I'm going to save my comments about this chapter until the beginning of the next one for reasons that will become clear soon.

I love those moments when you are watching a TV show or a movie or reading a book and something happens that you completely didn't expect. A moment that was such an out of the blue surprise that you have to reread (or rewind) to figure out how you didn't manage to see that one coming. I hope that this chapter will be one of those for you…

Chapter 14 – Everything Can Change

"Lying here in the darkness, I hear the sirens wail, Somebody going to emergency, Somebody's going to jail. If you find somebody to love in this world you better hang on tooth and nail.

The wolf is always at the door.

In a New York Minute everything can change. In a New York Minute things can get a little strange. In a New York Minute everything can change.

In a New York Minute"

~Don Henley

Harper James' Hotel Room, an hour later…

"I am so tired of overprotective men that I could just scream."

Harper, muttering to herself, walked into her hotel room and shut the door behind her by giving it a swift kick with one of her booted heels. She moved into the kitchenette area to set down the bags of groceries she had acquired on her way home from headquarters and then shrugged off her jacket and threw it over the back of the nearby sofa. Walking back into the bedroom, she removed her gun from it's holster at her hip and unlocked the lockbox she kept in the nightstand. Securing the gun in the armored box, she then repeated the process with the Keltec P32 she carried in her ankle rig. It was her nightly routine that began back in Chicago where she never knew when one of her nieces or nephews would stop by unannounced. She continued the routine in Hawaii simply out of habit. Once both of her weapons were locked away, she began the process of removing the rest of her clothing and changed into a pair of khaki shorts and a gray tank top

After pouring herself a glass of wine and loading her favorite Sarah McLachlan playlist into the hotel room's sound system, Harper walked into the kitchenette and began unpacking the grocery bags full of ingredients for her Grandma Angie's famous spaghetti sauce. On nights when she needed to feel closer to her mother, the next best thing to having her around was a big pot of sauce whose recipe had been passed down through the women in her family for generations. Cooking was her favorite brand of therapy after a long day at work…there was something so soothing about the process of transforming raw, solitary ingredients into a savory amalgamation of flavor, smell, taste, texture, and color. Plus, cooking took a certain amount of concentration and it was hard to think about Wo Fat or her father or Steve when the aromas of oregano, basil, garlic, sautéed onions, and browning sausage began to waft through the hotel room.

Soon enough, the delicious smells from her childhood began to fill the room. Her late mother, Mary Sophia DeAngelo James, was a good little Italian girl from the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago before Mickey James rode in and swept her off her feet. Most of the memories Harper had of her mother had to do with food…sitting on the counter in the kitchen while her mother prepared dinner, taking a homemade casserole to a needy neighbor or a police officer's widow, and large family gatherings with plenty of love, laughter, and cannoli's. Somehow being in the kitchen always made her feel closer to her mom.

Once all of the ingredients for the sauce were combined, Harper turned the burner down to low so that it could simmer for about an hour. After refilling her wine glass, the redhead moved across the small living area to turn up the volume on the sound system before opening her french doors and stepping out onto the balcony of her room. Moonlight, the palest shade of blue, shone down on the quiet still of the ocean. Merging with the water, it made an exquisite portrait of serenity. The dim rays of light glazed the dark body, waves few and far between, a midnight black vicinity, a slightly rippled mass resembling the smoothest, shimmering glass.

Hopeless romantics might appreciate the view, somewhere along the distance looking from the natural mirror to the stars above, whispering sonnets and promises of eternal love and passion. To the lone figure standing on the balcony, though, there wasn't anything beautiful about it. The only emotion she found in the night's shadows was that of supreme frustration. Mystical enchantment and heart removed from the equation, all that remained was a haunting, chilling feeling in the air. Very much like her current mood.

"If it takes my whole life, I won't break, I won't bend. It will all be worth it, worth it in the end. Cause I can only tell you what I know, that I need you in my life. When the stars have all gone out you'll still be burning so bright. Cast me gently into morning, for the night has been unkind. Take me to a place so holy that I can wash this from my mind. The memory of choosing not to fight."

The words to one of Harper's favorite songs drifted out into the night air as the redhead allowed herself to get lost in the memories of the day's events.

Steven John McGarrett.

The moment that man came barging into her life she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. Their chemistry had been instant, but they had both tried to deny it at first. She resented his constant presence during her every waking hour and he was the dedicated military man whose sole mission was to keep her alive. But one reckless night had changed everything for them and set them on the long and winding path that had brought them both to Hawaii. Maybe it was fate. Swirling her wine around in her glass, Harper smirked and thought that maybe...

Whap!

The gloved hand that clamped itself firmly over Harper's mouth and nose sent a jolt of shock through her system. Taken completely by surprise, she froze in terror for one horrifying instant before her cop instincts began to kick in. Though her attacker's other arm was wrapped tightly around her chest, effectively pinning both her arms against her body, Harper bucked wildly, kicking her legs, and moving her upper body as much as she could. But it was no use...her attacker had to be twice her size and his very large and strong male body tackled her from behind. All of his weight was pressing down on her, pinning her to the hard, cold tile floor of her balcony and her brain began to compute every useful piece of information he was giving her as he began cutting off her air supply.

Powerful. Athlete.

Harper suddenly realized that it wasn't a glove covering her mouth and nose…it was a cloth. Thick and damp. It was suffocating her. Was it chloroform? No, it was odorless. Ether? Her brain was beginning to go fuzzy and she was afraid she was going to black out, but she had to get him off of her first. Bracing her legs beneath her, she used all the strength within her to twist her body to the left, threw all of her weight away from her attacker and toward the open door leading back into her hotel room. He fell back against the railing of the balcony and suddenly she was free of his grasp.

"Bad idea, Detective James," his muffled voice said into the sudden darkness that surrounded them.

Trying desperately to stay awake, Harper moved toward the living area of her room but the powerful drug was beginning to take effect. Her eyes were wild and her heart was hammering so loudly that she thought he might hear it. Reaching the sofa, she shrieked as loudly as she could, "Help! Somebody help me!"

But she had sealed her own fate by turning the music up so loud that no one was going to hear her cries. Powerful hands like claws grabbed at her and managed to grab her arm just above the wrist as she got to her feet. Harper howled as she jerked herself free of his grasp once more.

Savage, yet rational and crafty. Professional athlete?

Another of her father's lessons from her childhood broke through the numbing fear and chaos of the moment and she abruptly remembered something her father had told her as a little girl… Avoid all fights. Whenever possible, run from a fight. Those who avoid a fight always live to fight another day.

Run from a fight, she told herself. Run. Run. Run.

She had to be better than her attacker…better than his plan. But she couldn't see a damn thing. He had turned off every light in her hotel room. Her vision and sense of balance were definitely way off. There were two of just about every shape and shifting shadow in the room. Son of a bitch! Goddamn him! The detective thought of her guns locked safely away in the bedroom just a few feet away and from somewhere in her semi-conscious state, Harper smelled the sauce simmering away in the kitchenette.

Kitchen! There were knives in the kitchen. She had left one on the counter when she had finished slicing the onions…

Harper moved quickly to her left, away from the human monster in her room. Excruciating pain suddenly shot through her leg as she realized that she had clipped the end of the stupid coffee table in the middle of the room. She knew that she was so close to passing out because the drug he had given her had left her little strength to run anymore. She wasn't going to make it to the kitchen, no matter how hard she tried. She was being overpowered by her own body, her own senses.

She turned and a brilliant bright light shone right in her eyes.

A flashlight.

There was another man in the room. Harper's heart sank…she was drugged, unarmed, and outnumbered.

"Mikey, grab her!" came the voice from the balcony.

Mikey? As in Michael Sugimoto, Kai Akino's right hand man? That certainly made sense since Wo Fat and the Wilson Crips were the only people in Hawaii who could possibly want her dead. The second man, Mikey, moved the flashlight away, but she could still see the residual circles of light and Harper began to blink as she could barely make out the silhouette of a man.

Tall. More than six feet tall. Long hair.

She couldn't see his face, just a glimpse of his profile.

And then suddenly she was being thrown into the living room wall, her cheek making a sickening cracking sound when it connected against the hard surface. Harper, stumbling blindly back from the wall, fell right into the arms of her original attacker as she cried out and knew the blood she tasted in her mouth was her own. The man's grip was strong and realizing her size made fighting herself free an impossibility, the smart detective tried a different tactic.

She went limp.

Abruptly.

Suddenly.

She just went slack, becoming dead weight in her captor's arms. Whoever he was, he groaned in surprise at the sudden burden. Harper, the whole left side of her face on fire, took that opportunity to rear back and land a well aimed kick right in her attacker's shin. The man howled in pain and instinctively let go of Harper's chest, so she used her newly freed arm to ram it into his abdomen sharply. Angry now, her still unseen attacker grabbed Harper by the hair. Her scream of pain was muffled by his large palm as he pulled the handful of hair, hard. Harper, mouth still open from her scream, did the only thing she could think to do. She bit down on the inside of his palm, and nearly choked when her teeth broke through flesh and her mouth was flooded with the metallic taste of blood.

"You bitch!"

And that was the last thing she heard as Harper's body completely betrayed her and her eyes slid closed as the mix of chemicals worked through her respiratory system and the world went black.