Chapter Four – Little Bit of Trouble

An hour later…

Emerson checked the mirror one last time before she was about to head out for the evening's festivities. She'd put on dark jeans, a fitted black tank top, black flip-flops and, of course, her silver. She should probably have left her silver jewelry out of the equation since it was glittery and would catch the light, but she didn't go anywhere without her silver. And anyway, she'd been to Maka and Lucy's a gazillion times. All of their neighbors knew her and wouldn't blink an eye that she was there. Furthermore, she had a key (well, not really, but she knew where they hid the spare).

Night had fallen and Lucy told her that Maka's return from the poker game was up in the air. If he was doing well, he stayed out late. If he was losing, he cut it short, came home and likely took his bad luck out on Lucy by saying things to her that made her feel like dirt. Emerson went to her Jeep Cherokee, backed it out, hit the button for the garage door to close and headed to Lucy and Maka's house. They had a beautiful beach house out in Kailua. Lucy loved it and Emerson liked it, too. She hoped her friend got it in the divorce settlement. Slowing down when she turned onto their street, Emerson did a drive-by, checking for lights and to see if Maka's BMW was parked in their driveway. It wasn't, so she parked around the corner, hoofed it up to the house, went around the side to the back and found Lucy's key in the fake rock by their outdoor Jacuzzi. She opened it with the combination, put the rock back where she found it, went to the door and let herself in. She didn't bother with gloves. Her prints were likely all over the house anyway. She also didn't turn on the light because she knew the house like the back of her own hand. She'd partied in it, had Christmas dinner in it, had crashed there on many occasions (normally drunk) and even helped Lucy clean it a number of times.

The only hitch in Emerson's plan was that she didn't know what she was looking for. Shirts with lipstick on the collar? Love letters? She had the bad feeling that she was going to have to follow Maka with a camera and take pictures of him while he was doing the nasty with some bimbo. She didn't relish that idea so she hoped Maka was a love letter keeping type of guy.

Emerson turned on the flashlight on her phone and decided to start in the bedroom. She'd seen enough movies and television to do a decent search. She started at his nightstand and found an industrial-sized box of condoms he had to have bought at some warehouse retail store. She didn't even know they made boxes of condoms that big. Emerson made note of this, knowing that Lucy was on the pill, therefore Maka didn't need condoms. She checked the bottom and insides of the drawer, the back and bottom of the nightstand, but nothing going.

Emerson was moving to the closet, intent on her task, when suddenly a steel-band-like arm wrapped around her waist, a hand went over her mouth and she was lifted clean off her feet. Freaked out, legs pumping and screaming under the hand, the brunette was carried out of the bedroom and into the living room like she weighed as much as a ragdoll. Emerson planted a well-aimed, savage elbow to the side of who she suspected was Maka, someone she did not want to catch her snooping and someone she also did not want to be alone with. Ever.

She heard a grunt when her elbow connected and she was dropped. Heart pumping and mind flying, Emerson started to run but was caught by the back of her tank top. It went way tight against her chest and she was yanked back, again off her feet. Her shoulders slammed against something hard right before she was whirled around. The arm went around her tight, pulling her against a solid torso just as the hand went back over her mouth.

"Quiet," Steve McGarrett clipped.

Ho-ly crap.

Emerson went still and stared, though she couldn't see much of anything. What in the hell was he doing there?

"You gonna stay quiet?" Steve asked.

Emerson nodded and his hand went away.

"What are you doing here?" Emerson whispered, not knowing what to think, or feel. Just shocked out of her mind. Was he following her? And, if so, why?

"Could ask you the same thing," he said, cutting into her thoughts.

"I'm visiting a friend," she lied quickly.

His body tensed and she felt something fill the room, something crackling and dangerous. Emerson couldn't see it in the dark, but she could feel it. She could feel it because his arm got tight and it hauled her even deeper into his body so they were pressed close.

"Stop lying to me, Emerson."

He hadn't called her Emmy Rose Leigh. Or even Emmy. That meant he was not happy. So not happy that she had to admit she was a little scared of him.

"I'm not lying," she lied, wincing at her own stupidity.

"You're telling me that Maka Koa is a friend of yours?"

"No, Lucy Koa is."

He knew Lucy. He'd met her way back in the day. This was likely why his arm relaxed enough for Emerson to pull away and put a foot of space between them, which was a far more comfortable position.

"Lucy isn't here," Steve hissed in the dark.

"Well, I know that now," she snapped back, like she'd expected her to be there. In other words, she lied, again.

"You often go to your friends' houses when they're not home and search around in the dark?"

Emerson had to think up another lie because it wasn't any of his business what she was doing there. Of course, it would have been his business if he hadn't trapped her against the wall in his offices that afternoon, but it wasn't his business anymore. He reached forward and grabbed her hand, tugging her back into the bedroom.

"Steve, stop. What are you doing?"

He bent down, nabbed her still-lit phone from the floor where she'd dropped it and snapped it off before telling her, "We're gettin' out of here."

He pulled her out of the bedroom and back into the living room. But Emerson planted her feet when he started to yank her across the room. He stopped and looked back.

"No. You're getting out of here," she flashed at him. "I'm, um… looking for the earring I left here the other night."

That sounded like a good lie. But Steve obviously didn't think it was a good lie. He gave her hand a sharp tug. She fell forward and without a word he started walking, dragging her behind him. Emerson yanked her hand out of his, stopped again and cried, "Steve!"

That was when the room exploded.

One second, they were standing there, Emerson glaring at him in the dark, Steve holding his body tense like he was stopping himself from shaking some sense into her. The next minute there was so much noise and flying debris, every thought flew out of her head.

Steve moved quickly. He threw himself at the petite brunette in a body tackle and they went down to the floor. He landed on top of her, body slamming into hers, and immediately pulled himself up. He wrapped his arms around her head and leaned his shoulder into the floor, her face pressed into his throat, his head tucked in, temple against the top of her forehead. Glass, dust, plaster and bits of Lucy's adored pottery collection flew everywhere as machine gunfire blasted through the huge living room window.

Emerson lay under Steve, pretty certain she was going to die and wishing she'd made a will. Now her sisters and mother were going to get all of Aunt Ella's inheritance money that Noah hadn't stolen from her because she had it in a secret account. She should have left it to Lucy. And an animal shelter.

The noise finally stopped, and even though it felt like it had gone on forever, it was probably less than a minute. Steve didn't move, just kept her tucked tight underneath him, and it dawned on Emerson that their position meant he was using himself as a shield to keep her safe.

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. That was too much. It was all too much.

"Steve," she whispered and his head came up. Emerson was quiet because she could tell he was listening, and not to her. Then his head tilted down and she could feel his eyes on her. She lifted her hand up between their faces, index finger and thumb held an inch apart and said, "Maybe I'm in a little bit of trouble."

It was only then he made a noise and it sounded an awful lot like a growl.