Chapter One

Tony finished the fifteen lap of his morning swim. When he first started these laps, his limit was five before his lungs were burning and he needed to stop for air. However, that was then. Now, he did fifteen laps and didn't feel the need for then minutes with an oxygen mask over his face. He was in the best shape he'd been in for the last fifteen years. It turned out that besides being a great doctor, Brad was a helluva trainer.

He had been in Hawaii for six months and good to Brad's word his lungs had gotten stronger between the exercise, therapies, and medications. Swimming over to the side of the pool, he pulled himself out of the water then he walked over and grabbed a towel off the pool lounge chair and then dried himself. Turning away from the mansion, he looked out at the Pacific Ocean. When he was a kid and visited Hawaii, he never left the hotel room, even after his father had left him for a business meeting and forgotten all about him. What little he saw of Honolulu was from the hotel room. This was a beautiful sight, a bit of paradise, yet no one told him how boring paradise was.

With his morning swim done, his next chore was to take a morning jog on the beach, no more than five miles, and then after that he was free until two in the afternoon when he had a checkup with Brad at Pearl. His life was orderly, disciplined, and utterly boring. So far, he'd put all his effort and concentration in doing what Brad wanted him to do. Now that he was feeling better, he needed to find something to do with his life other than watch movies and exercise.

He started walking towards his bungalow off to the side of the mansion, so he could change into running shorts, a tee shirt, and running shoes. It was a fairly dull existence he lived in paradise. Besides his workouts and change of lifestyle, he managed to do one consulting job with the lead MCRT at Pearl on a job. They were dealing with a gun dealer and were running an undercover op to catch her. The gun dealer's name was Flora Burn. It was actually her pseudonym. Flora Burn was a 18th Century female pirate. Her real name was Margaret Hall. Tony consulted with them on their op, which ended up going down without a problem.

So far, that consultation was the most fun, he had living on Oahu. Out of a mix of boredom and amusement, he applied for a P.I. license and gun permit a month ago. He got both. Being an ex-homicide detective and ex-fed helped sometimes. Yet, he hadn't taken a job as a P.I. just yet. It was his Magnum P.I. homage. Instead, he swam and ran in the morning then he swam in the evening, took his medicines, and drank his eucalyptus tea, as well as breath in the steam from eucalyptus oil and water. His lungs felt great, but he was definitely bored. Not even the occasional drinking session with stories with former DCI Oliver Pratt could keep the boredom away. All I need is a good slap to the back of the head by Gibbs to get me to stop whining.

Walking to his bungalow, he let himself into his home. It was kept meticulously just like his old place in DC, a habit he picked up since his days at the military academy. He quickly changed into his shorts and old grey Ohio State University tee shirt, and running shoes. Exiting the bungalow, he walked up to his red 1980 MG convertible that he bought when he got here, got in, and drove off to his favorite spot on the beach his morning run. By the time he was done with the run, it would be seven in the morning and he'd be ready for yet another day in paradise.

"I really need to find something to do with myself," he sighed.

NCIS

In his chinos, sports coat, and polo shirt, Gibbs entered the bullpen with his fifth coffee of the day. They had been working a case looking for the kidnapped child of an Admiral. These cases always put him on the edge. Ziva was hunched over a bunch of case files forwarded to them from Metro Police, while McGee began running the financials of the Admiral and his wife. Their probie Agent Andrew MacDonald went through the NCIS files on potential persons of interest. His pile of files was much smaller than Ziva's.

Gibbs sat down at his desk. He missed DiNozzo. They had been a tight partnership for ten years. Gibbs was the hound dog who got the scent and didn't stop until he had justice, while DiNozzo was the out of the box thinker, who made connections that Gibbs didn't always see. They were formidable team and a successful one. Other partners came and went, but he and DiNozzo were the constant of the team. He took a sip of his coffee.

Ziva looked up and then over at Gibbs. He noticed that she looked tired. It had been a difficult several months for her. First, Tony left. They were close, closer than she even realized, then CIA Officer Ray Cruz, her boyfriend, turned out to be behind the murder of a naval officer. It was an accident, or so he said. He was now in prison.

"You okay, Ziver?" he asked.

"Just tired, Gibbs," she said.

She was tired because she was depressed. In a matter of months, she lost the man she thought she loved and the man she had told herself that she wasn't allowed to love. Ray was in prison and Tony was in Hawaii, where he probably had forgotten that kiss and what he said to her on that last day.

"Got anything for me?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said then she got up and walked a file over to him.

She handed him the file. It was the file of Edward Harness. He had kidnapped a police officer's daughter. She was found raped and strangled a week later. Harness lived in the area of the Admiral. He got off on a technicality. The Admiral's daughter was gone thirty hours now. If Harness took her then they were on the clock.

"McGee, I want everything you can give me on Edward Harness," said Gibbs. "Ziver has his file."

"Yes, boss," said McGee.

Damn it. She's already been with the bastard thirty hours. More than likely, she's already been raped once. Gibbs took another sip of his coffee. He definitely missed DiNozzo.

NCIS

In a chambray shirt and blue jeans, Tony sat in the chair waiting for Brad to return. He had just changed back into his clothes after a thorough checkup. Brad came in wearing his usual hospital togs.

"You are doing much better, Tony," said Brad then he sat down at his desk. "As a matter of fact, I would like to time you in a mile and see how you do. I think you'll do fine."

"You think I can do a seven minute mile, really?" said Tony.

"Maybe better than seven minutes," smiled Brad. "Your lungs sound really good."

Tony chuckled, "Too bad that I'm retired with a disability or I might be able to go back to work in the field."

Brad looked at him sympathetically. He had succeeded in helping Tony, but he knew it was at a cost. Brad needed Tony's full attention the last six months. Healthier eating and healthier living were as important to his recovery as much as everything else he was doing. DC was unhealthy for him.

"You've work hard this past six months, Tony. You should take a moment to feel proud," said Brad.

"So when do you want to do this mile?" asked Tony. "I'm looking forward to doing my Steve Prefontaine impersonation for you."

"How about this weekend at noon at Pearl? I'll bring a stop watch and you bring your running shoes," said Brad. "Afterwards we can go to my place and you, I, and Ally have lunch."

"Sounds like a plan, Doctor Pitt," said Tony.

"Good."

NCIS

Director Vance was in his office working late. Gibbs' team had caught the kidnapper, but, unfortunately, the daughter had been raped. The Admiral and his wife were at the hospital with their daughter and a very depressed team was down in the bullpen filling out their reports. Cynthia, who also stayed late, buzzed him.

"Yes, Cynthia," he said.

"Deputy Director Jerome Craig is on the phone for you from Pearl Harbor."

"What line?" he asked.

"Line two," she said.

He pushed line two and answered the phone, "Yes, Jerome."

"Leon, um… we have a problem here. It appears we have a serial murderer working in Oahu," he said.

"Fill me in, Jerome," sighed Vance.

"A lieutenant JG Sheila Hall and Petty Officer First Class Miriam Goode, each had their throats cut after being violated," he said.

"Raped?"

"No. They were violated with handle of a Ka-Bar, or, at least, that's what our medical examiner thinks that what they used," he said quietly.

"Three makes a serial killer, Jerome," said Vance, "you have two dead bodies so far."

"Third body is of Janet Moorhead. She was a chief quartermaster, retired living near Pearl," said Craig.

"Your best MCRT on it?" he asked.

"I pulled them off what they were working on today and put them right on it, today," Craig said.

"Good. What is their closure rate?" he asked.

"88 percent," he replied. "It's the best one in Pearl."

"Should be better," growled Vance. "You have Anthony DiNozzo's number."

"The retired agent who lives out here now?" asked Craig.

"Yes."

"I believe I do," he said.

"As a homicide detective he had a 96 percent closure rate and with NCIS the team he was on had a 97 percent closure rate," said Vance. "See if he is available as a consultant on this case. He's worked serial murderers before."

"What would you have him do?" Craig asked.

"Help the damn team if he can," said Vance. "He knows how to find killers, Jerome. Hire him as a consultant to help find a killer."

"Yes, sir," said Craig.

Vance hung up. He'd keep an eye on this situation, maybe even contact DiNozzo. If he didn't think the MCRT could handle it, he'd send Gibbs' team.

NCIS

Tony sat on his patio outside of his kitchen with his French press on the patio table waiting to be pushed down and a bowl of chopped pineapple in front of him. He had an experienced a few breakfasts in Hawaii, one was a Loco Moco, which was white rice, a hamburger patty, and a fried egg top with brown gravy, and the other was eggs sunny side up with grilled spam. Pineapple seemed to be the best alternative for a traditional Hawaiian breakfast. Tony pushed down the lever on the French press then poured himself a strong mug of French Roast. He added four sugars and some half-and-half then took a sip.

"I had a Hawaiian Royal at Anake's Diner," said Oliver, as he sat in the chair across from Tony. "Portuguese sausage, Chasu, green onions, eggs over a bed of rice with teriyaki sauce. Very filling."

"Get yourself a mug and have some coffee," said Tony.

"I've already had two cups. I have to watch my blood pressure," said Oliver. "Colin called me up and he wants me to ask a favor of you."

"He's my cousin, but he calls you to ask me for a favor. I come from a very difficult family," smiled Tony.

"I find most of us come from difficult families," said Oliver.

"Trust me the DiNozzo and Paddington families are difficult," smiled Tony.

Tony ate some of his pineapple. He liked pineapple, though he still had trouble getting used to it on pizza.

"What is the favor?" he asked.

"Alanna Cathcart is coming into Honolulu International Airport later this afternoon. He wants you to pick her up, drive her back here and help her. She is searching for a missing fiancé," said Oliver.

"Why don't you do it?" Tony asked.

"I'm putting together a charity event in the name of Colin Paddington," said Oliver.

"What's the event?"

"A polo match," sighed Oliver. "I'd rather be looking for a missing person."

"Polo," smiled Tony.

"I had mentioned that you got a P.I. license and I think Colin likes the idea that you have the license and a firearm," said Oliver. "By the way what weapon did you purchase?"

"Glock 22," said Tony.

"You Americans and your firearms," Oliver shook his head. "You really are a violent people."

Tony decided to ignore Oliver's little comment.

"Do you know anything about this missing fiancé?" asked Tony.

"Nothing. Colin was tightlipped," said Oliver.

Tony took another sip of his coffee. He didn't care if Gibbs thought he drank coffee that was too sweet.

"Do you know what she looks like?" asked Tony.

"Brunette. Thirty-two years old," he said, "but that's all I know about her."

"Fiancé?"

"Not even his name," said Oliver.

"I bet I'm doing this for free, too," said Tony.

"That is the favor apart," said Oliver.

Tony nodded his head then drank his coffee.

NCIS

He made a sign and drove out to the airport. There he stood with the sign that said Alanna Cathcart while a plane from London de-planed. Without even doubting himself, he knew Alanna Cathcart when he stepped into sight. She had first class written all over her and she wore expensive casual clothes. Her hair was long brunette with some lighter highlights and looked like silk when she moved. Of course, she was move the pretty, but spent enough money to look more than gorgeous.

"Miss Alanna Cathcart," Tony said to her.

"Yes, I am," she said. "You are a Paddington."

"No, I'm a DiNozzo, but I'm related to the Paddington's."

"Oh," she said. "We need to get my bags."

She expected Tony to do all of the work, as he scrambled around the luggage carousel grabbing her three bags. Once they were settled into his MG, He fit her luggage into his small trunk and they were off to Colin's estate.

"What's your fiancé's name?" Tony started.

"Simon Brandt," she answered.

"Tell me about him, like what was he involved in that would cause him to disappear?" he asked.

She looked at him with annoyance.

"He picked up an addiction to playing this Japanese dice game. He picked up the game in Tokyo when he lived there," she said.

"You mean Cho-Han," Tony said.

"I think that's what it's called," she replied with a hint of disdain. "How do you know this game?"

"I've watched too many Zatoichi movies," he said the smiled.

She wasn't amused by him.

"The Yakuza like to play that game of dice," Tony told her.

"I'm aware of that," she said.

"So you think he's involved with the Yakuza?" he asked.

"He has a friend in the Yakuza who lives in Hawaii that he came to see. His name is Fumio Mifune," she told him.

Tony smiled. The bastard is involved with the Yakuza. How come I suddenly feel like doing a voice over like Magnum P.I.? She was cold as a winter's breeze coming off the ocean. I have to buy a classic Hawaiian shirt.

"Are you capable of finding my fiancé or are you going to make excuses?" she asked Tony.

He sighed. She was going to be a pain in the ass, but his cousin was allowing to live in paradise for free.

"I've been a homicide detective and worked as a federal investigator and if it wasn't for a battle with the plague and a bullet to my lungs, I'd still be working as a fed. I caught murderers, serial killers, terrorists, smugglers, extortionists, and gun dealers. I think I can handle this," Tony growled.

"I hope so," she retorted.

For the rest of the ride, silence reigned. Tony was in no mood to prove himself an investigator. Part of the reason he thought he hadn't pursued being a P.I. was it reminded him of NCIS. Between the two months in a hospital, a month to move, and now six months in Hawaii, it had been nine months since he'd worked doing what he did best. Other than some e-mails to Ducky and Jimmy and one long e-mail from McGee kicking his ass for disappearing on them, which Tony answered with an e-mail that said – you'll do, he really did miss everyone. He missed the head slaps and steak dinners cowboy-style with Gibbs, the hugs from Abby, the long talks with Ducky, the awkwardness with Jimmy, the camaraderie of McGee, and the flirting and banter with Ziva. Yeah, he especially missed Ziva.

NCIS

After dumping Alanna Cathcart with Oliver at the main house, Tony got changed and went for an early swim. The long ride and annoying company made him look forward to his fifteen laps. Diving into the water, he started his smooth motion. Lap after lap, he concentrated on his form and nothing else allowing whatever annoyed him to float away in the water. As he did his turn and kick for his last lap, he finally brought his head up to see Deputy Director of NCIS Jerome Craig standing at the side of the pool. He stopped swimming.

"Former Agent DiNozzo, right?" asked Craig.

"That's me," said Tony, as he took a few deep breaths.

"I thought you were disabled by lung problems," said Craig.

"I was," smiled Tony. "Y Pestis and a bullet through one of your lungs can do that."

"You look healthy to me," said Craig.

"I'm much healthier than I was," he said. "I think I could even qualify for the run if I tried now."

"Oh," said Craig feeling confused. He expected someone with an oxygen tank, but instead he was looking at a healthy forty year old man. "I called but you didn't answer, so I thought I'd drop by your house. Director Vance wants me to hire you as a consultant to help our top MCRT with a serial killer."

Tony got out of the pool. He walked over and picked up a towel and started drying himself off.

"I'm doing a job right now, a missing persons," said Tony.

"But you aren't an active agent," said Craig.

"I picked up a P.I. license," smiled Tony. "DiNozzo, P.I., I think I'll make a hit TV show."

"Yeah, well, you'll have to grow a mustache," said Craig. "
Can you at least come in and observe our team and give me your opinion of their ability?"

"What's their closure rate?" asked Tony.

"88 percent," said Craig.

"Considering the tools at their disposal that sucks," said Tony.

"Director Vance isn't happy with it," sighed Craig.

"I'll come in on Monday. Tell them I'm an observer from DC or whatever. At the end of the day I'll give you my opinion of them," said Tony.

"I'll expect you at seven A.M.," said Craig.

"I'll be there at 8 or 8:30, Deputy Director," smiled Tony.

"Um, well, I'll see you then," said Craig.