Back on Oahu the next morning, freshly showered, her injuries treated, Sophie faced Kendall Bix, VP of Operations. “No, I did not gain any actionable evidence,” Sophie said. “But I’m willing to share my personal experience at the hands of Sloane, and try to help Hilo Police Department get a search warrant.”
“Certainly we should tell them about what you saw and experienced.” Bix indicated her bruised face with a twirled finger. “But then we would have to tell them why you were there, what you were doing, and why it was under false pretenses. And anything they eventually discovered could be the fruit of a poisoned tree. If you follow me.”
“I certainly do.” Sophie’s eyes felt gritty, her throat dry and sore, and pretty much every muscle in her body ached. The three of them sat, silent and glum, around the polished table. “I have some credibility. I was an FBI agent for five years.”
“Then perhaps you can tell us exactly how Sloane identified you?” Bix drilled her with his gaze. “You’re new with us. We hired you based on your record, and by your own admission you were never a field agent. Tell us exactly when and how Sloane was onto you.”
“Sloane approached me to be Jackson’s bed partner. I went along, to see how they recruited and treated women, to see what I could find out about the wives. Jackson decided we weren’t a fit. I was relieved when he dismissed me, quite frankly. I’ll do a lot for a case, but I’m not sleeping with someone to keep my cover. Maybe I played a little too hard to get, and that raised his suspicions. So be it.” Sophie held Bix’s gaze. “The man is hyper vigilant and paranoid, and Jackson gives him free rein and turns a blind eye. That’s the dynamic.”
Dunn spoke up at last. “It was a risky op. Why else was I hanging out for four days on that mosquito-infested ridge? That paradise down in the valley is really a little slice of hell. Give Sophie the day off, boss.”
Bix smacked his hand down on the table. “We’re still skunked until we have something we can go to Hilo PD with.” He pinned Sophie with a glare. “I don’t want all you went through to have been in vain.”
“I have a friend, a detective at South Hilo PD. Let me talk to him. Give him a hypothetical about what Sophie found out and our case, and see what he says,” Dunn said.
“All they need is to search that camp with cadaver dogs,” Sophie said. “Those women, along with an accountant, are there. I just know it.”
Back at her apartment, Sophie’s burner phone was full of messages: three from her father, two from Marcella, and two forwarded texts from the Ghost.
She’d save those for last. A reward for getting through the others.
Sophie texted Marcella that she was back and safe from an off-island op, but not in shape for socializing. The return call to her father was much more difficult.
“Why aren’t you in the apartment?” Her dad had a resonant voice, now wound tight with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Are you safe?”
Sophie stifled an involuntary smile. When had she ever been safe? She looked down at the tattoo on the exterior of her thigh reminding her of courage. On the other thigh was freedom.
Sometimes one didn’t come without the other. She’d chosen a career that pitted her against dangerous enemies. She’d never be entirely safe—but that was hardly the point.
“I’m fine, Dad. Like I told you in my message, I’ve left the FBI and I’m working for a private security firm. I had an operation on the Big Island for the company, so that is why I was out of touch. I went off the grid and left the apartment because I wanted to stay under everyone’s radar with all that has been going on with the DAVID program.”
She filled him in as best she could, and when he was finally reassured, she felt even more exhausted, ready to sleep for a week. But she had a couple of email notifications to read that she actually looked forward to.
Did you like what I sent you? That had come from the Ghost two days ago.
Then, another one yesterday.
I guess you took offense. I’m sorry if the photos were over the line.
Sophie opened her email again and looked at the photos he’d sent. God, he was beautiful—what a set of back muscles and glutes. They ought to be blown up and framed. That would give Marcella something to tease her about! Her involuntary smile hurt.
On impulse, Sophie stretched out on her bed and lifted her shirt. She took a photo of her abs that showed her navel surrounded by its mandala of elegant, tiny Thai writing. Some of the purple bruise from her ribs had crept down to mar her golden-brown skin, but it just looked like a shadow in the photo.
She emailed the photo to him, with a note: I was AFK on a job. Here’s something private you will have missed in that video. You did not offend me with your photos. I approve of working out, as you know, and would not be averse to a few more.
Was she being too forward? Had she showed this mysterious man, someone she was hiding from as much as the FBI, too many of her hopes, dreams, and desires? The message of her tattoo was right there to be translated if he so chose.
There was no way to tell, but it felt right.
She hit Send and turned out the light.
Ginger snuggled onto the air mattress, her nose resting on Sophie’s back. Sophie let Ginger stay, as glad as the dog was to be reunited.