“And neither do I.But we take gift horses when offered.”Pierre gave one of his Gallic shrugs, an eloquent gesture that somehow conveyed understanding, resignation, and subtle disapproval.
The Frenchman had never made a secret of his reservations about Connor and the Yam Khûmk?n.He said he’d seen too much of the damage they could do, understood too well the grey areas they operated in.But he was a pragmatist, understanding the sometimes-necessary compromise between ideals and reality.
A bus rumbled past, its diesel engine loud enough to pause conversation.Sophie watched it go, noting the advertisement on its side for a luau show—smiling dancers frozen in perpetual welcome, promising tourists an authentic Hawaiian experience.
Everything here in the islands was made up of layers of truth and performance, history and commerce, beauty and practicality.
Marcus’s SUV pulled up to the curb, saving Sophie from having to say more on the topic of accepting Connor’s help.
The vehicle was spotless despite the demands of his job—Marcus took pride in the details, always had.She got into the front, grateful for air-conditioning that immediately battled the morning humidity.Sophie adjusted her leather seat to her long legs and buckled up as Pierre settled in back.
“Iolani Palace next?”Pierre asked, confirming their plans with typical thoroughness.
“Yes,” Marcus confirmed.“You can see where the stolenkahilistaff used to be.Its twin still remains.”
“Don’t you think that’s odd?”Sophie asked.“Why would they only take one?”
Marcus shrugged a big shoulder.“Why anything, in this case?”
“I want to see their security setup, compare it to what we found at Bishop.”
As Marcus pulled into traffic, Pierre touched Sophie’s shoulder.
“About Connor’s offer?—”
“Can we not discuss him anymore?”Sophie interrupted, then softened her tone.“Sorry.I need to focus on the case and not waste attention on Connor’s attempts to maintain relevance in my life.”
“Marcella told me you two broke up,” Marcus observed.“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I’m not,” Sophie said, and folded her arms across her chest.
She caught the glance Pierre exchanged with Marcus in the rearview mirror.They were worried about her, these two men who’d become unexpected supports in her complicated life.
Noted.
Nonetheless, she hadn’t asked for it and she was handling things fine on her own.The CEO’s desk at Security Solutions and her role as a single mother weren’t easy to balance but she had everything under control.
Sort of.
Sophie turned her head deliberately to watch the scenery outside.
Behind them, the Bishop Museum stood solid and dignified, guardian of treasures and secrets alike.Its coral block walls seemed to glow in the morning light, and Sophie found herself thinking about permanence and change, about things that endured and others that crumbled.
The museum had stood for over a century, protecting Hawaii’s heritage through kingdom and territory and statehood, through wars and economic booms and devastating storms.It would outlast them all—the thieves, the investigators, probably even the memory of this strange case.
But for now, it was her responsibility to protect the treasures it held.Her skills, her determination, her refusal to let the past dictate the future—these were her tools.
The men filled the silence with discussion of a recent soccer match—football, as Pierre insisted on calling it.Sophie half-listened to their debate about offensive strategies and referee calls until her phone buzzed again.This time it was a photo from Armita—Momi and Sean at the kitchen table, faces smeared with what looked like mango, grinning at the camera.The simple domesticity of it made her chest tighten with fierce love.
She would solve this case on her own terms, with her own team.Connor could keep his help—and his distance.That’s what he’d chosen when he’d walked away, when he’d decided that power mattered more than the tentative future they’d been building.He didn’t get to waltz back in now, playing puppet master from that jungle throne where he’d taken up residence.
Even so, Sophie found herself rubbing the spot on her inner arm where Connor had implanted a tracking chip years ago.The scar was barely visible now, just a tiny line that could have been anything.That chip had saved her life once—though not Jake’s.It had been too late for Jake by the time Connor found them in that overflowing lava tube ...
The technology was probably obsolete now, but she’d never had the chip removed.
Some reminders were worth keeping, if only to remember the cost of them.
Marcus navigated through downtown traffic with the ease of long practice, weaving between delivery trucks and tourist rental cars.The city flowed around them—businesspeople heading to late morning meetings, tourists clutching maps and phones, locals moving with the unhurried purpose of people who understood that in Hawaii, everything happened on island time.
