They were the normal sounds of a downtown Hawaii day, at odds with the medieval succession drama in which she was a bit player.
“One crisis at a time, Sophie,” she told herself, checking her appearance in the mirror.Her professional armor was in place: subtle makeup, fat pearl earrings, a slim fitting navy silk blouse that made her feel both feminine and formidable.“Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow.”
She locked the Lexus and headed for the elevator, low heels clicking against the concrete with a determined rhythm.The elevator doors closed on her reflection—composed, professional, ready for anything in pearls and pin-striped slacks.
The external elevator rose toward her office, carrying her from the depths toward the top of the building.Outside, the first drops of a misty rain began to fall on Honolulu, creating a rainbow and washing the city clean for another day’s sins.
If Sunan thought she’d be an easy target, a weak point to exploit against Connor, he was about to learn why her reputation in security circles was legendary.Sophie had survived being raised by Pim Wat.She’d survived a sadistic ex-husband, and having her heart broken repeatedly.She’d survive this threat too, and come out the victor.
Time to brief her team and figure out how to protect her family from an international threat.Time to be Sophie Smithson, security expert and strategist—not Sophie the mother, a woman who loved unwisely and too well.
9
PIERRE
Pierre Raveaux adjustedhis laptop screen to avoid the glare streaming through the window of his ground floor apartment in Waikiki.The late morning sun painted golden rectangles across his polished floor.Visible in the distance was Diamond Head, the famous crater rising like a sleeping giant against the cerulean sky.The beach where he swam each morning was a short walk away, close enough that he could smell the ocean on the trade winds.His place was on a quiet side street near the yacht harbor, far enough from the tourist chaos that he could hear mynah birds arguing outside, and when the wind was right, the clang of boat rigging.
He liked to think that his minimalist living space—clean lines, white walls, modern furniture—reflected the orderly nature of his mind.The truth was more complex.After Gita’s death, he’d stripped away everything that might trigger memory.When he’d moved to Honolulu for a fresh start he’d left behind her textiles, plump pillows, little icons, and paintings that had once covered their walls in a riot of color.He’d kept only one, wrapped in acid-free paper in his bedroom closet: an impression of their child, four-year-old Lucie, building a sandcastle with her characteristic focused intensity.
Even five years after their funeral, he couldn’t look at it.
Currently, the only concession to chaos in his life was Lisette, his young gray tabby cat.She had draped herself across his keyboard with feline entitlement, and emitted a loud purr while curling a paw and twitching her tail, clearly expecting petting.
“Non, ma petite,” he murmured, gently relocating her to his lap where she settled with a reproachful huff.“We have work to do.”
He poured his Perrier, always with two lime wedges and a generous measure of ice.The ritual was as important as the beverage itself.He was years sober now, though the thirst never truly left.It lived in his chest where his grief did, manageable but ever-present.
He wiped condensation from his fingers on the linen napkin he kept folded beside his workspace.Small civilities, Gita used to say, made the difference in quality of life.
He’d been notified by Paula about an imminent team meeting; it was perfect timing as he’d been readying to check in with Sophie about a plan for the investigation today.The case intrigued him—not just the puzzle of it, but the way it seemed to be pulling Sophie into dangerous emotional territory.
The video conference window opened, revealing Sophie in the Security Solutions conference room.Her style was sophisticated today and highlighted how uniquely beautiful she was.
“Bonjour, Pierre,” she said.
“Bonjour, Sophie.May I say, that blouse is very good on you?”Pierre cocked his head.The silk caught the light, its deep blue tone setting off her golden skin.“You should wear it more often.”
“I will, now that Sean isn’t spitting up on everything.”She smiled, touching the V-neck of the fabric.“Merci.”
Marcus Kamuela joined next, his massive shoulders making the video frame look cramped; the HPD detective filled any space like a force of nature.“Hey,” he said, his casual greeting at odds with tension visible in his mouth and jaw.
FBI Special Agent Marcella Scott appeared last.Even in a black suit, wearing no makeup and with her hair scraped back in a bun, the agent was a stunning woman: all cheekbones, flashing eyes, sensuous lips.“Good morning, all.”She and Marcus exchanged a nod, the only indication the pair were married, before she turned to Sophie.“Nice to see you, Sophie.It’s been a while.”
These people had history—shared cases and long friendships that formed a complex web where the professional and personal were inseparable.Pierre sipped his Perrier, the bubbles sharp against his palate, content to wait and see how his role intersected with theirs.
“Glad each of you could make time for this meeting.”Sophie’s voice was steady despite tension around her eyes.She pulled up a file and shared it to their screens.“I’ll dive right in with my news.The antiquities burglaries at the Palace and the museum aren’t just high-end theft.They’re connected to the Yam Khûmk?n.”
Pierre’s eyebrows rose as Lisette kneaded his thigh through his linen trousers.Marcus shifted uncomfortably, his bulk making his office chair creak, as he frowned.
Marcella leaned forward with focused attention.“The Thai organization?”Marcella’s voice was sharp.“Are you sure?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”Sophie clicked through some images of code that were meaningless to Pierre.“The level of expertise and a digital signature ...”she paused, seeming to choose her words, “...also, confirmation from a reliable source.All point to a splinter faction of the group being involved.”
Reliable source.Pierre’s chest tightened.That meant she had to have talked to her former lover Connor Standish about the case.
He took another sip of Perrier, catching the lime slice in his teeth and letting its sourness ground him.
He was Sophie’s colleague and her friend.The fact that he dreamed sometimes of her laugh, of the way she moved—that was his burden to carry.
