by Toby Neal
Unless the agents had studied the building’s schematics, they wouldn’t know that she could take an emergency side door out of the basement, go up a flight of metal stairs, and come out in an alley behind the building through a one-way, exterior-locked metal exit door.
The night smelled of the trash bins in the alley. Sophie’s delicate stomach lurched. She breathed through her mouth, pushing through the queasiness, and broke into a jog, taking the dogs through the alley to the next street.
Once Sophie was out of the narrow throughway, she breathed easier, scanning all around as she cinched down the duffle pack. No one in sight.
She ran easily through the warm night, Ginger on one side and Anubis on the other.
Cars whizzed by. The businesses of downtown Honolulu were closed, but brightly lit from inside. A few tourists strolled, arm in arm. Sophie kept her weapon available and her eyes moving—the agents could still try to drive alongside her and throw her into a vehicle.
She couldn’t take the risk of getting her car out of the garage at the Pendragon Arches. She’d send a Security Solutions operative tomorrow to fetch it and bring it to her father’s apartment garage.
She called Security Solutions, requesting a team from Bix. “Agents are searching my apartment. They came to grab me.”
“Damn, Sophie, I’m sorry you’re dealing with that,” Bix said. “I didn’t think they’d be this aggressive. Do you need a pickup?”
“No. I’m almost at my father’s address on foot. Was able to evade them.” Sophie slowed to a rapid walk. “Put together a security detail to cover me starting tonight. I’m going to want an operative at my father’s building keeping an eye out for me there, too, and to escort me to and from work.”
“You got it,” Bix said, and ended the call.
Sophie resumed running, the dogs bounding happily at her side, until she reached her father’s building.
Her heart rate was back to normal by the time she stood in front of the red lacquered door of the penthouse apartment at the top of the high rise. Ginger was already whining with excitement to see Frank, one of her favorite people, as Sophie pressed the doorbell and checked the overeager Lab. “Quiet, girl.”
Her father opened the door. Frank wore his favorite black satin pajamas and a pair of velvet slippers, a glass of cognac in his hand. “Sophie! I thought you were coming in tomorrow.”
“I almost got taken by some agents.” Sophie held his gaze and both of the dogs in check on their leashes. “Are you sure you want to deal with what I might be bringing through this door?”
Frank Smithson’s well-groomed black brows drew together in a frown. “I can’t believe you think you need to ask that question. Get inside, and we’ll sort this out.”
Sophie stepped into the open living area that had been her home for her first five years in Hawaii. She unclipped the dogs so that they could ecstatically greet her father—Ginger pushed her head into his crotch, while Anubis rubbed his sleek body against the ambassador’s legs. Frank greeted them with just as much enthusiasm.
Sophie turned and locked the door, then unbuckled the waist strap of the duffle pack and slid it off. Her tee was damp at the waist and middle of her back; she was glad she’d changed into her yoga clothes after work. “I ran here on foot. That’s why I don’t have the dogs’ beds, or any of their accoutrements.”
“I’ll get them some water.” Frank headed for the kitchen area, Ginger and Anubis trailing him. “What happened?”
Sophie took a moment to enjoy the vista that was her favorite thing about her father’s place: floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing an iconic view of Diamond Head and the Waikiki hotels, sparkling with colored lights. The ocean filled most of the window, moonlight streaking the water with its silver gleam. “I almost forgot how gorgeous this view is, Dad.”
He’d filled bowls of water for the dogs in the sleek kitchen, separated from the living area by a granite island. Ginger and Anubis lapped noisily as Frank came over and pulled Sophie into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said into her ear. “You’ll be safe now.”
Sophie shut her eyes and relaxed into her father’s embrace, accepting his comfort. “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate it.” She pulled back and eyed her father. “But I’m an independent woman. I don’t like to have to run home to my papa because bad guys are after me—and I’m not even sure how bad they really are.” She cocked her head. “Furthermore, I’m not sure this whole thing is much of a surprise to you.”
She spotted that flash again, quickly hidden by her father’s diplomatic poker face. “I won’t know what you mean until you tell me what happened. Let me fix you a drink.” He turned away, heading toward the wet bar cabinet near the kitchen.
“No alcohol,” Sophie said automatically. Frank stiffened, and then nodded.
Yes, there were unspoken currents between them. Maybe this time at home would be a chance to clear them up.
Chapter Eight
Sophie
Sophie carried her duffle pack into her old room. The triptych of her computer monitors was gone from the black lacquered desk, but the bed was still inviting and topped with the jade-green silk coverlet. The blackout blinds still rolled shut and provided a feeling of security as she pushed the button.
Her body sagged suddenly with one of the waves of exhaustion that seemed to be part of the first trimester. Sophie flopped face down on the queen-sized bed, giving in for just a moment. To rest her eyes . . .
Her father’s gentle shake on her shoulder brought Sophie awake with a start. “Honey. If you hadn’t told me you were pregnant, I’d have known right away from seeing you like this. I hate to wake you, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t plan to go to bed in your sweaty running clothes.”
Sophie pushed a handful of damp curls off her forehead and squinted at the clock. “Dad! You let me sleep for an hour!”
“You must have needed it.” Frank headed for the doorway. “Why don’t you take a shower, get into your jammies, and I’ll meet you in the living room for that drink I made you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Sophie did want to speak with her father, but she felt like she’d been sandbagged at the back of the head. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and made her way between the dogs, who were curled up on beds Frank had made for them from beach towels.
Under the fall of water, using familiar coconut-smelling soap left in her bathroom from when she’d lived there before, Sophie reflected.
Her dad was alone, here in this beautiful apartment. He dated a lot; but he’d never seemed to let himself get attached enough to remarry after his disastrous first union with Pim Wat. Frank didn’t seem to dislike women, just not to trust them—and Sophie understood that particular response all too well. “Mother would be enough to put anyone off of women,” Sophie muttered.
Frank hadn’t changed a thing in her room. He must be telling the truth when he said he’d welcome the company of her and her dogs. And even if she brought Armita and Momi, too, he’d likely be happy—though there definitely wasn’t room for them all to be comfortable in the two-bedroom place, spacious though it was.
She wrapped up in one of the fluffy white cotton towels hanging on the warming rod, and then put on a sleep tee. Donning her favorite dragon-covered silk robe and blotting her hair with the towel, she rejoined her father in the living room. “This will be a mess tomorrow if I sleep on it damp. I miss the days of just keeping it buzzed.”
“You look beautiful with it short, but I love your curls now.” Frank was seated on the semi-formal loveseat with the Wall Street Journal on his lap. He set the paper aside, got up, and went to the little refrigerator inside the wet bar unit. “I made you something special.” He took out a frosty-looking blue drink in a tall glass, complete with an umbrella. “After you told me you were coming over, I had Augie stock the bar with the ingredients for your favorite drink, and some of the food you like is in the fridge.”
Augie was Frank’s housekeeper, driver, and general helper. S
ophie wished she had someone like that to help her every day. “You’re sweet, Dad. Tell Augie, thanks.”
She accepted the frothy concoction, which had begun to separate a little during her nap. She stirred the drink with its straw, and took a sip. The cool sweetness felt nice on her throat, and it was definitely alcohol-free. “This is delicious.”
Frank sat on the corner of the loveseat, closer to her, and extended his goblet of cognac. “Cheers.” They clinked glasses. “Now. Tell me what happened, exactly.”
Sophie told him about the surprise visit from the agents, that she’d spotted them using the app on her phone, but not how she’d been able to get out of the apartment undetected. “I’ve already asked Bix to set up an ongoing security detail for me.” She waggled her phone. “He texted me that they’d meet me tomorrow morning outside your place. I’ll call the building’s security and let them know.” She took a moment to do that, then lifted her eyes to meet her father’s. “Should I have them stay outside the door all night too? After all, these are legitimate law enforcement people, supposedly, though their tactics so far have not been aboveboard.”
Frank shook his head. “I’ve alerted my Secret Service detail. They told me they’d be monitoring anything here at my apartment.”
“If they want to take me in, they legally can. The security detail is just to make sure I go to a legitimate interview site and that Bennie, my lawyer, is called and on his way should they try to detain me.” Sophie took a sip of her drink. “Bennie’s terrific, by the way. Thank you for reminding me about him. He had been the Security Solutions’ legal counsel, but I had forgotten how good he is.”
Should she tell the ambassador about the meeting she’d set up with him and Raveaux? No. Her father wouldn’t be interested in what was going on with Raveaux, a mere contractor in her company.
“I knew Fernandez was good.” Frank sat back with a satisfied smile. “Glad he’s working out.”
Sophie eyed her father over the rim of her drink. “Speaking of Secret Service. I’ve had confirmation that they are a part of this multi-agency investigation that’s harassing me. Have you heard anything about that from Katie?”
Kate Smith was her father’s Secret Service agent when needed, and security liaison and consultant other times. Sophie had found the agent to be smart, kind, and competent.
Her father gazed into the amber-brown depths of his drink and swirled it. “No. Katie doesn’t tell me about her other cases.”
“Well, I’m surprised that she hasn’t mentioned it, since I’m involved in this one, in however peripheral a way.” Sophie kept a sharp eye on her father.
“I’ll ask her about it, if you’d like.” Frank’s dark brown eyes met hers, blandly expressionless.
“Please do.” Sophie finished her drink and stood up slowly, stretched and yawned. “Need any other information gaps filled in before I go to bed?”
“I don’t think so.” Frank set his drink aside and stood too. “Anything I should know about what’s coming up?”
“I have no idea from one day to the next.” Sophie shook her head. “Let’s take it as it comes, Dad.”
“That sounds best.” Frank kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.”
Sophie headed to her room and shut the door gently. Brushing her teeth, she frowned.
Her father absolutely knew something about this team, this case, and whatever the hell they were trying to do—but he hadn’t taken her hint to share. She’d have to be more direct the next time they talked.
Chapter Nine
Marcella:
Day 3
Marcella dragged a brush through her hair and wound its smooth length expertly around her fingers, pressing the thick roll of chocolate-brown locks against the back of her head and anchoring it with bobby pins; a style she called “The FBI twist.” Her features were so bold—her eyes long-lashed, her brows strongly-marked, her lips full—that anything more than a touch of lipstick, for daytime, looked overdone.
She stepped back from the mirror, tugged down her neatly buttoned blazer, and brushed a bit of lint off her sleeve. Ben Waxman, her Special Agent in Charge, was a stickler for dress code and protocol, and she was about to barge into a large, multi-agency team meeting and ask to sit at a table where she wasn’t sure she’d be welcome. “All they can say is no,” Marcella told herself out loud. “And I won’t let them say no.”
She had to get on the task force to help Sophie. Offering intel would open that door. Marcella wanted Connor caught. Only when that man was behind bars would her friend be safe. Be great if Sophie’s sicko mother Pim Wat went down too, while they were at it.
Giving her jacket another tug, Marcella headed for the door of the women’s room, enjoying a glimpse of her gleaming gold-toned pumps beneath regulation navy trousers. A girl needed a good pair of shoes to boost her confidence, and Marcella had those in a rainbow of colors and styles.
Marcella pulled the door open and headed for the FBI’s conference room, walking fast, her head up and arms swinging. The meeting room door was closed; she had expected that. She knocked, two loud raps, and then opened it and stepped inside.
As she had anticipated, Waxman was seated at the head of the table, with agents ranged around him beneath the FBI logo prominently displayed on the wall. She recognized three: Agents Pillman and Gundersohn. Neither of them had ever been a friend. The only other female in the room, Secret Service Agent Kate Smith, assigned to Sophie’s father, was at least a familiar face.
“Good afternoon. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have some important information to share with the team,” Marcella said.
Waxman’s brows went up, but his gaze looked relieved—apparently the meeting had not been going well. “Pull up a chair, Marcella. Everyone, this is Special Agent Marcella Scott, one of our finest.”
Waxman was sparing with his praise. He was probably trying to pave the way for her intel, but regardless, Marcella’s neck warmed at the compliment. “I’m sure I can catch all of your names later. I’d like to volunteer to be a part of the investigation.”
Waxman’s eyebrows snapped together; he didn’t like that. She should have gone through the chain of command, but the chain of command would have dead-ended with a pat on the head. “Some new information about how Sophie Smithson was rescued on the Big Island, along with her deceased partner, Jake Dunn, has come my way.” That was a mouthful. Marcella forged on. “Sophie is a personal friend of mine. She told me that using a chip with satellite tracking capabilities embedded under her skin, the Ghost found them.”
The conference room door opened again. Marcella turned to face whomever had entered—and shock widened her eyes. “The group is already aware of this, Marcella,” Ambassador Smithson said, as he advanced into the room. “I gave them that intel.”
Waxman speared her with his icy blue gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me directly with this, Agent Scott?”
“I got it only yesterday evening, when I met with Sophie.” Marcella pulled out a chair and seated herself in an open space. She looked around the table, making eye contact with five different people. Only the blue-eyed brunette Secret Service Agent smiled at her. “I have more confidential information to share, but I would like to be formally added to the team first.”
Pillman scowled. “That sounds a lot like you’re trying to leverage us, Agent Scott.”
The man sitting closest to Marcella turned toward her, and extended a hand. “This FBI infighting is to our benefit! I am all in favor of you joining the team. I’m Stefan Voise of Interpol. We tried to grab Sophie last night to interview her, but she evaded us at her apartment. We still can’t figure out how.”
Marcella bit her bottom lip on her startled exclamation—Sophie grabbed at her apartment?
“As to that.” Ambassador Smithson had seated himself closest to Waxman. His resonant voice rumbled with angry authority. “My daughter is grieving. She’s also expecting a child. She is not to be harassed any further. I’ve cooperated with this i
nvestigation because I want her separated from the negative influences of Connor, her mother Pim Wat, and whoever the hell the Master is. But my agreement with this task force was that no one would interfere with my daughter or try to bring her in. An attempted grab at her apartment violates that agreement.”
Marcella had guessed that Frank was here to protect Sophie the minute she saw the ambassador—why else would he get involved with something like this? But now he’d stolen her thunder. Marcella had been planning to share the news of Sophie’s pregnancy as intel; what else did she have to offer?
The room broke out into raised voices and arguing.
Marcella knew about the secret office and exit Sophie had used to ditch the team; but that wasn’t likely to be valuable unless they could use it to trap Connor or something. “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. She was about to get kicked to the curb if she didn’t do something to prove her value.
The ambassador stood up and buttoned his jacket, apparently not satisfied with the justifications being offered around the table. “I won’t be assisting this group any longer unless I can be assured, in writing, that my daughter, her nanny, and my granddaughter, will not be used as bargaining chips to access those Thailand connections. I’ve lost confidence in the team’s ability to bring these criminals to justice. Any further communications with our family can go through my attorney.” He slapped a business card down in front of Waxman, and swept out.
Kate Smith hurried after him. “Frank! Let’s talk about this!” She’d probably been the one to bring him onto the team.
The door shut behind them. The room was in chaos. Marcella held her seat and her breath. They needed her now; she was the only one who could get close to Sophie, who had her trust. She would sit tight, and wait until they realized it.
