by Toby Neal
“Okay. That Kaua`i one stung, you know—you took my intel and tried to make my bust without me. I just had a crack at a witness first.”
“You know it would be different if you joined me at the Bureau. I’m on the next flight to Oahu. I’ve already alerted HPD to send a unit to pick up Taketa. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good working with you again,” Lei said, squeezing her friend back. Marcella socked her in the arm and glanced over at Stevens, who was intently watching the wrap-up in the interview room.
“Time’s a-wasting,” Marcella stage-whispered. “Quantico wants you.”
“Quit bugging me. I’ll call you.”
Rogers gestured, and Marcella set off after him at a jog—they had a plane and a crime lord to catch.
Omura appeared in the doorway of the observation booth. “Go get Magda Kennedy.”
“Yes!” Lei said, breaking into a grin echoed by Omura. Lei, Stevens, and Pono headed out at a jog.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In no time, they were on the road to Lahaina, driving fast, cop lights on as the purple truck followed Lei’s Tacoma—singed in the fire but still functional. Pono radioed ahead to have a patrol unit watch the gallery since the drive was over an hour. They careened along the swooping curves of the Pali above the crystalline ocean.
Just to be back in her truck, something familiar and totally hers, felt great to Lei, especially with her adrenaline up to catch the Kennedy woman. She glanced over at Stevens and matched his grin. The two-lane road cleared before the siren, people pulling off on the shoulders, and she put the pedal down just to remember how fast her truck would go.
She glanced in her rearview mirror. Pono’s truck was hard-pressed to follow, so she eased up on the gas. They eventually pulled up in front of the Pacific Treasures Gallery, double-parking against the busy sidewalk behind the patrol unit, who reported no movement.
Lei jumped out, instinctively touching her gun, making sure her badge was in plain sight and her cuffs tucked into her back pocket. Pono slammed the door of his vehicle and joined them on the sidewalk. They strode to the doors, which slid open with a whisper and a draft of cool air-conditioning.
Lei hurried past the Lucite sculpture that had distracted her last time, keeping her eyes on the woman across the gallery, a tall, bottled blonde in a white Grecian-styled gown.
“Where’s Magda Kennedy?”
“Who may I say is asking?”
“Maui Police Department.” Lei tapped the badge on her belt, and Pono and Stevens held theirs up.
“I’ll see if she has time to speak to you.”
“We’ll show ourselves up,” Stevens said, heading past the burled desk for the back wall, where an elevator was semi-concealed behind a shining silk screen.
“Wait!” exclaimed the woman, punching buttons on the phone.
Lei got into the small elevator beside Stevens. He punched the button marked offices.
“She’s sounding the alarm.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
The elevator slid open in mere seconds. Gleaming black marble floors led to a hallway with several doors marked sculpture, wall art, ceramics, or textiles. Lei headed for the one marked office and didn’t pause to knock. She just hit the door with her shoulder as she turned the knob and ended up staggering a few steps into the luxurious room, surprised to find it unlocked. Pono and Stevens followed, guns drawn.
A bank of windows looked out at the ocean, a sparkling turquoise contrast to the polished ebony desk and sweep of velvety dark carpet. A black Mac computer decorated the desk like a sculpture, with three small Japanese porcelain cups beneath it. Not a paper marred the surface of the desk except a single tray marked out with a manila envelope in it. mrs. corpuz was written on it in block letters with a Kahului address.
“No one here,” Stevens said.
“She could be hiding.”
“I’ll check the other doors,” Pono said, and headed out.
Lei went behind the desk and spotted a door set flush in the silk-covered walls, with nothing but the crack of an outline marking it. There was no apparent door handle. She and Stevens felt up and down the expanse.
Lei put her hands on her hips.
“I bet this has an ‘open sesame’ somewhere. The desk?”
She and Stevens pulled at the drawers—all locked. Lei took a paper clip from one of the little porcelain cups under the monitor, opened it, and inserted it into the main desk drawer, wiggling it around until she heard a click.
She opened the drawer and felt along the top under the smooth polished black wood until she felt a button. Pushed it.
The door in the wall whispered open, and a bluish glow beckoned from inside. Stevens stood to the side, gun out, waiting. He gestured with his head.
She pulled the Glock and took the other side of the doorway, Stevens covering as she sprang in.
“Police!”
A bank of computers ringed a cockpit-like half-circle table, and there, face lit by the glowing reflected technology, sat Magda Kennedy.
“It’s gone. All gone.” She looked up at them, blue eyes cavernous, seemingly unsurprised by their intrusion and drawn weapons. “She’s wiped me out.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapman, the lawyer, handed Magda a bottle of water. The woman sipped like an automaton. She hadn’t spoken a word as they took her out in cuffs and brought her back to Kahului Station, except to tell the fluttering blonde to call her lawyer as they walked her across the gallery. She’d conferred with the lawyer in private for a moment upon his arrival, and now Chapman said, “My client would like to make a statement.”
“By all means.” Lei gestured to the notepad on the table. Stevens turned on the video camera, and he came and sat beside Lei. Pono had taken up his post in the observation booth along with the captain and Lieutenant Omura.
“I am missing an employee,” Magda said, each word distinct. She ignored the notepad. “My gallery manager. She’s been my right hand.”
“Who is this?” Stevens asked.
“Her name’s Karen Walker—I count on her to run the day-to-day operations. She didn’t come in today—or if she did, she left the office early. I got a call from the gallery downstairs when she didn’t show up, which is highly unusual, as she lives in the same building as the gallery, on the top floor. I went up and checked her apartment—I have a key, as I rent the unit to her as part of her salary. Anyway, a suitcase and some clothes were missing, and it looked like she’d left in a hurry. I got worried and went down to the office. She’s done something to the computers. All our inventory is on them, and they are all just…blank.”
“Wow. That sounds serious.” Lei let skepticism into her voice. This was Magda Kennedy’s story? But—it was so far-fetched it just might be true.
“That’s not all. She cleaned out the safe.” The pride had seeped out of Magda’s voice and it trembled. She twisted one of the gold bangles around and around her wrist. “I was trying to see what she’d done when you showed up. I think she must have been doing something illegal.”
“What do you know about this?” Lei slid the white satin card over to her.
“I told you. I passed it on for a friend. It’s an escort service.”
“We’ve been through this before,” Chapman huffed.
“It’s a prostitution operation with ties to organized crime, being run by someone called Magda. We have two witnesses who can corroborate.” Lei watched Magda’s pale face go a shade whiter. She tossed back her silky black hair, a nervous gesture. She wore a dark green T-shirt and jeans, face bare of makeup, and she was still stunning. She glanced at Chapman.
“This is a nightmare. Karen set me up.”
The interview went on as they quizzed Magda on the connections to the ships, the girls, the money. She denied it all.
Omura appeared at the little wire-lined window that looked into the room and gestured. They got up.
“We’ll be back. We’re going to che
ck a few things.”
Lei and Stevens stepped out into the hall. “Yes, Lieutenant?” Stevens asked.
“This is Karen Walker.” She held up two printed color photocopies. A head shot, professionally done, of a woman in one of the Grecian-styled white dresses worn on the floor of the gallery. Tilted green eyes under straight brows stared haughtily down a blade of a nose, contrasting with a full, sensual mouth. An artful tumble of red curls framed a stunning, porcelain-skinned face. Lei suddenly remembered that face, standing at the back of the gallery the first time she and Pono had visited. She shut her eyes to remember—but the image was blurry.
She’d been so upset by that Lucite angel.
“What a looker,” Stevens said, perusing the photo. Lei elbowed him as she took her copy.
“Someone needs to take these to the two witnesses and check if this is the 'Magda’ they know. Stevens, you take this shot to Maui County Correctional, where we have the purser, and Lei, you go to the safe house and show this to the Thai girl. I’ll take over for a while.”
Omura had a smile lurking around her mouth as she headed into the interview room. Lei sighed—she hated to leave the interview, but it was actually a miracle Omura hadn’t gone in sooner. She felt almost sorry for the gallery owner as she headed for her truck. The woman’s bewilderment and betrayal had seemed genuine, and going into another round of interviews with Omura was enough to give anyone a cramp.
Lei got on the road for the safe house, glancing over at the photo of Walker on the seat beside her. They’d been so sure it was Magda all along…but in a few minutes they’d know for sure.
She drove out of Kahului on the winding country road that bordered a ravine plummeting into `Iao Valley, ascending the ridge. Lei realized that she hadn’t eaten anything all day; her stomach rumbled loudly as she popped open the glove box, leaning over and fumbling with one hand for her emergency granola bar.
The truck lurched suddenly and she banged her head on the steering wheel.
“What the hell?” The Tacoma veered dangerously close to the steel girder that was the only thing between her and space, and she yanked the wheel the other way, overcompensating, glancing into the rearview mirror.
That view had filled with the looming black shape of an oncoming SUV.
Lei straightened up and put both hands on the wheel, punching down the gas pedal as her adrenaline surged. Apparently, the hit on her was still out, even with the last assassin in the hospital.
The truck leapt forward, and Lei concentrated on the narrow, winding road, thinking ahead to the turnoff into the subdivision where the safe house was located—but she couldn’t lead the hit man there. She had to get far enough ahead to be able to pull over and get her weapon out. Even as she glanced in the rearview mirror, the SUV hit her again.
“Shit!”
This time her truck’s fender scraped the girder as she yanked it back into the proper lane, still trying to accelerate. The SUV had to have a pretty potent engine to outrun her truck, and as she spared a glance in the rearview, she saw the distinctive grille of an Escalade. Damn.
Still, she knew the road and, hopefully, the assassin didn’t. She pulled ahead, thanking God that the road continued to be empty of other cars. She was able to gain a little ground by angling straight across curves she knew were ahead, but the Escalade began gaining again as they wound down into a gulch. A turnoff was on the upside of that. Lei kept the gas pedal down, but as the truck juddered, she finally had to brake, and that’s when the Escalade hit her for the third time.
She felt the precise moment she lost control of the vehicle in the sudden looseness of the wheel. Time stretched out, each separate nanosecond recorded without meaning.
A kaleidoscope of colors. The scream of dying metal blocking thought. An impact crushing her forward, whipping her back, smothering her in white oblivion. A sense of flying. Then tumbling whiteness, followed by dark.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I barely see the silver Tacoma hit the guardrail because the momentum of its impact transfers and hauls the Escalade in its wake. I fight the wheel in the other direction. All I hear is the shriek of rending metal and the wail of the Escalade’s fender scraping along the girder. I wrestle it away with all my strength—too much. The big SUV rocks onto two wheels and spins back, jerking to a brain-jarring stop facing back down the road. The Cadillac’s engine stalls and dies with a shudder and a burp.
I squint through webbed fragments of broken light. The windshield’s broken but holding. I focus on the ragged gap in the railing straight ahead where the Tacoma went over.
That’ll fix her wagon.
A hysterical laugh bubble chokes me at the memory of a stupid saying my late unlamented mother used to use. The engine ticks, cooling, and there’s silence. My heart’s still roaring in my ears, and the fierce exaltation of taking a life surges through me.
God, I love that feeling.
I turn the key and the Escalade starts after a grind or two. Thing’s built tough; no wonder the gangsters like them. Magda’s going to miss this vehicle and report it, and I need to ditch it as soon as possible—but I want to make sure Texeira’s really gone. I pull the SUV up onto a shoulder area and step out, pulling my Sig Sauer with the silencer already screwed on out from under the seat.
I roll my shoulders. That impact’s going to hurt tomorrow. I’d felt it shudder through my body and snap my head back, enough to need a massage, at least. My legs are a bit unsteady as I walk back along the road to the gouged, torn hole in the steel girder.
I look over. The Tacoma is upside down about fifty yards down the precipice, one side of the cab wedged against a huge orange-blossomed African tulip tree. The truck’s passage has gouged and hacked a meteor-like path through the underbrush, and the vehicle is crumpled and twisted.
I feel a rumbling in the road before I see the car coming toward me, too fast, and I hug the remains of the guardrail. A shiny red Acura brakes and the window rolls down. An Asian businessman in a suit addresses me.
“You okay? What happened?”
“Looks like an accident. There’s a car down there!” My voice comes out breathless and terrified.
“Did you call nine-one-one?”
“No. I was just looking over to see what happened.”
“I’m calling it in.” Too late, I see the Bluetooth in his ear. “I’m reporting an accident. Someone’s gone off the cliff on Haulani Road.”
My exit line. I make my rubbery legs walk back to the Escalade, gun flattened against my leg where he can’t see it as he gets out of his car, running over to the cliff and exclaiming into the Bluetooth.
I get in and fire up the Escalade and pull away, leaving the businessman staring after me. He’s sure to report me now; it must seem odd that I’m leaving the scene with the drama just beginning to unfold—not to mention the crumpled front bumper, scrape marks, and broken windshield.
I hope I’ve succeeded in getting rid of Texeira—I know it’s just spite, but spite is underrated. It’s kept me going many a time. I hate losing so much that I always find a way to win in the end. This crash wasn’t as sure a thing as Vixen had been—pushing that car off the cliff in such a remote location with the ocean to finish her off was a sure thing, and I like sure things.
This whole disaster began with Vixen. Stupid little whore. I’d kill her again if I could.
I need to ditch the Escalade as soon as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lei felt consciousness gathering, pulling her back from somewhere far away and much less painful. Her eyes popped open and all she saw was white. She screamed, or thought she did—something was off with her hearing too. Another few seconds later, her brain interpreted the white as a smothering cloud of airbags deployed all around her.
Lei was upside down. She fumbled for the seat belt cutting into her shoulder. Her hand and arm responded clumsily, getting hold of the buckle and pushing it down. She dropped onto the ceiling of the cab, semi-folded around
the steering wheel. Thank God for those airbags. Her brain supplied her with images of the red-haired girl who’d started it all, crushed in the sedan off Pauwela Lighthouse, and her heart still squeezed at the memory.
Miraculously, that hadn’t happened to her. But whoever had run her off the road might still be coming.
The airbags deflated as she pushed at them. She eased her body over to the side and got onto her hands and knees, hunching in the confined space. None of her bones seemed to be broken, another miracle. She pawed through the side-door airbag to the handle, but couldn’t budge it. The window was still up and intact, blocked by some dark surface. She pushed aside the front airbag. The windshield had buckled, bent, and cracked outward, though safety glass held the gemmed, starry fragments in place.
Lei reversed herself and kicked. And kicked again. With a protesting tinkle and screech, the windshield popped out of the frame. Two more motivated kicks, and it lifted away enough for her to wriggle out, scraping her hands on glass that had fallen to the ground. She squeezed out from under the upended hood, sitting up.
Lei looked up the impossibly high incline above, the path of the truck’s trajectory marked by gashes of red soil in green growth blanketing the slope. Sirens were blaring. She hadn’t noticed them before. Clustered heads looked down at her from the blown-out gap in the guardrail.
“I’m okay,” Lei yelled, and was surprised to find she actually was.
Lei sat semi-upright on a pile of firm pillows on the threadbare couch of the safe house in the dimming light. Anchara held out a mug of tea to her.
“Thanks.” Lei sipped it, and found the dark brew surprisingly tasty—strong, milky, and sweetened heavily.
“They didn’t have any Thai kinds of tea, but I tried to make it like we do in our country.” Anchara sat at the far end of the couch, curling slim legs beneath her. “I feel bad. This my fault.”