by Matt Lincoln
PROLOGUE
The first Halloween at my bar, Rolling Thunder, promised to be a crowd-pleaser. Fake cobweb hung with purple and green lights in the corners and around the bar and jukebox. The girls had gone all out, and someone may or may not have bribed a handful of young sailors in to help decorate.
One of my favorite touches was that Rhoda featured a Red Rum menu for the night. Any rum the customer wanted could be turned red with a splash of grenadine.
“You guys did a great job,” I told everyone as they gathered around my favorite seat at the counter. I tapped at a plastic spider skeleton that sat on a napkin dispenser. “You do know that spiders don’t have skeletons, right?”
“It still looks cool,” Jeff, one of the sailors, informed me with a grin. “That pop-up zombie by the door? That’s what’s not believable. They don't pop up. They dig and crawl out of the ground.” He wiggled his fingers as if that was a proof of concept.
I chuckled and shook my head. “You kids go get your costumes on. The beers will be ready when you get back.”
“And a story,” Mackenzie reminded me. She pointed to the air cast she’d earned herself a few weeks earlier while helping set up a concert at my bar. “You promised, and I’m calling in the chit.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. See you back here in a few.”
“The back room is clear,” Rhoda, my bartender and manager told me after the kids went to the bathrooms to change. “They’ll love this.”
“They better.” I laughed. “I could barely fit last night.”
I locked myself in the back room, where we stored all the napkins, straws, and crap like that. The uniform hung off a rack and reminded me of better and worse days. Just to see if I still had it in me, I timed how long it took to change. When I was done, I cleared the timer. I was getting old.
Rhoda had helpfully brought in a full-length mirror as if I needed a reminder of how I looked in my combat utility uniform in desert camo. The flak jacket had stains from places I didn’t want to think about, but it was a hell of a lot lighter without all the gear crammed into the pockets. My utility belt might not have been as cool as Batman’s, but it used to hold my life in its pouches. The pants weren’t as tight as they could’ve been. I’d been working out more since deciding to wear this for Halloween. At least I had no trouble with the boots. It’d been a while, but they felt the same as they always had… rugged and ready for duty.
I picked up my helmet and looked it over. Rhoda and the other girls had begged me to bring it in and finish the look. No, not tonight. I set it back on the rack. There were some places I just wasn’t ready to go and some stories I would never tell.
I locked up the back room and then ran my hands through my hair. The sailors’ chatter floated down the hall. Rhoda was right. They were going to love this. The thing was that the uniform brought back memories. I leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths.
After Gramps died, the SEALs were my only family. For several years, my career was everything, and I do not regret it for one moment. Even so, bad memories were a bitch.
I closed my eyes and thought about some of my favorite dives. A few deep breaths later, and I was fine. I pushed away from the wall, stood straight, and marched out to the bar.
My regular sailors were Charlie, Jeff, Mackenzie, and Ty. They were dressed as a football player, doctor, fighter pilot, and Cthulhu, in that order. I barely recognized Ty under the latex mask and shroud of fake barnacles, but I knew those red Chucks anywhere. I suppressed a grin as they chattered over their beers and didn’t notice my arrival. I planted my feet shoulder-width apart and held my hands behind my back.
“Ten-hut!”
My call rang out through Rolling Thunder, and the four costumed sailors sprang to attention. A full third of the other costumed patrons did the same, probably airmen from Homestead.
“Do you serve the United States of America Navy or the United States Air Force?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” a couple of dozen voices answered. A few in the back were already into their drinks and cracked up. I ignored them.
“Did you arrive at this establishment out of uniform to attend a party?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Rhoda stifled a giggle from her position behind the bar as I let the kids hang at attention for one moment more.
"Then get your asses out on the dance floor and have some damn fun!"
"Aye-aye!" everyone yelled, even the Air Force types. They knew whose house they were in.
The sailors and airmen laughed and followed orders. Not that they were obligated to, seeing as I was retired from the Navy and MBLIS.
“What to drink, Ethan?” Rhoda asked.
“Four Roses.” We stocked a lot of great choices, but it came down to my favorite. “Make it a double.”
I watched the costumed patrons wander to the dance floor and mingle around the tables and into the game room. It felt good to see the place hopping, even if it meant listening to all the cliché Halloween music everyone loved. I didn’t mind it, only the endless loops.
As I nursed the whiskey, I happened to glance over to the bar’s main door. A Marine fully decked out in his dress blues removed his hat and tucked it under his arm as entered. Someone a couple of inches shorter and dressed as Batman walked at his side. I recognized the Marine but had no idea who his shadow was. They approached the bar, and the Marine mock-saluted me with a grin.
“Hey, Marston,” Kyle Davis said. “I heard you own a bar now.”
“Yeah, and I heard you’ve been talking with a journalist.” I nodded toward Batman, who maintained the Dark Knight’s sulky hovering and grim set to the mouth. The jawlines looked a bit too soft to be male, but the grim set of the mouth lent a masculine air.
Davis looked over and gestured Batman forward. Or Batgirl.
“This is Chase,” Davis said. “I’ve been cleared to tell Chase about certain missions I’ve been involved with through MBLIS. We were in town, and Chase has been asking about Ronnie Holm, so I thought we’d hit you up.” He nodded at my little crew of sailors who’d stuck around for a story. “Word’s gotten around about your storytelling abilities.”
“Is that so?” I raised a brow. “You came all the way to Miami for a story?”
“We came to visit Meisha,” he told me. “Then, I heard about the bar. It’s a good look for you.” He tapped at the spider skeleton. “You know spiders—”
“I know.” I sipped at my whiskey. Four Roses was the ideal balm for autumn in Florida, which wasn’t much of the thing. “How’s Meisha?”
Davis shrugged. “Her mom is still baking. I’m sure I smelled something funny about the brownies she offered today. I pretended to eat it.”
I laughed. “Mrs. Griezmann never changes.”
I offered seats to Davis and… Batman. My fan club resituated.
“So, Ethan, I have a favor to ask,” Davis announced. I groaned as I saw it coming from a klick away. “We’d like to hear the story about when Ronnie Holm went missing.”
“Excuse me,” Mackenzie interjected. “You were going to tell us the Hawaii story.”
Davis turned and bestowed one of his megawatt smiles on her, but she didn’t seem fazed.
“Hawaii,” she said. She pointed up to the tiki above the bar. No Halloween decorations had been placed around it. “Marston promised.”
Davis laughed and turned back to me.
“Hey, Mack,” I said and leaned out to face her. “This is the Hawaii story.”
“Oh!” She pulled up one of the tables so the gathered crew could hear the telling. “Everyone, fall in,” she called.
Charlie, Ty, and Jeff found their
seats, and a handful of other patrons found spots nearby. Someone closed the doors to the patio dance floor and live DJ so the rest could hear the tale to come. Batman handed Davis a digital recorder, and he set it on the counter next to me.
“As most of you know, my partner, Robbie Holm, got hurt pretty bad in the last case I told you about.” I saw enough nods to continue. “Well, I trained up a new Special Agent while he was recovering. When it was time for her to transfer to the Honolulu office, Robbie and I flew out with her. Thing is, Robbie and I went for some R an’ R, but that trip was anything but.”
CHAPTER 1
“Alexandra!” The greeting echoed through the two-story foyer and open great room. “How good to see you.”
Ronnie smiled as though the world revolved around Yuri Volkov, an utterly average-looking man of middling height, salt-and-pepper hair, and colorless eyes. The fifty-something Russian had taken a liking to her that, she suspected, had more to do with her legs and hips than her smarts. He had a taste for the finer things in life, such as the impeccable suit custom fit to his wishes.
“Yuri, I got your message,” she said, playing it completely cool. “Has something happened?”
A woman in her shoes never wanted to get an urgent call to visit a potential patron in the middle of the night. It rarely meant more than one thing, and Ronnie did not want to play that card with the former KGB agent.
Volkov looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl, but she pretended to bask in the attention. Her cranberry gown flowed around her ankles, except where the slit exposed her leg up to the hip. Staying in character meant a little teasing and a little pushing.
“Alexandra, do you have anything to tell me?” Yuri’s accent sounded thicker than usual. A light slur suggested he’d been into the vodka he loved to tout.
“I have many things to share with you,” she said in her silkiest tone. “Is there something in particular that you want to discuss?”
A chill passed through Ronnie’s body when Yuri looked at her, pursed his lips, and tapped the lower lip with his index finger. She thought back to the day at the mall when someone had recognized her and called out her name. That was over two months ago, and those first weeks had her living on her toes every second of the day. One of Yuri’s men had been following her, and once someone called out her name, that shadow had disappeared. She’d worried that whoever had followed her would go after that agent Robbie had worked with at MBLIS, but nothing seemed to have happened.
Surely this wasn’t about that incident.
“I want to know more about you,” Yuri stated with narrowed eyes. “Tell me, Alexandra, who are you?”
Ronnie wished she had more than the folding stiletto she wore strapped to the inside of her thigh. There was no room left for imagination in her dress, let alone weaponry, but it belonged in the role she played.
“I told you who I am,” she said in a confused tone. “I’m Alexandra, and I grew up in Nebraska. Hawaii sounded a lot more fun than living in the cornfields.”
Yuri snapped his fingers, and four of his guards entered the foyer. They were armed and wore flak vests and headsets. She wasn’t as impressed with the hardware, as the guns they toted were all inferior models from an inferior brand. However, impressed or not, she was fully aware that the guns could drill holes as nasty as anything.
“I have special room for you,” Yuri informed her. “My friends will be happy to escort you and ensure your stay is… optimal.”
“Yuri, what’s going on?” she asked in a firmer tone. “I just want to go home. In my own bed.”
He rounded on her. “It is not your home, though? Is it?” His normally colorless eyes had a red tinge from the blood vessels showing in his corneas. The rest of his face turned red to match.
“Let’s not play these games any longer.” Yuri spoke at barely above a whisper. “We both know you are not who you say you are. ‘Alexandra Moore’ is no more your name than ‘Betty Boop.’ Tell me, what is real name?”
“What are you talking about?” Ronnie protested and widened her eyes. “My name is Alexandra.”
“Oh, please.” Yuri sneered. “What I know is you…” he stabbed his index finger in her direction, “you are not who you say.”
“Yuri, you’re starting to scare me.” That much was true, but Ronnie kept her fear in check, as she was trained to do. She clutched her hands to her chest, pouted a little, and kept her eyes wide open. Playing innocent was all she could do at the moment. “I thought we were going to work together.”
The Russian scoffed. “Tell me who you work for. Maybe I go easy on you. Maybe not, but it will be better for you to talk.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” She pitched her voice at a soft whine. If she had any hope of getting out of the mansion, she had to convince him she wasn’t a threat. “I’ve done all you asked.”
Yuri folded his arms across his broad chest and nodded at his guards.
“I ask real name, you do not say.” He shook his head in the way a disappointed parent might do with a rebellious teen. “You will go to special room and stay until you tell truth.”
“Don’t do this, Yuri,” she pleaded. “I’ll tell you.” She hung her head as if ashamed and prayed her alternative identity would satisfy the man.
He turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead.”
“Veronica Willingham,” she told him. “I’m from Orlando, Florida, and I just wanted to start over.” This one was close enough to the truth to maybe fool the man. As long as he didn’t look into it too deeply.
“Is this so?” He looked her in the eye. “You are telling truth about your first name, Veronica.” He gestured toward his guards. “Last name, not so much. I do not know who you work for or why you are here, but I will find out, Veronica Holm.”
CHAPTER 2
Oahu. It’d been years since I set foot on the island.
After over half a day of travel, it was great to set foot on land and know I had two weeks of some good old R&R ahead of me. Yeah, there was a little private investigating to help with for my best friend and work partner, Robbie Holm, and yeah, we were accompanying a new special agent to her assignment in Honolulu, but those jobs were small beans.
The three of us threw on hats and sunglasses as we got off the plane. We hoofed it in the sweltering air and unforgiving sunlight between the concourse and terminal. A recent movie had shown a tram between the terminal and baggage claim, but that was a joke. Instead, we packed into a shuttle bus with other passengers for the ride over. It was still hot, but at least we left the stifling exhaust fumes behind.
As Holm watched the carousel for his bags a little later, the third spoke in our wheel, newly minted Special Agent Abbie Stark, found a luggage cart and delivered it to him. He was still recovering from a vicious knife attack at the end of a recent case. It took almost eleven hours of surgery to save his life. He was happy to be alive but not happy to have so many restrictions, such as not lifting heavy items.
“I don’t need a cart,” he protested when Stark parked the cart next to him. “I’m fine.”
“Twenty pounds,” Stark reminded him. “You promised your doctors and Director Ramsey.”
Holm looked to me with a silent plea for help.
“I’m with her,” I told him. “You’re lucky they cleared you to fly with us.”
“I’m not a child.” Holm spotted a large bag that was technically over maximum weight and reached for it. “I got it.”
I nudged him aside and grabbed the bag. Nothing clinked, and the sides were dry. Those were good signs.
“Ethan…”
“Dammit, Robbie, if you want to get off of desk duty, you gotta follow instructions.” I set the bag on the cart and snagged my hard-sided suitcase from the carousel. “Once we deliver Abbie to the new office, we’re officially on PTO.”
“Fine, I’ll behave.” Holm summoned a miserable smile and looked off toward the exit. “I wonder if Meisha really saw my sister here.”
/>
“She seemed pretty sure of it,” I said. “I know they only met a few times, but that tiger lily tattoo behind her ear would’ve been hard to miss.”
Holm nodded as Stark pulled a pair of bags from the carousel. We were both worried about his sister, Ronnie. She’d disappeared from her Tampa home a few months earlier with a message that she was fine and didn’t want anyone looking for her. Around the time Holm got injured, the director of the new Honolulu MBLIS office let us know that she had seen a woman that had to be Ronnie at the local mall. When it was time for Abbie Stark to go to her new assignment in Honolulu, Holm and I joined her. Even if we found nothing to lead us to Ronnie, we’d still get some much-needed vacation time in.
I ended up pushing the luggage cart to the pickup lane. It didn’t take long to find a familiar face with flaming red hair to rival Stark’s fiery mane. A tall man with a military-style buzz cut watched with mild interest from a few paces behind Meisha Griezmann. He seemed to be there with her, but he took his time observing us before engaging.
When Stark walked up to introduce herself to Meisha, Holm and I looked at each other and started laughing. Although Meisha was more ginger and Stark more Little Mermaid, they both looked striking and dangerous.
“What?” Meisha demanded. She marched up to us as if it hadn’t been almost a year since we last saw her. “Got a problem, Marston?”
“No, no problem.” I chuckled. “I think your office will be pretty damned lively, though.”
“And they didn’t think twice about assigning a couple redheads to Hawaii,” Holm added.
Stark rolled her sky-blue eyes. That was one striking feature the two did not share. Meisha’s eyes were green, which was far more common with red hair. Seeing the two stand next to each other gave me an idea.
“Robbie, meet the Wonder Twins of Hawaii.”
“Hey, that’s enough.” This came from the man who’d been watching. “You don’t have to be rude to Director Griezmann.”
Meisha laughed. “It’s okay, Kyle. I worked with these jokers for half my career. They’re good people and better agents.”