Hawaiian Thunder (Coastal Fury Book 4)

by Matt Lincoln

  “Yeah, but these people respect me, and they’re working on the security thing. I’m going to be fine. Besides, you’re the one who said to stand up for myself. This team will let me do that.”

  He pinned me with a look. “You make sure of that.”

  I pointed to Meisha. “That’s Director Griezmann. She’s the boss. I’m going back to Miami when this mess is over.”

  Dr. George nodded. “Director, good to meet you. I instructed some of Sadie’s classes. She’s sharp and always talked about going into forensics.” He pointed to Sadie. “You be careful.”

  “I will. Good luck with Agent Holm,” she told him.

  The surgeon nodded and disappeared behind the double doors that led to the operating rooms. Time again stretched out. Meisha, Sadie, and Stark all had to go back to work tracking those bastards down. I should’ve gone with them, maybe, but the idea of there being nobody at his side when he woke was not acceptable.

  Robbie was in surgery for nine hours, which took us late into the night. That was less time than with the original injuries, but that didn’t mean he was in any better condition. I sat at his side as the anesthesia wore off in the recovery area. He didn’t stir, but his vitals were acceptable to the doctors.

  “Come on, partner,” I urged. “You’re tougher than this.”

  Various nurses and doctors came and went, and Holm didn’t wake up. I got text messages from Meisha and Davis updating me on how little progress they were making on the scene. The only hope was that Bonnie and Little Jo thought they found something interesting in the garage and in the master closet.

  “You told Davis that Ronnie’s alive.” I leaned closer to the bed. “I need more than that. What did she say? What did the Russian say? What did he do to you? I swear to God I’m going to make him pay for it. For all of it.”

  I walked with the nursing staff later when they moved Holm to a private room. The patient floor was high enough to get a view of the city as it stretched up into the mountain. Somewhere out there was the bastard and goon who had beat the shit out of Robbie Holm, and they had Ronnie Holm with them still. It felt like the world had flipped on its head.

  “Ethan?”

  I spun and went over to Holm’s bed.

  “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  “Did I lose my eye?”

  Not the question I was expecting, but it was more than fair. His left eye was bandaged with gauze that went all the way around his head.

  “Nah. It’s banged up real bad is all. They’re protecting it from infection.” I shook my head. “You took a hell of a beating, man.”

  “I FUBARed it.” His uncovered eye closed, and he took a rough breath.

  I pressed the call button, and Holm tried to push my hand away from it.

  “They made me promise to call when you—”

  “How can we help?” a voice asked over the little speaker.

  “He’s awake,” I told them.

  “We’ll be right in.”

  Holm groaned, but I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or annoyance. He didn’t have anything to say, so I sat in the armchair next to the bed. I wanted to be furious with him for going out on his own to look for Ronnie, but the reality was that if I were in the same position, I would’ve made the same choices.

  CHAPTER 30

  Ronnie had no way to find out if her brother was still alive. She stared out the car window as rain streaked the glass. The beauty of the island was faded by the gray of the persistent rain. Still, she was relieved to see something more than the sides of her cell, which were also gray. The only bit of color in her life at the moment was the floral blanket Volkov had grabbed from his sofa during their rush to get out.

  “Cheer up,” Volkov told her as he handed her a thermos of warm broth. “You make good choice.”

  She regarded her captor as he smiled over her. They were in the rear seat of a livery vehicle, and Pinky and the Brain were up front. She supposed she ought to learn their names. Not that she’d ever trust Brain.

  “I can’t go back,” she admitted. What scared her was that Robbie would never stop searching for her, not unless he thought she was dead. Assuming he survived. “I violated my oaths to MBLIS.” At least he’d bought that part. If she could keep the truth from him on that front, she might get out yet.

  “I did not like to put you through that,” Volkov told her. “Before I learned you were investigating me, I decided to bring you into my business. I still wish this, but you must prove I can trust you. All I have is word of federal agent desperate to save brother.”

  “My life is in tatters, Yuri. What else am I going to do?” She wasn’t sure how much of a lie this might be. Her mind was so foggy that her legal and ethical lines blurred too much to see the edge. She sipped at the broth, which was surprisingly good. “Where are we headed?”

  Volkov… Yuri smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “They will not find me. I lay low for a while, do other work, and all is well.”

  She was going to say something, but a coughing fit took over. The broth splashed onto her hands before she could get the cap on. God, she was so tired. The only good thing was that he’d promised her a bed and time to heal before he started training her. What disturbed her was that she was genuinely curious about how his business worked. She chalked it up to professional interest for the time being.

  “I’m sleepy,” she slurred as she handed the Thermos back to him.

  “I know, milaya. You deserve good rest, but not my trust. Not yet.” He tucked the blanket around her. “I will take care of you as long as you are loyal to me. Sweetest dreams.”

  Ronnie felt like a child trapped with a caring abuser. Is this what her life would be like now? She wanted to cry, but she was so torn down that she couldn’t even do that as the sedative sent her drifting to sleep.

  CHAPTER 31

  Once Holm appeared to be out of danger, we had Warner go in to keep him company. Holm protested but relented with the promise that Warner wouldn’t chatter his ear off.

  Everyone thinks special ops types are tough guys. We are, but we’re human, too. Ten years earlier, I wouldn’t have been as adamant about making sure my buddy wasn’t alone in a hospital far from home. At the time, we were active warriors with jobs to do. Afterward, back in civilian life, I admit, I got softer in some ways. Watching out for my friends began to mean more than covering their asses on the battlefield or taking a guy out for shots and beers when he got divorce papers.

  So yeah, I got softer. That didn’t mean I had an ounce of trouble going after assholes who hurt innocent victims… or my partner.

  I still had the key to the Ferrari. In the midst of the chaos, it had never gotten returned to poor Jerry Green. Since Davis had given me his garage code, I got a ride share lift to his house. On the way, I called Green’s cell number, which he’d left with me. It was five in the morning.

  “Agent Marston, did something happen to my car?”

  “No, it’s fine. In fact, I want to rent it for the rest of my trip out here,” I told him.

  “Oh, I don’t know…” Green was quiet for a moment. “I rent to businessmen and Hollywood producers. They almost always return my cars in pristine condition. Well, except for that time a TV star left cigarette burns on the upholstery of my favorite fully loaded Maserati.”

  “Look, I don’t have a car out here, Jerry.” I took a breath to keep my voice steady. “The Ferrari is here, and it’ll get me where I’m going fast. I’ll even put an emergency light in it so that other cars get out of the way.”

  “What if you get into a shootout?” he worried. “Two years ago, one of my friends in the Dominican Republic rented out a Maserati to MBLIS, and it came back full of bullet holes.”

  I decided not to tell him I had something to do with that one, and definitely not what happened to a couple of rentals in Barbados.

  “I’ll do my best, Jerry. Call Director Ramsey in the Miami MBLIS office and tell her Ethan already has the car.” I grinned. “She’l
l give you what you need for insurance and payment.”

  “But…”

  “Thanks, Jerry. I’ll get her back to you as soon as I can.”

  I ended the call before he could say anything else. It was good timing because the ride share driver pulled up to Davis’s house right then. His Corvette was gone, and I wondered if he ever got home after the botched meetup. After a short text exchange, I grabbed him a change of clothes and then lit out to the office.

  Diane took a tad longer to call me than I expected.

  “Ethan, I had to pull a couple of strings for that damn car,” she complained. “You had better not—”

  “I won’t scratch it. Look, I already had it, and this thing is fast. If we end up having to move fast, I am not going to let this Mister V get away with Ronnie just because a slow rental car can’t keep up.”

  “Ethan, listen for once,” Diane barked. “After today, car rentals that aren’t pre-approved are on your dime. The agency handed down new spending rules this morning. They’re cracking down on every office.”

  I pulled over in a strip mall parking lot that was only a few blocks from the firehouse. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at the office.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If we don’t find out who’s behind all of this, we’re going to start letting people go. As it is, they’re talking about selling the plane and sending TJ back to Cyber. They let two of their people go already, and since he’s one of the best, they want him back.”

  “Shit.” I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. “They’re barely funding the office out here, Diane. Do you think they’re going to keep it open?”

  Her wry laugh did nothing to assure me.

  “As far as I can tell, they’re channeling some funds to Meisha. It’s cheaper to patch up that old fire station than to buy a newer building, but she’s not going to have a lot to go on.” Diane sighed. “She’ll have to be creative and watch every penny.”

  “She just hired a medic.” I couldn’t help a little smile at the thought of Sadie working for MBLIS. “Sadie will probably be more of a gopher and building patcher than anything for a while, but she’s been a hell of a paramedic.”

  “Well, each office is required to have a medic. What the director does with said medic is up to her.” She said something to a person in the background, and I heard Birn’s deep voice answer. Then, she was back. “I think you’ll be surprised how much work Sadie will see out there. We’ll see, and I hope it works out. Meisha said some glowing things about her.”

  “Yeah, she was great when those assailants shot up the office,” I told her. A thought tickled at the back of my mind. “I’ll call you later,” I told Diane. “I just realized we’re missing something, and I have to go.”

  “Keep a level head, Ethan,” she ordered. “This is emotional for all of us, but we have to play by the rules.”

  “I got it. Thanks.”

  I ended the call and drove the last few blocks. The small lot was full of agency and personal cars, so I parked on the apron in front of the old engine bays. As I got out, I heard an appreciative whistle from next door. An old woman on the porch creaked back and forth in her rocking chair and smiled over at me.

  “That’s a pretty car, son,” she called out. “I’ll keep an eye to make sure nobody touches it.”

  “I’ll give you twenty bucks to make sure of it,” I offered with an answering grin.

  “No, that just won’t do.” She picked a cane up from where it hung on the wooden chair’s arm and then thumped it on the floor. “You promise to give me a ride, and I’ll make sure no little punk comes within five feet of it.”

  I laughed. “That’s a deal I can make.”

  I was all business by the time I got inside and went straight to Meisha and Davis.

  “There’s a question none of us have asked,” I told them. “Five attackers shot up our building. When I went to Mister V, I only ran into one possible tough. Either V is hiding a small squad somewhere, or we took out most of his guys. Has anyone went into to talk to what’s-his-face who didn’t get shot?” I hadn’t been able to learn Shaggy’s real name, which annoyed me.

  “Abby and I did the other night while you were out with Sadie,” Davis said. “He calls himself ‘Sugar Fingers.’ We had a hit on his prints, but that was another alias, ‘Smasher.’ We couldn’t get shit out him.”

  “He’s our only lead right now,” I growled. I gripped the plastic armrests so hard my knuckles turned white. “My knuckles would be pleased to meet this asshat.”

  “Ethan, don’t even,” Meisha snapped. “I’m only going to warn you this one time that if you say things like that, I won’t allow you to see him.”

  I pushed back from the table and almost tipped my chair. “What are we supposed to do, Meisha? Wait until these bastards grow a conscience and return Ronnie wrapped up pretty with a bow?”

  Meisha jumped to her feet. “We are doing the best we can,” she yelled and slapped her palms on the table. “Following the rules is how we get convictions!”

  Her shout echoed off of every hard surface in the area. One of the SEALs poked his head around the corner, saw us, and then went back to whatever he was doing to pass the time between perimeter patrols.

  “Yeah, doing things by the book is working out really great for getting Ronnie back,” I volleyed. “Give me a choice, and I’ll take getting her back over convicting those guys any day.”

  “And when you end up in jail for beating the crap out of a suspect, then what?” Stark asked in a mild tone.

  “Fine, you come and babysit me,” I told her. “I’m going. You wanna stop me, call Diane.”

  I stormed out of the building with Stark on my heels. It wasn’t my best moment, not by a longshot. As we got into the Ferrari, she pinned me with a sharp look.

  “I’m the bad cop,” she informed me. “You play good cop. Otherwise, there are two bad cops, and who wants to talk to two bullies?”

  I started the car and took a moment before turning to her. “Are you serious?” From her solemn expression, it was clear that she was all business. “Have you been the bad cop before?”

  “That’s not the point.” She sat deep in the passenger seat and looked forward. “You’re not in a good place, and I don’t want you to throw your career away by beating an answer out of this guy.”

  “I have never gone that far,” I told her. “I won’t now. This one is on me.”

  Stark turned her head and glared at me. “I can pull the plug on this. All I have to do to shut it down is to say so. This is too personal, and you’ve had next to no sleep. That’s a bad mix. So if you want to this suspect, I’m the bad cop.”

  “What happened to Meisha saying there shouldn’t be a good cop, bad cop approach?” I growled.

  Stark gave a soft snort. “Like I said, this is personal.”

  CHAPTER 32

  “Sugar Fingers,” a.k.a. “Smasher” was a smug little bastard. He looked like a cross between Joe Pesci and Danny DeVito, with long hair pulled into a tail and plenty of attitude to spare. The goon looked unperturbed even with his hands cuffed to the interview table. The broken finger was splinted but hardly seemed to bother him.

  “You’re awfully confident,” Stark observed with a raised brow. Her hair glowed like a hot ember beneath the CFL bulbs in the interview room. “Seems to me that you’re going away for a long while.”

  She blew a gum bubble and cracked it. I did a double-take, as I hadn’t noticed her pop anything into her mouth. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to watch her play the “bad” cop. I couldn’t say that I’d heard of a bubblegum technique. Then again, I wasn’t known for following the playbook all the time, either.

  “I didn’t kill nobody.” Fingers grinned and kissed the air toward Stark. “What’re ya gonna do ’bout it, sweetheart?”

  I clenched my jaw from the effort not to slam that ugly nose onto the table. For her part, Stark strolled over to the leering piece of shit while blowin
g and cracking bubbles. She walked around the table and then stood behind him.

  “Don’t call me ‘sweetheart,’” she hissed in his ear. “You know nothing about me.” With her good hand, she grabbed his ponytail and casually pulled his head back. “I heard you called a lawyer. Did you tell him the news?”

  “What news, gorgeous?”

  Stark shoved his head down and came up just short of hitting his face on the steel table. Once his face was clear, she pulled him up so that his eyes were level with mine.

  “Special Agent Stark,” she said in clear, slow syllables. “You will not call me pet names again unless you want your nose rearranged.”

  “You can’t do that,” he whined as he tried to pull away from her iron grip. “And what news? I ain’t heard nothin’.”

  “Why, about your prints, of course.” She looked me in the eye as she told him the juicy bit that I absolutely did not plan to hear. “They’re a match for a syndicate killing back in New York City. No wonder you’re hiding out here.”

  Fingers went rigid. “That’s supposed to be impossible.” His face went red, and spittle flew out with his words. “That fat little bastard was supposed to fix it for me.”

  He clenched his fists, and I was pressed not to look surprised. First, I was surprised that Stark flat-out lied about the fingerprint matched, and second, that Fingers seemed shocked that we might be onto something.

  “Why do you think that’s so impossible?” I pushed. “There’s no such thing as a perfect crime. No matter how good a criminal thinks they are, they screw up eventually.”

  Behind him, Stark raised her brows and mouthed, “I have no idea.”

  This was a once-in-a-career hit, as long as we could find a case and connect him to it… but later.

  “Yeah, I’m not talking without my lawyer,” Fingers grumbled. “Good luck finding that girl you all are looking for.” He sneered. “That agent’s sister, right?”

  Stark didn’t bother with his ponytail. She stepped up quick as a ray’s sting, she slammed his face on the table. I didn’t think she’d ever do that, and I half stood as Fingers swore and howled in pain.