young woman’s naïve hope. She had been a true beauty back then, with a face that could have decorated magazine covers, and a body to match.
Her recent mutilation enraged him. She was his to destroy. No one else’s.
Assan’s own visage in the photo was not as pleasant to look at, but in the picture his mouth was curved in a smile of happy anticipation. He distinctly remembered how he had felt that day: flush with victory.
He’d been delighted in the arranged marriage to Sophie Smithson, debutante daughter of an American diplomat and related to Thai royalty on her mother’s side. His bride had been a catch for anyone: beautiful, intelligent, cultured, and sweet. He’d been hopeful, back then, that he could keep his dark preferences separate from his marriage. Hopeful that his business would continue to expand easily. Hopeful that Sophie was the biddable and easily impregnated young woman she appeared to be.
None of the things he’d hoped for had come true.
Rage surged through Assan. He restrained himself from crumpling the photo in his hand. Instead, he set it beside him on the expanse of satin, and smoothed its edges.
People didn’t understand how much work went into setting up this kind of relationship. She’d been worth it once, and she would be again—but she was never leaving this room alive.
Tech security specialist Sophie Ang walked through the velvet-dark night, patrolling a beachfront property in Wailea on Maui. She found comfort in the familiar weight of her Glock on one hip as her hand rested on it, but she kept her arms loose, ready for action, as she scanned the area. Rocker Shank Miller’s estate was as protected as Sophie and her Security Solutions partner, Jake Dunn, could make it—but something had set off one of the property’s perimeter motion detectors, and it was Sophie’s turn to check out the disturbance.
The hammered pewter gleam of moonlight reflected off a great swath of beach and rendered Miller’s manicured lawn in shades of gray, casting ornamental plantings into black shadow. Natural stone pavers, set into the grass, made an easy route around the clustered ferns, flowering trees, and birds of paradise that ringed the grounds.
Jake had wanted to cut all the plantings way back to improve visibility and monitoring, but Miller had refused. “I didn’t spend ten million on this getaway spot so I could hide out inside a cement bunker with no view,” the rock star had said. “I come here to relax. Growing green stuff helps me relax, and so does my view. Do the best you can with those challenges, but I won’t lose either.”
Her partner never did anything by half measures, and he took Shank Miller’s safety more seriously than the man did himself. Jake had supervised the installation of a Plexiglas wall to preserve that view, a bulletproof, impenetrable and almost invisible barrier on Sophie’s left.
Sophie headed toward the corner closest to
the beach where the alarm had sounded. Motion detectors, buried and almost invisible in the plantings, created frequent disturbances for their team, and Sophie was still getting used to being part of that team.
Jake took up a lot of personal space. Sometimes he made it hard for her to breathe, and it was that need for space that had driven Sophie to ask for a guest room inside the main house so that they weren’t both occupying the small cottage that had become the team’s security headquarters. The computer monitoring station had been moved from the main house out there too, and Jake stayed out there with their two backup operatives, Jesse Kanaka and Ronnie Fellowes.
Sophie reached the corner of the grounds where the alarm had gone off. Jake had wanted to put in lights that responded to the motion detectors, but Shank had put his boot-clad foot down again. “I can’t have this place light up like a stadium every time a gecko runs across the freakin’ fence.”
That meant that the corner Sophie approached, hidden on the beach side by a clump of native bushes, was inky-dark. Sophie pulled out a powerful flashlight and shone it over the area. Illumination played over the smooth grass and shadowy foliage.
Nothing. Probably just a gecko, one of those ubiquitous Hawaiian lizards that hunted insects at night.
Sophie was moving on when the beam caught a flash of color. She turned and lit up the item.
Lying beneath a cluster of bird of paradise were a plastic bride and groom, the toys rubber-banded together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Sophie scanned for movement along the bushes of the public beach for any sign of who might have thrown the dolls into the compound, but the area was deserted.
Nothing to see but the gleam of the moon on the ocean, nothing to hear but the sound of the surf and the rustle of a gentle night wind in the palm trees overhead.
Sophie reached into her pocket and removed a small plastic bag. She used it to pick up the figures, shining the light over a Barbie and Ken doll. The Barbie was dressed in a wedding gown, her long blonde hair braided, a veil over her face. The groom’s molded plastic hair had been colored over with Sharpie, and squiggles of black ink trailed down inside the doll’s tuxedo, representing Shank Miller’s long dark locks—and the male doll’s right hand, Miller’s guitar hand, had been sawed off.
Chapter Two
Sophie loosened the bulletproof vest Jake had insisted they all wear since the plastic figures had begun appearing inside the compound, as she sat down with their team at the security cottage’s small dining room table. Jake held the dolls in gloved hands, studying them. Per usual, there had been no prints on the dolls, now stripped to reveal detailed renditions of Shank Miller’s tattoos drawn over the plastic of the “bridegroom.”
“This situation is escalating.” Jake’s voice was grim.
Sophie looked up from securing her sidearm and met her partner’s serious gunmetal-gray eyes. Illumination shone on Jake’s buzz-cut dark hair, lighting up a big hard body dressed in all black combat clothing. Sophie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the ex-Special Forces operative wear anything else. She nodded. “Looks like the unsub is increasing the symbolic aggression with each set of figures.”
Shank Miller’s stalking had begun months ago, triggering Miller to reach out to their private security company, seeking to prevent further incursions.
“It was kind of hard to take this seriously at first.” Jesse Kanaka, one of their young operatives, pointed to the figures. “But now Blondie is beginning to creep me out.”
“I think that’s her plan.” Jake slipped the figures into the plastic evidence bag before they were submitted to Maui Police Department as part of the ongoing case. He sat back, rubbing the site of a recent gunshot wound on his shoulder. “The addition of the hand being cut off is not a good sign. I’m glad Shank told us he didn’t want to know details. No sense his losing sleep over this, giving Blondie more bandwidth in his life than she’s already taking up. So, let’s review. What do we know?”
Sophie gazed around the table at their little team. Ronnie Fellowes was a criminal justice major at the University of Hawaii, and fresh out of the military. He had a deceptively naïve young face with the kind of forgettable, bland Caucasian features that Jake had told her were a positive attribute for security work. Ronnie took off a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed them on his sleeve. “So, you want to do a case review, boss?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Jake’s voice was sharp with impatience—and something else—anxiety.
Sophie rarely ever saw any fear in Jake, and the vibration of his tone sharpened her attention. She sat up in her chair and leaned her elbows forward onto the table, turning to address Jesse. The Hawaiian-Filipino man was nervously scribbling on a yellow legal pad, his eyes down. Neither appeared confident enough to get the meeting started.
“When I was in the FBI and we were on a case at this stage, we often reviewed where we were on all of our leads. It’s good investigative practice and can often jar loose new ideas. Jesse, would you mind using one of the markers to help us track everything on the whiteboard?”
Jesse stood with alacrity. Jake caught Sophie’s eye for a moment and gave a tiny nod. She went on. “When did Shank Miller first become aware of Blondie?”
“Miller’s publicist says that he began receiving love notes signed by Blondie along with underwear in the mail six months ago,” Ronnie said.
“But she had likely been contacting him earlier than that,” Jake said. “The publicist thinks she had been attending his concerts and events for years, throwing her panties at him whenever she got the chance—because she has some pretty distinctive panties.”
Jesse, at the board, snorted a chuckle and drew a crude rendering of the white lace thongs trimmed with ivory ribbon that, along with the Barbie dolls, were the signature MO of their stalker. “She’s got Shank Miller in mind for a wedding night.”
“Don’t underestimate the power of an obsessed fan, male or female,” Sophie said sharply. “It’s true that most deadly attacks are perpetrated by male fans, but Blondie has been getting more and more bold and aggressive toward Miller.”
Jesse nodded, chastened, and erased the drawing.
Jake summarized. “Blondie seems to have begun as a typical fan, attending Shank’s concerts and throwing her panties. While not a particularly savory practice, it’s not uncommon for starstruck groupies to make these kinds of gestures. She went from that to sending Miller mail, along with continuing to attend the concerts and trying to reach him personally. When he began curtailing his appearances due to burnout, Blondie increased her attempts to interact by locating his home here on Maui and sending the dolls through the mail, all dressed in wedding clothes. All of this led to Miller realizing that he was more vulnerable than he knew, and he hired us to secure the premises. He still has his regular bodyguard team for outside appearances and events, but he has us in charge of this estate and has chosen not to know the extent of Blondie’s obsession. Now we’ve had three instances of her inserting the dolls onto the property. This latest one shows signs of the potential for bodily harm.”
Sophie nodded. “Her mutilating that doll is not a good sign. I think we should consult with a psychologist at this point. Jake, do you want me to set up a call to Dr. Kinoshita?”
The petite, capable Japanese psychologist did contract work for Security Solutions, and Sophie had come to respect the woman’s expertise in matters of the mind.
“Good idea. Send her photos of everything and let’s schedule a conference call with her tomorrow.” Jake flicked a finger toward their younger teammates. “I want you two patrolling the grounds tonight. Walk a perimeter like I showed you, both inside and outside the compound, and check closely for any evidence you can find. Somehow Blondie’s getting past the cameras, and I want to know how and catch her doing it.”
Sophie could almost hear the inward groans the young men gave as they stood, inclined their heads respectfully, and left.
Sophie leaned towar
d Jake. “You’re worried.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. And every time I’ve had a bad feeling, something bad happens.” He paused, met her eyes. “I had a bad feeling about you taking that Big Island case.”
Sophie rubbed the tingling skin graft over the artificial cheekbone on the side of her face, rebuilt after she’d been shot. Jake had likely saved her life on that case. “You never told me about having feelings.”
Jake’s eyes weren’t totally gray—they had an indigo ring around the iris, and his thick lashes would have been feminine on a softer face. Those eyes flared wider, and she glimpsed something dark and hot in them.
Uh-oh. She didn’t mean to say that in any suggestive way. She tried not to give Jake any false signals. They were friends and partners, nothing more, even more so now that she was with Connor.
His voice was low. “I’m pretty sure you have an idea about my feelings.”
Sophie looked down at her phone, a handy distraction. “I meant…your supposed prophetic moments.”
“So, you’re saying that you know what I’m saying.”
Sophie looked up at him, her expression as blank as she could make it. “I don’t understand what you mean. That sentence was very unclear.”
