by Matt Lincoln
“Yes, sir,” the officer answered.
She hauled Shaggy out to her car, and I followed. He tried to give her trouble as she got him into the back seat, partly because of his finger, I figured, but she handled him just fine. Before she shut the door, I leaned in.
“Last chance,” I told him. “Who are you, and who are you working for?”
“I want a lawyer.” After that, Shaggy kept his damn lips sealed and eyes forward.
I had to trust that the Marshals would keep him out of contact from his boss long enough for us to find Ronnie. Otherwise, this would be another nail in her coffin, and possibly mine, too.
CHAPTER 16
Sadie loved true crime and forensics shows. Science had always fascinated her, but it was never in the cards for her to go to college. Sure, she had the grades and work ethic, and it wasn’t that she couldn’t pay to get in…
No, it wasn’t any of that. It was that she’d allowed her mother’s voice to get into her head. She’d only begun to think she could have gone into one of the fields that intrigued her after graduating paramedic school.
Forensics was one of the areas she would’ve loved to study.
“I brought what I could from Miami,” Bonnie said as she showed Sadie around. “Other supplies are from secondhand dealers on Oahu. We’re going to get this lab up and running in a limited fashion for now. What Jo can’t handle here can be done at the state police headquarters.” By her long-suffering sigh, one might have thought Bonnie was the one who had to deal with limited resources. “Little Jo will have to make do, but I believe she can handle it.”
“Where is this ‘Little Jo’?” Sadie asked.
Bonnie pointed to a defunct kitchenette. A pixie-like person popped into sight while wearing goggles. She pulled them down to hang around her neck, where she wore a studded collar. Her vivid blue hair fitted the black pants and band shirt. Black lipstick and eyeliner pulled the look together.
“What’s up? I heard my name.” She came out from behind the counter. “I’m working with some chemicals back there, so you might not want to go bake cookies.”
Bonnie raised a brow and grinned. “I do believe that’s the most I’ve heard you speak. I like your sense of humor.” She turned to Sadie. “Jo, this is Sadie. Sadie, this is Jo.”
“Josephine Kahale,” Jo said with a nod. “And yes, I go by ‘Jo,’ without an ‘e.’”
Sadie wondered if Jo deliberately went for the Anne of Green Gables reference, although Anne was with an ‘e.’
“Good to meet you,” Sadie said after a moment. “You’re a forensics tech?”
“I am.” Jo pursed her black lips for a second. “You seem surprised.”
Sadie thought fast. “You have such a great look that I would’ve thought you were too young. I love it.”
She really did. The look wasn’t for her, but some people rocked it. Jo was one of those folks.
“Thanks, I think,” Jo muttered. “So, I heard you might be around, and that you like to rehab stuff. This place is a wreck. We can fix it, Sunshine.”
Nobody had called Sadie “Sunshine” before. She found she didn’t mind, as she loved being in the sun. Her looks and personality sometimes made her feel like she was fueled by a little too much sunlight sometimes.
“Sounds fun,” Sadie admitted. She thought about her actual project and tried not to cringe. “I have to finish the work on my house, though. It’s not as bad, but I still have some minor issues.”
“You’ll figure something out,” Bonnie said in a cheerful tone. “If you want in on the rehab, talk Meisha. There might be a way to work it out.”
“Doesn’t your agency cover that work?” Sadie asked. “How does a federal agency buy an old building like this and not fix and modernize it?”
She looked up at more dropped ceiling. It ran the length of the former dormitory. Some panels had water and mildew stains, a few showed cracks, and one had a dart hanging from it. On the wall nearby was a circle of clean white paint, while the rest of the wall was a grungy gray with tan areas. The faint smell of tobacco lingered here and there.
“How does the Pentagon drop the ball? That is the question you need to ask.” A pale, slightly chubby man carried a box of electronic equipment out of a storage room at the other end of the floor. He set the box on a folding work table that looked like it came fresh from a big-box home-improvement store. A laptop and parts to a desktop took up half the table.
“This is where you’re going to set up your network or whatever?” Sadie was curious about how that would work in the same space as a lab.
“Nah. I’m getting a prelim setup for this week. That empty room over there will be the secure space once we get it cleaned out and better cooling.” He smiled. “I’m TJ, by the way, and I just survived the longest plane trip of my life.”
Bonnie laughed. “Only because I held your hand.”
“By giving me drugs to knock me out.”
“Hand-holding comes in many forms, my friend.” She patted TJ on the shoulder and then turned to Sadie. “Do you carry sedatives on your rig?”
“Only when I need to,” Sadie replied before turning to TJ. “Nice to meet you, TJ. I’m Sadie, and I live a few blocks away.”
TJ’s eyebrows went up, and his eyes widened. “You’re the one who found the Dragon’s Rogue journal. I saw a picture of the model in the library. Who made that? It’s brilliant.”
Sadie’s breath caught. That model was special in more ways than she could count.
“My uncle made that,” she told him. “My dad’s sister, my Aunt Judy, she married Uncle Okelani in the eighties. She passed from cancer when I was a kid, but Uncle Oke stayed in touch with my family.” Sadie hugged herself. Uncle Okelani had been her only champion at times when she needed it the most. “That ship was his last project. He was a woodworker and created amazing art.”
Bonnie stepped close with a depth of kindness found when one person recognized the pain in another. “How long ago did you lose him?”
Sadie took a shuddering breath and found a chair. “Last month, and I was right outside the house helping with the garden. I knew I couldn’t have done anything even if I’d been by his side, but it still… Yeah.”
“That happened with my tutu,” Jo said. She sat next to Sadie. “My grandmother was a joyful woman. We had a family barbeque, and we thought she fell asleep in her favorite chair. It’s hard.”
“Wow,” TJ said, his cheeks and ears turning lobster red. “I’m so sorry. It’s a beautiful piece, and I’ll remember this if I get to go see it.”
“You should.” Sadie straightened and smiled. Not that she’d admit it, but she dug that someone else there was as easily embarrassed as she got. “Uncle Oke also did some of the carvings at the library.”
“Hey, all.” Abbie Stark entered from the stairwell with a tired but determined expression. “I’m done with reports. Who wants to get food? Sadie, you’re invited, too.”
Sadie noticed TJ’s ears go red again when Abbie arrived. She wondered if there was a story behind that.
“I could use dinner,” Sadie admitted. The swim with Ethan had used up plenty of energy. Bonnie, Jo, and TJ also agreed. “Do you guys want local or chain food?”
They launched a discussion about the merits of Sadie and Jo’s recommendations when Meisha ran in and slammed the fire doors shut.
“Kill the lights and help me block the doors,” she hissed. “Someone text message Ethan that we have intruders with assault weapons. He keeps his phone quiet, and those two need a heads-up.”
Sadie burst into action and helped the others move the heavy lab tables to the doors. Her heart raced as her active shooter training kicked in. Even so, the first rapid shots downstairs made her stomach twist.
“Get to the back room,” Meisha whispered. “Walk as quietly as you can.”
The floors wouldn’t stop the kind of bullets used with assault rifles. Sadie remembered more than she wanted about the level of destruction AR bull
ets caused. She hoped to never see those kinds of injuries… especially not that evening.
During all this, Jo froze in the middle of the large room. Sadie took Jo’s frigid hand and tugged. Meisha got Jo’s other hand. They led her to the backroom as bullets from downstairs blew puffs of flooring and dust into the living quarters. A short line of bullets passed too close, and Sadie tightened her grip on Jo’s hand.
Gunfire sprayed up through the fire pole opening, and bullets clanged against the pole itself. Meisha, Sadie, and Jo got to the storage room and secured the thick metal door. Sadie prayed the gunmen wouldn’t break in upstairs. Jo trembled in a corner behind an empty rack. TJ and Abbie huddled in another corner as Abbie cradled her hand with a fierce glare. Meisha kept a hand over her opened holster.
Sadie heard muffled yelling but couldn’t make out the words. She didn’t recognize the voice. When it stopped, the gunfire resumed.
“I think they’re just in it to shoot up the place,” Meisha whispered so low that Sadie barely heard her. “If they were looking for people, they wouldn’t be wasting time and bullets like this.”
“Unless they found Ethan and the other guy,” Sadie whispered back.
They were down there, and that scared her more than anything. He and that Davis guy were armed. The AR bullets hadn’t made it all the way to the rear of the building so far. Could the MBLIS guys be holding them off? Or were they already down? Sadie had to switch mental tracks before she drove herself crazy.
“How did you get up here without them getting you?” she asked in Meisha’s ear.
“Luck. Dumb, stupid luck. I saw them from a window when I went to see something else. I don’t even remember what. They jumped out of a van that rolled up into the parking lot. That’s when I ran up here.” Meisha punched her thigh with her left fist. “There were four or five, and I couldn’t take them like that. I hope Ethan and Kyle got out.”
Abbie snorted from the other side of the room. “Since when does Ethan back down from a fight? I bet Davis is the same way.”
As if on cue, Sadie heard single shots like from handguns. Rifle fire answered.
“That’s them,” Meisha said. She half rose, and her fingers twitched at her hip. “They better make it quick or their asses…” Meisha stopped in that line of thought and then sat back. “They’ll handle it.”
All gunfire ceased within seconds of the handguns’ involvement. Sadie hugged her knees close and prayed that the firefight was over and that the good guys had won.
Nobody so much as stretched during the awful silence that ensued. Sadie heard her own breath louder than she thought possible. If someone were to sneak up to the storage room, she was sure they’d hear her breathing even with the steel door shut.
Meisha’s phone vibrated once. She took one look at the text and sagged against the wall. With a barely perceptible finger movement, she closed the snap on her holster.
“I’m going out, but you all need to stay put until I say otherwise.” Meisha pointed at Abbie. “This includes you. No heroics, Stark.”
Everyone in the room nodded, except Abbie. Her glare was colder than space, but like the others, she kept still and as hidden as possible. Since she was next to the door, Sadie leaned to the side and peeked around the corner. She watched Meisha approach the fire pole opening and stop several feet away.
“Are we clear?” Meisha called down. She took a large step back and listened.
“Stand by. Keep your heads on swivels.”
That was Ethan’s voice, and relief soothed Sadie’s frazzled nerves. Two other speakers, maybe three, spoke, but like before, she couldn’t make out the words. All she knew was that the threat seemed to be over, and Ethan was okay.
“Do they need a medic?” Sadie called out in a soft tone.
Meisha waved off the question. “Our people aren’t hurt. Stay put.”
Sadie wondered about the gunmen. Bad guys or not, if they were hurt, they required care. Unless they were dead. The wait ate at Sadie. Her career was built around helping people in need. When she had to wait at scenes where police went in first, it was hard not to pace or run in.
“Let’s get that other door open,” Meisha ordered. “Then down the stairs and straight outside to the parking lot.” She touched Sadie’s arm. “They don’t need your help. There is one survivor, and they’ll make sure he gets what he needs. What you need to focus on is giving a report to HPD.”
Sadie helped unblock the doors. Ethan’s friend, Robbie Holm waited there for them.
“Meisha, Ethan is asking for you and Stark,” Robbie announced. “I’m taking everyone else outside.”
Sadie and the others did as instructed. They had to go out the back door, down the hall from the training room. She didn’t get so much as a glance at Ethan, but hearing his voice in the middle of the acoustic chaos kept her heart from leaping up into her throat. Jo had settled and went with Sadie and TJ with no trouble.
The next few hours brought questioning and the writing of a report. That much she was used to. Report-writing had somehow become a larger part of her paying job than she’d expected. Since she didn’t have a front-seat view of the shooting, her statement was short and less than sweet. Unfortunately, she was interviewed by several agencies, and that took far more time than she thought it should.
By the time Sadie was cleared to go, the crowd of neighbors was breaking away. She found her chance to slip over to her car and drive home.
Later, as she tucked in for the night, Sadie wondered what case MBLIS could be working that bought a squad of gunmen to spray bullets around a repurposed firehouse. Even stranger was that they hadn’t tried to kill everyone upstairs or downstairs. She was no expert on criminal undertakings, but even she understood there was a good chance the attackers hadn’t planned to take them out so much as frighten them.
If that was the case, then it was a job well done.
CHAPTER 17
The next morning, Holm only complained from his side of the hotel room once as I got up early for the meeting Davis and I had with Jones. My buddy had never appreciated being woke up before absolutely necessary and definitely not if he wasn’t included in the action.
For my role as an antique buyer, I wore khaki pants, a mauve polo shirt, and boat shoes. The cuffs on the pants flared a little to accommodate the ankle holster where I kept my Glock. It was smaller than the Sig I usually carried, but it’d never let me down. For an added touch, I spiked my hair with some gel to get the rich playboy look. That’s what I got for putting off my haircut for the so-called vacation.
“Go get ’em,” Holm mumbled into his pillow as I walked to the door. “Hooyah.”
“Hooyah, brother,” I answered. “She’s still out there, Robbie. That woman’s a fighter, and we all know it.”
He didn’t make a sound, but I knew he heard me. I couldn’t say I wouldn’t act the same way if the roles were reversed.
Davis picked me outside the hotel lobby. The Corvette hummed as the engine idled, and I sank into the leather seat. I could stand to have a leather aroma like that greet me every day. My 1970 Ford Mustang Mach 1 back home had leather seats, but whatever scent they offered was long gone.
“We’re stopping at my friend’s exotic car dealership,” Davis told me. “He has something for you to borrow.” He shifted into gear and took us out of the hotel’s parking lot. Once on the street, he went from second to fourth in a smooth acceleration that felt like hot butter. “Whatever you do, take care of this car he’s loaning you. Don’t scratch it.”
I leaned my head back. People always assumed I was going to scratch cool vehicles. It had started with my boss warning me not to scratch this or that, and it exploded from there. I sometimes wondered if the inside joke was spread on purpose or if I truly had a destructive vibe. The scratch on the department plane was barely noticeable, and the bomb-detecting robot detected a bomb. How was that my fault?
“I’ll be careful,” I promised. “What’s he letting me drive?”
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br /> “A Ferrari. The only reason he’s doing this is because he owes me a huge favor.” Davis tore down the highway. “Make sure you get into character before the meeting with Jones, Mr. Alec Dalton.”
“Yeah, I got it.” I stared out the window as we passed glimpses of the ocean. “This one has different stakes, Davis. I don’t make a habit of screwing things up, and I don’t plan to start with this situation.”
“I get that, Marston.” He sighed. “It’s just that your reputation precedes you, and given the personal nature of this case, well, you worry me.”
Davis slowed and turned off the road and onto a side road that led to a meticulously kept sales lot with two rows of the highest-end automobiles and several rows of the more common luxury cars. When I grew up, Gramps would’ve boxed my ears for calling any Mercedes or BMW “common,” and yet, between living in Miami and visiting places like Honolulu, those elite brands were part of my daily vocabulary.
“Go in, see Jerry, tell him you work with me. I’ll go now, so I get to Jones early.”
I stepped out of the Corvette. “And I’ll be ten minutes late. You’ll look sophisticated. I’ll be nuevo rich. I got it.”
“Sounds right. See you there.”
Davis’s Corvette took off down the highway and was soon out of view. I went into the dealership and met the owner, Jerry Green. He had a story to tell.
“Kyle helped me out of a situation last year,” he informed me. “This is when he was with that California office. I’m glad he’ll get to stay here now. I mean, damn, the guy was here with enough cases, I told him, you all should open an office here or something. So that’s what they did.” He pointed to his temple, which was beneath a layer of slicked-back gray hair. “They’re opening that office, and now that nice young crew can live the life. Dream the dream. Aloha and mahalo all day long until it’s time for poi and a luau. What a life.”
“That’s great, Mr. Green,” I interjected. No wonder Davis took off right away. “We appreciate you loaning out this car for our case.”