Thanks for sticking with me. I know some chapters might be hard to read, but there's always light at the end of the tunnel in my stories. Let's just dive in.

With his hands cuffed, Steve slowly shuffled down the hall, trying not to acknowledge throbbing in his head caused by a well-aimed punch he'd earned in the canteen. After being led to the ground floor, one of the two guards accompanying him held the door open and gestured for Steve to enter the visiting room. He did, and both guards soon followed.

Steve caught a glance of himself in the one-way mirror on the wall. The side of his face was blackened with an ugly bruise.

The guard pointed across the small room to the table where his lawyer was waiting for him. It's been a while since he'd seen Odell, who used to be his barber at one point, but the guy hadn't changed much.

He walked up toward the table and sat down.

"Odell, good to see you, man."

Odell glared at him for a moment. "If you wanted to see me you could´ve just called. Maybe invited me out for a few drinks, you know? I'm not gonna lie. I was surprised when I got a whole lot different call instead."

Steve smiled at him. "Sorry about that. I couldn´t think of anyone better."

"So," Odell gestured to Steve with his index finger, "what happened to your face?"

"I met some of the other inmates."

"Other inmates? What about protective custody? I thought you´d be kept separate from others."

"Yeah, you and me both, buddy."

"Have you reported it?" Odell shuffled on the chair nervously.

Steve shook his head. There was no point in complaining. The guards were obviously not on his side for whatever reason. "Don´t worry," he said. "I can look after myself."

"Right." Odell didn't seem convinced, but he let it go. He sucked in a breath. "Okay. How about you tell me exactly what happened?" he said.

"That's gonna be a problem."

Creasing his forehead in confusion, Odell stared at him and waited for the explanation. "Because?" he asked when Steve didn't answer.

"Because I don't know. I can't remember."

"You can't remember?"

"That's right."

"Well, that's helpful," Odell said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "That's even better than the last time you needed my services. What is it exactly you expect me to do if you don't remember how you ended up in here? What are you charged with?"

"Murder," Steve blurted out, watching Odell's eyes grow wide.

"Are you serious now?"

Steve nodded.

"Okay." Odell rubbed his face as though trying to focus. "Right. Tell me everything you know."

He did. Explaining the little he knew in as much detail as he could remember, he summed up that fateful evening and the morning after.

"So, let me get this straight," Odell shook his head in disbelief. "You met your ex-girlfriend in a bar, ended up in a hotel room somehow, and when you woke up she was dead."

"Yeah."

"And you don't remember anything between stepping in the bar and the next morning, yet you're sure you didn't kill her."

Steve shook his head. "I wouldn't do that."

"But you can't remember how she had died."

"No."

"So you don't know whether you might have drunk a bit too much, maybe get into a fight and… slip?"

"Odell…"

"I know, I know," Odell interrupted him. "You wouldn't do that, right? Well, Steve, I'm going to need more than that. I believe you, okay? I do. But I'm telling you how it looks like from a different perspective."

Steve leaned back in his chair, frowning.

"Look, man," he said. "If you don't wanna do this, I get it. You got your own law practice now, if you lose a case it can affect your business. But I also know that if someone can do this, it's you."

Closing his eyes, Odell let out a loud sigh.

"You helped Sang Min, remember? A piece of cake."

"Yeah. A piece of cake," Odell scoffed.

"So?" Steve asked, a big ball growing in a pit of his stomach as he waited for Odell to say something for a little too long.

Odell held Steve's gaze. "It's your life we're talking about here," he said. "I… It's a huge responsibility, you know?"

"I trust you, buddy."

It took Odell a few seconds to reply. "Fine," he said eventually. "I'll do my best, okay? I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks." Steve allowed himself a smile. "And, Odell? Can you do me a favor?"

"You mean except all this? Yeah, sure. What do you need?"

"I need you to contact Danny," Steve said. "Tell him I'm all right."

Odell nodded.

"And tell him to tell Jamba I love him, please," he added, his heart breaking with the thought of his son. "That I'll be home with him soon."

"Who's Jamba?"

"My son. Long story, buddy. Just do it, please."

"All right," Odell said. He pushed the chair back beneath the table and signaled to the guard he was ready to leave. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Sure."

"Be careful."

Steve was returned to his cell after his meeting with Odell. He had only been there for a few minutes when he heard the sound of a guard´s footsteps.

The man stopped outside his cell. "You have a visitor."

"Who?" he asked.

"Come," the guard snapped.

Steve hoped it would be Danny. There was no doubt the blonde man must have been going crazy with worry by now and Steve wanted nothing more than to ensure him he was okay and ask him to tell Jamba he loved him. Plus, there was hope Danny would know more about what was going on. Maybe he found something that would get Steve out of here soon.

The guard unlocked the door and stepped back, his hand on the handle of his baton.

"Get out, now."

Steve did as told and walked down the hall, but after a few seconds, he concluded he wasn´t being summoned to see a visitor. He had a little doubt that this particular trip was deliberately set up for an altogether different purpose.

The guard was behind him, and with sharp jabs from the tip of his baton, he prompted him in the opposite direction to the visiting room, taking him instead back toward the canteen. A second guard joined them as they continued on their way. They continued until they reached an open archway. And then the guard told him to stop.

Steve had been past the room this morning and he remembered it. It was a shower room. He looked inside: it was filthy. A row of showerheads had been arranged along the left-hand side of the wall. They dripped, leaking a stream of dirty water onto a sloped floor that led to a clogged drain.

The guard jabbed him in the back again and Steve stepped inside.

He turned. The guards had stayed in the corridor, and, as he stepped back, they stepped up to block the way out. He clenched his fists, tired of being pushed around all the time. "What do you want?" he snapped.

The men stepped back and then stood aside.

A big man came between them.

Steve´s stomach dropped.

The man filled the doorway. Steve guessed that he weighed at least a hundred pounds more than him. The big man was much taller than he was, too, with an advantage of at least five inches. The top of his head was only an inch or two from the bottom of the doorway. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick with muscle, and his body, while fat, was dense and solid. He looked like a pro wrestler or an NFL lineman.

Steve fought the urge to back up as he glanced around for a weapon, but there was nothing that he could see.

The big man took a step into the room.

The guards in the corridor watched intently, their eyes gleaming with the promise of violence.

Steve launched himself straight ahead.

He punched out a right cross, putting all of his forward momentum into it. His fist drilled the man´s face, and, for a moment, Steve thought that he was going to fall. He staggered to the side and was forced to reach out an arm to prop himself up against the wall.

The guards reached for their batons, worried, perhaps, that they might be next. The big man shook his head and spat out a mouthful of blood.

Steve shook out the sting from his fist and started forward.

The man straightened up to his full height and grinned, his teeth stained red.

Steve charged. The man caught his fist in his big hand and squeezed. Steve´s movement was stopped, and, as he tried to free his hand, he was unable to defend himself against a left hand that connected with his ribs.

He buckled, arching to his right and dropping his free arm to cover the sudden blaze of pain.

The man yanked on Steve´s arm to draw him into range and then butted him straight in the face.

Steve staggered, dazed. The man still had his hand around his fist and he yanked again, drawing Steve forward and then pounding him with a right-handed jab.

Steve saw stars and, the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on the wet floor.

The light from the window was blocked out as the man lowered himself, his knees on either side of Steve´s body. He saw the first blow coming, managing to cover up as a meaty right hand crashed against his forearm, deflecting its momentum so that the man's knuckles cut into the top of his scalp. The left fist followed, cracking into the side of Steve´s temple, and then, his defenses scrambled, another right and then another left.

Each fresh blow detonated a starburst of pain, flashes of bright white light that cascaded behind Steve´s closed eyes. He tried to cover his face, but the man had taken a moment to pin Steve´s right arm beneath his knee, his bulk holding it in place. Another blow—Steve had lost count of the number now—and then he felt his left arm similarly restrained.

He was helpless.

His head pounded with so much pain that each fresh impact was just an echo of the last. His ears rang, but, as the darkness became blacker and more complete, even that started to fade. The strength drained from his body and he felt his muscles go limp, just dimly aware that his head was swinging left and right with every new blow. And then even that awareness drained away, too.

"Where is he?"

Marching into the FBI field office in Kapolei the first thing in the morning, Danny made his way to the reception, barely containing his emotions.

A woman in her late thirties was sitting behind the desk. Her dark hair was tied up in a low chignon bun and the plain black glasses along with a serious face added to her overall strict look. She lifted her head and drew her brows in confusion. "Excuse me?" she said. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Agent Hoffman," Danny snapped. "I need to talk to him."

"Is he expecting you?"

"I think he might."

"What´s your name, sir?" she asked, glancing down at the screen of her laptop.

"Williams. But don´t bother with that." He pointed at the laptop. "You're not gonna find me in there. Just tell me where to find him."

She glared at him, as if considering whether he was serious. "I'm sorry, but–"

"No, no. No but. Just answer, please."

"Sir…"

Danny gestured toward the double door on the right. "Is it that way?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. Determined to find the agent, he turned and barged in through the doorway, ignoring the loud protests of the receptionist.

He could hear her heels clicking on the tile floor as she followed him through the long corridor, calling out to him. He kept walking.

There was another double door on the other side, and as Danny opened it up, a big open office spread out in front of him. Several heads turned his way.

Danny scanned the surrounding, but he couldn't see the man he came here looking for.

"Sir, I'm asking you nicely one last time," the receptionist said, her breaths labored from trying to keep up with Danny. "You have to leave."

"Not yet," Danny said, walking across the room, deciding which way to go next. He could see the stairway on his right, right next to the elevator. He headed there.

"You can't be here!"

Danny didn't miss that all the eyes in the room were now on him, and some people stood up, perhaps to step up. He picked up the pace. His right foot was up on the first stair already when the sound announced the elevator door opening. Instinctively, he glanced that way.

Two men got out.

Danny's heart began to beat faster when he saw that familiar smug grin on one of them. He stepped back down, making his way to Hoffman.

"Hey," Danny called out.

Hoffman turned, but didn't get a chance to react.

Danny's fist shot forward, hitting the agent square in the face.

The agent stumbled a few steps back, clutching onto his nose. Immediately, thick crimson liquid leaked between his fingers, down to his lips and chin. His face was twisted in a painful grimace.

But Danny didn´t give him any time to recover. He was on the bleeding man again in an instant. He grabbed him by the collar of his perfectly ironed shirt and smashed him against the now-closed elevator door, ignoring the angry voices around him asking him to let go and put his hands up.

"I know it was you," Danny said, rage burning in his eyes. "And you shouldn't have done that."

"Shouldn't have done what? I don't know what you're talking about."

Still pinning the agent against the door, Danny released an amused chuckle. "You don't know, huh? Let me get one thing straight, all right? If something happens to either of them… I swear I'll find you. I'll hunt you down and kill you myself. You hear me?"

The agent didn´t fight back. He just glared at Danny, his face emotionless. "As I said, I don't know what you're talking about, Detective," he said. "But you just threatened an FBI agent in a room full of witnesses. I considered you smarter than that."

Just now Danny realized guns of the other agents were trained at him in a warning. Reluctantly, he let go of the agent and stepped back. In a corner of his eye, he could see one of the agents coming forward with cuffs ready in his hand, but Hoffman stopped him with a shake of his head.

"It´s okay, Dave, let him be," Hoffman said and turned his attention back to Danny. He straightened up his shirt, now studded with several crimson drops, and wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand. "You better go, Detective," he said in a calm tone. "Unless you want to be arrested for assaulting a federal officer and join your friend."

Fighting the urge to hit Hoffman again, Danny sucked in a deep breath. "Wanna arrest me?" he grinned. "Go ahead. I'll be out on bail before you know it. And if you think that's gonna stop me, you're wrong. I will get to the bottom of this, whatever this is."

The agent's lips curled upward. "You're delusional, Detective. This is nothing more than it seems to be. A homicide case. That's it."

"You–"

"I suggest you leave," Hoffman interrupted him. "Before I change my mind and decide to press charges against you."

There was nothing more he could do here. He had made his point. His family wasn't to be messed with and he wasn't giving up on Steve. With one last hateful glare, Danny turned and walked away the way he came from.

He just passed the first door when his phone rang. It was an unknown number calling.

"Williams," he answered.

"Hey, Danny," the man on the other side of the line said. "This is Odell. Odell Martin."

"Odell," Danny didn't hide the surprise. He hadn't been in contact with Steve's barber dash lawyer in years. "Hey. Everything all right?"

"Actually, no. It's McGarrett."

Danny stopped walking, piecing things together. "You know?" he asked.

"Do I know? He asked me to represent him."

"He did?"

"Yeah. I just went to see him. Talk to him about what had happened, you know."

Danny's heart lurched. Maybe he couldn't ask Steve about that himself, but Odell knew now. He needed the answers to so many questions and he wanted them now. But one was more pressing than any other. "How is he doing?" he asked.

"I… I don't know."

"You don't know? What do you mean you don't know? You said you've just seen him."

"Yeah. I mean… he said he's fine," Odell said.

Danny sensed a "but" in his voice.

"But honestly, I think he's not."

"Why? Did he say something to you?"

"He didn't really have to," Odell said. "The bruise on his face told me enough."

"Whoa, what?" Danny's blood ran cold in his veins.

He suddenly remembered the picture from last night. Steve was on it too.

Danny could protect the kids, and he would, even if it was the last thing he would do on this Earth, but Steve was on his own. And now, more than before, Danny was worried about his best friend. He couldn't help but wonder if Steve had been hurt as a part of the warning for Danny to stay away.

"How… how bad is it?" he stuttered.

"Nothing serious. I'm sure he's used to worse," Odell said. "But it's not an extent of his injury that I'm worried about. It's the way he managed to get one."

Danny's mind whirred. "He's not supposed to be anywhere close to other inmates. You think that the guards would have done that?"

"You mean beat him up? Not according to what Steve had told me."

The rage Danny felt just minutes ago now increased tenfold. "Odell, I'll call you back, all right? I've got to go."

"But—"

"You're gonna tell me all about this later. I'll be in touch," Danny said, and ended the call.

Without further thinking, he turned around and barged through the double door back to the office. With his hands tightly curled up in fists, he headed straight for Hoffman, who was half-sitting on the desk, a couple of his co-workers standing around him in a semicircle.

They all turned their attention to Danny, some of them drawing guns. He ignored them all.

"What did I tell you, huh?" Danny said, catching Hoffman's gaze. "What did I just tell you?"

One of the men trained his weapon at Danny. "Stay where you are," he warned. "Hey, stop!"

Danny kept walking. "You made this happen, didn't you?"

"Made what happen, Detective?" Hoffman didn't lose his calm expression. "Can you be more specific?"

"More specific, okay. How about you explain to me how did McGarrett get hurt by another inmate, huh? How about that? Is that specific enough?" Danny glared daggers, half-yelling as he continued making his way to the agent.

Hoffman released an annoyed sigh. "It's not what you think," he said. "I've been informed about this… misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" Danny snapped, stopping just a few inches from the agent, not caring about the two men standing at his sides, ready to intervene.

"That's right," Hoffman insisted. "One of the guards in FDC is new in there and made an unfortunate mistake, thinking McGarrett was an ordinary inmate just like any other. Your friend then started a fight in a canteen. There's nothing more to that. The precautions had been made to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"So, just a misunderstanding," Danny repeated.

"Yes."

Danny didn't believe him a single word.

He was brimming with rage, and, unable to hold his emotions at bay with the thought of his best friend being thrown into a crowd of bloodthirsty criminals, he threw a right-handed punch at Hoffman.

The agent's head snapped to the side.

"That's for Steve," Danny managed to say before shouts came at him from all sides.

Before he knew it, he was pinned face down on the desk, his arms painfully twisted behind his back. Just a second later, the cold metal of the cuffs dug deep into his wrists. He glanced to the side, where Hoffman stared at him, all calmness now gone from his face.

"You're under arrest for assault and threatening a federal officer," one of the men holding Danny down said. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law."

The guards picked Steve up and dragged him down the corridor. They took him beneath the shoulders and he allowed himself to hang limply as they left the main block and went outside. He blinked, but his vision was too fuzzy for him to make out anything beyond blurred lines.

The men took him across the main yard, through a gate in a mesh fence, and into a quieter part of the compound. He raised his head a little, not enough for them to know that he was conscious but enough for him to be able to see where they were taking him.

The guards changed course and aimed for one of the doorways. Steve was dragged along the ground. His head hung limply between his shoulders and, as he gazed down, his vision swam in and out of focus. He felt the blood running from his nose and saw the spots that fell onto the ground. His torso and shoulders ached from where he had absorbed the punches and kicks, but he didn't feel as if anything had been broken. He had been lucky.

He had been badly beaten, and there would have been nothing he could have done had the big man wanted to inflict more damage on him.

The guards passed through the open door into a cool interior beyond. Steve heard the whir of a ceiling fan and felt the air on his skin. He heard the sound of a muffled conversation coming from the room next door.

They dumped Steve on the floor. He lay still. The men exchanged a few words his shaken brain couldn´t process and one of them walked away. A door was opened and the sound from the next room grew clearer for a brief moment before the door was closed and the sound was muffled once again.

Steve opened his eyes. He could see the feet and lower legs of the remaining guard. He wondered whether he might be able to overpower him, but quickly disregarded the thought. He would still be imprisoned. There would be no way for him to get out of the compound. Struggling now would more likely make things worse for him. Far better for him to lie in wait and work out what had happened to him.

And there was no point in pretending otherwise: he wanted to know who had arranged this welcome for him.

*to be continued*

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