1
SOPHIE
The plumeria blossom’spinwheel of cream and gold was a drop of moonlight against the polished, dark wood floor of the Bishop Museum.Investigator Sophie Smithson crouched beside it, careful not to interrupt the crime scene tech who was still processing the area.
She bent closer and breathed in the flower’s sweet fragrance.The scent hit her like a physical blow, bringing a memory of her fiancé, Jake, grinning as he tucked a plumeria behind her ear, his gray eyes bright.“Every woman in Hawaii should wear one of these, babe.”
Sophie’s throat tightened.She forced herself to photograph the flower from multiple angles with her phone, maintaining composure even as her chest ached with the familiar weight of grief.
Jake had been gone two and a half years, and the smallest things could still ambush her.It didn’t help that her current relationship with the enigmatic cyber vigilante known as Connor was “on the rocks,” as the saying went.
“Same as the others.”Detective Marcus Kamuela’s voice rumbled behind her, pulling her back to the present.The big Hawaiian man stood with his arms crossed, his expression grim beneath fluorescent lights that turned the early hour into artificial day.
Married to Sophie’s good friend, FBI agent Marcella Scott, Marcus was someone she knew well; but even so, he was an intimidating sight when riled as he was now.“Third theft of Hawaiian antiquities in Honolulu, and the third flower left behind.Someone’s trying to send a message, and Honolulu PD doesn’t have time to dig into this investigation the way the case deserves.Glad the Museum’s board decided to hire you and your company.”
“Thanks to you.I appreciate the referral.”As CEO of Security Solutions, a private security and investigation company, her career had saved Sophie emotionally these past few years, giving her purpose beyond the demands of single motherhood.
Sophie straightened, slipping her phone back into the pocket of her black cargo pants; she always dressed for functionality.The dark tank top and lightweight jacket she wore could handle both Hawaii’s humidity and its air-conditioned buildings.Her thick, curly dark hair was kept short to keep it manageable, and the familiar weight of a Glock 19 rested against her side in its shoulder holster—though she seldom had to fire it these days.
“Same variety of plumeria as the other burglaries?”she asked.
“According to the botanist we consulted, yeah.Common white plumeria, nothing special about it except—” Marcus gestured to the empty display case behind them, its glass front cut with surgical precision.“Whoever’s doing this has million-dollar taste in Hawaiian artifacts and leaves the flower as a calling card.”
Sophie studied the empty case.According to the placard, it had held aleiomano—a war club made of koa wood, trimmed in shark’s teeth.This one had belonged to the ‘Merrie Monarch,’ King Kalakaua.It was priceless, irreplaceable, and now gone—despite the museum’s state-of-the-art security system.
“Show me the security footage,” she said.
Marcus led her through galleries still dim with shadows to the security office, where a nervous guard cued up the recordings.Sophie leaned forward, watching the timestamp tick forward.
“There,” the guard said.“Watch the screen.”
The monitor showed the gallery in perfect clarity—and then didn’t, for just a nanosecond.The image stuttered, pixelated, and reformed.
The display case now stood empty.No motion, no figures, no indication that anyone had been there at all.
“Run it again,” Sophie requested.This time, she watched the timestamp, not the video.“Your system didn’t glitch.It was fed a ghost recording.See how the shadows are identical before and after?Someone created a loop of empty gallery footage and overwrote your live feed.”
“That’s impossible,” the guard protested.“Our system is closed-circuit, not connected to any outside networks.”
“Then they did it from inside here.”Sophie was already moving, following the cable runs along the walls, checking for any aberration.“Your system might be closed, but it still has access points for maintenance.Show me your server room.”
Twenty minutes later, she found what she was looking for—a device no bigger than a flash drive tucked behind a server rack, so small it was nearly invisible among the usual tangle of cables and connectors.
“Signal interceptor with local storage,” she explained to Marcus as she photographed it in place before carefully removing it with gloved hands.“Military-grade, from the look of it.This isn’t some amateur art thief we’re dealing with; this was done by professionals.”
“I already thought so.”Marcus’s phone buzzed.He glanced at it and frowned.“Speaking of professional—there’s someone here to join us saying he’s backup from Security Solutions?”
Sophie shook her head.“I came alone.Who?—”
“Sophie, it’s Raveaux.”
She turned at the familiar French-accented voice, smiling at the sight of Pierre Raveaux standing in the doorway.The ex-Sûreté investigator was immaculate as always, clean-shaven with his silver-touched hair neat.He wore pressed khakis and a crisp white shirt; only she knew its long sleeves covered scars on his arms that were a testament to the day he’d lost his wife and daughter in a car bombing.
“Pierre.I didn’t know you were back from France.”
“Just a few days ago.”Her colleague, a contractor with Security Solutions, stepped into the room, offering Marcus a courteous nod.“Detective Kamuela.I heard through channels that Sophie had been called in on something interesting.Thought I might be of assistance if you don’t mind a second consultant?”
“Consult away,” Marcus said with a wave of his beefy hand.
