CHAPTER 14
“Emery.”
Emery looked up from the file spread across Flint’s kitchen table, squinting to bring him into focus as he stood in the doorway. A couple trays of coffee in one hand. The other holding a bag of the muffins he’d promised to get. His buddies were lined up behind him, all of them staring at her with narrowed eyes and clenched jaws.
She eased back in the chair, wincing when the movement jarred her shoulder. That damn plate that couldn’t decide if it was going to work its way out or burrow in deeper. “Flint.”
His brows furrowed as he made his way inside, everyone else fanning out around the cabin’s main room. “I thought we agreed you’d take a break while I got you your caffeine and sugar fix?”
“I did take a break, but then I remembered there’re a group of assholes who want me dead, so I came back out.”
A huff sounded from behind her. “I don’t think ten minutes qualifies as an actual break.”
Emery glanced back at Cooper Harris. One of the Brotherhood Protector’s newest recruits. At least, she thought he was a recruit. All she knew for sure was that he was part of some hush-hush K9 pilot program Hawk, in conjunction with the Brotherhood’s CEO, Hank Patterson, had started. Or maybe they just weren’t telling her about it. Either way, Cooper had been patrolling Flint’s cabin for the last two nights along with his partner, Whiskey. An intelligent German shepherd who had a bit of a stubborn side.
Emery cocked her head, hating how it pulled against the stitches. “No one likes a snitch.”
“Or a patient who doesn’t follow instructions.”
She snorted, turning back to Flint. “You picked him on purpose, didn’t you?”
Flint grinned, placing her latte in front of her along with a small plate and a muffin. “Actually, Cooper volunteered. Though, I’m sure by now, he’s regretting that decision.”
“We don’t have time for me to take breaks.”
“We do if it means you’ll start healing.” He waved at her head. “Stop seeing double. But since you’ve already disobeyed orders, any progress?”
She groaned, careful not to put any pressure against her shoulder blade as she rested against the seat back. “None. It’s bad enough Milligan’s allowed that vice asshole, Simmons, to walk all over my case. But the bastard hasn’t even started looking into the guns. Seems convinced there’s a drug link.”
She rolled her eyes. “Simmons always thinks there’s a drug link. The guy’s a moron. I swear he couldn’t find his own ass even with his head shoved up it.”
“Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Tell us how you really feel.” Flint leaned forward, brushing his thumb across her cheek. “But this is why we take breaks. So we can look at a problem from a new perspective.” He pushed the latte closer.
She took it, savoring the first tentative sip. “Does staring at you while I drink my coffee count as a break?”
A chorus of groans sounded around them followed by a low yip from Whiskey.
Bowie moved over to the table. “Even the dog thinks you two need to get a room.”
“I can work with that.” Flint stood, extending his hand to Emery. “Come on. Thirty minutes then we’ll go over everything, again.”
Emery begrudgingly nodded, using her left arm to help push to her feet. A few of the photos fluttered off the table, landing on the floor beside Blake. Blake reached down to grab them when she froze. Fingers pressed around one photo. Still half bent over.
“Blake?” Kian nudged her. “Isn’t it a bit early in the pregnancy for you to be getting stuck?”
Blake jumped when he placed his palm along the small of her back, jolting upright then striding over to Emery. “Is this one of the men from the hospital?”
Emery sighed. “Milligan is so going to tear me a new one for all this breach in confidentiality. But yeah. It was the asshole who posed as Dr. Fisher. Why?”
“The one that cleaner killed on the roof?”
Emery groaned inwardly, scanning everyone else in the room before landing on Flint. “Does everyone know about the cleaner crew?”
Blake waved her question away. “And you’re sure it was this exact tattoo? One of your colleagues couldn’t have swapped another photo out with this one? Maybe from an old case?”
“Even if they had, I saw that guy’s wrist the other night when I was chasing him along the beach. And it was that tattoo.” She looked around, again, but all she got were stoic faces. “Blake, what’s going on? Do you recognize the ink?”
Blake swallowed, retched then spun, darting out of the room as she palmed her phone.
Kian sighed. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”
He followed after Blake, leaving an odd void in the room. Emery stood there, unsure if she should go after them or sit down. What Kian’s definition of “right back” meant. Flint moved in beside her, dropping his hand on her hip as if he wasn’t sure if she might fall when Kian reappeared.
He glanced at Flint, and Emery was sure they had a full conversation without saying a word. Some SEAL trick she wasn’t privy to. “We need to talk. Are you up to joining us in Hawk’s office?”
Emery snorted. “I’m not dead yet. Just tell me when.”
Kian nodded. “If Flint’s team is ready…”
Bowie huffed. “Right behind you.”
Another nod, then Kian was off, heading across the fields then into the Brotherhood Office. Flint insisted she wear the sling she’d been avoiding before stepping aside — allowing her to leave. He stayed beside her, head on a swivel, one arm around her waist. And while it looked romantic, she knew it allowed him to react quicker to a dynamic situation. That he could have her beneath him on the ground in under a second if he sensed a threat.
Though, being able to lean on him was a godsend. Probably the only reason she actually made it to Hawk’s office without having to stop and catch her breath or simply face-planting onto the ground. A stark reminder that they were right, and she wasn’t healed. Wasn’t even at fifty percent, yet.
Not that she’d let that stop her. But she appreciated saving face. Even if just for the meeting.
Flint headed straight for one of the chairs, easing her onto it before leaning in close. “Just so we’re clear. If it becomes obvious you’re starting to fade from the pain and fatigue, we’re out of here. And no, I don’t care how important this meeting turns out to be. I probably should have hiked you up on my shoulder and turned around on the way over. Because that short trip already drained all the color from your face. So don’t push me, sweetheart. I won’t gamble with your well-being.”
Then he was sliding in beside her, one arm across the back of her chair. As if he expected to have to grab her when she teetered off. And maybe he would because the scenery was tilting a bit. Some of those black dots from the other day teasing the edges.
Emery focused on breathing, getting most of the dots to scatter as everyone else shuffled in. But it wasn’t just Bowie, Quinn and Carter. Waylen, Raider and Lane trailed in followed by some guy she didn’t know. He walked directly to Blake, having a short conversation with her and Kian before spinning — zeroing in on Emery.
He was definitely some sort of government agent. The way he carried himself. How he stared at her as if he was sizing her up — determining whether to trust her by how she held his gaze — all indicators. And she’d worked with enough agencies to immediately narrow it down to only a few possibilities. None of which boded well.
Having her boss bustle through the door a few minutes later nearly knocked her off the chair. Had Flint grabbing her good shoulder — steadying her. He arched a brow, but she smiled, giving his thigh a light squeeze. He narrowed his gaze, clearly indicating he’d meant what he’d said before easing back. He didn’t fully let go, but it was more of a comforting weight than him trying to catch her.
Milligan went over to the new guy, shaking his hand as he leaned in — started talking. Emery couldn’t hear any of it, but neither of them seemed pleased when Milligan finally turned around. He met her gaze, frowned, then moved over to the side. There, but clearly in the background.
Hawk was the last one to arrive, looking less than pleased by the impromptu meeting. He took a moment to shake a few hands, then walked over to her. He gave Flint a quick sideways glance before bending down to her level. “You okay, Emery? Because you look like a freaking ghost.”
She did her best to draw herself up, but she knew it was far from convincing. “Aces.”
She gazed around the room when it fell silent, everyone staring at her as if they expected her to drop. Which seemed like a distinct possibility if they dragged this out much longer.
Hawk sighed. “We can do this later if it’s too much. Or Flint can relay everything if you need to lay down.”
“What I need is to know what’s going on. Because Blake obviously recognized the tat on the asshole who tried to kill me, and our guest is so wired, he’s practically vibrating.” She looked over at the guy. “What are you? CIA? Homeland Security? Because you’re definitely a federal agent and not one of the branches I usually work with.”
Hawk chuckled. “See, Porter? This is what we mean when we all tell you that you’ve just got the look. Emery’s probably still seeing double and yet, she has you pegged.”
The guy, Porter, huffed. “She didn’t actually guess my agency, which quite frankly is a bit insulting. What about me screams CIA?”
Emery nodded at him. “The gun holstered under your jacket.”
Porter cracked a smile. “At least you didn’t say it was my beady little eyes. And for the record, Detective McClane, it’s U.S. Deputy Marshal Adam Porter.”
U.S. Deputy Marshal?
Emery scanned the room, again, focusing on Blake and Kian. The way Blake shifted her weight on her feet as Kian put his arm around her started filling in all the missing pieces. Everything she’d noticed about the couple since Kian and his buddies had bought Ohana’s. The times Blake had flown Emery around as part of an investigation. She’d always suspected they were hiding something, but it hadn’t concerned her enough to go digging.
Until now.
The pale complexion. The increased breath. This was serious.
Flint and his team must have had similar thoughts because a couple of them cursed, toeing at the floor as they looked over at her and Flint. He didn’t say anything, but the arm across the back of her chair pressed harder against her. As if he was bracing for the inevitable impact.
Emery focused on Porter, praying she was wrong but aware her guess was the only one that made sense. “Well, crap. Please tell me I didn’t just blow Blake’s WITSEC cover.”
Porter didn’t even twitch, staring at her as if she’d spoken in a different language. “What makes you think Blake’s in WITSEC and not just undercover?”
“Are we seriously going to do this? If she was undercover, she would have leveled with me in the hospital. Because the woman’s got more honor than most. The fact she didn’t means it’s door number two.”
“For god’s sake, let’s just cut through the bullshit. No, Emery, you didn’t blow Blake’s cover. But that’s not what this is about.” Milligan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against a desk. “And I told you Emery would figure it out, Porter.”
Porter huffed. “Which is why you were supposed to keep her away from anything that could remotely lead back to my investigation.”
“No one knew these two cases were connected until Blake called you twenty minutes ago.”
“Given the history of my luck on this island, maybe we should have guessed.” Porter focused on her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve walked into?”
Emery merely stared at the man. “Isn’t that why we’re here? So you can tell me?”
“I’d like to hear what you know, first.”
“Other than there’s a cartel running guns on my island, not much. But then, I’ve been a bit busy having mafia assholes try to kill me. Your turn.”
Porter ran his hand through his hair, looking as if he wanted to pull some of it out. “Are you familiar with the Russo family?”
Emery glanced at Blake, more pieces coming together. “That’s what this is about? That shit show that went down on Molokai a few months ago?”
Porter huffed then turned to Milligan. “She knows about Molokai, too?”
“You blew up a yacht.” Emery shook her head. “That doesn’t go unnoticed. So yeah, I know who Henry Russo is. What he did in Puerto Rico.”
Emery shifted her gaze to Blake. “I’m sorry about what happened to your teammates.”
Blake nodded. “Thanks. Me, too.”
“Teammates?” Flint glanced at Blake then over to Emery, eyes darting to one side for a few moments before he huffed. “That’s why you quoted part of the Coast Guard creed the other day. You’re an ex-officer.”
Bowie groaned. “God, now it all makes sense. I knew you were too skilled at water rescues.”
Blake simply smiled.
Flint inhaled. “Wait. Before you entered WITSEC, your last name wasn’t Carmichael, was it? As in Navy Commander Jacob Carmichael’s daughter?”
Blake gazed up at Kian, something unspoken passing between them before she looked over — nodded.
Carter stepped forward. “I can’t believe we didn’t recognize the similarities in how you and your father fly. He was always throttle down…”
“With his hair on fire.” Quinn grinned. “You’re all he ever talked about, Lieutenant Commander. Did you really spend several years with their various TACLET units?”
Blake smiled and it wasn’t hard to see the officer insider her. “I always preferred to be where the action was.”
“I bet you did.”
Flint frowned as he focused on Porter. “So, how does all of this tie back to the Russo family? Because Blake wouldn’t still be standing here if you were worried about Henry Russo orchestrating this.”
Porter chuckled, leaning his ass against the wall. “I should have known this investigation would end up biting me in the ass. And no. This isn’t about Henry. Since his transfer to Leavenworth, his ability to effectively run the family business has been limited. Rumor has it, his two sons are manning the helm, now. Thomas out east and James hoping to break into the west. Unfortunately, the incident here in Hawai’i opened a Pandora’s Box of sorts. My colleagues in Miami believed that James was planning to use his father’s previous contacts on the Big Island to help set up a permanent staging facility for some new weapon and drug suppliers out of Indonesia and the Philippines. Regions that have been hard to tap into.”
Porter paused to glance at Milligan. “But from what I’ve gathered over the past couple months, these contacts have decided they want a more hands-on approach.”
Flint cocked his head to the side. “They want to be partners instead of the hired help.”
“Sure seems that way. And they’re using Russo’s own death squad to do it, if that tattoo is any indication. It belongs to the Huntsman gang, hence the web. And these assholes are as close to assassins as you can get without hiring an actual hitman. No job is too risky, and no target off limits. Russo used to unleash them whenever he needed to eliminate a cop or a judge. They were the men who staged that assault in Puerto Rico.”
Bowie shifted over. “And you’re confident they’re now working for these contacts.”
“Until twenty minutes ago, I thought this had become a joint venture with James Russo taking lead.” Porter reached inside his jacket and removed a photo, handing it to Bowie. “That’s a surveillance photo of Thomas and James taken at the family estate in Miami this morning. So yeah, I’m pretty confident the Russos aren’t behind this. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were meeting to discuss how to address the insurrection before they’ve been completely locked out of the deal.”
Carter looked at the photo next then passed it on. “Any idea who these new contacts are?”
Porter glanced at Milligan then back. “That’s complicated.”
Emery frowned when the two men continued to give each other a side eye before cursing under her breath. The inklings of anger burning through the pain. “Well crap. You didn’t keep this development secret because of Blake’s past or because you didn’t want me to get involved. You think Russo’s connections are cops.”