“Where was it?”
“It was in the same room as my cameras.”
“I’m looking in that room now,” he said. “No cameras and no desktop computer. There are cords still plugged into the wall.”
“Damn,” she murmured. “I need a computer so that I can access my cloud storage. The photos I uploaded might tell us more about the shipping container, like who it belongs to and when it was lost at sea.”
“We could visit a library. They usually have computers available to the public. Or if you trust me, I can take you to my apartment. I have a laptop there. Do you want me to call the police now to report the break-in?”
She pulled the shirt over her head and down her torso. “Yes, now that we know for certain.”
“On it,” he said. “Try not to touch too much. They might lift prints off surfaces.”
After she found socks, she sat on the mattress and pulled them on, then her shoes. She tied the laces and pushed to her feet, feeling less like an invalid and closer to herself. Yes, a little weak, and the gunshot wound stung on her calf, but she was functional and ready to take on the task of finding Alana.
Sunlight filled her living room through the big picture windows that looked out over her small backyard with its paving stones meandering through her garden of blossoming bougainvillea, hibiscus and plumeria trees.
After years of building her photography business, she was finally successful and had saved enough money to put a down payment on a house of her own. On most days, the view calmed her and made her happy she’d chosen this house.
Today, all she could think about was Alana. Was she alive? Where had the men taken her?
Rex emerged from the hallway, tucking his cell phone into his pocket. “The Maui PD is sending a unit.”
“I guess that means we have to wait to go to the library.” She shuffled around the room, bending over to pick something up and stopping before she could. “It’s hard to resist the urge to clean.” She raised her hands. “I know. I can’t compromise any fingerprints they might find.” Rather than reach for items, she wrapped her arms around herself and waited for the police to arrive.
“How long have you lived in this house?” Rex asked.
“Two and a half years,” she said, turning slowly, taking in the destruction. “I was so happy to move into my own home.” She shrugged. “Well, my name’s on it, even though the bank owns more of it than I do.” She faced him. “What about you? You say you live in an apartment. Have you ever owned a house?”
He nodded. “I own a few.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do you own your apartment?”
Rex shook his head. “I rent it.”
“Why do you rent if you own a few homes?”
He shrugged. “They’re part of my investment portfolio. I rent them out. It’s supposed to be passive income. Though I spend time doing the maintenance on them.”
“Investments, passive income... Why do you work with the Brotherhood Protectors? Sounds like you don’t need to.”
“I like to keep busy and to use the skills I learned in the Army. Can’t always do that, managing property.”
“Did you learn about investments and purchasing property in college?”
He shook his head. “Not so much in college; I learned at home. My father drilled it into me. He tried to teach me all there was to know about business and finances from the moment I learned to read.”
“Did he want you to grow up able to take care of your family?”
“No,” Rex said, his lips thinning. “He wanted me to take over the family business after he retired.”
“Was that a bad thing?” she asked.
He snorted. “While other fathers taught their sons how to throw a football, mine taught me how to invest in stock markets and how to leverage mortgages to build a portfolio of assets.”
“I take it you would rather have been out throwing a football.”
“Actually, I drank it in, hoping that by showing interest in what he did, he would take an interest in me.”
