by Toby Neal
Not only that, but she’d proved herself to be a brave, resilient, and kind human being whom Lei liked more than she wanted to.
Lei turned and looked out the window. The view, of kite boarders and surfers on the wind-whipped sea, green foothills robed in rippling grass, and the sweep of the twelve-thousand-foot Haleakalā volcano, was familiar. She’d driven that route every day to work as a detective at the Haiku Police Station before she’d taken the opportunity to join the Bureau.
“I do know that. Anchara is…” Lei found her throat closing, and she swallowed hard. “She’s a good person.”
“Yes, she is. And she was getting deported, back to that abuser and the family who sold her to him. And you’d gone, with not so much as a wait-for-me commitment. In fact, you seemed eager to give my ring back and be done with me. Moving on to bigger and better things.” He bit off the words as if they tasted bad.
“I had to do what I had to do.” Lei set her own jaw. “But I never thought you’d do something crazy like get married! I mean—I know it wasn’t fair, but I always planned to come back. For us to be together when I did.”
“Same as before, right? Whatever suited you. No commitments. Well, I couldn’t keep living like that. Anchara understands that.”
“I can imagine.” Lei let the bitterness into her voice. “And I imagine she really shows how much she understands you. So you’re not trying to tell me this is some sort of ‘in name only’ marriage, are you?”
“No. It’s not. We’re making a go of it.” Stevens’s mouth was tight, his hands white-knuckled.
Lei felt the last shred of hope bleed out of her—a balloon deflating, a weakening in the knees and guts, an utter draining of energy leaving nothing but a taste like ash in her mouth.
Stevens’s hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel. “You know what? I dreaded this moment—but I feel better seeing you, knowing you haven’t changed. Hope you’re enjoying the Bureau and that it keeps you warm at night.”
“You can bet I’m not enjoying it alone.” The lie didn’t sweeten the taste in her mouth, but the thought of Anchara in Stevens’s arms, the way he obviously cared about her and defended her—she felt her chest constrict even further in the hot tightness of the Kevlar vest. Spots danced in the corners of her vision; darkness roared in around the edges. She pinched her leg as she heard his voice come from far away.
“I don’t know why I tried to talk to you.”
She leaned her forehead on the cool glass of the car window and concentrated on getting air into her lungs.
The radio crackled. “Come in, Mobile Unit Seventeen.”
Stevens picked up the handset. “This is Seventeen. Over.”
“This is Dispatch. We have a burglary in progress at 1879 Kai Huki Road in Haiku. Silver ultralight spotted in the area. Alarm company called it in.”
“Roger that.” Stevens hung up the handset. “Punch in the address on the GPS, will you?”
“On it.” She leaned over to program in the GPS, using that moment of concentration to rein in her emotions. “It’s only a few more miles up ahead. Turn right off of Hana Highway.” She speed-dialed Ken’s cell. “Did you get the call?”
“We’re heading there, too.” Ken’s voice was tight with excitement. “Seems like we’re closing in.”
They roared down the two-lane road, lights flashing. Lei felt adrenaline replace the panic that had curtailed her breathing as Stevens cranked a right turn onto a long drive leading uphill and away from the ocean. Rolling pastureland dotted with light green palmate-leaved kukui trees opened up a vista on either side of them.
“Lots of open area to land,” Lei said.
“Yeah.” The radio crackled again, and Stevens picked up. “Mobile Seventeen here.”
“This is Dispatch. We have two more units on the way.”
“Roger that—anyone at the residence yet?”
“Negative, Seventeen.”
Stevens glanced at Lei, eyes alight with the warrior gleam she knew and loved. “Looks like we’ll be first on the scene.”
Lei looked down, hiding the way that warrior light and the accompanying preraid adrenaline sent a pang straight to her libido by checking her weapon and badge as she scanned for the turnoff to the house. “Left here.”
The Bronco’s tires spat gravel as Stevens took the turn without braking, and they barreled down a narrow one-lane road lined with red ti plantings. Lei spotted a roof ahead, gleaming cobalt-blue tile. “There’s the address.”
They cranked into the driveway, roared forward—and came to a screeching halt at a huge iron scrollwork gate, shut across the driveway. A combination pad on a black metal plinth seemed to mock them.
“Dispatch, the gate is locked!” Stevens yelled into the handset. “Get us a code from the alarm company!”
“Roger that.” Dispatch was dispassionate as always. Lei jumped out of her side of the vehicle.
“Gotta be a way over or through.” She found a side gate disguised among the scrollwork, jiggled the handle as she looked up at the six-foot arrow-tipped black fence. Miraculously, the hidden handle opened.
“Stevens! This way!” He followed, both of them with weapons drawn, running toward a gracious-looking mansion built in descending levels down the grassy slope of a gigantic lawn. They were within a hundred yards of the house when Lei heard a sound like a sewing machine on steroids—a high-pitched bobbling whine.
“Son of a bitch!” she cried, as the Hummel appeared and bumped away from them, heading downhill on the lawn and picking up speed. It lifted into the air flawlessly, the sun gleaming mercury on its toylike, perfect airplane shape.
“Goddamn it!” Stevens shouted.
Stevens’s cell phone rang. “That better be the goddamn code,” he snarled. “Suspect took off right in front of us.”
Lei didn’t have the heart to follow him as he headed back down the pebbled driveway to open the gate and drive up to the house. She ripped open the Velcro and loosened the Kevlar, wishing she could take it off, but they still needed to check the house. Setting her hands on her hips, she watched the Hummel become a tiny silver speck and disappear over the treetops.
She trudged back toward the mansion as Stevens drove the Bronco up the driveway, closely followed by a blue-and-white MPD Crown Victoria and the black-and-white SUV driven by Bunuelos and Ken Yamada.
Stevens got out, still talking on his cell phone as he called in the BOLO for the Hummel and its general direction.
“Almost had him.” Ken folded his arms and surveyed the acres of rolling lawn. “How many of these kinds of places are out here?”
“Too many,” Bunuelos said.
“Well, let’s get our kits and see what he left behind.” Lei and Ken secured their crime kits and followed Stevens.
“If we’d had that gate code, we might have made it,” Stevens said. “We could have used the Bronco to head him off.”
“We’ll get him next time,” Lei said. It felt strange to be comforting him so close to their angry words, but familiar, too. She followed him as he opened one side of a magnificent fifteen-foot-high double door made of carved ebony inserts paneled in some exotic red hardwood. The hallway was polished cement, gleaming a dull metallic gray under their feet. They crossed scatter rugs of animal skin—giraffe, zebra, and before the massive fireplace of river stones set in cement, a snarling lion’s head still attached to the whole hide.
“Very animal unfriendly. Hope the unsub found some good shit to take with him,” Lei said. Animal abuse pissed her off almost as much as child abuse. She was respecting the Smiley Bandit more every day—his courage, resourcefulness, and choice of targets appealed to her, even as frustration dogged their pursuit.
“Let’s check all the rooms. Spread out.” Ken shot her a narrowed glance. Even in front of her old Maui compatriots, Ken was holding her to the high FBI standard that called for no unseemly joking or humor regarding the investigation. She tightened the Kevlar back down and followed him as
he angled into a nearby hallway. Bunuelos and Stevens took the opposite wing.
It took a good half hour to search the sprawling mansion with its many subareas connected by cement-floored hallways and sets of stairs into each level. The combination of Balinese furnishings, African art and natural stone and wood superimposed on modern angles continued throughout the stunning design.
Lei and Ken found the heart of the house at last, a central and highly modern office. Stevens joined them at a cockpit of computers centered on a burled-wood desk.
“Homeowner says he had a safe in the desk,” Ken said from his cell phone. Lei squatted down, opened a cabinet in the desk. It contained a small safe, its door open, a loop of seed pearls hanging out.
“Looks like the Bandit figured this one out, too. What does the homeowner say about the combo?” Stevens asked.
“It’s a cheap fire safe. This one looks tooled.” Lei pointed to the scratch marks around the bent door.
“Homeowner Rick Rhodes confirms that.” Ken turned off his phone. “They just kept five thousand dollars in there and some knickknacks for when they came on vacation.”
Ken got an inventory list faxed and photographed as Lei got out the fingerprint powder. “Looks like he got away with a little more than five grand this time. Be interesting to see if he donates it.”
“I want to see what food items he took.” Lei walked back into the kitchen, a large bumped-out area off the great room, its towering ceilings pierced by skylights that let squares of sun onto the polished floor.
The familiar hook-mouthed smiley face grinned at her from the steel door of the refrigerator. Still gloved, she opened it. Stevens had followed her, and they both looked into the empty interior.
“Rhodes said it’s not stocked,” Stevens said.
“He’ll be getting hungry then. Did they have anything in the pantry?”
“Some canned goods.”
Folding louvered doors opened into a deep, shelf-lined room. A neat rack at the back held hanging cleaning tools. The shelves were stacked high with jars and cans of food, and Lei and Stevens moved in, scanning for anything apparently out of place.
“Dammit. This means he was able to stock up, though he couldn’t carry much with him in the Hummel.” Lei was painfully aware of Stevens’s nearness in the narrow space, imagining she could feel heat off his body as he stood close. He’s married and he loves her, she told herself firmly, but her knees were wobbly. Her heart pounded as she turned back toward him, a mere six inches separating them in the dim, spicy-smelling closet. “Nothing for us here.”
Stevens’s shadowed eyes lingered on her upturned mouth for a long moment. “I guess not.” He spun and strode back out.
Lei followed, haunted by remembering the feel of their very first kiss—light as the brush of a moth—at a time when anything more would have scared her into running.
“Don’t think this scene is going to tell us anything new,” Ken said out in the great room. “What we need to do is keep the unsub running, keep the pressure on. Keep him from refueling, getting any food, and chase him into a corner.” As Lei appeared, he gestured to his phone, held it up. Apparently, her boss was on speakerphone. “Agent Texeira and Lieutenant Stevens are present. MPD has been very helpful. We’re getting on the road ASAP. The Hummel continued north, so it seems like he’s headed into Hana. He didn’t get much here.”
They clustered around the phone, Bunuelos pacing a bit, Stevens with his brows pulled down, Ken with his samurai face intent
“Get on the road, then. Push him off the end of the island. Out past Hana, there’s nothing but the ocean,” Waxman said.
“And the Big Island. If he makes if across the channel to Hawaii, he could keep us running for weeks,” Ken said. “We’ll do better keeping him contained on Maui if we can.”
“Did he get any fuel at this hit?” Waxman asked.
Lei and Ken looked at each other. “Good question. We’ll check the outbuildings and get back to you.”
Lei took off out the front of the house at a jog. She couldn’t wait to get away from Stevens and the overwhelming emotions he sparked—and she wished she didn’t feel conflicted about catching the Bandit. She’d just have to work harder doing what needed to be done and hope it all sorted out in the end—but the questions nagged as much as the quest.
Chapter Thirteen
Lei walked into the Kahului Station with its busy front desk and beehive of modular units. She paused on the way to the conference room to greet Abe Torufu. The Tongan giant hauled his bulk out of his chair to envelop her in a hug.
“Lei. So you decided to come down from the big leagues, show us some flash.” He tapped the FBI badge clipped to her waist. Lei had never been so happy to see Bunuelos’s partner—the big Tongan had always made her smile, and she badly needed both a hug and a smile.
“Good to be back.” She shrugged out of the hot Kevlar at last. “Got an upstairs meeting, but I just wanted to stop in and say hi.”
“You guys get the Bandit yet?”
“No, or he’d be following us in in cuffs,” Bunuelos said, joining them. “Little bastard flew out just as Lei and Stevens pulled up to the gate.”
“Well, check out the news.” Torufu indicated a window streaming on his computer. Wendy Watanabe’s sleek bob was doing a hula in an updraft of breeze with the control tower of Kahului Airport behind her.
“Shit, she’s over here!” Lei exclaimed.
“Yeah. Not only that, but I guess the Bandit sent her video of his latest hit.”
“We’ve got to talk to her. I better get to the conference room.” Lei gave Torufu a wave and broke into a trot, not bothering with the elevator and hitting the stairs two at a time. Sure enough, the flat-screen in the conference room was tuned to the newscast, with Stevens, Omura, and Ken watching intently.
“This reporter has followed the Smiley Bandit to Maui, where he made a death-defying crossing from Oahu to Maui in a light aircraft not intended for this kind of distance. I received this recording in my email.” Watanabe’s voice was rich with self-importance.
Lei watched a cockpit view as the tiny Hummel hit the turbulence that was such a part of life on the Valley Isle, bucking as the little craft bent in a northerly direction, following the curving line of bluffs that marked the edge of the island. Below the bouncing video, Lei could see the colorful arc of kiteboard sails. They watched as the little craft turned inland and headed for the cobalt-roofed mansion. It descended and made a perfect landing on the sloping sweep of lawn that skirted the house.
“We need that reporter!” Waxman’s voice boomed, overloud, out of the triangular conference phone in the middle of the table. Captain Omura hit the volume button with a polished red nail. “KHIN-2 is refusing to muzzle Watanabe; I’ve been on the phone all afternoon. Find her in the field and get her working with us!”
“Yes, sir,” Ken answered. Lei glanced around the table at the intent faces watching the camera view as the Bandit climbed jerkily out of the plane, set the Chihuahua on the ground, and followed as the little dog trotted toward the house. All they could see was a pair of Nike running shoes, the edge of denim jeans, and the sassy behind and curly tail of the tiny Chihuahua as it trotted toward the mansion.
“Max Smiley’s going to burst a blood vessel when he sees his dog in this video,” Lei commented. “Where’s the kid getting intel on these houses? And which of our suspects has experience flying?” No one answered, but she felt better having voiced a few of the many questions.
The video cut to the office and the empty safe. Suddenly the same hooded, backlit figure appeared, the distorted voice speaking. It was clearly a switch to a totally different setting.
“The one percent makes another contribution. This time, five thousand dollars will be finding its way to dialysis patients at the Hana Medical Clinic.”
Wendy Watanabe appeared again. “Until next time the Smiley Bandit, always one step ahead of the authorities, contacts me, I’ll be reporting live
from Maui. This is Wendy Watanabe saying aloha.”
Captain Omura paused the feed. “Did your people have time to analyze that video?”
SAC Waxman answered from the conference call unit in the center of the table. “Our tech expert, Special Agent Ang, has been working on that. Agent Ang?”
Sophie’s voice came through the conference phone clearly. “Yes, sir. It appears that the masked unsub making the recordings is the same one from earlier and in the same room. I’m checking the videos, and that’s apparent. What this confirms is that we have two unsubs at work: one flying the plane and doing the robberies and one making the recordings. They must be in touch with each other.”
“Any progress picking up the trail of any of our suspects on Oahu—Tom Blackman, Tyson Rezents, Lehua Kinoshita, and Kimo Matthews?” Lei listed the names for the benefit of the MPD staff.
“Scott and Rogers have been working with HPD and following up. So far, no leads.” Waxman’s voice was flat. “They found Kinoshita and she alibied out. We need you to run that plane down. Did it refuel at that last stop?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Lei said. “I found a gardening shed that had been broken into, and the gas can for the mowers was empty.”
“We circled all the way through Hana and came around the backside of the island,” Stevens put in. “Nothing new.”
“Well, track down that reporter. I’m working on a gag order from over here. Hopefully, I’ll have it by the time you connect with her,” Waxman said. “Thanks, Maui Police Department, for all your help.”
“No problem,” Omura said. “We have hundreds of eyes on the sky and possible landing areas. We’ll get him.”
The meeting broke up. Lei waved to Bunuelos and Torufu as she left the conference room, avoiding Stevens, who was studiously looking at a large island map pinned to one of the walls—she just didn’t have the strength to speak to him. She’d been able to ride with Bunuelos all the way back around the island and hadn’t had to spend any more time alone with him.
