Sophie’s heart was still pounding from their lovemaking as she rested her head on Jake’s chest. The deep thunder of his pulse filled her ear. Cool night air wafted over them, wicking away the sweat of passion.

The bedside lamp was on. Sophie enjoyed the sight of her tawny skin against Jake’s paler, tanned bulk as she stroked his chest and abs. The visual of her long fingers playing with the arrow of hair that pointed toward his narrow hips was entrancing. She slid her slim, smooth leg up and down his muscular, hairy one, liking the textures, the feel of his heat beneath her coolness.

“All the ways we’re different is so sexy,” Sophie murmured.

Jake didn’t reply, and she sneaked a peek at his face.

Sleeping, his solid jaw had relaxed. Those riveting gray eyes were closed, leaving a fan of black lashes resting on high cheekbones. A snore rumbled in his chest, puffing past lips made soft and pink from kissing.

He was adorable.

Well, too big and rugged to be adorable.

But still…so lovable. Did she love him? He deserved it.

Sophie traced the knot of a bullet hole in his shoulder. She’d been present for that one and the memory of it still made her stomach tighten. Her fingers slid over the various scars and scrapes left on his skin by a lifetime spent in vigorous, dangerous activities.

Jake wasn’t a deeply complex or spiritual man. He was a physical one, and he expressed his love, and all of his passions, with his body.

In many ways they were different. But in this one, the same.

She slept, and this time, didn’t dream.

The next morning, Sophie watched as Dr. Wilson settled herself in the overstuffed lounger she favored, a tablet on her knee and stylus poised. “It’s been way too long, Sophie.”

“I know.” Seated across from the psychologist on a low leather couch, Sophie shook her head. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since before the Akane Chang trial.”

“We’re in agreement then. No matter what’s happening in your life, you’ll make the time to come for counseling.” Wearing a wrap dress in a floral print, kitten-heeled sandals, and a casual blonde bob, the psychologist looked younger than her fifty-something years. Her keenly intelligent blue eyes searched Sophie’s face. “Something good happened recently?”

“Multiple orgasms.” Sophie’s neck and chest felt hot. “Jake and I are together. Officially.”

Dr. Wilson laughed. “Sophie, I never cease to be surprised at the things you say. Never stop being you. We’ll get to the orgasms later, but for now, I’d like to review your current symptoms and situation.”

Sophie had contacted Dr. Wilson the minute the recent Akane Chang trial on Oahu was over, trying to get an appointment, but they’d both been busy—Sophie with setting up the new Security Solutions office, and Dr. Wilson with other clients. Dr. Wilson had recommended an app for Sophie to use to track her mental state: a checklist on mood, physical feelings and symptoms, sleep, activity, and eating patterns.

Sophie took out her phone. “I’ll send this data to you from the app now.”

She forwarded it, and Dr. Wilson studied the graph on her phone. “Hmm. Looks like sleep has been a problem. Volatile affect. Stomach trouble. And overall your mood is still low. I’d say depression is being complicated by some PTSD symptoms.”

“Exactly. I keep dreaming about the bomb going off.” Sophie shut her eyes. She could clearly see her father’s apartment building’s swanky lobby where things had gone so badly wrong.

“Talk it through with me. Maybe lie down if that helps.”

“I don’t think I can lie down.” Sophie rubbed the scar on her cheekbone. She took a deep breath and blew it out, focusing to remember the series of events. “Connor brought me to the building the day before the trial. He said he’d called Hazel Matsue, the marshal I was working with on the case, to meet us there. I told him I didn’t think that was necessary; the building had security.” Sophie shook her head. “How wrong I was. I was dressed in my Mary Watson identity as I went in. Ginger was excited, recognizing a familiar place. The security guard was an old man I didn’t know. He told me I had a visitor.” Sophie shut her eyes. “I thought it was Matsue. The visitor was seated in a chair behind a decorative palm.” The story flowed out of her with her eyes closed, like seeing a movie in slow motion. “The visitor was Alika.”

Dr. Wilson sucked in a soft breath. “Oh my God.”

“Yes. I was surprised to see him. I had left him no contact information after a night we spent together in his hotel room in Hilo.” Sophie put the tips of her fingers over her eyes, holding onto darkness. “Alika seemed…different. He was dressed up and looked very handsome. Wanted to talk to me alone.”

“What was his demeanor like?” Dr. Wilson’s voice drew her deeper into the memory.

“He was nervous, I think. But trying not to seem that way. Alika’s always so calm and in control of himself. But he seemed…very determined about something. He showed his desire for me with just a few words.” Sophie felt the heat of tears filling her eyes. Wetness slid out from under her fingertips and down her cheeks. “Before we went up in the elevator the security guard told me that I had a package.” She stopped, struggling to keep her breath even, struggling to keep the tears from taking over.

“Go on, Sophie. You can do this. You need to tell this story to let its poison out.”

“Yes.” Sophie lowered her hands and blinked at Dr. Wilson, who handed her a box of tissues. “I’d slept with Alika the last time I saw him. We’d been shot at. I was hiding in his room from the killer. It was just the one time, but it changed things between us. Deepened things. We had not been intimate in all our years of knowing each other before that. But a lot of my depression and suicidal thoughts on the lava field were because I’d cut him off, for his own good, because my life is too dangerous for a civilian like him. And all that said, surprised as I was by his turning up in the lobby, I was happy to see him.” Sophie pressed a wad of tissues to her face. “I was trying not to feel all of that. Trying to remember I was still in danger. When the guard said I had a package, I was cognizant enough to stop and ask who it was from.” Sophie took a deep, steadying breath and met Dr. Wilson’s eyes. “He said it was from you.”

“What?” Dr. Wilson recoiled, a hand coming up to her throat. “No!”

“Yes. And the box was addressed to Mary Watson, so I thought it must be legitimate. You knew about that identity. You knew I would likely be going to my father’s apartment at some point. I thought the package was some therapy supplies, books or something. Ginger was making a fuss, trying to smell it. Alika took the box and walked to the elevator. ‘I’ll carry this for the lady,’ he said.”

“Oh, Sophie, I’m just sick that my name was used to gain your trust!” Dr. Wilson’s face had gone pale. “Oh no!”

Sophie continued woodenly. “I followed Alika toward the elevator, but Ginger wanted to smell the potted palm and tugged me aside. Alika was standing in the doorway reaching for the button. I was walking toward him, with Ginger in front of me, when the bomb went off.”

“Dear God. And then what happened?”

“I don’t remember much. Apparently, Ginger was thrown back into me by the blast, and it was her weight that hurt my ribs. She came out of it with just some bruises, but I went down hard and was knocked out for a while. I never saw what happened to Alika. When I came fully conscious in the hospital and asked the doctor about him, he told me Alika ‘wasn’t as lucky’ as I was, and I took that to mean he’d died.” Sophie gulped, feeling nauseous. “His poor body, all it’s been through because of me…”

“It is terrible what happened, but he is lucky to be alive if he was actually holding the device! And how was he when you saw him last?”

“I haven’t seen him again.” Sophie covered her face with her hands, hiding her shame.

“Oh, Sophie. My dear. This is why you are so haunted by this event.” Dr. Wilson set aside her tablet and leaned forward. “The attempt on your life was horribly traumatic—you were injured and betrayed in a place where you thought you were safe, by an assassin using a name you thought you could trust…and you haven’t been back to see Alika. To get closure with him.”

“I can’t.” Sophie balled her hand into fists. “I just can’t bear it. After what happened to him before.” Sophie reminded Dr. Wilson of the time Alika was attacked by Assan Ang’s henchmen. “This time, he lost an arm. I just can’t deal with seeing him. I can’t. I feel sick when I think of it.” She held a hand over her stomach. “My father and I had a fight over it, and we never fight! He called me a coward. And he was right.” Misery choked her, and Sophie hung her head.

“Sophie, the reason this is making you sick is that you know that your behavior is not…mature. You owe Alika your support, your concern, at least. He must be struggling emotionally. Losing a limb is huge.”

“Every time I think of seeing him I…freak out, as Marcella would say. But our paths may be crossing anyway, at least indirectly. Esther Ka`awai, his grandmother, is connected with a new case Jake and I are working. I dread any interaction with her, even if she never knows I was the woman in the lobby with Alika when the bomb exploded.”

“I’m not saying you have to see him in person. But you do have to reach out in some way. A phone call? What about a letter?”

“A letter.” Relief at this idea almost made Sophie dizzy. “You’re brilliant, Dr. Wilson! That I can do. And I will.” For the first time, Sophie noticed the small wooden bowl of hand-molded clay figurines resting on the coffee table in front of her, along with a tray of golden beach sand. “What’s this?”

“A projective tool some clients enjoy called ‘sand tray therapy.’ Very intuitive. You simply choose figures that appeal and set up a small scene. Sometimes insight comes to you in doing so.”

All the figures were handmade, simple bisque shapes without features, glazed in clear. Sophie picked up the tallest feminine form in the bowl. She set the woman into the sand. She chose three male figures and set them around the woman in a triangle shape.

Bile rushed up her throat suddenly, and Sophie stood up. “Where’s the bathroom again?”

Dr. Wilson pointed mutely to a small side door. Sophie ran in and slammed the door, bending over to retch into the pristine bowl.

When she was empty and had rinsed her mouth repeatedly, she glared at her wan reflection in the mirror over the sink. “You’re a terrible person,” whispered that interior voice. “A selfish coward. You should feel sick.”

A tap at the door. “Sophie, are you okay?”

“I’ll be right out.” Sophie turned on the fan. She splashed water on her face and used damp hands to scrunch her disordered curls back into shape. She’d dressed in a fresh Security Solutions “uniform” and needed to go into the office after this, but her knees felt wobbly and she was lightheaded. She opened the door to look at Dr. Wilson. “This trauma stuff is unpleasant.”

She and Dr. Wilson resumed their places. Dr. Wilson cleared her throat. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Sophie leaned back abruptly to get the support of the couch in remaining upright. “No. I mean…” She and Jake had been using condoms, but there was always a chance something had gone wrong. And that time with Alika? They hadn’t used anything! But it was just one time almost two months ago… Sophie covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes going wide. “No, surely not.”

“Well, I was reviewing your physical symptoms while you were in the bathroom, and while they’re consistent with PTSD, they’re also consistent with pregnancy. When was your last period?”

“I don’t know.” Sophie’s mind had gone completely blank. White noise filled her ears.

Dr. Wilson’s gaze was level. “I can’t recommend any medications for your depression until you rule out pregnancy. You’re a young, healthy woman in her prime who’s sexually active. This is something you need to tackle head-on. Take a test immediately. And if you’re not pregnant, get on some birth control right away.”

“I’m just upset. Traumatized. From everything.” Sophie’s lips felt numb. “I can’t be pregnant. No.”

“You have all the working parts. Just because you’ve got issues with your mother and you’ve never thought of yourself in this category doesn’t mean it doesn’t apply to you,” Dr. Wilson said crisply.

“There’s more to it than that.” Sophie looked down at her clenched hands. “But I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“Not stupid. Distracted,” Dr. Wilson said. “You must have thought about children.”

“I love children. But I never wanted to have them myself. Because Assan tried to get me pregnant. Over and over.” Sophie felt sick again. She closed her eyes, breathing through it. Another bit of nightmare from her past she hadn’t let herself remember. “Assan wouldn’t let me use birth control. I would sneak and buy contraceptives when I could get out from the apartment, but eventually gave that up when he caught me and beat me for it. Five years of being raped and used, and I never conceived.” She shook her head. “I just eventually assumed I couldn’t get pregnant. It should have occurred to me that he was the problem.”

“And thank God you didn’t, or think how hard it would have been to escape,” Dr. Wilson said. “Children are one of the many reasons women stay with an abuser. They’re used as bargaining chips to get the woman to comply and keep her in the relationship.”

Sophie nodded. “I burned incense in front of Quan Yin at our apartment, telling Assan I was praying to get pregnant…when the opposite was true. Even though he’d beat me when I got my period, I never stopped praying. And then one day I just felt my womb had closed. It would not betray me and open to him.” She looked down to see her hands folded over her abdomen. “And then I just…forgot about it. Strange, I know.”

“Dear girl. The mind does many strange things when trying to survive a terrible situation.” Dr. Wilson glanced at the clock. “We are out of time. I hate to say goodbye with this kind of revelation, but you’d best go to the pharmacy right after this and get a test. Text me when you have the results.”

The women hugged, and Sophie made an appointment for the following week with a request to get in sooner if there were any cancellations.

Out on the walkway at Dr. Wilson’s little cottage office behind the University of Hawaii campus, standing beside torch ginger plantings in the overcast light of a Hilo day threatening rain, Sophie had to grab onto a nearby railing to stay upright as emotional overwhelm crashed in on her.

She might be pregnant.