No man is an island, of this I know
But can you see, or
Or maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone
- Black Flies, Ben Howard
Rick
Some things he just knew.
Like how to tease up a smile on a tired customer's face, or when the bartender was shorting the till, or how to make a killer martini. Growing up, Rick had always been able to get people to see things his way simply by paying attention. Everyone had tells—and he learned at a young age that if he could discover them, he'd get what he needed and, more often than not, what he wanted as well.
This skill had served him well in school, kept him safe in the Marines, kept him alive in the Korengal. He'd been able to watch his friends, know when they were close to tapping out, know how to bring them back from the edge—all except for Thomas.
It wasn't that Thomas didn't have his tells—the man was a freaking book Rick would never stop reading. But he was like mercury. No matter what Rick did, Thomas was able to side-step the care, turning it around until the younger man was suddenly supporting him. It was disconcerting. And challenging.
He loved a good challenge.
Rick had lost the last member of his family before he'd shipped out for Afghanistan. Unless he counted Ice Pick, which he absolutely did…but that was different. Ice Pick was chosen.
It hit him with a strange kind of sorrow—almost like he knew he was supposed to be sad, but the only thing that he was really left with was the taste of loneliness in the back of his throat. He'd really been too young to know his mother and his father had been…complicated. No siblings, no grandparents.
The odd sense of being truly alone in the world had not lasted long. He'd found the Marines, he'd found a brotherhood, and he'd found TC, Nuzo, and Thomas. Anchoring himself in their companionship centered him. Defined him.
He'd meant what he'd said to Higgins—though, he couldn't believe he'd confessed that to Juliet Freaking Higgins of all people. If Thomas hadn't survived that camp, Rich hadn't wanted to, either. There was something compelling about the energy that shimmered around Thomas Magnum. Something that captured Rick like no other friendship or relationship ever had.
It gave Rick purpose. Direction. Allowed him to continually suck the marrow from life while not losing the edge that had kept him alive in the dark.
Thomas repeatedly threw himself into any and every situation—good or bad. He was fully committed to every emotion and would frequently put himself at the bottom of the list if it meant someone else would be safe or happy. And because of that, Rick felt the need to keep an eye on him.
Because there were some things he just knew.
Like the fact that Thomas wasn't okay—no matter what his grin might try to make them believe—and hadn't been okay since he helped find Amanda Sato's kidnapper. He knew the guy wasn't sleeping, that he was watching them all with an unusual hyper-vigilance, and that there was something eating away at him like acid in his heart.
It was the kind of thing therapy was supposed to help, but none of them had really taken to the typical group counseling recommended to them when they were in Germany healing up from what the Taliban had put them through. It was too hard to talk about with anyone who hadn't been there. They'd figured as long as they had each other—as long as they were watching out for each other—they'd be okay.
Now, though, Rick wondered if they'd missed something with Thomas.
Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he sighed, picking up his phone with a frown and selecting TC's name.
"What's up, my brother?"
Rick leaned a hip against the bar top, tugging up the leg of his pink pants and resting a Converse-covered foot on the wrung of the barstool next to him. His garish Hawaiian shirt belied a sense of joy he hadn't truly felt in weeks.
"You heard from Thomas today?"
"Nah," TC replied, sighing with mild irritation. "Was about to call him on it, too."
"What do you mean?"
He heard something metallic clank in the background. The sound of a tool against an engine. Of TC living his dream. It sounded like forced peace.
"He was supposed to meet me this morning to help with some stuff around here—payback for some of those 'free tours' he's so generous with."
Rick's frown deepened. "Yeah, same."
"What, he owe you time?"
"Promised to cover a bar shift this afternoon to make up for the free drinks."
Rick practically felt TC pull closer to the phone.
"What are you thinking?"
"Well, I'm not thinking he blew us off."
"He's been trying awful hard to convince us everything's good."
"Too hard."
"You call Higgy?"
Rick shook his head. She wouldn't get it. There was too much history here she didn't understand. She assumed too much and didn't see enough.
"I need eyes on him, man."
"I hear you—I'll leave now to get you."
"Thanks, TC."
"Hey…gotta take care of our boy, yeah?"
"Yeah."
The ride to Robin's Nest was quiet, both men caught up in their own heads. Rick often wondered what TC thought about Robin's having offered Thomas the live-in security consultant position. They never really talked about it once they got to the island. It had almost been an unspoken agreement between he, TC, and Nuzo that if anyone needed this chance, it was Thomas.
Once it was clear they were all coming home alive, Rick knew he'd land on his feet—he always did, no matter the situation. TC had been mentally building his business plan since before they escaped. Nuzo had Lara and a new baby already on the island. Before they'd left Germany, the three men had security and a future in Hawaii.
Thomas, though…after surviving by pure stubbornness, he'd been gutted by the knowledge that his mother had died when he was in the camp. Going back to his hometown in Virginia wasn't a possibility, and there was a fragility about him they'd all seen but hadn't wanted call attention to for fear that speaking the thing would make it real.
Robin Masters was a daring journalist, but while fearlessness might make for a good story, it had often put those on his security detail in a bit of a bind. Nine times out of ten, that detail included Thomas—and the SEAL had pulled Robin's ass out of some hairy situations multiple times before the Korengal happened to all of them.
It hadn't surprised any of them that the writer had decided to base the hero of his best-selling series on Thomas. Not after what Thomas had gone through to keep Robin alive. To keep all of them alive.
In gratitude for not only saving his ass, but for making him a goddamn billionaire, Robin hadn't hesitated to offer Thomas a place to live and a ready-made job when he found out they were alive. It had taken them a bit to convince Thomas to accept. Regardless of his penchant for complaining about being relegated to a sidekick in Robin's novels, Rick would be forever grateful to the man for seeing the vulnerability in their friend—and recognizing that Thomas needed time to fix the broken pieces inside him.
"Freaking Robin Masters," TC suddenly muttered beside him as they pulled through the gate after punching in the code.
Rick jumped slightly—both from the sudden sound of his voice and from the earie echo of his thoughts. Maybe TC just knew things, too.
"Want to share with the class?" Rick prodded.
"Just think it every time I drive through these gates," TC said, then chuckled low and slow. "While we were counting the days between beatings in that damn camp, Masters was cashing in on the White Knight."
"He didn't know where we were," Rick automatically replied—a fact he found himself having to repeat to remind himself when he got low. "Nothing he could have done."
"Nah, I know," TC sighed, pulling to a stop and shoving the van into park. "Just…sometimes makes me think."
"You mean about where our lives would be today if we hadn't…."
"Yeah," TC said quietly. "Would we all be on this island? Would we all still be friends?"
"Would Nuzo still be alive?"
They sat for a beat in silence, then TC opened his door and stepped out without a word, Rick following. They made their way to the guest house, moving around to the lanai to let themselves in.
"Thomas?" Rick called, moving through the living area to the kitchen.
"Yo! T.M.!" TC hollered, moving back to the bedroom.
They met back at the lanai. Rick lifted his hands out to his sides.
"You see the Ferrari when we pulled in?"
TC shook his head, then pulled out his phone, trying Thomas' number again. "Keeps going to voicemail," he grumbled.
"Yeah, same." Rick frowned. "Let's see what Higgins knows."
TC nodded and the two set out for the main house. When Higgins opened the door to them, Rick felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Gents," she greeted, her tone clipped. "I'm afraid you missed him."
"How long ago did he leave?" Rick asked.
"Over an hour," she sighed, then stepped back to let them in, British politeness overruling whatever irritation had her jaw set in a hard line. "And he was in a state."
"A state?" Rick repeated turning to face her. "Care to elaborate?"
Juliet sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "He insisted a client of his was in danger, despite Katsumoto informing him that he'd found nothing at an address Magnum gave him. He yelled at me and then stormed out, claiming that too many people had been hurt because of him," she flopped her hands at her sides in a helpless gesture. "Honestly, if he hadn't already been basically one big bruise, I was sorely tempted to hit him myself."
"Whoa," Rick held out a hand, frowning as he processed her words, cold fingers creeping up his spine. "Back up—he was beaten up?"
Juliet nodded, but her look of irritation didn't waver. "It was clear he'd gotten into some kind of altercation, but he refused to give me any details."
"How beaten up?" Rick stepped forward, his instincts on point. He felt like he was just given a target, but someone had stolen his rifle. He could see TC eyeing him off to the side, but ignored his big friend for a moment, intent on details.
"His face was bruised and cut—if I had to guess, I would say fist-fight—and he was favoring his ribs. Again. By the way he was going on about people being hurt, I would also guess a concussion."
"You suspected he had a concussion and you still let him leave?" Rick challenged.
"Easy, Rick—" TC started.
Juliet turned to face Rick, her hands on her narrow hips. "And just what would you have me do?"
"Stop him!" Rick shot back, stepping into her personal space, feeling his face grow hot from indignation. "You're freaking MI6—I'm sure you know how."
"You didn't see him," Juliet snapped back. "He acted as though he was on a mission—and I am well aware the man was a Navy SEAL, thank you very much."
"A wounded Navy SEAL—" Rick practically shouted, stopping only because TC put a hand on his chest and gently applied pressure until he took a breath and three steps back.
He looked up at TC's calm dark eyes, only then realizing how far off track he'd allowed his emotions to run.
"You good?" TC asked, his voice low. "Or do we need to take a walk?"
"I'm good," Rick promised, meeting TC's gaze squarely, then nodded.
TC turned back to Juliet. "Sorry, Higgy," he offered. "There's a lot of history with Thomas at play here."
Juliet had taken a step back herself and crossed her arms once more. "Apparently."
Rick moved to prop himself up on the edge of the couch. "He's just…he's shit at taking care of himself," he said honestly. "He was literally dying and he still paid more attention to us."
"What do you—"
"In the camp," TC elaborated.
"Oh," Juliet replied and practically deflated before their eyes. "Look…I admit that I may have been…a bit of an asshole."
Rick arched an eyebrow. "This is new."
Juliet threw her hands up again in tell Rick was beginning to associate with Thomas Magnum takes the prize for Most Frustrating Human.
"He simply…he pushes all of my buttons; do you know what I mean?"
"Yes," Rick and TC replied immediately and in unison.
"I find myself losing track of the fact that I am a grown, rational adult, and simply want to prove him wrong or put him in his place."
Rick glanced at TC, then they looked back at Juliet. "We get it," they replied together.
Juliet looked at them. "And yet…you both would do anything for him. Literally anything. I've seen it, I just…don't know that I understand it."
"There's really no way you could," Rick said, letting her off the hook with his tone and sinking a bit deeper against the edge of the couch. "Not with the person he's let you see."
"The person he's let me see?" Juliet tilted her head.
"There are many sides to our boy," TC said, dropping down into a chair across from Rick. "And he's only gonna let you see the one that allows him to control how close you get to him."
Rick watched as Juliet chewed on that for a beat.
"I'm not sure I like the insinuation that he's smart enough to manipulate me like that."
"Ha! Oh, he's smart enough," Rick chuffed. "You ever wonder why Robin picked 'security consultant' out of all the possible jobs he could have offered Thomas?"
Juliet arched a brow.
"The man misses nothing," TC informed her. "Dude walks into a room and the first thing he sees is all four corners."
"I have observed his ability to notice and remember minute details. Once or twice," Juliet acquiesced.
"And he speaks at least four languages," Rick revealed.
"That we know of," TC added. He glanced at Rick. "I think I discovered he knew Korean a few weeks back."
"Wouldn't surprise me," Rick shrugged.
Juliet sighed. "I don't…why on earth would he not want people—want me—to know this about him?"
"Think about it," Rick tipped his chin down. "It's not like you introduced yourself as former MI6 when we first met you."
"No, of course not," Juliet sighed, "but he purposely allows me to think him a…a rogue and a playboy."
"Higgy, no offense," TC rumbled, "but you drew those conclusions on your own. All Thomas did was not correct you."
Juliet sat back on her heels, processing that response for a moment. "What did you mean about him not taking care of himself?"
The way she asked gave Rick the feeling she was trying to put a few pieces back into the puzzle that was Thomas in her mind.
He decided to give her an example.
Korengal, 2015, Rick
He would have lost track of time if it hadn't been for Nuzo, their human clock.
The feisty Italian had started etching hatch marks in their cells from day one. Their first location had been stone cells carved out of the ruins of older cities. The Russian occupation of the country had long ago established the fact that the current buildings of today were built upon the skeletons of yesterday, which offered a trove of IED hide-aways and places to store prisoners.
Those first days blended a bit…until the moment Thomas peered through a crack in the wall and saw someone who'd once been a friend, realizing they'd been betrayed. From that moment forward, it felt like every time the slant of sunlight crossed from one cell to another their lives started crackling at the edges.
When they were moved to the caves, there was no way to discern day from night. There was simply awake and asleep—and after one or another was hauled away for interrogation, those ways of keeping time became rather subjective. So, Nuzo began to keep track by the times they were fed, assessing it to be roughly once in a twenty-four-hour period.
As it turned out, he'd ended up only being a few days off in his final count.
He'd say the latest number out loud to them when they were all awake and when they were moved, as they often were when the location of the camp was close to being discovered, he would use Thomas' small pocket knife—which he'd only been able to keep hold of because they kept it constantly changing hands—to carve the last number he'd told them on the wall and start the hatch marks from there.
That's how Rick knew it had been five weeks since they'd last seen Thomas—the longest he'd been away from them.
It was the third time they'd taken him. The first time had been for nine days. The second for twenty-two. Each time Rick was convinced they weren't getting him back, and each time Thomas survived to be returned to them.
This time, no one was really sure why they'd grabbed him—TC was convinced they just liked to torture him, Nuzo thought it had something to do with why they were captured in the first place, but Rick knew it was because Thomas refused to fall in line. He fearlessly poked the bear—refusing to answer questions when interrogated, or worse quoting song lyrics or movie lines in Dari or Pashto just to mess with their heads. He resisted their control, their demand for submission, any way he could.
Thomas' resistance was Rick's salvation. If Thomas had ever once caved, Rick knew he would have died inside, and that would have been his end.
Five weeks.
They'd almost gotten used to waking up without him in their small space, without hearing him breathe along with them. Without listening as he sang classic rock off-key in Spanish because it amused Nuzo. Or watching as he created chess boards with various-sized stone chips.
There was an intimacy that came with being trapped with three other men in a space too small to stand or stretch out. A way of allowing for the human condition—a latrine, a bed space, a nightmare—that only those who have been through similar could relate to. Keeping Thomas away from them for five weeks threw off their balance; returning him to them did it all over again.
And Rick suspected that was exactly why they did it. When Thomas came back that time, Rick was terrified about how long they'd take him the next time. And of what it would do to their will to survive.
Thomas wasn't a big guy—shorter and slighter than Rick—but he'd always been solidly built and muscular enough to handle the physical demands of the Teams. When their captors dragged him back into the main holding space after his five-week sentence was complete, Rick had been shocked by how thin the man was.
His black hair was longer than it had ever been, his beard had grown in, making him look much older than Rick knew him to be, and his ribs were visible beneath the stretched cotton of his thin T-shirt. Rick couldn't help it—he cried out in protest when the guards threw Thomas to the ground just outside their cage.
"Get back, get back!" One guard shouted in Dari, banging the butt of his rifle against the cage. Rick might not have known what the guard was saying, but he knew by now what he meant.
Thomas pushed to his hands and knees, coughing a wet, hacking sound as he caught his breath.
"Leave him alone!" Rick yelled, gripping the bars in his fists and thrusting his face against the opening as far as he could. "Back the fuck off!"
"Rick," Thomas gasped. "Don't—"
Before Thomas could finish his sentence, the guard pointed the business end of his rifle directly at Rick's face.
"Enough—it's the hole for you!" The guard continued, the dialect rolling across the dank air to hit the men in the cage like physical blows.
Rick had no idea what the man said, but whatever it was, it launched Thomas into action. The man was on his feet so fast Rick found himself doubting if he'd ever fallen in the first place. Thomas put himself between the guard and Rick, his thin shoulders squared off and blocking Rick's view of the rifle, his body pressing against where Rick's hands were curled around the bars.
"No!" Thomas barked, his voice rough with disuse. Rick couldn't imagine five weeks without talking. He'd go insane. "No, back off!"
"You want to go back? Back to your friends the rats? Back to the hole?"
Thomas visibly shuddered at those words and Rick glanced over at Nuzo—the only other one who came close to understanding this exchange. Nuzo waved him off, his eyes pinned to Thomas' back.
"Leave him alone," Thomas growled in Dari, grabbing the guard's attention by revealing he knew what they were saying, had known all along. "You don't want him dead yet or you would have already killed him. The hole will kill him."
The guard paused, and to Rick it almost looked like he might have smiled. After a moment, he lowered his rifle, then motioned to the other guard to unlock the cage door.
"Get in," he said in Dari, knowing that Thomas picked up every word. "Your rat friends will see you soon enough."
Without taking his eyes off the guard, Thomas backed into the cage with the other three. No one moved as the door was shut and locked, waiting until the guards moved away. The moment they were out of sight, however, Thomas seemed to fold in on himself, his legs disappearing as he sank soundlessly to the ground.
Rick was in motion in an instant, but Nuzo still beat him to Thomas. The bald man rolled Thomas over to his back and they collectively winced at the emaciated features, chapped lips, rasping breath. Nuzo had his hand on the side of Thomas' face.
"Jesus, he's burning up," he muttered. "What do we got?"
"Water, and some of the pills he got from the French guy," TC reported.
Rick shifted to his knees, reaching for Thomas and collecting the man against him. He could feel the heat through Thomas' thin clothes, the way his body shuddered with pain and fever. As had become their habit, he cradled Thomas against his chest, the dark head rolling to rest against Rick's collarbone. TC force-fed him the antibiotics they'd gotten off a French prisoner months before—they were, in all likelihood, expired, but it was better than nothing.
Thomas greedily swallowed the water, not fully conscious, but aware enough to recognize relief. Rick simply held him, shifting so that TC could tip his head back for the water and Nuzo could inspect him for any other injuries beyond the fever.
"He okay?" Rick asked, hearing the waver in his voice betray the fear that shook through him.
This was too much. The endless interrogations, the beatings, the starvation, the dehydration, the threats and sickness and disease…he could survive all that. But this…seeing his friend like this, knowing how close he was to having to let him go…it was too much.
"He's not bleeding anywhere, at least," Nuzo reported.
"What were they saying?"
Nuzo sighed and sank back to his haunches, rubbing a hand over his scalp. "They threatened to put you in the hole," he revealed. "When Thomas stopped them, they told him they'd take him back."
"Jesus Christ," Rick whispered. "He'd just survived five weeks—why risk more?"
Nuzo leveled his eyes on him, a weight in his gaze that Rick carried with him every day since. "He said the hole would kill you."
Rick blinked. He was right. Alone in silence—no idea what was happening to the rest, no idea when he'd be beaten next—it would drive him mad. He couldn't bear it, he knew that. He looked down at the unconscious man in his arms, surprised that Thomas knew it, too.
"He's right," Rick rasped.
Thomas shivered, muttering something in Spanish.
"You catch that?" TC asked.
"Sounded like…no friend to rats? Rats aren't friends?" Rick shook his head. "Probably delirious."
"Maybe. But the guards were talking about sending him back to the rats, so…," Nuzo sighed. "Let's see if we can get more water in him and then take shifts keeping him warm until the fever breaks."
TC moved closer with the water, some of it soaking into Thomas' beard. Rick simply held him. He didn't think he was going to be able to let him go anytime soon. He needed this balance, otherwise he was going to be swallowed by the darkness.
"H-hey…," Thomas murmured suddenly, his eyes opening to slits.
"Hey, buddy," Rick replied, smiling and squeezing his shoulder gently. "Welcome back."
"Miss m-me?"
The choked, feeble tone of his voice had Rick's heart clenching.
"You bet your ass," Nuzo spoke up. "I keep beating these two chuckleheads at prison chess. Need a decent opponent."
"H-how long?"
They were all quiet for a moment, each wondering how he'd react to the truth.
"Rick?"
"Five weeks, Tommy," Rick told him. "You made it back to us, man."
"Five…," Thomas blinked his eyes wide for a moment. "L-long assed time."
They chuckled appreciatively.
"How about sticking around for a while this time?" Rick said.
Thomas blinked again, weariness in every line of his expression. "Only if they…don't take…you."
His eyes slid closed and Rick felt panic well up inside him. "Tommy?"
"He's sleeping, man," TC assured him, a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Take a breath. He's just sleeping."
"Goddamn," Rick muttered, shaking his head. He dragged a hand down his face, feeling the rasp of his own whiskers against the rough skin of his palm. "Goddamn."
"You can say that again," Nuzo sighed. "We'll have to see if they'll let us clean him up in a bit—after they're done being pissed at him. Make sure we keep the lice under control."
TC nodded, but Rick just looked down at Thomas' thin face.
"Only if they don't take you," he repeated. "This fucking guy." TC tightened his grip on Rick's shoulder, and he felt Nuzo's hand at his back. "We gotta keep him with us."
"We will," Nuzo declared. "He's not leaving us again."
He did leave them, though.
He left two more times before they escaped, but never as long as five weeks. Each time Rick thought he wasn't coming back. Each time he survived.
And each time Rick held onto him until they all breathed in sync again.
Rick
He'd only been talking for minutes, but it felt to Rick as though years had passed.
Juliet was watching him with big eyes, her jaw tight enough Rick thought she'd break a tooth. When his words ran out, the quiet in the room grew heavy. His mouth felt dry, his chest tight, his eyes burning. He glanced over at TC and saw the other man was staring at the ground with a lost expression.
As if all the hope had been sucked out of the world.
"You said before," Juliet started, then had to stop to clear her throat before continuing. "You said that if he made a noise, they beat him."
Rick nodded and saw TC look up at her.
"Did they…were you treated the same?"
TC answered for him. "Nah, just Thomas. And just in the hole." He huffed out a weak laugh. "Kinda think that's why it's so hard to get him open up these days."
Rick felt his mouth pull up into an involuntary grin. "It is a bit like pulling teeth, isn't it?"
"How do you…do this?" Juliet asked, her face like a clenched fist. "What kind of miracle therapy did you complete when you got out of there that allows you to…smile as you do?"
Rick felt gravity pull the sides of his mouth down into a straight line, his eyes on her, hot and hard. "There's no miracle therapy, Juliet," he said softly. "There's just us, and our choices, every day. We either choose to let it eat us up, or we choose to survive. Every. Day."
TC hmmmed his agreement. "You said it, brother."
Juliet opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, her phone rang. She pulled it out, then frowned.
"It's Detective Katsumoto," she informed them. She answered and put it on speaker. "Hello, Detective? You're on speaker."
"Ms. Higgins," Katsumoto greeted, as decidedly tense note to his voice. Rick pushed away from the edge of the couch, feeling as though he needed to have his feet planted to hear whatever the man had to say next. "Do you know a man named Aaron Shepherd?"
Juliet tilted her head. "The name doesn't ring a bell."
"He's a mechanic," Katsumoto continued. "Owns an autobody shop on the east side of the island?"
Rick watched as Juliet blanched.
"Autobody shop?"
"Why are you asking?" Rick spoke up, instinctively moving closer to Juliet, not liking how pale she was.
Katsumoto paused, then plowed forward. "He was found murdered a few hours ago. One of his customers called it in. When HPD showed up on the scene, they reported finding a red Ferrari in the shop with a license plate that read Robin 2."
"What?" TC stood quickly.
"Can you account for Magnum's whereabouts?"
Juliet swallowed, looking up at Rick. "He isn't here now, but he didn't take the Ferrari. He informed me prior to your call earlier today that it was…with a friend for repairs after getting damaged by the men who…attacked him."
"What?" This time it was Rick's turn.
"Let me be clear, I'm not looking at Magnum for Mr. Shepherd's murder—"
"Well, that's something at least," Rick muttered.
"—but I think the men who did it may have been after Magnum," Katsumoto concluded. "There is evidence to suggest Devlin Iona may have been involved."
"You mean…the man Magnum asked you to investigate this morning," Juliet replied, her voice turning acerbic, "and whom you claimed finding no evidence of wrongdoing."
"The same," Katsumoto replied, having the grace to sound chagrined. "Do you know where Magnum is now?"
Juliet sighed. "Unfortunately, no—"
"I'm trying to ping his phone," Rick interrupted. He pulled up his Find My Friends app, scrolling for Thomas, then frowned. "Either his phone is off, or he's somewhere there isn't any service."
"We can put out an APB on the car—do you know what he's driving?"
Juliet was already moving toward the door, Rick and TC at her heels. "I'll have to check the corral," she said, "give me a moment."
"What makes you think this Iona guy is involved?" TC asked.
"Let's just say, he left a calling card via the Ferrari," Katsumoto replied, cryptically. "What about his wife and sons?"
"They're safe for now," Juliet informed them as they reached the car corral. "Magnum made certain of that."
"I need to speak to his wife," Katsumoto said.
Juliet opened the box of keys, setting the phone down as she did so. "We can arrange a meeting here at Robin's Nest," she told him. "Aha—appears he took the blue Lamborghini SUV; license plate is Robin 5."
"Subtle."
"There is a distinct lack of Chevrolets or Fords in this garage, Detective. He did take the vehicle most likely to blend in, should he be trying to stay under Iona's radar," Juliet clapped back.
"Understood," Katsumoto backed off. "I'll put out the APB and be over there in twenty minutes. Do you have a way of reaching Iona's wife?"
"Yes," Juliet replied, darting a look at Rick.
"Great. Have her meet me there."
They heard the click on the other end and Juliet darted a glance between them. The setting sun cast a beam of golden light across the empty lot and shot directly at her eyes, causing her to shield them with the flat of her hand.
"I'll text Kumu," she said in response to their leveled eyes.
"Damn, Thomas is not going to be happy when he hears about his friend," TC muttered.
Rick crossed his arms, looking at Juliet. "Especially if he was already worked up about being the cause of other people's pain." Juliet nodded shakily, her eyes on Rick. "Start talking," he demanded.
"I really don't know much more than what you heard," Juliet revealed. "A package was delivered this morning by messenger, I brought it to Magnum and saw the bruises—"
"How bad, for real?" Rick demanded.
"Not debilitating, but…not comfortable," she tried to classify.
Rick exchanged a look with TC. Whatever the hell that meant. "Go on."
"He wouldn't tell me what had happened—said he was handling his own business, like I'd been requesting—but when he opened the package, it was his wallet and cell phone."
"Must've got taken when he was jumped," TC surmised.
Juliet nodded. "My deduction as well. He immediately called someone and told them to get somewhere safe—said that Devlin had had his phone and therefore knew that he'd been hired by the person on the phone. He seemed," she frowned, eyes going distant, "panicked. Fearful. He was genuinely concerned about the person's safety on the other end of the phone, so I offered Kumu as a safe house and he jumped at it."
"How'd you go from that to possibly being an asshole?"
Juliet cringed in response to Rick's question. "Katsumoto called and said he hadn't found anything at the house Magnum sent him to, and I…may have accused him of potentially…overreacting."
Rick shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning away from her.
"You didn't see him," she protested. "He was acting erratic! Irrational. Without provocation…he body-tackled me off the pagoda and acted like we were under sniper attack!"
Rick looked over at TC, who nodded.
"You might have been," he pointed out, gesturing to Juliet's phone and the conversation they'd just completed.
"Yes, well," Juliet crossed her arms, a stubborn set to her jaw. "It's not like I could have known that, could I?"
"How about maybe next time," TC offered, his voice a low rumble against the encroaching night, "when a man who makes his living looking into bad guys—and has survived what Thomas has survived—tells you there's danger out there, you give him the benefit of the doubt."
Juliet's lips twitched. "Next time."
Thomas
The moment he stumbled into the small riverbed Thomas went to his knees.
Pain ripped through him like lightning, coursing down his side with claws of agony. He bit into his lip to keep from screaming, a low cry cutting through the dusky light without his permission. Several birds startled from their search for grubs and took to the air in a flurry of wings, giving a signal of his location to anyone paying close attention.
Thomas simply panted shallowly until the pain abated somewhat.
For a good bit there, he'd been able to keep track of what direction he was running, but when the shadows grew long fingers that wrapped around the Banyan trees, he'd gotten completely turned around. The water splashed up against his blood-soaked cargo shorts and cooled the heated skin of his belly.
Bracing himself with one hand, he cupped the other and drank rapidly, the water tasting slightly of dirt and reminding him sharply of drinking from a tin cup out of an old wooden bucket. The clanging echo of metal bars hit with rifle butts and the distinctive cadence of questions shouted in Dari filled his ears for one long, terrifying moment. He shook his head, burying his face in the icy water and then pulling it free to gasp a desperate breath.
The jungle was back with its concert of humming, thrumming, buzzing and chirping. Frogs, cicadas, howler monkeys, and birds replaced the cacophony of pain that seemed intent on making its mark once more on Thomas' psyche.
Raging thirst temporarily satiated, he sank back against his heels and peeled off the saturated, make-shift bandage from his side.
The wound was still bleeding, which was a problem. He hadn't lost his pursuers, even as night approached. He couldn't stop here; there was nowhere to hide.
He wasn't going to last much longer, leaking like he was. Cupping water again, he tried to clean the wound, unable to really get to the back. He shivered, feeling his skin shudder at even the slightest contact against the wound.
This is gonna hurt….
"It already hurts," he whispered a reply to the Nuzo voice in his memory. He needed to get the wound covered and get the hell out of there.
Scooping up some of the mud from the riverbed, he slathered it against his side, hissing at the contact. In all likelihood, the bacteria in the dirt would easily trigger infection in the open wound, but he was currently in more danger of passing out and going into shock from blood loss.
Figure out what can kill you now….
Mud packing both sides of the wound, he rinsed the blood from the pieces of his shirt as best he could, flinching when he heard echoes of shouts in the distance.
"Damn, these guys are relentless," Thomas whispered to the Nuzo voice that had been keeping him moving forward as the jungle around him grew dark.
We're getting out of here, Tommy…all of us, together. You hang onto that.
"Yeah, yeah," Thomas muttered, wrapping the cool, wet shirt around his middle as a bandage once more, relieved that the mud poultice was working. "Just rub some dirt on it, right Nuz?"
Get your ass moving, Nuzo's voice demanded.
Thomas staggered to his feet, ricocheting against trees as he moved forward, his whole being focused on one thing: escape.
Keep moving and they couldn't get him, couldn't trap him, couldn't throw him in that hole. He wouldn't survive it again, not again. He wouldn't survive the silence, the solitude, not knowing if his friends were okay, if they were alive.
He panted, the jungle blurring around him until it was all just darkness, reaching out with greedy fingers to tug at him, cause him to stagger and stumble, try to pull him down.
Focus, kid, Nuzo ordered. Don't run to your death.
The familiar SEAL Team phrase pulled Thomas up short. He stood braced against the dark, gasping, one hand on his side. He needed to figure out where he was going, or they were going to simply run him down.
He closed his eyes, listening to the island. The cliff face he'd parked near had been north of the house, he remembered. With that being the highest point, it meant the shallow river he'd just crossed had been flowing south.
South meant civilization, eventually. People. Help.
Thomas turned to his right, moving in the direction he knew the river was flowing. He could feel his body shivering, knew what the onset of fever felt like. He pulled out his phone, squinting against the harsh light, and hit send one more time on his text to Katsumoto. Nothing.
Cursing, Thomas staggered on—his only hope was getting to a spot in the jungle where he had reception.
"Did you see that? Light! Over there! Looks like maybe a phone."
"Dammit," Thomas whispered to himself as the voice echoed toward him. He tucked his cell phone back into his pocket.
"We see you, Private Dick!"
Thomas sped up, his body trembling from the inside out as he demanded more from it than it was able to give. His vision wavered, his breath beat against his throat, his heart slammed against his ribs, but he wasn't going to stop—not now. He didn't survive eighteen months in a fucking cave to be killed in the jungle by these idiots. No way.
Stumbling to a stop in a cluster of vine-covered trees, Thomas turned around, trying to get a sense of distance, his whole being wavering with the motion. He caught sight of a bobbing flashlight beam coming toward him, but just before the light hit him full-on, he felt his knees disappear, his body dropping like a rock at the base of a Banyan tree, vines and heavy-leafed brush covering him.
His breath slipped from parted lips in abbreviated gasps, consciousness barely a reality, as three men crashed through the jungle right past him, missing him entirely as he lay hidden by the foliage.
The moment they passed, Thomas let himself fall completely back against the tree, his body thrumming with pain and heat, unable to hold himself up any longer.
"N-nuzo," he breathed.
But Nuzo didn't reply this time. His only companion was the dark as he slipped from awareness into nightmare.
Rick
Meghan Iona was a very attractive woman with a very sad story, from Rick's perspective. When she arrived at Robin's Nest—via a trusted driver rather than by Kumu herself so that the woman could keep an eye on Meghan's sons—Rick knew instantly why Thomas had been compelled to take her case, even when it turned out to not be a simple cheating husband situation.
The guy never had been able to turn away a broken heart.
"You have to believe me," Meghan told them tearfully, "I had no idea what Dev was into."
Juliet took pity on the woman, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder as she handed her a glass of water. "We believe you," she assured her.
"Detective Katsumoto just needs to get some details from you," TC supplied.
"And you said that Dev…killed someone?" Meghan asked, dark eyes looking at each of them with disbelief.
"Or ordered him killed," Rick nodded. "The man who died helped Thomas…I'm guessing your husband tracked the car to the shop." He shrugged; it was pretty clear what happened next by connecting the dots.
"What can I do?" Meghan asked.
Juliet took a breath, then moved over to where she'd set her laptop as they'd waited for Meghan and Katsumoto to arrive. Rick leaned against the back of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was nearing midnight; after such a long afternoon of worry and research, he was feeling the weight of weariness press against him, yet Juliet looked as fresh as though it were the middle of the morning.
Must be all the yoga.
"I was able to do a bit of digging," she said, "and it appears that your husband may have been connected to the Yakuza."
Meghan blinked in obvious disbelief. "The Japanese mafia? You have to be joking."
Juliet glanced at Rick, then looked back at Meghan, her expression sympathetic. "That's not all," she said softly. "There is evidence to suggest…that your father is as well."
Meghan stared at Juliet for almost a full minute without saying a word. Rick wasn't sure the woman had truly heard what Juliet told her until she lifted the water glass to her lips with a trembling hand and downed the contents. When she set it on the table and stood, Rick reached instinctively to balance her but found it unnecessary.
"I should be surprised, I suppose," she said softly. "But…in a way, it makes everything else make sense."
A knock came at the door and TC went to let Katsumoto in as Juliet moved toward Meghan.
"I'm so sorry, Meghan," Juliet said softly. "I know what it's like to find out that someone is different from who you thought they were. It's a…unique kind of betrayal."
Meghan shook her head. "I've been stupid," she said. "Selfish. Weak. My father, my husband…they kept me under their control and I…," she looked at Juliet, dark eyes snapping, "I allowed it. And now a good man is in trouble because of me."
"Hey, no," Rick shook his head. "One martyr in this story is enough. Thomas is in trouble because he put himself there—and he'd do it again for any of us. That's just who he is. Don't you go blaming yourself."
Meghan nodded shakily, then her eyes tracked to movement behind Rick.
"Mrs. Iona," Katsumoto said, following TC into the room, "I'm Detective Katsumoto. Thank you for meeting me here."
Meghan shook Katsumoto's outstretched hand.
"Anything I can do, Detective," she said, eyes darting around the room to take them all in. "Mr. Magnum was just trying to help me—I need to help make sure he's safe."
Katsumoto sighed. "Thank you," he nodded. "I need to know what information you gave Magnum to use to search for your husband."
"Information?"
Katsumoto rested his hands on his hips, his blazer a bit wrinkled after the day. "Magnum sent us to a house that listed you as the realtor; how did he know to go to that house?"
Meghan took a slow breath. "I gave him some houses that Dev had asked me to list for him, sight unseen. I was suspicious of why he insisted I not inspect them or tour them myself…and they were all very remote. They'd be difficult sales to say the least, but he was…unconcerned."
Katsumoto dragged a hand down his face. Rick watched the other man for his tells—Katsumoto had them in spades: the way he stood, when he crossed his arms, how many times he sighed. He wondered if the man had any idea he was giving so much away just by existing.
"Were any of those houses located around the Kai Kane Loop?"
Meghan blinked. "Let me look." She pulled up her phone and began scrolling.
"What is it?" Rick asked, the hairs on his neck standing on end. This was bad. This was very, very bad.
Katsumoto held up a hand in Rick's direction, his eyes on Meghan. Rick exchanged a glance with TC, both men subconsciously closing ranks as they waited. Meghan looked up.
"Yes, there were two locations near Kai Kane Loop," she said.
Rick was watching Katsumoto as Meghan spoke. The police Detective brought his chin up at her affirmation, his mouth opening slightly, looking for all the world as though the words he needed next had literally turned to dust before his eyes.
"What is it?" Rick repeated, this time putting a hand on Katsumoto's bicep, turning the man around to face him. "Tell us."
Katsumoto swallowed, then gently pulled his arm out of Rick's grasp. "A couple of tourists reported a car off the side of the road, down a cliffside, on Kai Kane Loop," he said. "It matched the description of the car Magnum took. I got a report on the way over here that the license plate read Robin 5."
"And you're just telling us this now?" Rick growled. He felt TC step up close to him in support rather than restraint.
"I needed to be sure there was a reason for Magnum to be up there," Katsumoto stated.
"Well, you got your reason," Rick snapped. "Let's go!"
He started for the door. His heart felt like it was about to come through his ribcage, his eyes burned. This was not happening again, not again. They were getting Thomas back and then he was going to put a freaking chip in the man's neck—
"Wait," Katsumoto stepped in front of him, a hand at his chest. "I'm sending men up there—"
"Oh, fuck that," Rick growled, moving around Katsumoto's restraining hand, TC on his heels. "I'm not sitting here hoping for the best when Thomas is over the side of a cliff somewhere."
"He's not in the car," Katsumoto told him.
"What?" Rick half-turned to face the detective.
"I had officers check the car," Katsumoto told him. "It was empty."
"So, where the hell is he?" Rick demanded.
Katsumoto turned to face Meghan Iona. "I need those addresses."
Meghan nodded and glanced at Juliet for help. Juliet hurried to her desk and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, taking them to the other woman.
"We're going with you," TC spoke up as Meghan wrote furiously.
"I told you, I have men who—"
TC stepped forward, his size imposing, his calm voice even more so. "Detective, all due respect, that's our brother out there. We're going."
Katsumoto's jaw flexed.
"We've been proven to be of help in the past," Juliet pointed out.
Katsumoto looked over at her. "Not you, too."
"You didn't think I was going to sit idly by and wait for word, did you?"
"I didn't think you even liked Magnum, to be honest," Katsumoto told her.
Rick saw something interesting play across Juliet's expression—something close to offense but skirting the edge of guilt as well.
"You were mistaken, Detective," she replied.
"Here," Meghan handed Katsumoto the list of addresses. "What should I do?"
"I'll have an officer take you back to your sons and stay with you," Katsumoto stated. "The rest of you, remember—we are looking for a missing person. We have no warrants. No firing unless fired upon."
"And what if they don't much care about warrants?" Rick demanded.
Katsumoto lifted an eyebrow. "You do whatever it takes to get home."
"Gentlemen," Juliet called, opening a hidden door behind a painting above her desk. "These may come in handy."
Rick's eyes lit up at the arsenal she revealed.
"Now, that's what I'm talking about," TC grinned, the first to move toward her.
It didn't take them long to select weapons and get the officer to take Meghan back to Kumu's place. Juliet followed them out to Katsumoto's car, climbing into the front before either man could say a word. Exchanging a look, Rick and TC shared a shrug, then got into the back seat as Katsumoto climbed behind the wheel and headed out of the estate and toward the location where Robin's Lamborghini had been found.
"He's going to be okay, right?" Rick couldn't help but ask.
"You know how tough T.M. is," TC responded. "The man is all in, all the time." He repeated the common SEAL Team phrase with confidence.
"He's been through a lot, TC," Rick said, eyes on the darkness outside the window. "We all have."
"Which is why I know he'll make it," TC told him. "You didn't think he was going to make it out of the valley, either. Look how that ended."
"How did that end?" Juliet asked.
Rick jumped, startled, having lost track of their audience. He glanced over at TC. It wasn't an easy story to tell.
"I guess you could say he…out-stubborned himself," TC said.
Korengal, 2016, TC
When he thinks about it, he's pretty sure it was the guard breaking his arm that finally pushed Thomas over the edge. Five different times in the hole, four different camp locations, over a year of starvation and sickness and beatings…and yet, it was a broken arm that triggered their escape.
Theodore Calvin had always been a bit of a gentle giant. His mama, when she was alive, would stroke his hair and smile at him and tell him that God made him strong so he could take care of people. His dad, when he was around, would simply assume that he was okay because he was always bigger and tougher than the other kids.
Ironically, it wasn't until he'd joined the Marines—one of the most demanding branches of the Armed Services—that he was appreciated for his heart. Strength was a given; they were all strong. It was empathy that made him stand out from the rest.
In the first year of their captivity, he'd kept that part of him at the forefront—watching out for the others, keeping them whole as best he could, but never causing trouble, never triggering the guard's wrath. He didn't answer their questions, but he didn't provoke them, either. He simply stayed near his friends and kept his head down.
Then they shot Thomas.
It came as a shock to all of them when it happened. It probably shouldn't have—Thomas had consistently pushed the limits of their captors will. Six weeks prior he'd spent almost a month in the hole for trying to steal a radio. This time wasn't any different—except that it was.
They were moving cages as they sometimes did, transferring Thomas and Nuzo to a cage across the way from Rick and TC, and the guard that always pulled Thomas away from them and threw him into the hole spun the man around and shoved him against the wall, rough enough TC heard the back of Thomas' head thunk the rock behind him.
Thomas struggled, and the man simply shot him, leaving him bleeding on the floor before walking away.
TC would never forget the cold rage that started to build up from his gut to wrap around his heart at the sound of Thomas weak, pain-filled gasps. He and Rick pressed their bodies against the bars, watching in horror as blood continued to spill from their friend's side, his voice growing weaker as he stated with startling clarity that he was going to bleed out.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from garish image of all that blood. He'd seen bruises and burns, whip marks and wrists rubbed raw from cuffs, on each of them. All of them. He'd seen them weak and delirious, thin from hunger and distraught from nightmares.
But he hadn't seen that much blood on someone who was still alive. Not in all the time they'd been trapped in that place.
They shot Thomas. They shot him and he didn't stop bleeding and Nuzo used gunpowder from a stolen bullet to burn it shut and Thomas screamed.
The all-consuming pain in that sound heated TC's cold rage to a boiling point and he simmered with it. The sound of Thomas screaming was something TC wouldn't get out of his head. For months after. He heard Thomas scream in his dreams—it woke him in a cold sweat night after night.
They'd been forced to move camps that same night, Thomas barely able to stand, the three of them holding him up—Rick practically carrying him most of the way. They moved at night, rank-smelling canvass bags over their heads, hands tied with coarse rope, Thomas shaking apart in their arms, until they reached the next place.
The last place.
To no one's surprise, the gunshot wound wasn't healing. It festered and ate at Thomas like a poison, more and more each day. They'd run out of their stolen antibiotics, and the water in the new location tasted metallic, and the food…TC knew this would be the end for all of them if they didn't do something.
So, when he heard the voices outside the camp, he took advantage. They'd grown so accustomed to the staccato cadence of the Afghani dialects—Dari, Urdu, and Pashto, foreign and yet…familiar at once. The shock of hearing a different accent, a smoother tone, was enticing and captivating.
The voices weren't American—he was pretty sure they were French—but they weren't Taliban, and that was all that mattered. He had no idea what the French were doing wherever it was they were, but he was done staying silent. He was done being gentle, empathetic, the rock that everyone knew would care for them.
The molten rage had awoken a giant and he roared. He shouted at the top of his lungs, his deep, resounding voice finally put to good use.
"American soldiers! There are American soldiers here!"
He heard the pause and the confusion in the voices outside the camp, but then three guards rushed them, grabbing him from the cell, beating him with their rifles. One man covered his mouth while another grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back, twisting it until the bone broke.
He didn't remember much after that, waking again in the cell, Nuzo holding him down, Rick working to set the bone as best he could with strips from the ends of their shirts and a broken wooden bucket. Thomas was at his head, his hands on his face, and he was speaking low and rapidly in Spanish. TC wasn't sure if he knew he was speaking in Spanish, but the sound was soothing, the swift cadence of sound washing over him and distracting him as Rick put the bone right and strapped the wood braces in place.
"We're getting the fuck out of here," Thomas had said as TC lay in their laps, catching his breath and trying not to blink as that mere act would jar his arm and send pain spiking through him. "We're getting out of here now."
He was rocking a bit with the fervor of his conviction. Or maybe he was trembling from the fever. TC couldn't be sure; his whole world was starting to white out a bit around the edges.
"How the hell are we gonna manage that?" Rick scoffed, his voice rasping with suppressed emotion.
"French soldiers," Thomas declared, his words hitched and stilted as he fought to control his breathing—either from pain or anticipation. "They heard us, they haven't left."
Nuzo had looked at Rick then. "Not a bad idea," he said. "They've got vehicles."
"TC, can you walk?" Thomas asked.
"Broke my arm, not my legs," TC responded, though the idea of moving made him want to throw up.
"Thomas, you can barely stand," Rick protested. "How are you—"
"Don't worry about me," Thomas snapped. "I'll be fine. But you won't. And TC won't. We…," his voice shook, "we gotta get outta here, man."
So, they did.
When the guard brought the water bucket in later that afternoon, they were ready. Nuzo and Rick jumped him, and Thomas took a splintered piece of wood from the broken bucket and shoved it into the soft underside of the man's chin, silencing him forever. TC always wondered if Thomas got a bit of closure with that maneuver—it had been the same man who'd thrown him in the hole, who'd shot him and left him to die.
They hauled TC forward, the big man biting a hole through his lip to keep silent until they managed to get through the flimsy barricade to the waiting vehicles.
It was only when they reached the outside that TC saw they were so close to an actual town. Civilization. Their captors must have been desperate with this last move; there was no other reason for them to have taken such a risk.
The four men climbed into the back of an empty vehicle, covered up with a tarp, and waited to see if their absence would be discovered before the French drove away. When the vehicle began to move, TC almost passed out from sheer relief. They rode to the next stop, then climbed out when they no longer heard voices around them, Nuzo able to get his bearings quickly.
TC was dimly aware that while Rick was supporting him, Nuzo was holding Thomas on his feet. The smaller man was panting heavily, and TC knew the infection had weakened him severely, but he wasn't giving in. His friends weren't going to let him.
The first time Thomas stumbled, TC heard him let out a soft groan and he felt his own heart clench at the sound—it wasn't just pain, it was exhaustion, surrender. It was the precipice of resistance.
"We're getting out of here, Tommy…," Nuzo whispered to Thomas, the quiet that surrounded them enough so that they all heard his oath, "all of us, together. You hang onto that."
And he did.
Thomas grabbed onto those words and used them like a lifeline, like fuel in his heart. After so many months in captivity, it was amazing how easy their escape seemed to be. Their captors must have thought them too weak to be of any threat—but they didn't know the men they kept in their cages.
At one point, TC felt himself slowing, he and Rick lagging behind the other two. Thomas' voice drifted back to them, strong in the darkness, like a rope pulling him forward to safety.
"C'mon…c'mon, TC," Thomas gasped. "L-like you said…they b-broke your arm…not your…your legs."
"Keep talkin', little man," TC growled.
"L-long as you keep w-walkin'," Thomas retorted.
It kept on like that: TC fading, the pain in his arm almost blinding him at times, Thomas goading him forward, the strength in his words shaded only by the tremble in his voice. Rick and Nuzo remained silent, stalwartly pushing on, but TC suspected they both used Thomas' words as their fuel and their anchor.
Only when they reached the outpost for the American base did Thomas finally collapse, his voice silenced by exhaustion, his body burning up with fever. TC sank to the ground next to his friend, cradling his broken arm, waiting for their salvation. They were surrounded by a flurry of activity, but it was a blur to him.
All he could hear was Thomas' voice, pushing him forward, keeping him moving.
Saving him.
TC
Emotion wrapped cold fingers around his throat.
Recounting that time played the images across his vision once more but they felt…removed, as though they were happening to someone else. He ached from the loss of Nuzo, from the fear of losing Thomas. He ached from the weight that was simply moving forward in life. Without that constant cadence of one voice telling him he could do this; he was going to make it.
"You're a hundred percent right, brother," Rick said softly, his blue eyes bright in the ambient light from Katsumoto's dashboard. "Nuzo and me…we kept going 'cause of him."
"And you just…walked out? After all that time?" Juliet marveled softly.
TC and Rick were silent.
"I'm sorry," Juliet scrambled quickly. "That was insensitive of me. I-I didn't mean—"
"It's okay, Higgy," TC took pity on her. He knew she didn't mean to minimize their ordeal; she was just British. "It kind of felt like that for us, too."
"Yeah, I always imagined some kind of big firefight, like Butch and Sundance. Only, y'know…with us surviving," Rick confessed. "It took me a while to accept that I wasn't dreaming. That they weren't going to haul us back to that cave. Even after we got to Germany."
"Doubt Thomas remembers the trip to Germany," TC commented. "He wasn't really conscious for most of it."
"Yeah," Rick agreed.
TC could feel that his friend didn't really want to go back there quite yet, not with Thomas missing. There was a tense energy radiating from Rick, a tightness around his eyes that TC had learned to watch for.
Rick was the one with the ready smile—even more so than Thomas. He was the one who acted like everything they'd survived had happened in another lifetime, to another version of them. Until life took his legs out from under him, and then he fell harder and faster than the rest.
"He's tough, Orville," TC repeated, reminding his friend that they'd made it through worse. "We'll find him, you'll see. He'll give us that damn Cheshire cat grin and ask us what took us so long."
Rick caught his bottom lip between his teeth, as though stopping himself from saying anything, and then nodded. TC clapped a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder, grounding him and reminding him they were in this together. He knew without ever being told that while the four of them escaped, Rick had anchored himself to Thomas. It had become clear to him when they were recovering in Germany, and he watched it continue as they built lives for themselves in Hawaii.
"He's one of the lucky ones," TC finished, expecting that to be the end of it.
"Sometimes I wonder," Rick replied quietly, drawing not only TC's worried gaze, but causing Juliet to twist sideways in her seat as well.
"Wonder what?" TC asked.
Rick lifted a shoulder, his eyes toward the front windshield, but miles away, years away, the blue irises hazy. "I wonder if the lucky ones are the ones who didn't make it out of there. They were the ones made of light, y'know? Too bright to survive all that…that darkness." He shook his head, turning away from TC to look out the side window. "But not us, man. Not us, no. We got the darkness inside us. And we get to live with it."
The car was quiet for several minutes as the rest of them tried to balance Rick's words. TC felt his world tilt a bit as he regarded the man next to him, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and pink pants. The words fit the man who was at home in a sniper's blind, sighting down a barrel at a target, deadliest aim in the group. Not the man they were used to seeing tease smiles from patrons at the Club.
TC took a breath. I got this, he reminded himself.
This wasn't new. This wasn't strange. This was Rick—scared, uncertain, off-center, needing his balance.
And without Thomas around, TC was that balance.
"Brother, I'd rather stand with you in the dark than alone in the light any day," TC told him softly, tightening his grip on Rick's shoulder.
At his words, Rick looked over at him, surprise and gratitude relaxing his face and lifting the haze from his blue eyes. He smiled and TC watched the weight and worry take a back seat to the resilience and determination that put all of Rick's broken pieces back together.
"Same, my friend," Rick said, holding his hand out for TC to shake.
"We're here," Katsumoto said, speaking for the first time since they'd climbed into the car.
They pulled off in a secluded, wooded area surrounded by jungle, then turned off the car and climbed out. Katsumoto stood with them and they watched as two more cruisers pulled up, lights off.
"The SUV was found down the side of that cliff," Katsumoto gestured across the road and to a very scary drop-off.
"And you're sure he's not down there?" Rick asked again.
"Positive," Katsumoto replied. "Here's how it's going to go. We take the house first, arrest anyone in there on suspicion of…whatever the hell I want."
"Thought you didn't have warrants," Rick commented.
Katsumoto shrugged. "I don't," he said. "But I can hold anyone for twenty-four hours."
TC noticed that the police detective had a different edge to him, like a sharpened knife. His eyes even glinted in the dark.
"Roger that," Rick nodded. "Suspicion of whatever the hell you want, it is."
"And if Magnum's not in the house?" Juliet asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head in challenge.
Katsumoto glanced at her, then let his eyes rest on Rick and TC. "Then we find out where he is, and we go get him."
Rick pulled his weapon from his waist band and chambered a round. "That's all I needed to hear."
With the officers leading the way, TC, Rick, and Juliet headed down the long driveway, the tree coverage growing denser the further in they went. Katsumoto had ordered no flashlights, not wanting to give away their position. TC found himself opening his eyes wider, trying to see as much as he could, the sounds of the jungle amplified somehow in the darkness.
When they reached the opening, he took a breath, the claustrophobic sensation of night abating momentarily. He saw several dark SUVs parked to the side and a few lights on inside a rather large house.
"On me," Katsumoto said to the officers flanking him, then charged directly for the front door, announcing his presence seconds before kicking the door in.
TC, Rick, and Juliet hung back as the shouting escalated then abated inside the house, only approaching when Katsumoto called out, "Clear!"
When they stepped inside, TC's eyes tracked immediately to where Katsumoto was wiping blood from a split lip with the back of his hand while cuffing a well-dressed businessman who had a knee brace on one leg. Two other men were cuffed and sitting on the floor nearby.
"Little bitch," growled the man with the knee brace. "Knew she'd give me up."
TC's eyes darted around the room, and he moved toward the opened door to the kitchen.
No Magnum.
"Where is he?" He heard Rick growl behind him as he returned to his friends.
The businessman grinned. "You looking for your little Private Dick?"
Juliet marched over to the man and kicked his knee brace, causing him to cry out and curve forward.
"He prefers Private Investigator," she stated calmly. "Now, where is he?"
"He's out in the jungle," one of the other men reported, a smirk on his lips. "And he's hit."
"What do you mean, hit?" Rick demanded. When no one replied, he pulled his weapon, flicking off the safety, and pointed it at the man who'd spoken. "C'mon, man. Give me a reason."
"He means," the man with the knee brace gasped, struggling back upright. "That my men were shooting at him, and one of them found blood on the path he ran. So, who knows, man. Could be he's dead out there somewhere."
"You still have men after him?" Juliet asked.
"Until I have confirmation of a body, you bet your sweet Brit ass I do," the man replied.
Rick looked at Katsumoto. The detective nodded.
"Yep, that's all I need," Katsumoto replied. "Devlin Iona, you're under arrest."
"On what charge?" Iona protested as Katsumoto hauled him to his feet.
"On being an asshole, how's that?" Rick retorted.
"On suspicion of drug trafficking, illegal possession of weapons, and literally just confessing to ordering a man to be shot, dumbass," Katsumoto shoved the limping man toward one of the officers. "Take these three idiots to central lock-up and hold them there until I get there with proof to take away the rest of their lives."
The officer nodded, and another two officers hauled the other two men to their feet and pushed them toward the cars. That left one other officer with Katsumoto. He sighed looking over at Rick and TC.
"We need to split up and cover this area in a grid formation," he said. "And we need a helluva lot more people."
"You got any reception?" TC suddenly asked, looking at his phone. Rick and Katsumoto pulled their phones out, both cursing.
"This helps confirm Magnum's location," Juliet pointed out. "You'd said he either had his phone off—which I have yet to see him do—or he was somewhere without reception."
Katsumoto looked at the officer. "Go get all the flashlights and radios you can from the cruisers and meet me back here in five," he said. "We're splitting up. Rick, you and Juliet take South, TC and I will take North. If either of us finds anything, we'll radio on channel 357."
"Iona still has men out there," TC warned. "We're not just looking for Thomas."
Katsumoto nodded. "That's right," he said. He let his eyes rest on each of them briefly. "And you do what you have to. Stay alive and find him."
"Hey, Katsumoto," Rick asked, looking around the empty living room. "How are you gonna get enough evidence to book that guy?"
"I'll worry about that after we get Magnum," Katsumoto said. "Something tells me he's all the evidence I'll need."