Wired Rogue

by Toby Neal

  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 name.”

  “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?”

  “I don’t need to see your hair dye, your fake glasses, your glue-on goatee,” Sophie snarled. “But I do need to know why you played with my emotions as Sheldon Hamilton. And why you’re revealing yourself to me now.” Tears stung as she stared into his eyes, breathing too fast.

  “I discovered you as Hamilton. I fell in love with you as Hamilton: through watching you on video. Through our duel of wits. Through getting to know the woman you are.” Connor held her gaze. “I love you. I’m not afraid to say those words. I’ve never known another woman like you, nor will I ever meet anyone to equal you.”

  Sophie sat back down in the chair, a puppet with cut strings.

  “I encouraged you to become attached to Hamilton because he was all I had to connect to you, and I didn’t know how to bridge the gap between his identity and Todd’s. I tried to build a friendship with you through Todd, but from the first, I knew it was already too late—I could tell you felt no attraction to Todd, and I couldn’t help hoping it was because your emotions were engaged elsewhere. And then you told me you had feelings for Hamilton the other night, even though I’d been able to kiss you as Todd…” He paused, and through her own labored breathing, Sophie heard his anguish. “I almost died the other day. I can’t go on living a lie with you. I see no way out but to trust you as myself. Trust you to keep my identity as the Ghost secret—or turn me in, as you see fit. Whatever you choose, I won’t fight it.”

  “I have to get out of here.” The room’s walls seemed to be closing in on her. Sophie tried to stand but her knees buckled. Relax. Breathe. He’s not going to hurt you. The bastard just said he loves you.

  “I’m so sorry,” Connor said. “I would like to start over.”

  His words got her on her feet. Sophie turned to spear him with a glance. “With who? Hamilton? Remarkian? Who are you? You know my history. How could you imagine I’d ever be able to trust you after this?”

  “Connor! I’m Connor, and that’s the truth, and all that really matters!” Connor’s face was white with effort and pain as he thumped his chest, his wound. “See me, I’m right here. Have the courage to know me! You’re a hypocrite, Mary Watson!”

  Sophie winced as the arrow struck. They stared at each other for a long moment. There was no sound in the quiet room but both of their ragged breathing.

  “Goodbye, whoever you are,” Sophie said.

  She turned and left—but she didn’t run out, because that would have given him too much power. She squelched the little voice that told her how hard it was going to be for him to make it back to bed alone with his wound. She didn’t walk out of the secret apartment, either, because she hadn’t yet decided what to do about the Ghost, and Monique would wonder how she’d disappeared.

  No, she went back through the secret door, and out through his bedroom, shutting the door behind her and telling Monique something had come up and that she had to go. “Mr. Remarkian is resting. Don’t go in until he calls for you.”

  And once she was safe and alone in her car in the underground garage, Sophie covered her face with her hands and cried.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Three days later, the Security Solutions helicopter entered the Waipio Valley through the wide, deep opening of its bay. As always, the sight of the place stole Sophie’s breath: the patchwork of small farms, the winding green snake of the river, the thick vivid layers of green vegetation, the steep, velvety slopes of the valley, and the tumbling plume of the huge waterfall at the back.

  “This is a stupid idea,” Dunn said into Sophie’s comm. “There’s nothing new here. I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

  Sophie didn’t reply, because she could see the stress in Dunn’s tight muscles, in the big hand he clenched and unclenched on his thigh. This field trip was Dr. Kinoshita’s idea, since both of them were having trouble sleeping and flashbacks relating to the case. “You need to have closure, a different experience out there. I will come with you. We’ll process,” the psychologist had insisted.

  Sophie had cursed long and fluently in Thai as Dunn got up and walked out of the conference room when Kinoshita had delivered her bomb—but now, here they both were, with the psychologist up front with the pilot.

  The cult compound came into view, the gate around it still closed.

  Hilo PD had informed them that the site was empty, the crime scene tape removed now that they had recovered the remains from the garden area. The cult, expelled by police, had taken the opportunity to relocate to their location in Costa Rica—with the exception of Sandoval Jackson, prevented from leaving the country by removal of his passport and a million-dollar bail pending his court date.

  Sophie felt her pulse pick up as she identified the place where she and Dunn had gone over the wall, marked by a gap in the wire.

  The dump truck was gone, as was the pit, now filled in with sifted soil. The accountant who’d committed suicide and the first woman to disappear, Mandy Newburt, had been buried deep, under the labyrinth’s central mandala. Sophie could almost feel the toe bone she’d found in the dark that night in her hand—forensics had matched it to the missing Amy Fillmore.

  Amy Fillmore and Jennifer Roberts had been dismembered and integrated into the compost heap. The rich black compost, made of yard waste and manure, had been run through a shredder after it was well broken down. The bodies had then been spread over the huge garden. No wonder those lettuces were so lush.

  Sophie wasn’t sure if she was airsick or just nauseated by the thought of the salads she’d eaten at the retreat.

  The chopper settled into the center of the compound. The pilot got out, checking something on the landing gear and giving them a moment of privacy. Kinoshita turned back to face them as they removed their helmets. “How are you two doing?”

  Dunn looked pale. His eyes were the gray of a winter storm. “Never wanted to see this place again, quite frankly.” He glanced at Sophie. “Last time I was here, my partner was bleeding like a stuck pig, her face all shot to hell, and I was carrying her to this chopper wondering if sh
e was going to live.”

  “I’m fine now, thanks to you.” Sophie touched his arm. “I’m absolutely sure I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t got up from being electrocuted to rescue me.”

  “And maybe I’d be the one with the pirate look now. Damn, you stole that sexy scar from me.” Dunn was trying to make light of it, but Sophie could see the strain in his face, his body. “And then, because I didn’t kill him, Sloane came after you again, and Remarkian almost died.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Sophie said. “Can you two give me a moment of privacy? I want to go check out the gravesite. Alone.”

  Dunn shook his head no, but Kinoshita nodded in agreement, so Sophie hit the handle of the helicopter and pushed the door open.

  The humid air smelled of diesel fumes from the chopper, but also of the lush green growing scent that was such a part of the valley. The yurts were deserted, their doors closed, as Sophie walked around a couple of them toward the former garden. Nothing stirred in the compound but a forgotten towel, flapping on a clothesline behind one of the buildings, and a loose chicken that ran squawking at the sight of her.

  The silence was strange when she remembered so much sound during the retreat: the background cluck of the chickens, the chatter of the children, the music of guitar and flute.

  Sophie hadn’t expected to be sad that this place was over and done.

  The huge hole she remembered standing on the lip of had been filled—smooth, raked-looking soil made a blank expanse. Sophie knelt at the edge of the disturbed area, lifted a handful of soil, sifted it through her fingers. Of course. The police had gone through all of it looking for bits of the bodies. What a messy unpleasant job that must have been…

  “I can’t believe you had the nerve to come back.”

  Sophie stood, the handful of soil clutched in her fist.

  Jessie Sparks faced her from twenty yards away. The woman before her looked like a scarecrow ghost of the pretty woman she’d been, the bulge of her pregnancy distending a smock-like orange dress. Her shiny, curling brown hair now hung in matted clumps, her plump cheeks were caved in, and her legs looked too skinny to support her swollen body.