Wired Strong: Vigilante Justice Thriller Series (Paradise Crime Thriller Book 12)

by Toby Neal

  Replete, she sat back in her chair, enjoying the last of the streaks of red, orange, and gold gilding the clouds on the horizon. The sound of the wind in the coconut palms overhead and the waves on the beach made gentle music, as Raveaux and Leede chatted.

  Leede gave a ladylike belch, hidden behind her hand. “Oh, excuse me. That was so delicious, Pierre. What do we have to do to get you to cook for us every night?” She fluttered her eyelashes in exaggerated flirtation.

  Raveaux smiled.

  Sophie’s eyes widened to see it. He really was a handsome man, and especially when he smiled. Too bad it was so seldom.

  He waved his glass. “You are a flatterer, Heri. We who cook live for an appreciative audience.” Raveaux gestured to Sophie. “Sophie’s empty plate is an equal compliment to your flowery words.”

  Sophie smiled too, this time. “Dinner was superb, Pierre, as you must know. Thank you. Now can we talk about the case?”

  “Is she always like this?” Leede gestured in Sophie’s direction.

  “Yes, she is.” Raveaux said. “But I forbid you to discuss those damned computers until you ladies clear and clean up the kitchen before the dessert course. Then, and only then, will we discuss the case.”

  Leede and Sophie pushed back their chairs and grabbed up the plates and silverware. “I want to see what this dessert is,” Leede said.

  “Me too,” Sophie echoed.

  That elusive smile curved Raveaux’s mouth. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes, the picture of relaxation. “I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”

  The two women made short work of the kitchen cleanup, filling Raveaux’s dishwasher and stacking the pans. There were no leftovers to put away.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m angling for another invitation to dinner,” Leede said. “Preferably alone.” She raised a brow inquiringly. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” Sophie said. “Who Raveaux has to dinner—or in his bed, for that matter—is none of my business.”

  “Good,” Leede said crisply. “Then you won’t mind if I make a move.” And with that, Leede left Sophie in the kitchen, in front of a sinkful of greasy pots and pans, walking outside to join Raveaux and closing the glass slider behind her.

  Sophie filled the sink with hot soapy water and went to work on the cookware, scrubbing energetically. She rinsed and stacked the pans in the drainer, feeling unsettled. “Good luck to her,” Sophie muttered. “She’s going to need it.”

  “Need what?” Raveaux had come up behind her, and for a moment she thought she felt his breath at her neck. “I made a chocolate torte. It needs to warm up a little to be at its best.”

  He opened the refrigerator and took out the torte. The glossy dark round, garnished with raspberries, looked as perfect as if it had been made in a bakery. He set the dessert on the counter. “Come outside with me so we can discuss the case.”

  “Leede wanted a little alone time with you.” Sophie dried her hands on a dish towel. “I can finish cleaning up here.”

  Raveaux arched a brow. “Come, Sophie. You know who I want to spend time with.” Before she could respond, he’d moved in his graceful way back out to the deck.

  Sophie took a moment to finish wiping down the stove and counters anyway, before refreshing her drink and following him out to the lanai.

  “I’ve seen the dessert,” she told Leede. “Chocolate torte. I expect there will also be a fresh raspberry sauce.”

  “My favorite!” Leede clapped her hands. “Now, Sophie, you said you found something on the computers?”

  “I did.” Sophie sat down and described what she’d uncovered. “Have you found any entries in the formal logs to match what I’m describing?”

  “I have been going over the logs that are submitted to the Kama`aina Board each quarter. There does seem to be a large budget for ‘office supplies’ now that you mention it, but not enough to account for the major shortage our clients have asked us to find.” Leede frowned. “I wonder if this is how the embezzling is being done: padding legitimate expenses with random, computer-generated deductions to the bank account and siphoning them elsewhere. The accounting program shows that certain retailers are given categories, and when the retailer is paid, that category is triggered. A good deal of the ordering is automated for an organization this size. All the embezzler would have to do is hack into that software and set up a skim to various ‘retailers’ that were fake accounts.”

  Sophie nodded. “I think that’s exactly what is going on.”

  “And, just like that, Sophie solved the case.” Raveaux stood up. “Time for dessert. Would either of you like tea or espresso?”

  “No caffeine for me, thank you,” Sophie said. She yawned. “In fact, I’m so tired all of a sudden. Can I get my dessert to go?”

  Raveaux’s mouth tightened with disappointment. “Of course. I will prepare a Tupperware.” He disappeared, shutting the glass door behind him.

  “Even the way that man says ‘Tupperware’ is sexy,” Leede murmured, swirling her wineglass.

  “How old are you?” Sophie asked. “Raveaux is thirty-nine, but his life has aged him. You?”

  Leede’s eyes twinkled. “Guess.”

  “I think you present yourself as at least in your sixties. Why?” Sophie sipped her Perrier.

  “It helps with my work. Adds credibility. At a certain point, an older woman is more authoritative. Guess my age.”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes, assessing. The woman’s skin was beautiful, though the white hair . . . “I don’t know.”

  “I’m forty-eight. My hair turned white when I was twenty-five; a family thing. I discovered the advantage of looking older in my years in Scotland Yard. Men were less threatened by me, and the suspects underestimated me.”

  “I can see that worked well,” Sophie said seriously. “I have played down my femininity too.” She flexed her arm. “In favor of musculature.”

  “Sorry, Sophie, but you’re quite beautiful and the muscles are not unattractive,” Leede said. “If I batted for the other team . . .”

  “What does that mean?” Sophie asked. “I’m not familiar with that colloquialism.”

  The door opened just then, and Raveaux appeared, carrying two beautifully garnished plates of torte with forks on the side. “Your Tupperware is on the counter, Sophie. We’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  Sophie had displeased him, and now she was dismissed.

  “Thank you, Pierre. I will enjoy my dessert at home. Good night, Heri.” Sophie stood up and gave a little wave, which only Leede returned. She shut the sliding door and left the two on the lanai with their desserts.

  “Good luck, Heri,” she whispered as she picked up her container with its dark treasure inside. “He needs someone, and you just might be woman enough.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sophie

  Day 6

  Sophie woke later than she usually did, feeling the warm touch of Ginger’s tongue on her hand.

  “Stop it, girl.” Sophie tucked her hand back in under the covers, savoring the soft bed, top-quality sheets, and silk comforter. Nothing like a night on a yoga mat in a basement to make her feel grateful to wake up in her father’s luxurious apartment.

  She really was lucky that Frank had not only taken her in, but cared for the dogs in her more than twenty-four-hour absence. They had greeted her last night ecstatically, but without the franticness she had come to expect, particularly from Ginger, when left for anything longer than a few hours.

  Her father had been out when she returned; she was relieved to have gotten a text from him that he had a dinner meeting last night, so she hadn’t had to see him.

  But today was the day she was going to talk to him about being on the team to capture Connor. Living with him and keeping that a secret felt way too dishonest, like a wedge that would drive them apart even more than his actions already had.

  Sophie got up and slipped her arms into her familiar dragon-embroidered silk robe, a robe sh
e had left in the closet of this room when she moved out. As she tied the sash around her waist, already becoming a little rounded, she could smell the fresh, clean fabric.

  Augie had laundered all of her clothes, and had even had ones that needed dry cleaning done. They hung neatly in the closet on plastic-shrouded hangers.

  Augie was a busy man. He would not have thought of such a thing if her father hadn’t directed him to do it. Was there no end to Frank’s loving thoughtfulness? Why did that make his betrayal feel so much worse?

  Sophie walked out into the kitchen and turned on the kettle for her tea. “Good morning, Dad.”

  Her father, seated in his usual spot on the couch, shook out his newspaper as he shifted to the next page. “Good morning, Sophie.”

  The dogs had followed her out, and Ginger hurried to the front door, whimpering, clearly eager for her morning pee. “I have to throw on some clothes and take the dogs out for a quick morning walk. But I’d like to talk afterward, if you have time.”

  “No problem.” Frank’s response was short. She wasn’t imagining the tension she saw in his shoulders, around his mouth.

  She was getting better at reading people! As hard as this moment was, she savored the tiny insight. She set up her tea and went back into the bedroom and changed. The dogs increased their excitement as they saw her putting on her shoes.

  “This is going to be a short walk, you two,” she said. Anubis immediately sat down at her tone of voice. Ginger, however, continued to hope for more, trotting back and forth and swinging her tail like a club against Sophie’s legs.

  Her father had poured her tea into its pot, and it was nicely steeped by the time she came out and put the dogs on their leashes. “Perfect, Dad. That was so thoughtful of you.”

  “I live to serve.”

  Yes, he was as ready for this fight as she was.

  Sophie had taken the dogs at a jog for three laps around the block, just to take the edge off their energy. The quick run had taken the edge off of her irritability, too.

  Back at the apartment, she refilled her mug, adding a spoonful of honey, remembering it was okay for pregnant women to have honey—but not babies, as their gut biomes were too delicate to process some of the natural bacteria in the substance.

  Sophie carried her mug over to sit opposite her father, where he was ensconced on the couch. “I need to talk with you, Dad.”

  “So you said.” Frank shook the pages of the Wall Street Journal together, folded the paper crisply, and set it aside. “You have my full attention.” He crossed his legs, interlacing his fingers to rest them over his knee. His handsome, dignified face was inscrutable.

  Sophie had learned her own opaque mask from her father—but she’d always attributed learning that to her ex-husband’s abuse. Another insight.

  “You’ve been working with the multi-agency task force that’s trying to bring in Connor, Pim Wat, and the Master. I want to know why.”

  “Who told you that?” Frank’s expression didn’t change.

  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is . . .”

  “What matters is that you, and my grandchildren, are safe. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to ensure that outcome.”

  “I’m not surprised by that, P̌ā.” She used the Thai word for father, instead of English. He had always preferred that she call him “Dad,” but that small act of defiance felt important, felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. “Working behind my back has undermined my trust. I wish you had come to me. Talked to me about your concerns, instead of working with the task force.” Sophie took a sip of her tea to calm herself. “In addition, we’ve been working at cross-purposes. I’ve wasted energy and stress trying to keep secrets that you already knew. And you have wasted energy scheming things I should have been included in planning.”

  Frank firmed his jaw. “I didn’t believe I could discuss my concerns with you because you had already made your feelings for Connor abundantly clear, in spite of who he turned out to be. Why didn’t you tell me about him, instead of hiding his identities, his role as the Ghost vigilante?”

  “I didn’t tell anybody. I couldn’t.” Sophie frowned. “Who Connor is wasn’t my secret to share.”

  Frank threw up his hands in frustration. “Listen to yourself. ‘Who he is.’ Who is he, really? Does anyone know?”

  “Does it matter what he calls himself? I know who he is, inside.” Even as she said the words, doubt gnawed at Sophie. Did she know who he was, anymore? Had she ever?

  “What I don’t understand is, if he is so important to you, why hasn’t Connor been your boyfriend the whole time? Why has he stayed at that compound in Thailand with Pim Wat and the Master? And why do you still care about him when he lied, repeatedly, and let you grieve his ‘death’?” Frank made air quotes. “I, for one, will never forget the pain you suffered over that betrayal.”

  “I am a grown woman, and I get to sleep with whomever I want. Do whatever I want in my relationships—and none of it has to make any sense to you, because it’s none of your business.” Sophie trembled with anger and stress. “But since we’re talking about it, Connor and I broke up over his role as the Ghost. I wanted him to stop his vigilante activities. He refused.”

  “Well, that speaks well of your character, if not of his,” Frank said acidly.

  “But it’s not a simple thing. Connor deals with people that need to be dealt with, people that no one in law enforcement can touch.” Sophie held her father’s gaze. “He rescued my ex-husband’s new child bride, and made sure she got back to her parents when I asked him to. Whatever else we get out of this conversation, know this: you don’t get to dictate who I have a relationship with. Not after Assan Ang.”

  The specter of Sophie’s early arranged marriage to a sadistic businessman had long lain between them. Frank scowled. “I was not in favor of that match. That was all your mother.”

  “But you didn’t try hard to stop it! You let it go forward. I was nineteen, Dad!” Sophie’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her mug. “Assan almost killed me a hundred times.”

  Frank ran a hand over his thick, closely-buzzed hair. “I didn’t know! You never said anything! I would have moved heaven and earth to get you away from him if I’d known—” He blew out a breath. “And that’s why it’s hard to watch you flounder around in your relationships. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

  “I can understand that. I have a daughter now, too, and I’m very protective of her.” Sophie made a chopping gesture with her hand. “But every one of my relationships has been important. I still love each of the men I’ve been with in a unique way. I shouldn’t have to explain or justify that to you, any more than you need to tell me about the women in your life. Marrying my mother didn’t make sense—let alone staying with her as long as you did. Were you using her, just as she was using you?” Sophie’s eyes felt hard and hot as she pinned her father with her gaze. “It just now occurred to me. You were a spy, too.”

  Frank sputtered, speechless, and Sophie saw a flash of that thing again. Guilt.

  “Ridiculous. I’ve had a perfectly aboveboard position with the State Department all of these years,” Frank said.

  “No wonder you knew about Connor. You’re with the CIA,” Sophie persisted. “How else would you have known about him?”

  Frank stood up. “This discussion is over.”

  “I’ll just ask Agent MacDonald or Kate Smith. They’ll tell me,” Sophie said. “You’ve been more than just an asset to the CIA; you’re an agent. That’s why you married Pim Wat. She’s close to the Thai Royal Family. You could report on the Yām Khûmkạn and the activities of the Thai court.”

  Her father stood over her, six-foot-plus of intimidating male. “How dare you!”

  “How dare you, P̌ā?” Sophie stood up too. “You might as well admit it.”

  Frank turned and walked into the kitchen. “Enough.”

  “Oh, but you get to judge me? Take matters into your own hands like a patriarch
of old?” The dogs, agitated by the raised voices, lifted their heads from their beds near the door. Sophie lowered her voice with an effort. “Dad. Let’s be honest, for once, and talk this through. Maybe there’s a way we can figure this out. Marcella had an idea that I’m thinking over.”

  Frank opened the cupboard over the stove. “Are you hungry? I could fix you pancakes. You loved banana pancakes when you were a girl.”

  Sophie flashed to their kitchen in the family’s communal house in Thailand. Her father had imported a Western stove, and when he was at home, he used to fix the two of them breakfast. Pim Wat had never joined them; she didn’t “feel well” in the mornings.

  Yes, she remembered those banana pancakes.

  “Please. I’m hungry. I’m always hungry these days.” Sophie seated herself on a high stool at the marble island that contained the stove. She sipped her tea and watched her father as he gathered the ingredients and made the batter from scratch. The homey sounds and smells and sight of him, stirring the batter in the bowl, took her back. “It’s nice that you remember about those pancakes.”

  “How could I forget?” Frank sliced the bananas. Her sensitive nose reacted favorably to their sweet, ripe scent. “Those breakfasts were some of our best times together in that house.”

  Sophie took out her phone and thumbed to an app that played jazz. Soon, mellow piano riffs accompanied the sizzle of butter in the cast iron pan. Frank didn’t speak until he had three perfectly round pancakes browning.

  “I was recruited to the CIA as a condition of getting the ambassadorship. I was one of the first black men to occupy the office, and I wanted that job. I would have done worse than be a spy to get it.”

  Ginger must have sensed the tension in her mistress, because she padded over to lean against Sophie’s leg. Sophie played with her dog’s ears as her father went on. “It started out small. Just faxing something confidential that came across my desk, here and there. Then, they engineered a meeting between me and Pim Wat.” He looked up to meet Sophie’s eyes. “Your mother was so beautiful.”