S.O.S. Wiley Read online

  And where did that leave her? Unable to fall asleep, unable to concentrate on her little puzzle, jonesing for the freaking clock to move faster.

  When her cell rang, she put the box on the bedside table and picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Beauty,” Wiley’s soft voice sent goose bumps immediately skimming over her skin. “I’m having trouble getting to sleep. I needed to say good night.”

  Solina wouldn’t admit that she’d been having the same problem, so she called him out. “Oh dear, Wiley. You just broke our rule.”

  “What rule?” He sounded confused.

  “You know. The three reasons for a call. End of the day, good news or trouble.”

  He chuckled. “Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I clearly remember stating it was before we went to sleep, not necessarily at the end of the day. And neither of us is asleep yet.”

  “It was good timing, actually,” she admitted, yawning. “I’m giving up on that little puzzle box for the night and hitting the hay.” Solina had told him all about the frustrating puzzle. “Unless you want to start debating again.” She warmed from within. “Or I can just tell you I miss you already and say good night.”

  “I pick door number two.” His voice dropped an octave. No man had ever sounded sexier to her. “Sweet dreams, Solina. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t wait, Wiley. Good night.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pietro picked up the phone. It’s about fucking time. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “Good news, boss. The computer wasn’t even protected with a password. Nobody will know that we broke in and got the buyer’s name,” his man said. “The box was bought by some lady who lives less than an hour south of here. You want us to go pick it up?”

  Pietro looked at the clock. Four in the morning. By the time his guys got there, did a survey of the place and broke in, the woman might be waking up, especially if she had a job in Boston. People got up fucking early these days to beat the rush-hour commute. And he needed to avoid all contact with the woman. The last thing he wanted was his guys getting surprised by her. He laughed darkly. Then he’d have to take her, along with the box, and have two women in the basement…at least until he could dispose of the new one.

  “Not tonight,” he ordered. “But find her house and have a quick look around. Then you’ll know what to expect when I send you out Friday night.”

  “Friday night?” his guy questioned. “Not tomorrow night?”

  “No. We’ve got a shipment coming in tomorrow and I need everybody here.”

  “Got it, boss. Don’t worry. We’ll scope her place out so it’ll be a quick job on Friday. You’ll have that box in your hands in no time.”

  “I fucking hope so,” he snarled and hung up. Dammit.

  The longer that box was out of his possession, the more likely something could go wrong. But he had a large supply of product coming in tomorrow, which would have to be cut and packed so it would be ready for delivery on Saturday.

  Leave it to his fucking sister to screw things up. He wished he could kill the bitch, but his hands were tied by his dead, asshole father. Well, fuck her. He’d keep her alive and hidden away for the rest of what he hoped would be a long, tedious life.

  ****

  Once again, Pietro’s pacing and cursing had Mary on alert. He remained unhappy, which had to be good for her. Another day, another possibility that someone might find her note.

  She had a lot of time to think about her brother and her situation. She knew he dealt drugs, although she was unsure what kind. But Mary wasn’t stupid. It couldn’t be anything as innocent as marijuana. Her guess would be either cocaine or heroin. There would be a lot of money in it. That, along with having additional money to “invest” by stripping her and the house of all funds, meant more profit for him.

  If Pietro reached a point where his illicit drug dealing made him rich in his own right, would he care about Mary’s fortune? Would he cease to need her alive? She couldn’t know the answer to that, but which would be better? A swift end a few years from now, or a long life of incarceration? She couldn’t imagine looking at these four walls for what might be twenty or thirty more years, yet she’d never consider suicide to end her isolation.

  Mary had been brought up a good Catholic, attending a school run by nuns, and knew that suicide meant eternal damnation and no Christian burial. Not that anyone would ever find a body to bury, knowing her brother, but the damnation thing would keep her from performing the final act. And her brother knew that. He didn’t fear giving her things normally used to facilitate death…except sharp knives. He kept those away from her. Smart man. She was pretty sure the Lord would look the other way if she had to stab someone in pursuit of her freedom, and her brother knew she had the backbone to do it. So he’d only given her plasticware. Mary kept hoping someone in the kitchen would make a mistake that would render her armed. She had nothing but time.

  She lay back on her bed and contemplated Pietro’s dysfunctional personality for the millionth time. Her father had once given her a reason for the way Pietro turned out. He’d pretty much told Mary it had been his fault. Early on in his married life, he had the brilliance and obsession to amass a fortune starting his own pharmaceutical company―she thought it ironic that her father pushed drugs legally to make his money, while her brother had gone the opposite route―and ignored his young wife.

  Mary’s mother, who she remembered as a nervous, fluttering, bird-like woman, hadn’t fared well with a huge household to run. Apparently, after she birthed Mary, she resorted to alcohol as a crutch. In his later years, her father fully regretted bringing Eileen O’Sheghnessy into his life. By the time he’d figured out the extent of her anxiety and her alcohol dependency, she’d already imbibed her way through her second pregnancy with Pietro.

  Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, her father said, remained a possibility.

  As an adult, she’d researched the condition and found that it fit some of her brother’s personality disorders. As he grew, the dangerous aspects of his temperament became apparent. His poor judgment manifested early, but most unsettling of all was his lack of remorse for evil deeds. The most heinous of those acts being the one that left her mute. That alone had led her to think her father’s uncorroborated diagnosis had some merit.

  Her mother had escaped the hell of Pietro’s childhood by drinking herself into an early grave. And without unconditional love and guidance, her brother, whatever his syndrome was, progressed unchecked. A cohesive, loving home might have kept the worst of his traits at bay.

  Mary sighed and offered up a prayer for her misguided brother. Unfortunately, it was all moot now. There was nothing that could be done for either of them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wiley whistled as he entered the offices of S.O.S. “Morning, Mizzay,” he chirped to the petite receptionist.

  She raised her head and regarded him with huge eyes from behind large, owlish glasses. “My, my. Someonezinna good mood this morning.”

  Wiley beamed. “It’s sunny, the snow on the ground still looks clean and vacation starts tomorrow morning. What’s not to like?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not why he’s smiling.” Prez came up behind Wiley and put an oversized hand on his shoulder, jostling him playfully. “I’m guessing his big-ass grin means he got lucky last night.”

  Wiley screwed up his face to answer, but Mizzay beat him to it.

  “Now, Mr. Balshir. Itznot nice to tease Mr. Prancingdeer about his love life,” the receptionist chastised.

  Wiley waited. He knew the snarky woman had more to say.

  “If he’s found someone who’ll put up with his warped sense of humor, inflated ego and childlike qualities, youz shouldn’t discourage him from dating.” Her tongue-in-cheek speech had Wiley chuckling, while Prez howled at the lovingly issued insults.

  The rest of the team―as well as the boss―walked through the door just in time to hear the end of her speec
h.

  “Shouldn’t discourage him from seeing who and doing what?” Sarge asked, his nose buried in his ever-present laptop.

  “From punching anybody who has misogynistic things to say about my new girlfriend, Solina,” Wiley warned.

  “Oh. So you’re calling her your girlfriend now.” Sarge nodded, still not looking up. “And you still don’t want me to do a background check on her? See if there are any skeletons in her closet?”

  “Her closets are just fine,” Wiley rebuked, but softened his response with a smile. He knew Sarge and the guys always had his six, but no backup was needed here. “She and I had a long conversation last night.” He waited to see if Prez had anything sarcastic to add before continuing. “And I’m pretty sure I know everything about her. But thanks for the offer.”

  Sarge shrugged. “No problem.” He walked down the hall to the conference room where they always started their day.

  “Let’s go, guys. We have a bunch of things to wrap up today before we close down for a week.” Del shook his head. “I’m still not sure it’s a good idea, but we’ve all been working crazy hours and could use the break.”

  “And don’t forget, Mr. Songen,” Mizzay called down the hallway after them. “I’m havin’ all the phone traffic rerouted to my home, so I can apprise you of any situation needing immediate attention while youz are out of the office.”

  “For which you’ll get a nice, fat Christmas bonus later today, Mizzay,” Del answered with obvious relief in his voice. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “Sit around with your thumbs up your asses,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Now, getcherselves to work. I got things to do.”

  Wiley and the team filed into the sun-drenched conference room and took seats around the table.

  “It looks like most everything can be wrapped up today.” Del consulted his notes. “You all know where you have to be?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Great. The only ongoing investigation is regarding the, once again, missing Afghani exchange student who manages to come and go regularly, off her concerned parents’ radar. It doesn’t need to be a priority until we come back from vacation because, if her pattern holds true, she’ll return after the semester break.”

  Wiley nodded. The young woman had been vanishing with regularity. So far, nobody could figure out where she went. Their best guess was that she’d been carrying on a love affair with a fellow student, but now that Wiley had heard Solina’s story, he couldn’t help but wonder if the young lady was just tired of being under the constant scrutiny of her parents.

  “We may have been going about this all wrong, boss, looking at the male students with whom she’s come into contact,” he offered. “Solina’s parents were overbearing, and until she became financially independent, they controlled every aspect of her life. Perhaps this young lady is simply rebelling and has friends willing to hide her.”

  Del pulled a few papers out of his briefcase. “That could be the case, but we need to find out. If we could translate these…” He waved them around, “we might be able to get more answers.”

  “What are they?” Sarge asked, looking up briefly from whatever Internet search he was running.

  “Some notes she left around her room, all written in Pashto,” Del answered. “Which makes it difficult to know if they’re important.”

  Sarge shrugged. “It will take me a while to input all the symbols for a translation on a Pashto to English site, but I can certainly do it.”

  Del held out the notes, but Wiley interrupted.

  “Uh, Del?” He didn’t know if he’d be out of line with his suggestion, or even if it would work, but he had to give it a shot.

  “Yeah, Wiley. Speak up.”

  “Well…” He swept a hand through his hair. “Solina spent a number of years in Pashto-speaking countries. She might be able to translate.”

  Del sighed, lowering the papers. “All well and good, Wiles, and no offense, but you’ve only known her for little more than a week. We’d need to have more background information on her before we give her private documents.”

  “Not a problem, boss,” Sarge piped up. “I’ve run a search.”

  Wiley’s eyes opened wide. “You what?! You son of a bitch. Who gave you fucking permission to do that?”

  Sarge shrugged, unrattled. “Just keeping an eye out for you, Wiley. I did the same with Bri and Mayg when those guys started dating.” He crooked his head at Del and Prez.

  “You did?” the pair chimed in with raised voices.

  “Of course.” Sarge still wasn’t ruffled. “Someone has to look out for you yahoos when you’re thinking with your dicks.”

  Del growled, Prez pounded a fist on the table, but Wiley took a deep breath. He reminded himself that Sarge never meant to overstep. He was just a little socially inept. He really believed he wasn’t stomping on anybody’s toes.

  Wiley relented first. “Okay, fine. What did you find out?” He figured there couldn’t be anything more than he’d already been told.

  “Well, to begin with, she has security clearance from any number of embassies, so that makes her capable of handling classified information.” He gave a significant pause.

  “And?” Wiley prompted.

  “And, uh…”

  Shit. That tone of voice didn’t sound good.

  “Just spit it out, Sarge,” he grumbled.

  “Okay. It looks like your girlfriend is already engaged, Wiley.”

  “What?” Wiley leaped to his feet. “That’s not possible,” he spluttered. “She’s not like that. She would have told me.” The denials felt right on his tongue, but damned if he could be sure. He wasn’t going to wait around for answers, either.

  As the guys watched, he punched in her number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Couldn’t get me off your mind, huh?” she asked, a smirk in her voice. “Or do you have good news?”

  He ignored the tingle in his body her happy voice evoked and went on the offensive. “Are you engaged?” he snarled.

  A short silence met his question and his gut twisted, waiting for her answer.

  “This is William Prancingdeer, is it not?” Solina replied coldly. “The same William Prancingdeer with whom I agreed, just last night, to attempt a relationship?”

  “You know it is, Solina. Cut the bullshit and just tell me.”

  “I’m not sure why you’d ask me this, William,” she snapped. “But the answer is no, I am not engaged.”

  Wiley’s shoulders relaxed a small amount, but he needed clarification. Ignoring Solina for a moment, he turned to his buddy. “Sarge, what’s the guy’s name?”

  “Sai Basu.”

  “Then who is Sai Basu?” Wiley asked Solina in a slightly more civil tone.

  More silence, then an eruption.

  “Oh, my god! You have got to be kidding me!” She sounded incredulous, furious. “They did not fucking… Argh!”

  Now Wiley was concerned. “Solina, calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

  She didn’t answer him as she put the phone down and walked away, still ranting.

  “Tell me!” Wiley yelled into the phone to get her attention. He heard her heavy breathing when she picked back up. “I’m putting you on speaker so my team can hear this.”

  She gave an irate huff. “Fine. But you’re going to feel like an asshole, and I might have to hate you for even contemplating that I’m the type of person who would lie like that,” she told him icily. “Sai is someone who joined me and my parents for a couple dinners while I was in Ottawa last summer. He’s a Foreign Service Diplomat who I’m sure my parents would love to have as a son-in-law, and they―or he―have obviously lied about an engagement.” Fury was a mild word for the vitriol Solina spewed.

  “Both,” Sarge confirmed. “It seems there was a public announcement from all three at some kind of state dinner about eight weeks ago.”

  “I’m going to kill them,” Solina hissed.


  “Stand in line,” Wiley agreed. “And, Solina, I’m sorry I had any doubts.”

  “We’ll talk about it later, Wiley.”

  That sounded ominous, but at least she wasn’t calling him William anymore.

  “Now, let me ask you something.” Her words were clipped. “Why were you Internet stalking me?”

  Sarge cleared his throat. “That would have been me, ma’am,” he told her, without an ounce of remorse. “My name’s Sarge.”

  “Okay, Sarge. Spill.” She sounded less annoyed with Sarge than she had with him. Wiley wanted to cry foul, but bit back his exasperation while Solina got her explanation.

  “We have some documents written in Pashto,” Sarge explained. “They may or may not be sensitive material, so when Wiles said you might be able to translate them, I felt a background check was necessary.”

  There was a pause. “Perfectly understandable,” she finally responded. “And I can do that. So, out of curiosity, what did your search tell you?”

  “That you have top security clearance at any number of embassies around the world, which means we can trust you one hundred percent.”

  “Thanks.” She exhaled loudly. “I’m glad someone does.”

  Wiley visibly winced. Ouch. He would have to fix this one.

  Prez shook his head in Wiley’s direction, mouthing, You are so fucked. For once, he might agree with the asshole.

  “Solina, I—”

  “Wiley, just shut up. I get it. I really do. But you pushed a few of my hot buttons and I’m not sure where that leaves us right now.”

  “With a date tonight,” he growled.

  “Which is great,” Sarge interjected. “He can bring these letters with him, since I hate sending them to a non-secure computer. We’re trying to find out if this girl keeps disappearing to a boyfriend’s house or if something more nefarious is going on. Can you help?”

  Thank you, Sarge, for making her have to see me.

  “I can.” Solina sounded resigned, and his heart clenched.