by Toby Neal
She rang the bell. Muttered something. Rang the bell. Muttered again. Looked up and down the hall, annoyance clear in her body language. Finally, she walked back to the elevator.
The Ghost amplified the audio feature. Played her muttered comments. They sounded like something in a foreign language. He frowned, clipped the section out of the audio and fed it into a translation program.
Sophie’s inventive swearing in Thai played back to him in the tinny, perfectly flat, automated voice of the translator. He tipped his head back and laughed, feeling the release of genuine humor.
“My God, this woman,” he said aloud to Anubis. “Just when I think I’m getting to know what she’s about, she surprises me again.”
That moment of humor gave him the energy to launch into the preparations for what he needed to do next. It was time for his final play.
“Check, and mate.” He got up and left his workstation.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The familiar beige hallway outside Lee Chan’s apartment was deserted. Her own team had not expended much effort to find the tech after he’d been cut loose the first time because his claims were so vague, and her search of his work and home computer had come up empty. That meant exactly nothing, because they’d never found a laptop. Lee probably kept everything worth anything close to him in one safe place.
This drop-by was probably a waste of time, but worth a try. People were creatures of habit and tended to return to the familiar. She glanced up and down the empty hall, her nose prickling with its slightly musty carpet smell. She didn’t see any security cams, and she’d brought her lock picks this time. First, she knocked on the dark brown door, feeling its peephole on her like an eye.
“Chan? Lee Chan?”
Nothing.
She knocked again. “Open up, Lee. This is the FBI.”
Still nothing. She rattled the handle with one hand while reaching into her pocket for the lock picks with the other—and the handle turned. The door drifted open before her.
Sophie’s scalp tingled. “Lee Chan?” she called into the darkened space.
She knew they’d locked the apartment after their earlier search. Without breaching the doorway, she pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her back pocket, snapped them on, and drew her backup weapon.
Using a finger, she reached over and flicked on the light.
The sterile little apartment was as bare and tidy as she remembered, but she thought she could smell something metallic, foreign. She could see into the spotless kitchenette from the doorway, and it was as shiny and empty as before.
There was only a bedroom and bathroom to check. Suddenly impatient with herself and this case of nerves, she strode into the room and over to the bedroom, turning the handle and throwing it wide forcefully. The door flew inward and bumped the wall.
Nothing. The pristine twin bed, made as tightly as any recruit’s in boot camp, seemed to mock her. It was exactly as before. Lee Chan was long gone, probably with a fake passport.
The bathroom door was closed, too. She opened it, pushing it forward. The light was off, and she flicked the switch beside the door.
A horrific visual hit her, and a blur of movement. A blow hammered down on her extended weapon hand. Sophie cried out, the Glock dropping from her nerveless fingers, as a blade flashed toward her. She flung herself back, reflexes barely saving her, as a gloved hand, holding an open straight razor, slashed where she’d just been.
Sophie stumbled backward from the doorway, hitting the coffee table with the back of her legs as the assailant launched out of the bathroom after her. His free hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, his momentum bearing her back, the coffee table levering into the back of her knees. She sprawled backward over it, borne down by the attacker’s weight landing on her.
Stars spun in her vision, obscuring the man’s face as she tried to break his hold with her good hand, writhing beneath him. He’d landed on top of her, sour breath inches from her face, his fingers squeezing her throat. The razor sliced down toward her, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Sophie.” He breathed her name in the voice of nightmare. He didn’t cut her.
She opened her eyes. She was looking into Assan Ang’s face, congested with rage and adrenaline, his panting breaths burning her skin, his bloodshot eyes inches from hers.
His hand tightened and her breath shut off. His weight on her body and his practiced grasp on her throat were as effective as ever. A slow grin twisted his full lips.
“My Sophie.” The razor caressed her cheek. “I didn’t dare hope it would be you coming after me. This is just too good.”
Sophie felt blackness closing in. A sense of hopelessness and inevitability rose up and swamped her. It was as if the whole five years between her escape and this moment had never happened.
“You’re mine until I’m done with you,” he breathed into her ear. Goose bumps erupted as she shuddered, gasping in vain for breath. One arm was trapped beneath him, one raised beside her head but still nerveless from the blow. Her heart lurched as his big hand depressed the nerves and veins in her neck, just as he’d done a hundred times in the past.
She was disappearing, conditioned by his assault and smothered by his weight.
He’s going to kill me this time. She’d seen that in the exultant certainty in his eyes as he recognized her. Her heart felt like it was bursting. Her vision dimmed as he raised the razor.
The graceful Thai writing of the tattoo on the inside of her arm reflected on the mirror-like blade in an instant of comprehension.
Hope. Respect.
Her mind filled in the rest of the messages written on her body so she wouldn’t ever forget them: Power. Truth. Freedom. Courage. Love. Joy. Bliss.
She had a lot to live for. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
Sophie still had her feet on the floor beneath Assan’s muscular bulk. She heaved, twisting to the side with all the strength of a thousand sit-ups, throwing him off and wrenching her neck out of his grip. He slashed at her with the razor as she rolled away. She felt the fire of its touch but didn’t have the breath to scream.
He’d landed on his back on the coffee table. She heaved herself toward the bathroom. She had to get her weapon.
“Bitch!” He hurled himself after her.
Sophie grabbed the ceramic lamp on a side table with her good hand, heaving it at him. Assan dodged. The flying lamp splintered with a crash, and he leaped, grabbing her calf. She kicked, but he hung on, swinging the razor at her leg. It caught in the fabric of her pants as she dove into the bathroom. He pulled on her leg, a mighty heave, and she slid backward, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slippery floor.
She caught hold of the base of the toilet, grunting with effort. All of her hours in the gym paid off as she broke his grip on her leg with a powerful kick and heaved herself toward the weapon. She grabbed and retrieved the Glock, rolling over and sitting up, her back to the macabre scene in the tub.
“Drop the blade or I’ll shoot.” Her voice was a breathless rasp.
Assan was on his feet just outside the door of the bathroom. “No, you won’t.” He swung the blade by its metal handle, holding her eyes with his dominating stare, advancing a step toward her seated position on the bathroom floor. “My Sophie. I’ve missed our games together.”
“Stop. Now. This is your last warning.” Her voice was thready. Her throat felt crushed.
“The new girl. She doesn’t have your fight, your fire. You knew I’d come to you someday, didn’t you? I told you I would. You’re mine until I’m done with you.” His voice, rich with silky threat, made her finger tighten on the trigger as he continued to swing the blade by its handle in a flashing, hypnotic arc.
She couldn’t shoot him yet. She needed answers, needed to keep him talking.
“You got me. I totally didn’t expect this. What are you doing here, Assan?”
“I came to tie up loose ends. On a number of levels.” He inched another step
toward her.
“So you were working with Chan?”
“He’s been on my payroll since you met him.” Assan seemed totally confident Sophie wouldn’t hurt him. He tossed the blade from hand to hand. She found her eyes watching it instead of how he was advancing on her. “He gave me information. Information I used for various purposes. But he was going to talk.”
“Lee spied on me?” Sophie whispered.
“I wanted to be sure you really went to those classes and were doing what you were supposed to, going where you were supposed to go.” Assan shrugged. “You told yourself you could get away. Really, my dear, I thought I taught you better.”
He’d definitely taken another step closer. Sophie’s finger tightened on the trigger. She forced herself to relax, though her hands were shaking and her heart pounding so hard she felt sick. She still didn’t know enough. “Lee sold out the company? Were you behind the kidnapping of Anna Addams?”
“The beginning of a nice little shared operation with Chan.” Assan’s natural arrogance made him expansive. “Which, unfortunately, has to be put on hold. You thought you could touch someone else? I’m your first and only, Sophie. You belong to me.” His eyes were hungry and invasive, roaming over her.
“No,” Sophie panted. She could feel her cheek stinging as sweat ran into the scratch the razor had left on her cheek. “You’ll never touch me again. I’ll die first.”
“Oh, that can be arranged.” He actually laughed. He seemed to get larger as she felt herself shrinking, helplessness activated by all the times he’d tortured her. “I had to teach you a lesson, so I had the Boyz take out your boyfriend at the docks. They got the whole messy business on video for me. We can watch it together.”
Bile surged up Sophie’s throat in a choking wave. Assan had been behind Alika’s attack.
He threw the razor as she squeezed the trigger. The detonation of the shot in the enclosed space deafened her. She felt a jolt of fiery pain.
The razor clattered against the bathtub as Assan crashed backward into the coffee table.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Assan moaning and cursing. She rose, one hand against her bleeding ear, and flipped her ex-husband onto his face, looking around for something to tie him with.
“You shot me!” He seemed genuinely shocked. She put her foot on his wounded shoulder and stepped down, a snarl twisting her lips. He yowled in pain. Her aim had been true—she’d gotten him right below the collarbone and shoulder joint, a painful but nonfatal wound.
She wanted him dead, but needed him alive—for now.
“Don’t move.” She left Assan gasping in agony and went into the spotless little kitchen, finding a ball of twine in one of the drawers. She hog-tied his feet to his arms behind his back, ignoring his cursing cries.
Finally, she stepped back, her whole body trembling and bathed in sweat. Her ear was still streaming blood, and she wondered how much of it was missing. She found a kitchen towel and held it against her head, setting down her weapon on the counter. She thumbed her phone out of her pocket and speed-dialed Waxman’s private cell.
“Why are you calling me on your mandatory day off, Agent Ang?” her boss’s voice was dry and crisp.
Sophie cleared her throat, but her voice was still reedy. “Because we’ve got a body.” That first searing glimpse had shown her it was too late for the victim.
That shut Waxman up for a moment, but he quickly regrouped, rattling questions at her like automatic fire. Sophie gave him enough to get the rest of the team and the first responders on their way, and cut the connection. She pocketed her phone and looked down at Assan, putting off the moment she had to go and look at what was inside the bathroom.
“Thank God she’s out of your reach, you sick scum,” Sophie whispered.
Assan turned his head to look at her. “What?”
“Your new wife. She’s free.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I got word just a few hours ago. A friend did me a favor. She’s down at the station in Hong Kong testifying against you as we speak.”
“Whore! Bitch!” Assan thrashed, glaring. “You can’t escape me. Wherever you go, I’ll find you! I’ll make you pay!”
“You can try.” And Sophie stepped on his injured shoulder with her full weight as she walked toward the bathroom. His gasping screams were music as she looked at the bathtub from the doorway.
She shut her eyes, unable to process what she was seeing for a moment. The horror was just as bad when she opened them again.
Blood filled the bathtub, and there was a body floating in it. She could see short black hair breaking the surface of the red water, and the curve of a shoulder. Sophie breathed shallowly, trying to screen out the harsh reek of blood with its metallic aftertaste.
Deliberately not looking at the bathtub, she scanned around the rest of the small bathroom. White towels hung neatly folded. The sink gleamed, and so did the mirror. The toilet lid was closed, and a note on it was held down by a small black laptop. A bloody washcloth Assan must have been using to wipe up after the murder had fallen to the ground beside the toilet.
Sophie took a step toward the carnage and, her hands behind her back, leaned over to read the note, which was printed out on plain computer paper but signed in wavering ballpoint.
“I can’t live with myself any longer. I sold out my friends and colleagues and the clients of Security Solutions who put their trust in me. This is the only honorable recourse left. In taking my own life I will right the wrong I’ve done. ~ Lee Chan.”
“You’d almost got done staging this scene,” Sophie said over her shoulder to Assan. “You pig.” She made herself lean over the bath and verify that the body floating in the tub was indeed Lee Chan.
At least the young man’s eyes were closed. Remembering Lee’s eager grin, she felt a stab of grief for the enthusiastic young tech she’d studied with in Hong Kong a lifetime ago. She wondered where, along the way, he’d gone wrong—or if Assan had just got his hooks into him early, too deep to get out. She suspected the latter.
“I’m going to kill you. It’s just a matter of time and place,” Assan said as she reappeared.
Sophie leaned down and spat in his face. “You’re only alive because I’m going to watch you lose everything, and suffer before you die.”
The next several hours were a blur of the controlled chaos that follows death. HPD arrived, Ken, Gundersohn, and Waxman showed up, and lastly Dr. Fukushima, the Honolulu medical examiner.
One of the EMTs bandaged Sophie. The razor had scratched her cheek and taken a bit off the top of her ear. Her wrist was severely bruised. Her throat was the most painful injury, and there was nothing to be done for that but rest.
She gave a statement to the responding officers and detective about coming by the apartment, hoping to ask Chan a few more questions, and the attack that had followed. Waxman stood in the background, arms crossed on his chest. She dreaded talking to him.
“We already had a case open involving Lee Chan,” she told the officers. “I’m taking his computer in. It has information we need for our case.”
After a brief turf battle that the FBI definitively won, Sophie walked out of the apartment carrying the evidence-bagged laptop while Waxman was distracted by Dr. Fukushima, the medical examiner. She didn’t look at the medical personnel working on Assan. No one had commented on her excessive use of restraint on an injured man.
In the apartment’s doorway, she snagged Ken Yamada by his jacket sleeve. “Ken, I need to talk to you. About something other than this.”
“What could be bigger than catching your ex as one of the men behind the craziness at Security Solutions?” But Ken followed her into the hall.
Sophie told him that she now had a general physical description of someone who had access to apartment 9C in the Pendragon Arches, had retrieved a package, possessed a black belt in some sort of martial arts, and was near enough not to have to change when he went to pick up somethi
ng at the apartment.
“Who do you think it was?” Ken’s even brows were pulled together in a frown.
“I don’t know.”
They both turned to look at Assan Ang being wheeled out on a gurney accompanied by two uniformed officers. He refused to acknowledge either of them, and Sophie shut her eyes until he passed.
Maybe she should have killed him.
“No. You shouldn’t have killed him. It would have looked bad,” Ken said. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
She must have spoken aloud. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
“I was just going to call you from the kidnap building when Waxman sent us here to Chan’s apartment. We scooped up some wrong on the fourteenth floor, all right. The room was being used to shoot a porn flick.”
“What?” Sophie was nonplussed.
“Yeah. We all saw more than we wanted to when we broke down the door. Apparently that floor is available for all sorts of shenanigans. We’re going to have to keep an eye on it through your contact at the building.”
“Shenanigans?” A new word.
“Stuff like pornos. Not illegal, necessarily, but not savory either. We interviewed the man who booked the room and he said he found the number to call to reserve it on a forum. So if we can connect that with Ang and Lee, we’ll have a lock on them for the kidnapping too.”
“Assan admitted to me he killed Lee to shut him up, and that he was behind the kidnapping.”
“We’ll need to focus on building a case against Ang with what we can prove—which is that you practically caught him killing Chan, and then he attacked you. That should be enough to put him away for a good long time.”
“We can be sure that what’s on Lee’s laptop is what Assan wants us to find. Probably frames him for everything. But there’s still more going on.” Sophie told Ken about the man who called himself the Ghost, leaving out the personal nature of their correspondence. “Maybe all we have to do to find the Ghost is watch apartment 9C.”
