Sophie slept until Ginger’s persistent licking woke her up. When she rolled painfully onto her good side to check the clock, she was shocked to see that eight hours had passed. Her phone, in vibration mode, buzzed around on the floor like an angry bumblebee. She picked it up, her voice gravelly. “Hello?”
“Sophie, it’s Marcella. I got your text, but you agreed to let me come over when you were settled and I don’t like not hearing from you for five days.” A pause for breath. “What happened? You sound terrible.”
“I told you. I was on a job on the Big Island. Things got a little rough.” Sophie sat up with care and fended off Ginger’s affection. “It’s just as well that you called. I have to get up anyway. Ginger needs to go out. But you have to make sure you’re not followed, coming to my place.”
Marcella snorted. “I’m an agent. I know how to look for a tail. Who are you hiding from, anyway?”
“I don’t know, really.” Sophie straightened the tank top she slept in and levered herself up off of the air mattress. “I just know I didn’t want to be in that apartment anymore, where anyone who wanted to could find me.”
“That’s not true. The Bureau keeps your address secret.”
“Yes, but it’s not secret from them.” Sophie worked herself up to standing and padded into the bathroom, the phone at her ear. The sight of her battered face in the mirror was alarming. She turned on the sink and splashed a little water on her cheeks, wincing as it hit her split lip. “I’m not looking so very good today. My face looks like that time I got a pounding from the Punisher at Fight Club.”
Marcella sucked in a breath. “That was a bad one. Okay, you don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. But let me come over.”
“That’s fine. I haven’t eaten all day. I’ll meet you at the front with Ginger. We have to take a walk around the block anyway. Let’s get a bite at the noodle house and then you can come up and see this place.” She looked around and shook her head. “Not that there’s much to see.” She told Marcella the address.
Sophie put on a Mary Watson floral tank dress and walked Ginger around the block a couple of times, breathing shallowly and moving slowly, though her ribs felt better.
Ginger nosed and sniffed and squatted, delighted that for once Sophie wasn’t dragging her along at a run. Late summer in Honolulu was steamy, but evening brought cooler air in from the ocean, causing the shower tree near her building to drop bright petals onto the sidewalk, softening the warm concrete. Laundry flapped gently as bright flags, hanging from the railings of nearby apartments.
Marcella was parked in her black Honda sedan in front of Sophie’s dilapidated apartment building upon her return. Her friend rolled down the window as Sophie approached.
“Can’t say I care for the place.” Marcella pushed large Jackie O sunglasses up onto her sleek, chocolate-brown head. “But I’ve seen worse.”
“Mary Watson has simple tastes.” Sophie said. “Can you drive us to the noodle place?” Marcella eyed Ginger, who panted and wagged in appeal.
“I’m not driving your dog anywhere in my nice clean car. Let me come up now, and you can leave her in the apartment.”
“She’s so happy I’m home. I can’t bear to leave her again so soon.” Ginger always acted grief-stricken at any separation. “But you wouldn’t like Mary’s car, either, so I’ll leave her.”
Marcella was unimpressed with the interior of Sophie’s apartment. Hands on hips, she surveyed the bare space with a jaundiced eye. “This is not going to help your depression.”
Sophie felt a waft of anger. Marcella was never short on opinions, and Sophie had heard enough of them. “My depression is not your concern.”
Marcella’s big brown eyes flashed with annoyance. “Right. I’m your best friend.” She gestured to the barren space. “Why didn’t you think of coming to stay with me and Marcus?” Marcella had moved in with the big Hawaiian detective not long ago, and they shared a cute little plantation home on the outskirts of Honolulu.
Sophie blinked. “You don’t need me and Ginger getting in your space, reminding you what it’s like to be single.”
Marcella winced as if Sophie had slapped her. “What is with you today? Anything you need, you only have to ask. The fact that you’re so paranoid that you went off the grid and assumed a new identity and rented this hole of an apartment for no good reason shows me how little we really know each other.”
“This isn’t about you, Marcella.” Sophie’s heart pounded with anxiety—she was offending her closest friend and ally. But she was angry, too, at being forced to explain a decision she didn’t entirely understand herself. “This is about me needing to feel safe. Find my own way. Out from under Dad’s money. Out from under the FBI. I’m figuring out who I am.” The truth of this insight, so spontaneously reached, burst across her brain.
“And who you are is Mary Watson?” Marcella gestured to the light sundress skimming Sophie’s body, the pretty sandals on her feet.
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m kind of having fun finding out. I like dressing up as Mary Watson. A lot of my life has been about reacting to what happened with my ex. Escaping him. Finding a way to defend myself—through my work, through Fight Club. Confronting him set me free in a way, but it’s also taken a while for the effects to really be felt.”
“I think you should talk to Dr. Wilson. She’s a good shrink, and she might have something to say about how you’re handling the stress of the DAVID situation. Who has threatened you so badly that you have to hide out?”
Marcella didn’t know about the Ghost—her friend knew that he existed from Sophie’s big last case, but never the extent of their communication or ongoing involvement.
And it wasn’t that Sophie felt unsafe from the Ghost—it was more that she wanted to be in control of when and how she finally met him. She wanted to be in control of who knew her location, including visitors like Pillman and the other IA agent who’d shown up unannounced at her door.
“I have to do this right now. I don’t expect you to understand. I’m not asking for your approval.”
Marcella’s well-marked brows rose and her mouth tightened. “Obviously.”
She spun on a heel and stomped across the room, ending up at the sink with its small pile of unwashed dishes left over from before Sophie left for the Big Island five days ago. Bits of dried food had attracted a trail of ants into the sink. Marcella turned the water on and splashed noisily as she began washing the dishes.
She was just trying to get a handle on her hot Italian temper. Sophie refilled Ginger’s water bowl and began blowing up her air mattress, which had lost air as she slept the night before. She groaned as the blowing strained her bruised ribs.
Marcella returned to the bedroom, sat down beside Sophie, took the plastic mattress from her, and finished blowing it up. She rearranged the sleeping bag on top of it, each fussy, decisive movement a sign of how much she cared. Gratitude warmed Sophie’s bruised chest.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you into coming and staying with us?” Marcella finally said.
“Thanks, Marcella. I’m fine. But can we get those noodles now?” Sophie asked plaintively. “I’m really hungry.”
“Absolutely.”
Ginger gave a sad bark as Sophie locked her in and they left.
Sophie’s favorite saimin house, a spot she used to walk to in her previous neighborhood, was quiet on a weeknight in the early evening. The burly proprietor, a fan of Sophie’s MMA fighting, wiped his hands on a towel and raised a brow at her appearance. “I hope you gave the other gal plenny lickins!”
“Not this time,” Sophie said. They usually sat at the long, worn wooden bar, but this time the women took a table. Huge, steaming bowls of saimin arrived in short order. After sucking in several mouthfuls of noodles, Marcella lifted a brow. “So what does your dad think of your move?”
“He’s worried.” Sophie shrugged. “He’s always worried.”
“I would be too if you were my daughter. So tell me about your new partner.”
Sophie lifted her bowl for a deep sip of the savory broth. The hot soup felt so good in her empty, sore belly. She set the bowl down and dabbed her bruised mouth gently with a paper napkin. “Dunn is a good operator. He’s impulsive, too much of a risk-taker at times—but this is the first time I’ve worked so much out in the field, so what do I know? He hung in there, waiting for me on stakeout, even though the inactivity was killing him. When I didn’t call to check in on time he created a good distraction that gave me a window to escape. Even though we haven’t worked together long, I know he’s got my back.” Sophie told her friend about the case. “I really wish Waxman hadn’t pulled the plug on the case when it came to the FBI. That was part of what pushed me over the edge into resignation.”
“I think it was a bad call, too. Waxman’s still on the warpath.” Marcella chased a bit of egg with her spoon. “He’s the one that provoked you into quitting, but I swear he’s acting like you did it to spite him. Never seen him so grouchy.”
“Not my problem.” Guilt stabbed Sophie anyway. Waxman on the warpath was never a good thing. She had such mixed feelings about her former boss. She actually missed him, too.
“So. He’s hot?” Marcella’s eyes gleamed with a teasing light.
“Who? Dunn? I already told you he was.”
“When do I get to meet this mystery man?”
“I could call him right now. He’d probably come.”
“Are you serious? He’d drop whatever he’s doing and come, just ’cause you called?”
Sophie considered, then nodded. “Pretty sure. He might have a little crush on me. It’ll pass.”
“Ha! I bet his little crush just gets worse, poor sap.” Marcella gestured to Sophie’s phone. “I want to meet him. Put your theory to the test.”
Jake Dunn, entering the noodle house, drew every eye. It wasn’t just his size, though that was imposing. It wasn’t just his appearance, though he was handsome. It was something more—a crackling energy, a charisma. Sophie was amused by the way Marcella’s eyes widened, by the way her unflappable friend got tongue-tied as Sophie introduced them. Dunn charmed Marcella with bantering small talk as he sat down beside Sophie, who diligently addressed her noodles.
“So. Tell us about yourself, Jake Dunn. What brought a guy like you to a place like this?” Marcella gestured to the noodle house, encompassing Hawaii. Her natural insouciance and flirtatiousness had rebooted after the initial overwhelm.
“Ex-Special Forces. I was looking for something to do after my tours were up and Hawaii seemed like a great place to live.” Dunn’s white smile was as brilliant as Marcella’s. Too bad her friend was already taken; Marcella would have been a good match for him. “I like Hawaii. The surf, the mountains. The women.” He gestured between the two of them as if making a point, and Marcella laughed. “Private contracting is a good gig. Been here three years now, and we even get some pretty hairy action, right, Sophie?”
Sophie kept her eyes on her bowl and nodded. “Right.”
“I’m making you do stakeout next time. How are you feeling, by the way? You look like hell.” Dunn touched her cheek gently with the back of his fingers.
Sophie moved away, uncomfortable with the gesture. “I’m fine. I’ll be back at work tomorrow. Slept all day, today, though.” She lifted her bowl to sip the last of the broth.
Marcella cleared her throat. “You got a family?”
“Divorced parents. Two sisters. Single, but looking. You?” Dunn’s brows rose. His saimin order arrived, and he picked up the spoon.
“Taken, I regret to say, now that we’ve met,” Marcella said.
Dunn laughed. “He’s a lucky guy. So what does it take to get your friend here to give a guy a chance?”
Marcella shook her head. “Years of selfless adoration finally earned the last guy she went out with one date.”
“Hey!” Sophie set down her bowl abruptly. “It was a complicated situation. I’m not ready to joke about it.” The wound of Alika’s departure throbbed like a bruise when poked.
“I’m sorry.” Marcella’s full mouth turned down. “You know me, always trying to lighten the mood.”
Sophie was having none of it. She turned to Dunn. “You want to know a little more about why I don’t date? Right out of school when I was too young to know better, I married a sexual sadist who abused me in ways you can’t imagine. Is that enough for you?”
Dunn’s eyes widened as he raised his hands. “Hey, whoa. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s in the past. But even if I’d date a partner, which I’m too intelligent to do, you don’t want to be with me. I’m all messed up.” Sophie tried the American phrase and it felt right. Old, familiar darkness seemed to rise around her, a paralyzing fog. She stood, fumbled in Mary Watson’s straw bag for a couple of twenties, and threw them on the table. “Sorry I’m not more fun.”
Marcella grabbed her purse to leave as well. “See you around, Jake.”
Dunn put his hand on Sophie’s arm. His full attention on her felt weighty and his touch seemed to burn. She twitched her arm away and he opened his hands in appeal. His gunmetal eyes shone with sincerity. “Sophie, I’m really damn sorry I put my foot in your private business. Please sit down. I finally got my saimin, and we were just getting to know each other outside of work a little bit. You told me a ways back to mind my manners, and I will. I respect you. We’re partners, and I want that to work.”
Sophie vibrated with the need to flee as she looked down at him. She absorbed the regret in his gaze. His playful mouth was a serious line.
He seemed to mean it.
“Okay. As long as I never have to talk about that again. Or deal with your off-color jokes and attempts to ask me out. It is not happening, so forget it.” Sophie sat back down.
Dunn whooshed out a breath in exaggerated relief, wiping imaginary sweat off his forehead. “My passes are usually better received.” He was irrepressible, just as Connor had said. Sophie felt a smile tug her mouth. Dunn addressed Marcella. “She always this touchy?”
“You got away without her punching you,” Marcella said. “I usually get slugged when I piss her off.”
So Sophie knuckle-punched Dunn in the shoulder, hard, and he howled in mock anguish. The rest of the evening passed with too much Kirin beer and enough laughter that her ribs were doubly sore the next morning.