A/N: Sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than normal. It's just how the chapters broke. Thanks again for your continued support.

Chapter 11

Steve stormed out of the school and all the way back to his truck, which was parked a quarter of a mile away.

Right as he got there, his cell phone rang. Undoubtedly, it was Danny or Chin, who were monitoring his GPS signal. They knew the coordinates where he parked his truck and would see that they matched his current location. They would put two and two together and realize either Steve had found Sang Min and had finished talking with him, or he hadn't and was moving on to another location to try again. In either case, they would want an update.

Steve owed them one; he knew he did. The problem was, after his encounter with Sang Min and the unexpected flood of all of his lost memories coming back, he wasn't in the mood to talk. He needed to think, needed to process, needed to figure out just what he was going to do now.

He ignored his phone as he jerked open the Silverado's door and climbed inside. The call went to voice mail as he started the truck and by the time he had shifted gears from park to drive, his phone was ringing again.

Steve cursed to himself and pulled out his phone, looking at the caller ID. Sure enough, it was Danny. He changed the phone to silent mode and shoved it back in his pocket. Steve knew his partner would be mad, but at least that way, he didn't have to listen to the annoying ringing in his ears.

He wondered how long it would take for Danny to flip on his lights, hunt him down, and pull him over like he did the day before. His partner would probably even enjoy it. But thankfully, they weren't very far from Five-0 Headquarters and Steve was betting that he could evade Danny long enough to make it there.

It was kind of ironic, actually; they had spent so many months looking for Sang Min and he had practically been hiding in plain sight just a few miles away, probably for the whole time.

It was also ironic that Steve had spent the past three days feverishly trying to get his memory back and now that he had it, he profoundly wished he could forget the past 19 months all over again.

But ironic wasn't the same as funny and nothing about what Steve remembered, about what he did, was funny.

It wasn't funny at all.

Steve glanced in his rear view mirror just in time to see the Camaro pull up behind him, the lights off for now. But it was already too late; he had made it to Five-0 Headquarters. He pulled into his usual parking space and quickly jumped out of the truck, walking purposefully across the grounds to the entrance.

Danny evidently had no intention of being thwarted and drove the Camaro up over the curb and onto the Aliʻiōlani Hale's lawn, barely missing the King Kamehameha statue, and cut Steve off. He threw the door open and jumped out, his face wrinkled up in a mixture of anger and concern. "Hey! What happened?" he asked, striding over to check on his partner.

Steve didn't answer. Instead, he glared, his hands on his hips and his mouth closed tightly as the tension visibly pulsated in his jaw.

Then he turned his back on Danny and charged up the stairs.

*H50*

Steve burst into the blue room, throwing the door open with such force that is bounced back off the wall. He walked over to Song and roughly grasped him by the arm.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked as he followed Steve into the room, just a few steps behind.

"Taking him to jail where he belongs," Steve barked, hauling Song to his feet.

"What? Why? We're not done questioning him yet."

"Yes, we are," Steve replied curtly.

"Ok," Danny hedged, apparently trying to follow Steve's logic. "If you really want him to go, I'll call HPD and they can come get him in a squad car."

Steve shook his head. "No. I'm taking him. Alone."

"The hell you are!" Danny argued, blocking the door. "I'm not letting you take him by yourself!"

Steve looked at him incredulously. "You're not 'letting me'?" he said loudly. "You're not my mom, Danny!"

Danny's hands went flying, the exertion knocking some of his hair out of place and giving him a slightly deranged look. "Well, thank God for that! But I am responsible for this prisoner. If something happens, it's my butt on the line. And need I remind you, I am the boss!" he exclaimed loudly.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "The 'boss'?" he almost shouted, sarcastically. "After all these years of being partners, you're going to play the 'boss' card? That's how it's going to be?"

"In this case, yes!" Danny shouted, clearly angry.

"Then I quit!" Steve yelled back, shoving Danny out of the doorway and marching past him. "Consider this my last act of law enforcement for the great state of Hawaii!" he shouted over his shoulder as he led Song out into the hall. He quickly walked to the elevator and punched the button repeatedly. The door opened and he led a surprised, but smiling, Song inside and pushed the button for the ground floor.

The elevator doors closed before Steve realized that he never looked back at Danny.

*H50*

Once outside, Steve led Song past Danny's Camaro, which was still parked on the lawn and gathering quite a crowd of curious onlookers snapping pictures on their cell phones, to his Silverado in the parking lot. He unlocked the passenger door and ducked Song's head as he shoved him inside, slamming the door shut after him. He made his way to the driver's seat, fired up the truck, and pulled onto the street, leaving the Five-0 Headquarters behind.

Song looked over at Steve and laughed, genuinely pleased with the turn of events. "That sure was some good cop, bad cop routine, McGarrett," he quipped.

Steve frowned thoughtfully as he drove. "It's only a good cop, bad cop routine when both of the cops are actually good," he informed him.

Song smiled broadly. "And you're not a good cop, are you McGarrett?"

Steve continued looking out the windshield as he drove, his face unreadable and stony. He didn't even bother glancing sideways at Song. After a moment, he sighed heavily. "No," he replied, quietly and sadly. "I haven't been a good cop in a very long time."

"And I, for one, would like to thank you for that," Song acknowledged.

Steve pressed his lips together tightly but didn't respond.

They drove the next few miles in silence before Steve spoke. "See that red light up ahead?" he asked, pointing to the traffic signal a few blocks ahead of them.

"Yes," Song replied with a nod.

"That's where you're getting out," Steve told him. "I'm sure Five-0 is tracking the GPS on my phone so by now, they know I'm not taking you to jail. HPD will be all over us soon. If I pull over in a parking lot or even at the curb, they'll see the stop on the GPS, check the coordinates, and know that's where I let you go. You'll never make it." He reached into his pockets and fished out a key as he stopped for the light. "But they won't think anything of stopping at coordinates that match a controlled intersection. They'll just assume the light was red. Here, let me see your cuffs."

Song reached his wrists out to Steve, who quickly unlocked the handcuffs. "Now go," he said, jerking his head toward the sidewalk.

Song opened the door and climbed out, turning to look at Steve before he closed the door. "See you later tonight, right?" he asked.

Steve nodded once. "Yeah. I'll be there."

Song closed the door and disappeared into the crowd on the sidewalk. The light turned green and Steve accelerated like normal. A mile down, he turned onto a side street and parked. He took his phone out of his pocket and placed it under the seat. Then he got out of the truck, locked it, and then walked back to the main street.

Less than a minute later, he hailed a cab and was gone.

*H50*

The sun was beginning to set as Steve finally reached the top of the remote mountain. He parked the Marquis in the circle drive in front of the mansion and killed the ignition. He grasped the steering wheel and exhaled a large breath, preparing himself. Then he got out. He smoothed his hands over his sharp, tailored black suit and crisply starched open-neck white shirt as he approached the front door.

He glanced around, noticing the lack of other cars. From all appearances, he was the first to arrive. That wasn't really surprising, though. Criminals were many things but punctual was not necessarily one of them. Steve glanced quickly at his watch, which denoted he had arrived exactly on time. He wondered humorlessly why punctuality was one thing that was hard to strip from a Navy man when other traits appeared to be a bit more flexible.

He walked up the white marble stairs and rang the doorbell. Chimes inside played an intricate tune and a few seconds later, a young Asian man also dressed in a suit opened the door. "Good evening, Commander," he said, bowing slightly at the waist. Steve nodded back as he stepped inside.

"May I?" the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. Steve knew what he meant and held his arms out from his sides. The young man thoroughly frisked him, patting down his torso and then his arms and legs. Finding nothing, he stood back up. "Please, remove your shoes," the man continued, holding his hand out to draw attention to a small bench against the foyer wall with a copper tray sitting next to it on the floor.

Steve sat on the bench and removed his perfectly polished black dress shoes, placing them on the tray. Satisfied, the man smiled. "Mr. Zhào will see you now." He led Steve through the gold and white striped foyer and down the dark paneled hall. He stopped outside an ornately carved wooden door and knocked once.

"Come," replied an older voice from inside. The young man opened the door and gestured for Steve to go inside. Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Steve alone in the study with a man Steve presumed was Mr. Zhào.

The room was large and richly appointed. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, its faceted crystals throwing light in a pattern across the room. The red Oriental rug on the floor was undoubtedly antique and very valuable. Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with leather-bound volumes, some with titles in Mandarin, others in English. On the left side of the room, two deep burgundy leather couches sat facing each other in front of a fireplace, which Steve thought it was a touch unnecessary. It was rarely cold enough in Hawaii to need a fire, even here in the mountains. But it did lend a nice ambiance, which is probably what Zhào was going for anyway. On the right wall were two doors, one of which Steve supposed led to a bathroom, the other most likely to a conference room. On the far side of the room, straight ahead facing him, sat an enormous desk with two Tiffany lamps on the near corners, illuminating the desk's surface. Behind the desk was a black tufted leather executive chair, where Mr. Zhào sat, and past him was a credenza situated underneath a large picture window overlooking the Hawaiian mountains.

Zhào stood to greet Steve. "Commander McGarrett," he said in lightly accented English. He walked over with a smile and bowed. "Welcome. May I offer you a drink?"

Steve bowed in return. He really didn't want a drink but he also knew it was impolite to refuse. "Thank you, Mr. Zhào. A drink would be great," he answered.

He quickly studied Zhào as the man walked over to a credenza, opened one of the doors, and pulled out two heavy cut crystal Old Fashioned glasses and a bottle of expensive scotch. He was older than Steve—possibly 50—though he had virtually no wrinkles or other signs of age. His hair was dark, short, and neatly styled with a part on the left side. He was tall for an Asian man- maybe an inch or two shorter than Steve- and impeccably dressed in a custom tailored dark charcoal grey suit and bright red tie. Steve noticed Zhào's biceps bulged as he poured the drinks, straining slightly at the arms of his suit. He was evidently muscular and kept himself in good shape.

All in all, Mr. Zhào looked like an average, rich businessman who went to the gym, liked expensive things, and had more than enough money to buy them. He hardly looked like the head of a large child trafficking operation. However, Steve knew from experience that the bad guys often looked exactly the same as the good guys. And if he ever doubted that fact, all he had to do was look in the mirror.

The scotch now poured, Zhào turned and walked over to Steve, handing him one of glasses.

"Thank you," Steve said, holding the tumbler in his hand but not taking a sip. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

Zhào inclined his head. "For me, as well. I have heard many good things about you, Commander."

"I'm glad to hear that, sir." He gestured around the room. "You have a beautiful home. And your property is lovely," he added, looking out the window. One glance told him not only were they on top of the mountain, but there also wasn't another home or building in sight. Zhào's mansion was totally isolated.

"I am glad it pleases you," Zhào acknowledged. "Please, sit," he said, gesturing toward the couches. "The others will arrive in an hour. I asked you to come now so we could converse privately."

Steve felt a bit uneasy at the news but he didn't show it. He sat on the couch Zhào indicated, which was facing away from the door and toward the window. Zhào pushed a button on his desk, undoubtedly signaling for something, then made his way over and sat down on the other couch opposite Steve.

"Please, drink," Zhào encouraged, taking a sip from his own tumbler.

Steve had no choice but to comply, and took a small sip, feeling the burn all the way down. Zhào smiled.

"You have a beautiful view of the sunset from here," Steve said, looking out the window as the yellows and oranges began to streak across the sky. Finding topics for small talk was getting increasingly more difficult but he didn't want to risk offending Zhào or his cultural proclivities. Besides, he needed to stall while he tried to figure out what Zhào was after.

"It is quite beautiful," Zhào agreed. "The view is one reason why I chose this location for my home, privacy being the other. Perhaps you will indulge me and tell me this, Commander- was the sunset just as beautiful three nights ago?"

Steve was caught off-guard and his focus immediately jumped from the sunset back to Zhào's face. The older man was still smiling at him. But underneath the cordiality, there was a hint of something else; something sinister and cunning. And for the first time, Steve could see the ruthlessness that allowed Zhào to rise to his position.

Still, Steve didn't show it. He kept his face neutral, even open. He smiled apologetically. "I don't know what you mean," he said, sounding genuinely confused. "I've never been here before."

Zhào smiled sadly and shook his head. "I wish that was the truth, Commander. After all, I had such high hopes for you. But we both know, that is a lie."

As if on cue, the door to the study opened and Steve turned his body to see two large bodyguards come inside from the hall. One had a SIG Sauer P229 trained on Steve, which was bad enough. But what the other bodyguard was even worse.

He was holding a pair of worn, light brown combat boots.

Steve's boots.

Steve heard an unmistakable metallic slide, one that indicated a bullet had just been chambered in a pistol. He whipped back around and faced Zhào, who now had another SIG P229 leveled at Steve's chest, more specifically, at his heart.

Center mass. A fatal shot.

"I will ask you now for the last time," Zhào said evenly, with a deathly pleasantry that Steve found sickening. "Why were you in my house?"

To be continued…