I'm No Angel
Chapter 11
Sorry for the delay. Thanks to all who commented and/or weighed-in on whether Steve should tell his team about what he's been up to. Your support, (and your patience), is much appreciated. SPNGran did her thing on several previous versions of this chapter but the final one is unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.
Special thank you to Texas50Fan for her idea that starts to take shape in this chapter and to Aries Taurus for her help with all things French-Canadian. Husband gets a lot of credit for this chapter forallowing me to pester him about hotel stuff. (Now, if he could only stay out of the hospital long enough for me to finish this thing).
Disclaimer: No money was made and no perfection achieved.
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Complicated
On automatic pilot, mind swirling with unanswered questions, he sped north on the highway that hugged the windward coast of Oahu.
Perhaps it was all just a cosmic plot to drive him over the edge once and for all. He'd been walking that tightrope for a long time now.
Facts and details were piling up and they were leading him to one person - Marie. It felt as though he'd swallowed a chunk of ice when he realized she may have seduced a boy, killed him, then shown up barely an hour later at HQ and . . .
Waves visible from the roadway heaved against the rocky shoreline while, overhead, clouds the color of night threatened to release their violence. Were he to pull over and look upward or outward, the tumbling of sky and ocean would serve as perfect illustration of the chaos inside him.
Chills that had nothing to do with being drenched to the bone rolled through him.
Did his relationship with her have anything to do with all this? Was he being used? But how could she have known he was going to be on a pier in San Diego? Even he hadn't known where he'd windup when he took off that last time. He'd just needed to get away before he lost it. Feeling the Silverado shift slightly as it was buffeted by strong gusts, he gripped the wheel tighter to hold it on course as thoughts and emotion raced faster and more powerfully than it's engine.
….
Brunch is pleasant even if it's pouring buckets outside and the guy sitting across from her is oilier than the dressing on her salad. He is most polite but there's an air about her brunch companion that would make most people uncomfortable. The eyes gazing at her from the expensively attired man held all the expression of a snake contemplating its next mouse. But Marie Roux is definitely no mouse. She'd dealt with his kind before and remained unfazed by the unspoken menace.
After explaining to the man that the reaction to this type of thing on US soil wouldn't be quite the same as the response from law enforcement in his home country she nodded thoughtfully at what he'd proposed.
Certainly it was tempting, even if only for the challenge, but she'd have to consider it for a bit before accepting. Working both sides of the street definitely wasn't Kosher but it was a lot of money. If she took the job, she wouldn't have to work again for a very long time, or ever, if she was careful with her funds. Solemnly shaking his hand and thanking him for the meal, she stood, picked up the dainty little Fendi bag that was heavier than it looked and left the restaurant. She'd have to get back to her prospective employer. Normally, she wouldn't have hesitated to take the job.
The sailor had certainly complicated things.
…...
He'd asked a favor of Duke, trusting him to keep it as requested – just between the two of them. The HPD sergeant had called him back with disturbing information about the number Marie had given him. The phone is a burner and, other than a couple random calls to restaurants, etcetera, the only other number Marie had called was his. Of course there could be several valid reasons for having a disposable phone but the fact that she was using one had added another entry to the list he'd been compiling.
Max hadn't yet gotten back to him about any DNA on the water bottle and there weren't any prints to run at this point. The only ones he could find at his place were too smudged to be of use; as though Marie deliberately tried not to leave any. Even after inquiries made with his contacts in various agencies, there'd been nothing to learn. Marie's identity, (if that was even her real name), is still a mystery.
As he drove, thoughts of his own lack of restraint ate at him. He'd behaved like some horny kid instead of a grown man who'd been entrusted with the safety of the citizens of Hawaii. How had someone who prided himself on his control become such a loose canon; compromising his own long held principles? He'd betrayed one who obviously cared for him even though he may not feel quite the same way about her in return. He'd fucked everything up with Lynn for a roll in the hay with a woman who may turn out to be an emissary of the devil.
Disgust and self-loathing were his passengers in the big silver truck speeding along the wind-blown highway.
...
Driving past his destination, he parked farther down the road and jogged through driving rain to the hotel's entrance. He strode quickly to the front desk; waiting impatiently while the clerk finished a phone conversation with a guest. She looked up with an apologetic smile as she dealt with the caller. Her end of the conversation revealed there'd been some sort of problem regarding a guest's breakfast tray.
Having time to look around the lobby, he realized its décor was similar to the room where he'd spent his time with Marie. Pleasingly posh, it had a high open-beamed ceiling, creamy white walls, and furniture of wicker and dark wood. Fan blades shaped like palm fronds swirled slowly overhead stirring the heavily laden air.
In an accent of Caribbean origin the clerk acknowledged that the stargazers, (whatever the hell those are), have a strong smell. "Perhaps madame would prefer some lovely hybrid roses which have almost no scent?" she asked. Whatever the reply, it made her wince. "We do have an excellent physician on-call who can be summoned to your room. Does madame require such services?" the answer provoked another wince, "I shall definitely make the staff aware so that it doesn't happen again, madame. The Grande Terre offers its sincerest apologies for your discomfort."
As the call ended, his thought was, I wouldn't want this poor woman's job for all the macadamias in Hawaii!
Thankfully, the perturbed guest hadn't negotiated for a discounted rate. He was pretty sure that the people who stayed here weren't all that concerned about money. Once again he wondered how Marie could afford it. How exactly does she make her living?
The beleaguered clerk in the coral-hued blazer with 'Hotel des Grande Terre embroidered in gold thread over the breast pocket smiled at the man before her. He was soaked; wet clothing traced his body – a wonderfully athletic body from what she could tell. Tiny droplets of rain clung to his long lashes. Perhaps this cursed storm has brought something other than misery to me? thought Lenore, Certainly, something much prettier to look at than fat tourists.
Raising the hem of a soggy shirt, he unclipped a badge from his belt. Holding it up before her he announced, "I'm Commander McGarrett of Five-0."
Pale eyes in a face the color of burnt honey widened but she quickly composed herself to present a serene friendliness and asked, "How may we be of assistance to you, Commander McGarrett?"
"Call room 203 and see if the woman who rented it is in." he ordered. With no apparent vanity in the gesture he raked his fingers through his hair to push back the dark strands plastered to his forehead.
"Is there a message you'd like me to convey, sir?"
"No, umm . . . ask if she has enough towels or something. I just need to know if the room is occupied."
Nodding, Lenore picked up the phone once again and punched in the room number. After listening for several moments, she placed the handset back into its cradle and said, "There's no answer there, sir."
He nodded then asked. "What name did she register with and when?"
Long fingers ghosted gracefully over the keyboard of the registration system. After a few clicks, she leaned forward to double check the screen before straightening to say, "Madame registered as Ms. Collette Savard, a day short of two weeks ago."
Collette! Another chunk of ice wedged into his gut. She'd been here for nearly a week before the murders.
Clearing his throat he asked, "How long is the room booked for and how did she pay for it? Was a credit card used?"
"The room had been paid for in cash and there are still several days left on the prepay. Madame Savard has booked it for an entire month."
"Do you know what Ms. Savard looks like?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. She's a very attractive lady. Tall with short dark hair."
Nodding in confirmation, he willed his heart to slow from its increasingly rapid beating. "If you see her, don't tell her that anyone was inquiring after her."
"The Hotel du Grande Terre is known for its discretion." replied Lenore before adding, "Though we do our best to cooperate with the authorities when required."
Without her having to say it, Five-0's commander knew that what she means is 'What happens here stays here unless someone calls the cops'.
"Please dial this number immediately if you see her come in . . . Lenore." he said as he glanced at her name tag while pulling out his wallet to extract a card to push across the counter.
"Of course." she said with a solemn nod; deftly slipping the damp rectangle into her pocket.
Belatedly using the smile that got him pretty much anything he wanted from nearly any woman he used it on, he thanked her and crossed the Persian carpeted lobby to trot up the stairway next to the elevator. There was certainly no need to wait for the lift, there were only three stories to the boutique hotel.
Arriving at the third floor room, he gained entry with the key card Marie had given him at their last 'meeting'. There probably wouldn't be much time to conduct a search.
….
Other than the small bottle of a perfume on the bedside table, there was nothing else. He carefully uncapped it and took a sniff. It was definitely what he'd smelled on the boy's jacket and the bracelet. The same cologne he identified with Marie.
It's labeled 'Farouche'. He's actually familiar with the word, having learned it when his team had been working with UN Special Forces in Afghanistan. When an eight-year-old child had fled in fright when they'd rolled into his village, he and a French soldier had given chase; worried the kid might run into nearby hostiles. But the boy was wild as a hare and as fast. When they finally caught him, he'd put up quite a fight for such a small child. The Frenchman had used 'farouche' to describe the fierce and sullen boy they'd returned to his worried mother.
He'd left the village thinking that he'd at least kept one innocent safe from harm but a few days later, he'd learned the kid had been killed by a Taliban landmine and the soldier who'd been helping in the chase had been seriously wounded at Surobi.
So many failures . . .
Shaking himself from thoughts that wouldn't help, he sought to concentrate once again on the current situation. He'd have Jerry do some research to see if the perfume is sold locally. Maybe it's popular enough for someone else to have worn it other than Marie.
After several more minutes he'd found nothing of note. Making sure that he'd left no traces of his search, he left the room and returned to the lobby to tell Lenore he was leaving but to call him when Ms. Savard returned.
…
'Wound tighter than the lug nuts on a Land Rover' thought Danny, using one of Lou's favorite expressions. Steve had returned to HQ; his usual easy saunter replaced by a hard-heeled march across the granite tiled floor. It was obvious to the astute detective that something more than an unsettled love life was at play here. He and his partner are going to have to have a talk.
Long past any normal working hours, the team minus Grover was once again gathered around the smart table discussing the two murders that, unlikely as it may have originally seemed, are connected.
Steve had found a towel somewhere and was scrubbing it through his hair; making it stand up in spikes. It was all Danny could do to keep his hands away and not try to flatten it down. His partner's lack of concern for any hairstyling made him nuts.
It continued to pour outside. The latest word is that the hurricane whose leading edge is pounding Oahu, is stalled offshore. When it gets moving again it's predicted to intensify as it passes over land. Everyone seems to be holding their breaths waiting for Hurricane Alika, (so named by the National Hurricane Center), to continue her path across the island.
Steve had news to give them. On the way back from his still unexplained mission, he'd received a call from a contact, (finally), who provided further detail to what they'd learned from Dennis Lozano. He told of an ongoing dispute between two big-time drug cartels in Honduras.
The focal point of their discord is the proposed bridge over the Patuca River. So far, the two rivals had stuck to a truce and refrained from hostilities but the arrangement would only work if they remained on equal footing. One of the cartels wouldn't be much affected by the project so they didn't see any problem with the bridge but the one whose clandestine income would be taking a hit was outraged. The change in infrastructure could make it possible for one group to dominate the other.
The new bridge would be accessed by an eight-lane highway cutting through prime poppy fields, making the illegal crops visible to the public. Any drug enforcement agency remaining untainted by the lure of easy money would be prompted to take action.
"So, Capwell Construction and Pacific Island Steel are the ones suffering in the fallout from this pissing contest between the, um, Puerta al Infiernos and the Río de Muertes?" asked the Jersey detective, pausing to check his scribbled notes. He was so tired his head was mush but he spoke enough Spanish to translate the cartel's names, (neither of them necessarily cheerful). The first one he'd written down is 'Doorway to Hell' with the other being 'River of Death'.
Who thinks up these cheesy names? thought Danny. Couldn't they just call themselves something simple like The Sharks and The Jets?
"They just restarted sinking the concrete piers for the new bridge." said Steve, "Construction is underway again."
"So, the offing of the guy at Capwell was supposed to make them stop construction but the new CEO is going ahead with it." nodded Kono. The nick at her hairline that had bled so much at the scene of the jewelry store robbery was now almost invisible.
"And it was reinforced by the killing of the son of one of their subcontractors." said Chin with a tired sigh.
"Killing that kid was just . . . evil." said Kono.
"Yeah, but we're talking drug cartels here so evil is just another Tuesday." replied Danny.
Expression matching his bleak tone, Steve said, "In any case, we . . . I should have made the connection between the two murders a lot sooner."
No one commented. The guilt and self-recrimination in his statement was apparent. There'd been nary a smile nor even a softening of their leader's stony expression since the jewelry store shoot-out. Pretty much the only time he spoke was when they were discussing the case. Trying to make him feel better about what had happened was futile.
There was nothing official from IAD yet but word was that their review of the 'officer involved shooting' had found no negligence on the part of Five-0. No one would be reprimanded for what Steve considered his own giant screw-up.
Said Chin in effort to break the silence, "So, we've established a motive but we still don't know if it's this Eidolon guy that did it. He probably doesn't work cheap but we know the money's certainly there to finance the work."
Steve nodded then looked away; lips drawn into a thin line. Reflection from the streetlamps outside wavered and danced on the floor of the office. He focused on the palm fronds beating against the windows as though they knew something worse was coming and wanted in.
Perhaps they too had heard an ominous whisper that had nothing to do with the storm.
...
Steve sent everyone home for the night but he'd remained. Sitting in his silent office, he contemplated what had led up to his current predicament. He thought he was alone.
How could a random hook-up in San Diego be part of this? Who'd even picked up who on the pier? That had been more than six months ago. Had our rediscovery of one another in the restaurant been accidental or was it planned? If this all goes to hell and I have to let my team know what I've been up to and who I've been up to it with - what am I going say? . . . 'Hey guys, I'm a total fucking idiot. I've been cheating on my girlfriend with this woman I picked up in a bar, (on a pier?), who, by the way, may be a murderer.'
He had to somehow meet with Marie. He needed to ask questions without arousing suspicion . . . or arousing anything else.
Lost in thought, he didn't hear Danny until he pushed open the door and blew into the room like the storm that had everybody scrambling for shelter.
"I think it's time we had a talk, Steven!" announced the detective without preamble. He'd been halfway home when, with a curse, he'd turned the Camaro around.
"Another one?" snorted Steve without looking up. He reached for a report that had been sitting on his desk for hours and pretended to read it. Danny demanding a conversation was never a good thing. It inevitably led to something he didn't want to talk about.
The detective stood there, arms crossed, knowing his partner was trying to ignore him but that wasn't going to happen.
Steve signed the last page of the stack of paperwork then tossed the pen onto his blotter before leaning back in his chair. Fixing hooded eyes on the man standing in front of his desk he said, "Sit down then if you're not going to go away."
Danny nodded silently then turned to plop himself down on a chair opposite. "So, what's going on with you?" he asked.
"I thought we already had this discussion."
"Don't try to be evasive, Steven. Despite your supposed vast experience in covert ops, you're not that good at it."
The tall man glared at him then snapped, "What exactly is it that you want . . . Daniel?"
"As I asked a moment ago, what is going on with you? Why are you being so secretive; I mean even more than usual? Why have you been such a dick to everyone? Are you still seeing that woman? I'm guessing yes 'cause you don't you look any more rested than you did days ago when we talked about you burning the candle at both ends. Did you call if off with Lynn? What gives?"
"First of all, you've asked a hundred questions in one paragraph. But before I answer any of them, I've got one for you. "Why is my love-life any of your damn business?!"
Not letting his partner's tone affect him the detective answered evenly, "Look, you can be as pissy as you want but I'm not going away and my answer to your question is that it's the business of someone who actually cares about you, you jackass."
Steve sat glaring angrily; lips pressed into a tight line. Friends or not, he had no intention of responding to what amounted to an interrogation.
"Fine!" announced Danny. "If you're not going to answer, I'm going to have to suggest something you don't want to hear. I'm going to suggest that you take a vacation. Get out of town for a few days."
"You know that's not gonna happen." snorted Steve.
"Look, I don't know if fatigue had anything to do with that kid getting the drop on us outside the jewelry store. I mean, I missed seeing him as well, but I do know that you blame yourself."
The only sound was that of wind-driven rain splatting against the big windows on this side of the office.
"You gonna talk to me about it or do I have to get the governor involved?"
Steve gave him a long, hard, stare as he braced himself.
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This should go two more chapters. Whump in the next one. Thanks for sticking with it and taking the time to comment. Your support is much appreciated.
