Chapter 2
By the time Kimo made it to shore, she was cold and beyond exhausted. It took all her strength just to drag herself completely out of the water and up onto dry sand. She lay there, praying for the strength to keep going, knowing Alana’s life depended on it.
For a moment, she closed her eyes.
Cool saltwater wrapped around her legs, tugging at her, chilling her body all over again.
She gasped and crawled further ashore.
The tide was coming in, creeping up the beach. She must have passed out. For how long?
Kimo’s gaze shot to her dive watch. The last time she’d looked at the watch had been when she and Alana had climbed aboard the dive boat to refresh their scuba tanks and download photos on her computer. That had been...
Her stomach roiled. “Three and a half hours?” She must have passed out. Her arms wobbled as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. Pain shot through her calf, where sand ground into a slash in her skin, made by the bullet that had struck her in her mad scramble to get away from the attackers.
Her head swam, and she swayed unsteadily. She couldn’t pass out again. Too much time had passed already, and she was no nearer to getting help for Alana. She forced back the gray haze and stripped the flippers from her feet.
Fatigue and blood loss made it a struggle to get to her feet.
She stood in her water shoes for several long moments, securing her balance as she scanned the nearby hillside.
Most beaches on Maui had some way to access them.
She just had to find it. This particular beach wasn’t typical and didn’t look like one of those highly visited strips of sand.
Some beaches were only accessible by water. She hoped this one was not that case.
Having dived all around Maui, she tried to remember which beach this was on the west coast. They’d chosen to photograph the bioluminescence in a less-traveled area of Maalaea Bay.
If she was right, this small beach was close to Kihei Road.
It should have a gravel road or path leading up to the highway where she could wave down a car that might pass by in the wee hours of the morning.
Kimo slogged her way across the sand and through an outcropping of rocks to find a trail that led up the hill and emptied directly on the paved road. During the day, cars would park along the roadside. People would climb down to the beaches and snorkel.
In the middle of the night, the shoulders were empty.
She prayed there would be some traffic on the road.
If not, she’d work her way toward one of the resorts along the coastline.
She looked left, then right. If memory served her correctly, left would take her to the nature preserve.
Right would lead to one of the many resorts showcasing the Maui coast.
She turned right and plodded steadily, searching for headlights, porch lights, or brightly lit entrances to swanky resorts. At the first resort gate or any sign of other humans, she’d throw herself at the gatekeeper or the individual’s mercy.
Kimo had gone a mile when a set of headlights appeared in the distance. Rather than stop and wait for it to come toward her, she staggered faster. The sooner she got help, the sooner they could find Alana.
As the headlights approached, Kimo raised her arms and waved frantically, standing in the center of the road, too tired to care if she got hit, yet praying the driver was paying attention and would see her before that happened.
At first, the vehicle didn’t slow down. Kimo prepared to throw herself to the side at the last minute. Apparently, the driver finally spotted her and slammed on his brakes, bringing the vehicle to a skidding stop a few feet in front of Kimo.
Her heart raced, and her breathing was ragged. She reeled toward the driver’s door. “Help me,” she cried. “Please, help me.”
The window lowered halfway, and a man peered out, a frown denting his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“My friend,” Kimo said. “We were doing a night dive when we were attacked.”
“By sharks?” the man asked, his eyes widening.
“No.” Kimo shook her head. “By men. Do you have a cell phone?”
The man shifted into park and pulled out a cell phone.
“I’m calling 911.” He placed the call and pressed the phone to his ear.
“I need to report an incident. A woman stopped me in the middle of the road, claiming to have been attacked on a night dive. Here, talk to her. She’ll give you the details. ” He handed the phone to Kimo.
Her hand shaking as badly as her knees, Kimo pressed the device to her ear.
“This is Kimo Kekoa. I was on a night dive with my partner, Alana Neal, when another boat attacked us. The boat struck my partner. The men on board dragged Alana up onto their boat. She was limp. I don’t know if she was just injured or…
dead.” She swallowed hard on a sob and forced herself to continue.
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?” the dispatcher asked. “Maybe they were bringing her aboard to take her to a hospital?”
Kimo’s jaw hardened. “It wasn’t an accident.
They shined a spotlight on her, aimed the boat directly at my friend and ran her over.
Then they came back around and dragged her on board.
I heard one of the men say, ‘There has to be another diver. Find him. We can’t leave loose ends.
’ Then they came after me, tried to run me over with their boat and then tried to shoot me in the water.
Does that sound like an accident?” she asked, her voice hardening.
“No, ma’am.”
“Either way, you need to send someone out here. Police, Coast Guard, National Guard—I don’t care who. You need to find my friend.”
The dispatcher’s voice sounded in her ear, “We have your location based on the GPS coordinates of the cell phone you’re speaking from. A police unit is on the way, and I’ve notified the Coast Guard. Help is on its way.”
“Please, hurry,” Kimo whispered. She handed the phone to the driver and sank to her knees in the middle of the road. Her body shook so hard her teeth rattled. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
A car door opened and closed. A moment later, a jacket was laid over her shoulders by gentle hands. “We should get you out of the middle of the road.” The kind man who’d loaned her the cell phone closed his fingers around her arms and urged her to stand.
Her knees wobbling, Kimo let him guide her to her feet. He opened the back door of his car and eased her onto the back seat. “I hear sirens. Help is on its way,” he assured her. While they waited, he pressed tissues to the wound on her calf in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.
Kimo sat in numb silence, her body still shaking, her vision blurred.
The distant wail of sirens grew louder. Before long, a Maui Police Department vehicle pulled up behind the man’s car, and a uniformed officer got out.
He asked Kimo questions; she told him what she’d said to the dispatcher.
Within a few more minutes, an ambulance arrived.
An EMT rolled a stretcher toward her.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Kimo said.
“Ma’am,” the EMT said, “you’ve received a gunshot wound. A doctor should treat it.”
“It’s only a flesh wound,” she argued as she fought a bout of nausea.
“Ma’am, blood loss and infection could lead to more serious complications,” the EMT informed her. “A doctor needs to assess the damage and prescribe treatment that could include antibiotics or surgery.”
Rather than keep her good Samaritan saddled with her, Kimo thanked him and let the EMTs load her on a stretcher.
As they strapped her down, she said, “I’m not the one who needs the medical attention,” Kimo insisted. “My friend, Alana, is the one who needs the help.” She glanced across at the police officer, tears welling in her eyes. “Please tell me they’re looking for her.”
The officer nodded. “Dispatch alerted the Coast Guard. They’ve sent out a helicopter from Oahu and a response boat from the Maui Coast Guard Station not far from here.”
His words were welcome but not total relief. Until they found Alana alive, Kimo would be tied in knots, dreading the worst.
They loaded her into the waiting ambulance to transport her to Maui Memorial Medical Center in Wailuku on the other side of the island. On the way, she asked to use the EMT's cell phone.
He obliged and handed her his personal phone.
For a long moment, she stared at the numbers on the screen, her eyes blurring. “I don’t know the number to dial,” she admitted softly. “All my contacts are stored on my phone.” She looked into the EMT’s eyes. “My phone was on the dive boat.” She held out the phone to the man.
He took it and asked. “Who are you trying to call?”
“My friend, Kalea.” Her voice hitched on an errant sob. “Her husband, Hawk—Jace Hawkins—was a Navy SEAL. He runs a security agency on the Big Island.”
The EMT’s eyebrows rose. “The Brotherhood Protectors?”
Hope bloomed in Kimo’s chest. “Yes. That’s it. You know it?”
“I’ve heard of them. They’ve done some work on the island. I’m sure we can get a number for them. Maybe they you can hook you up with your friend’s husband.”
Kimo tried to sit up. The straps held her back. “Yes. Please. See if you can find it. The Brotherhood Protectors might be able to help us find Alana.”
The EMT thumbed the information into his phone.
A moment later, he grinned. “I have it. Calling now.” He pressed his cell phone to his ear and waited.
“This is Josh from the Maui EMS. I have Kimo Kekoa with me. She’d like to speak with Jace Hawkins.
It is? Well, then let me hand her over.” He held out the phone to Kimo.
Kimo’s fingers curled around the cell phone as she pressed it to her ear. “Hawk?” Her voice shook.
“Kimo, what’s going on?” Hawk’s voice was gravelly, as if he’d just woken up. “Are you hurt?”