Steve stormed into the office; a barely contained force of fury. He tossed his cell phone onto the smart table.
"Damn it, Chin, he's calling me on my fucking personal cell phone and taunting me, and I'm to believe that the US Navy and our own task force is incapable of catching him?" Steve said, his voice low but with a deadly intensity that made a chill run up Kono's spine. She came out of her office and stood quietly next to Steve.
"I know, Steve," Chin said quietly, his fingers flying over the touchscreen. Maybe, just maybe, this one time, they would get lucky. Maybe Novak would have somehow not covered his tracks, and they could trace the call. Lines of data started scrolling across the screen. Grover joined them, watching, hoping against hope that they would find something.
"He was in my backyard, Chin."
"I know."
"He had her. For hours. Restrained, at some god-forsaken dock . . . " his voice cracked. He put his hands on the smart table, leaned forward, his head hanging down. Kono put her hand on his; strong, secure.
"She's okay, Steve," Chin reminded him quietly, while shaking his head in dismay at the 'no signal identified' message that mocked him on the plasma screen.
"He got to her before we could," Steve said, his hands white knuckling the edge of the smart table. Kono risked putting her arm around him, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. She supposed, on the one hand, that as a feminist, she could choose to be insulted that Steve would accept these gestures of comfort and support more readily from her than from the guys; but as a teammate and friend, and conscripted younger sister, she was just glad that he was willing.
"He wants you to feel obligated to him?" Kono asked. "Throw you off by making you . . . I don't know, appreciate him, somehow?"
Steve shook his head. "No," he said, decisively. "If that was his goal, he wouldn't have . . . making her watch, while he tortured those men . . . and then tying her wrists and ankles, and shoving her in that liferaft . . . that was pure evil. Psychological torture. No, he doesn't want to make me feel indebted or appreciative. He said it himself - he wants me to feel impotent."
"What do you want us to do?" Grover asked. "What first?"
"First," Steve said, squeezing Kono's hand in appreciation, "you call in every favor, everything you can think of, to get extra eyes and ears on your families. I'm going to go call Catherine."
"You won't really do it, will you? Go back to active duty?" Chin asked, his voice level; not second guessing or passing judgment, just curious.
Steve hesitated. "If I thought it would make the difference, in keeping you guys safe? Yeah. Yeah, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But if I went, and something happened, and I couldn't get back . . . I don't know that I could forgive myself. I can't do it again, Chin. I can't be stuck halfway around the world and . . ."
"I know, Steve," Chin said, and if it had been anyone else, Steve would have found the repetition of that phrase annoying. But from Chin, it was assurance. "For what it's worth, you're here now, and you have us."
"It's worth a lot to me, Chin," Steve said. "Thanks. I'm going to see what the Navy has come up with, then I'm going to call in a few of those favors."
#*#*#*#*#
The smell wafted off the elevator before the doors even opened, and Kono, predictably, was the first out of her office. To her surprise, it was Caviness who stepped off the elevator, carrying trays of moco loco.
"Hello, gorgeous," he said quietly, smiling at Kono. "I figured you all probably hadn't stopped to think about food."
"We haven't, and you're amazing," Kono said. "Thank you. For coming, and for thinking of this."
"Thanks, brah," Chin said, joining Kono and helping take the bags. They settled in Steve's office.
"Okay, where's everyone stand with coverage for your family? Everyone good? Need me to make any calls?" Steve asked, half-heartedly poking at his food.
"All set," Grover said, as Chin and Kono nodded. "Steve, we appreciate it, man, and we're taking every precaution . . . but Novak didn't go after Gracie when he targeted Danny; and he didn't go after Malia, or any of Kono's family, when he targeted Chin and Kono. Do you think he'll break his pattern?"
"Honestly?" Steve said, "I don't. But I don't want to take any chances. We're clearly not dealing with a rational person here. Caviness, what's your take?"
"I tend to agree," Caviness said, nodding slowly. "I've read over your report. Novak explicitly said that he was targeting the team with their worst nightmare; surely, Danny's absolute worst nightmare would be something happening to Gracie. Now, Novak played on that in a way that was cruel and twisted, but he didn't lay a finger on Gracie. And he could have, obviously - he knew exactly when Danny was going to come around that curve. If he'd wanted to hurt Gracie, he would have. And when he went after Chin and Kono, he kept it strictly to them, their reputation, their place on the team. He didn't hurt Malia, or any of their family. I also agree with Steve, though, that we take nothing for granted."
"Caviness, you profiled our team once, looking for weakness," Steve said. "I need you to do that again. If we can figure out how Novak is finding his way into our weak spots, maybe we can follow the trail back to his."
"I'm happy to help," Caviness said, "I'm just - well, I don't want to step on toes, or invade your privacy."
"I appreciate that, but our team, and potentially our families and friends, are at risk," Steve said. "Anyone have any objections to Caviness playing devil's advocate here?"
"None," Chin said. "You've proven yourself to be a good friend to Five-O, Marshal. I trust that our information will be handled with discretion." Kono and Grover nodded in agreement.
"I give you my word on that," Caviness said.
"What did you hear from Catherine? Has Navy Intel made any progress?" Kono asked.
"They are cooperating with the Coast Guard and doing a thorough search of every dock that could possibly have served the purpose," Steve answered. He gave up on eating, dropping his fork in the tray, and leaning back in his chair. "They want to take Jax out, see if she recognizes anything."
"It might be worth a try," Grover said, cautiously. "Although . . . that's asking a lot of her, right now."
"She'll want to do it," Kono said. "You have to at least give her the option."
Steve nodded. "I agree, Kono." He glanced at his watch. "Malia is probably writing up her discharge papers as we speak. I'll get HPD to drop me off at the hospital, and I'll bring Danny and Jax back. Keep searching for leads, and someone let me know when Max has a report, yeah?"
#*#*#*#*#
Rachel sat quietly next to Jax's bed, pretending to read the latest issue of Architectural Digest, while staring at Danny's sleeping form. Lost in thought, it took her a moment to register the accelerating beeps of the heart monitor which woke Danny.
"Hey, Rachel," he said, "what . . . oh." He looked at the monitor, and back at Jax, then threw his blanket to the side and launched himself out of the chair.
"Danny?" Rachel questioned, looking up at him in confusion.
He stepped next to Jax's bed, taking her least injured hand in his, carefully, mindful of the bruised and swollen knuckles. "Babe," he said, softly. "You need to wake up."
"What . . . oh," Rachel whispered. "Is she having a nightmare?"
"Yeah, probably," Danny said. "You, ah, need to stand back a little."
"Really?" Rachel asked, stepping back. She sounded somewhat impressed.
Danny chuckled. "Yeah; she's nailed me a coupla times . . . Steve, too. Jax, honey, wake up for me. You're safe. You're at Queens."
"Please," Jax murmured, her eyes still closed. "Please . . . stop."
Rachel's eyes filled with tears as she watched Danny ease a hip onto the bed next to Jax and gently cup her bruised face in his hand.
"Jax, come on, babe, wake up," Danny said, a little louder this time.
"No, don't . . . I can't . . . " Jax muttered, her fingers moving restlessly against the bandages around her wrists. Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered open, wild and panic stricken. "Danny?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"Yeah, there you go," Danny said, pulling her toward him gently, nestling her head in the crook of his neck. He rubbed gentle circles on her back.
"What can I do?" Rachel whispered.
Danny looked up at her, surprised. She'd never handled it well when he was injured on the job, much less cared about his partners. But she looked genuinely concerned, and there was a softness in her eyes that he hadn't seen for a long, long time.
"Probably some ice chips," Danny answered quietly. "If you ask the nurse . . . "
Rachel nodded and slipped out of the room, while Danny continued to murmur nonsense to Jax and trace his hands carefully over her tense shoulders. She didn't protest, or argue that she was okay, or play it off . . . she allowed him to comfort her, trembling against him, and it freaked him right the hell out.
"Honey, are you in pain?" he asked.
She started to shake her head, he could feel it, and then she just shrugged. Rachel came back in with a generous sized cup full of ice chips, and a spoon wrapped in plastic. She placed the cup on the rolling tray and deftly unwrapped the spoon, tucking it into the ice.
"Jax," he coaxed, "let's try a little ice. I bet you're dehydrated, and thirsty."
She lifted her head, and he helped ease her back to rest against the pillows. He scooped up a spoonful of ice and she let him slip it between her lips.
"Thanks," she said, her voice rough. She cleared her throat a bit and tried again. "Thank you," she said, looking at Rachel, then back at Danny. "There was . . . the waves. Broke over the raft and I couldn't . . . there was salt water. The ice is really good." She reached out to take the spoon, but her hand was shaking so badly that she couldn't manage it. "Shit," she whispered, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.
"Hey, it's okay, I got it," Danny said. "You're woozy, you're still doped, and your hands are a mess, babe. It's okay to need some help."
She looked at him skeptically.
"It's about time you had people around you willing to help, Jax; and you're going to have to adjust to the idea. The problem here is not that you can't do everything alone; the problem is that you've had to, for far too long," Danny said, continuing to give her small spoonfuls of ice.
Jax dropped her eyes and picked absently at the bandages around her wrists, then looked up suddenly. "Rachel . . . when did you get here? Wait - Gracie? Is everything okay with Gracie?"
Rachel looked at Danny, confused, then back at Jax. "Grace is fine, Jacqueline . . . do you not - I was here earlier, and we talked a bit. Do you not remember? Danny, you were asleep . . ."
"Oh, no," Jax groaned, closing her eyes and dropping her head back onto the pillows. "What fresh humiliation now?"
"I don't understand," Rachel said, completely perplexed, her British composure rapidly disintegrating. "Danny, she's a bit off her trolley. Should I fetch a nurse?"
"No, Rach - when we went to New York and she was in the hospital, they came up with a specific drug protocol for her, for pain and insomnia. Malia makes sure she gets it here; it works great, but . . . well, she tends to become . . . uninhibited. Usually with amusing results. I hate I missed it. What'd she say?" Danny smirked gleefully at Rachel as Jax covered her face with her hands.
"So, you're saying, the things she says . . . are very truthful? Although she might not say them if she were . . . in full control of her faculties?" Rachel asked thoughtfully.
"Oh, yeah, it's like truth serum," Danny confirmed. "It's why she's stubborn and won't take it unless she absolutely has to. Usually just in the hospital or when she's gone home from the hospital too soon."
"Ah, well, nothing too exciting this time," Rachel said, "just a bit of confusion as to whether or not we were in New Jersey. I think my being here confused her. And I'm sure I should be going now," she added, picking up her things. "I hope you feel better soon, Jacqueline."
"Rachel, really, thank you for coming," Danny said, walking her to the door, his hand automatically going to the small of her back. Rachel had almost forgotten what that felt like; Danny's strong presence, his tactile nature, always quick with a protective or nurturing gesture. She realized, with a pang of wistfulness, that she missed it.
They stepped into the hallway, Danny kissing her cheek briefly, then pulling back. "Sorry," he mumbled. "You, me, hospital rooms . . . old habits." He smiled at her.
"It's okay, Daniel," she said, smiling. "I remember . . . all those times when Jacqueline was with NYPD, and they would call you because she'd been hurt . . . there really was no one else, was there?"
"No," Danny said. "I'm sorry, Rach, I knew it upset you; Gracie was so little, and my hours were so long as it was, but . . . she only had her brother, and there was a guy . . . but she lost them both when the towers fell. There wasn't anyone else, I couldn't just . . . I just always felt like if I could go, I needed to go. I'm sorry."
Rachel shook her head. "No, Danny, I'm sorry that I didn't understand, then. And . . . there were times that you couldn't go?"
"Yeah, I mean, not many, my captain was stand-up about it, he remembered her, of course, from being our rookie. But when I was in the middle of a case, or -" Danny broke off.
"Or when I was being petulant," Rachel finished softly. "You wouldn't go. I'm sorry, Danny."
"Yeah. Well, you came today, and that was a very nice gesture," Danny said. He rubbed his hands over his face. "God, I need . . . I need a shower, a week's sleep . . . "
"Yeah, you do, buddy," Steve said, coming off the elevator. "Rachel, hey. Is everything okay with Gracie?"
"Yes, yes," Rachel said, a bit perturbed. "I came to . . . is it so hard to believe that -" she broke off, sighing. "I came to check on Danny. Jacqueline. I came to check on Jacqueline."
"How's our girl doing, Danny?" Steve asked.
"She's . . . I think she's more than a little shaken up, Steve, to be honest," Danny said. "I'll go get the car and pull it around. Malia should be here any minute with discharge papers and the pharmacy stuff."
Steve left Danny with Rachel in the hallway and slipped into Jax's room. She was busy fiddling with the settings on the IV, and silencing the pulse ox monitor, which she had slipped off her finger.
"Hey, ku'uipo, in a hurry to go somewhere?" Steve drawled quietly, crossing the few steps across the room to reach her.
"Hey," she said, and smiled at him, soft and tired, and through a haze of pain and the tail end of sedatives. She felt unfocused and at loose ends and shaky again and she needed -
His arms were around her then, his hip propped on the side of her bed, pulling her close.
"It's okay, Jax, I've got you," he whispered.
She shook her head. "I don't understand . . . it's not bad. I'm barely even hurt, just bruised, I don't understand why I'm all -" she made a vague gesture of frustration, and Steve couldn't help but smile. Jax's hands spoke volumes.
"Because Novak - Jax, it was torture, okay?" Steve said, gently winding a curl around his finger. "Psychological torture is devastating. That's why it's thrown you. No one expects you to be okay." He paused . . . "I'm so sorry. I should have -"
"No," she protested, "Nothing. There was nothing you could have done." She pulled back, squaring her shoulders, a look of determination crossing her features. "Leads. Do you have any leads?"
He hesitated. "The Coast Guard is compiling a list, of every possible docking situation that could have accommodated the boat, and the logistics . . ."
"Okay, let's go," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I'm just bruised, nothing broken, no major damage, let's go. They need me, right, to see if I recognize anything?"
"Yeah, but -" Steve paused. "Are you sure you can handle it?"
She looked at him, biting her bruised lip. "No. I'm not sure. But I am damn sure I can't handle sitting here, doing nothing, so let's give it a try, yeah? Steve. He has - Novak took my badge. He took it, and put it in his pocket. I want it back."
"Okay," Steve said. "We'll go with the Coast Guard."
Danny knocked on the door quietly and poked his head in. "I have discharge papers and a bag from the pharmacy," he said. "Your instructions include a suggestion to meet with the nice counselor -"
She finished sliding the last IV out of her arm. "Nope. Going to meet up with the Coast Guard," she said. "I need to go home, shower, get clothes and . . . boots. I need . . . where are my shoes?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
"All of your clothes are in evidence," Steve reminded her.
"Oh, yeah," she said. "Okay, well, I'll just get some of those non-skid socks from the nurse on the way out." She started moving stiffly, but with purpose, toward the door. "You boys coming, or what?" she demanded. "We're burning daylight here."
"You know she's going to have to process what happened at some point," Danny muttered, poking a finger at Steve. "You don't just walk away from an experience like that."
"I know, Danny."
"It's not gonna be pretty," Danny warned.
"I know, Danny."
Danny sighed. "You know I'll be there to help," he said, looking fondly at Jax as she stood at the nurse's station, politely inquiring regarding socks.
"I know, Danny," Steve said, squeezing Danny's shoulder affectionately.
#*#*#*#*#
"Meet you back at the palace," Danny said, as he pulled out of Steve's driveway.
Jax paused and turned her face up to the sun, her eyes closed. Steve waited patiently; he had been pulled out of enough dark holes to understand the need to feel the sun on his face, fill his lungs with fresh air. He put his hand on her shoulder, gently, when she swayed on her feet.
"Steady," he murmured, smiling down at her.
"Damn concussion," she muttered, starting to walk up the porch steps. They slipped through the front door. "You were here," she said. "When Novak called you, from the beach, you were home."
"Yeah," Steve said, nodding. "Grover sent Danny and me packing here to shower and try to grab a few minutes rest. We couldn't sleep, of course, but we were crashed here."
"In the living room," Jax confirmed, glancing around. Steve picked up on her line of thought immediately.
"Lights. You can see the lights of the house from the beach," he said, calculating. "Lights pulling into the driveway. Master bedroom is at the back of the house, overlooking the beach."
"Car lights pull in, bedroom lights go on," Jax said, looking up the stairs, then toward the back of the house. "Bedroom lights go off."
"Kitchen lights on," Steve said, remembering getting another bottle of water from the refrigerator after coming back downstairs.
"I couldn't see the lights," Jax said quietly. "I didn't know where we were. It was dark, I didn't recognize . . . but he knew exactly . . . he was watching. Waiting until you were home. I guess he didn't want to ruin the surprise by letting me drown."
"How long?" Steve asked, running a careful hand through her tangled curls. "How long were you there?"
She shook her head. "It felt like a long, long time, but I was panicked, disoriented. I'm sorry; I can't judge time or distance . . . I'm not helping."
"Hey," he said, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head against his chest. "We'll figure it out. Max is going over everything."
"Including blood tests on the vics," she said, pulling away from him abruptly. "I need to take a shower. We need to get back to the office, to the lab, meet up with the Coast Guard . . ."
"Do you -" Steve gestured to the bandages on her wrists.
"I'm fine to shower. After, can you -?"
"Yeah, I'll get the kit," he said. "You sure you're up for this? We can put it off, you can rest . . ."
"I did not join Five-O to become the weak link, Steve," she said. "Just - I'll grab a shower, I'll be right back."
He reluctantly watched her go up the stairs; fighting the impulse to follow her, to take the time to check every inch of her himself, kiss every bruise . . . his hands clenched into fists as Novak's words played over and over in his mind, taunting him. He went into the kitchen to grab the first aid kit, the yellow crime scene tape on his ground floor lanai catching his eye through the kitchen window. He risked looking out, and then cringed at the condition of the lanai. It was still bloodstained, littered with some debris leftover from the crime lab. He pulled the shutters closed, and made a mental note to have a crew come over and clean. Pressure washing, he thought absently, should do the trick. He'd have them do it during the day. When Jax was gone.
"You don't have to do that," she said, padding into the kitchen, hair damp and boots in hand.
"Shit, Jax," Steve said, turning, and grinning at her. "Now I understand why Danny is always threatening to put bells on us." He motioned to the kitchen stool and plopped the first aid kit on the island.
She slid onto the stool. "I'm sorry this landed in your backyard," she said quietly. "Your home should be . . . you shouldn't have to . . . I'm sorry."
"Hey," he said, sliding his hand into her hair. It smelled like honeysuckle again, and it made him smile. Such an improvement over the antiseptic smell from the hospital. "You're here, that's all that matters." He looked down at her wrists. "Damn it, Jax," he muttered, grabbing the anesthetic cream.
She winced as he carefully dabbed the cream onto the broken skin. He rummaged in the bag until he came up with non-stick gauze, then wound it gently around both wrists and secured each one with a generous piece of surgical tape. His strong hand cradled her forearm gently, while he traced over the bruising with his other hand, his fingers brushing over the bruising that was darkening to reveal a distinct handprint.
"Hey," Jax said, ducking her head to catch his eyes. "How about we get my ankles bandaged, get my boots on, get the rest of the team, and go kick some ass?"
#*#*#*#*#
"You're smiling. You're both smiling," Danny grumbled good-naturedly, as Steve and Jax came off the elevator and joined the rest of the team, gathered around the smart table, along with Caviness and Max.
"Commander McGarrett," Max said, "I was just getting ready to share my findings with the team. I came upstairs so that I could present the report to the entire team, and space with two victims is a bit tight in the lab. Not to mention, the condition of the victims is quite shocking."
"Go ahead, Max, what did you find?" Steve said, gesturing to the screen.
"Well, the cause of death is obviously the gunshot wound to the back of the head," Max said. "They were alive when they were shot, but the extent of injuries sustained before the fatal injury are astounding. I estimate that they were tortured over a period of ten hours."
Steve glanced down at Jax. "That sound about right?"
"It seemed like at least that long," she said quietly.
Max continued. "The timeline of injuries is consistent for each victim. Novak started with the fingers. Each finger was broken. The bones in the hand, crushed. At this point, the victims would have already been in agonizing pain, and yet Declan Novak continued, moving on, as far as I can tell, to burning the victims with what appears to be a cigar -"
Jax paled and swallowed convulsively. She remembered, all too well, the smell of burning flesh.
Grover held up a hand to pause Max. "Dr. Bergman," he said quietly, "I'm not sure that detailing every injury is going to be pertinent right now."
Max looked to Steve in confusion. "You usually want very detailed reports. I apologize."
"We appreciate your thoroughness, Max, as always," Steve said, "and we will read the report as needed. In this case, though, we aren't looking for clues to identify the killer, so you don't need to itemize the injuries. We know who committed the crime, but did you find anything at all that would help us locate Novak?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I may have," Max said, nodding to Chin, who quickly and gratefully replaced the autopsy photos with a document full of data. "I cross referenced the analysis of the ribbon that was used to restrain Officer Nolan with all of the samples taken from the victim, as well as residue from the charred remains of the Monsoon Season. I found a commonality that may be useful." Max paused, beaming at the group.
"Yes, Max," Chin prompted, "you want to tell us?"
"Indeed," Max said, completely oblivious to the eyes rolling. "There was a unique concentration of limestone, a very close match to the geological profile of the coastal sediment found at Ka'ena Point," Max said triumphantly.
"But not an exact match?" Steve pressed.
"No, and we would not expect it to be exact," Max said, "because of course the ribbon, the residue from the boat, and the residual samples from the victims would have been subsequently diluted with further exposure to sea water and blood, during the transit from that point to the waters behind your house, Commander McGarrett. However, the limestone itself resists dilution, thus it was left behind. I could say with reasonable certainty that the victims, the boat, and the ribbon spent hours at Ka'ena Point."
"Ka'ena Point?" Danny queried.
"It's a protected dune ecosystem," Chin explained. "Closed to the public."
"Remote, practically inaccessible," Kono added.
"No one would have heard . . . "Jax said, quietly. "Can you pull up pictures?"
"Absolutely," Chin said, nodding, and with a few deft keystrokes, the plasma screens filled with photos of the remote, rocky coastline. Jax studied them as Chin scrolled slowly through the images.
"There -" she said, pointing. "That's it. We were anchored just off that pier. The one that looks like it's about to collapse into the water."
"It fits," Steve said firmly. "Gear up; Chin, call the Coast Guard for backup. I'm calling Catherine." He strode purposefully into his office.
#*#*#*#*#*#
They decided on a no-holds-barred, inter-agency swarm of Ka'ena Point. On the off chance that Novak's arrogance would have prompted him to stay in one place, they were following the one lead that they had.
Caviness found himself once again teamed with Chin and Kono, as they coordinated with HPD and SWAT to lead a ground team. Catherine and members of Naval Intelligence were joining both the ground team, and the rest of Five-O and Coast Guard who were approaching from the water.
"You sure you're up for this?" Steve asked, as Jax limped slightly down the dock toward the speedboat that would carry them to the dock she had recognized.
"I'm good," Jax replied quietly. Gear had been double and triple checked; vests, holsters, coms. Jax absently flexed her bruised fingers, wincing, and pulled her tactical gloves out of one of her pockets. She slid them carefully onto her hands. "Now I'm good," she amended, as the gloves supported her swollen joints and covered the bandages around her wrists.
"Down boy," Danny muttered good-naturedly, rolling his eyes at the way Steve predictably brightened at the sight of Jax in tactical gear. "The two of you, I'm telling you, your affinity for thigh holsters and tactical gloves is . . . you know what, never mind."
Grover chuckled as he boarded the small craft. It had been docked hastily, and there was a sizable gap between the edge of the dock and the deck. "Careful, Nolan, we don't want to have to scoop you out of the water with a bait net," he quipped, helping her navigate her way onto the deck.
"You need a hand, Danny?" Jax asked, in mock sweetness, laughing as Danny flipped her off.
Steve took the controls of the unmarked boat and throttled away from the dock, two Coast Guard cutters falling in at a distance behind them.
"Ok, Chin," he said into his radio, as they pulled away, "move in."
They sped toward Ka'ena Point, the light mist of salt spray creating amusing havoc with Jax's curls, and the wind in their faces. The thrum of adrenaline was enough to make Jax oblivious to her injuries, as she double checked her pockets for extra clips.
"You know it's very unlikely that we're going to snag Novak, right?" Danny said, loudly, over the throttle. "He knows we have a good lab, he had to know we would figure out this location. My guess is that he's long gone."
"I know," Steve said, "but it's the only lead we have and it beats sitting on our asses waiting for the next shoe to drop."
Steve throttled back the engine to a purr as they approached. "What do you think, Jax? Does this look familiar?" he asked.
"Yeah, this is it. This is where we tied off, and Novak boarded," she said.
Steve picked up his radio again. "Okay," he said quietly, the boat now nudging toward the pier. "Chin, start moving HPD and SWAT in a spread toward the pier. Captain Carver, let's keep those cutters back around the rock line; be on the lookout if Novak tries to make a break for the open water."
Steve expertly slipped the speed boat in next to the pier, tossed a coiled rope over and tied it off, his long legs stepping easily from the deck to the pier. Jax climbed deftly over, followed by Danny and Grover. Weapons drawn, they eased carefully down the pier, sidestepping over missing planks.
"Chin, anything?" Steve murmured into his com.
"Nothing, Steve," Chin said. "No evidence of Novak or anyone else, for that matter."
"Okay, keep converging toward the pier," Steve said, motioning for Danny, Grover, and Jax to walk in a spread formation. They picked their way through the brush, looking for any sign of evidence.
"Steve," Chin's voice came over the com. "We have something . . . I - you're going to have to see it."
They came to a clearing, and found Chin, Kono, and Catherine standing, solemnly.
"Where's HPD?" Steve demanded. "Catherine, where's the rest of your team?"
"We have them moving in an outward radius, looking for any shred of evidence," Chin said calmly. "They didn't need to be right here, Steve."
"What are you - " Steve broke off as he looked just past Chin, at some papers fluttering, stapled to a tree in the center of the clearing.
Four papers - one with neat lettering: McGarrett's Most Wanted. And beneath it, top to bottom, pictures of Declan Novak, Anton Hesse, and Victor Hesse.
Danny let out a low whistle. "Okay, this guy is certifiable," he muttered.
"There's more," Kono said gently. Steve looked toward her, confused, and she stepped closer to Chin, Caviness behind her, his hand on her shoulder. At her feet, wedged into small mounds of earth, were three rudely constructed crosses.
Two bore the same neat lettering as the paper stapled to the tree.
John McGarrett.
Fred Hart, Jr.
And on the third, Jax's badge, tied to the cross in a sickeningly familiar red ribbon.