Chapter One
Hogan had never beena man to trust in fate, but instinct—that he trusted like gospel.And right now, every instinct in his body told him Kai was close.Somewhere near the beach in Hilo.Somewhere hurting.Somewhere he needed to be found before the world finished grinding him down.
The black 4WD Mercedes Sprinter purred beneath him as he took another corner, headlights slicing across the wet Hawaiian asphalt.It was more than a van.On top of the high spec fit out that looked exactly like a luxury camper, they had tricked it out with everything Hogan could possibly need for this mission—medical rig, satellite comms, weapon stowage, reinforced plating.A rolling fortress dressed like a tourist camper.Every bell and whistle, every hidden compartment, every edge a man like Hogan could use to find and keep Kai alive.
He owed that to Black Tide, a group of men Bateman had connected him to.Their leader, Surge, had delivered the vehicle himself two nights ago.The guy stood there with his arms folded, big frame taut like a bowstring.Reluctant and almost hostile.Like he wanted to climb into the passenger seat and come with Hogan.But in the end, Surge had stepped back, eyes hard.
“This is your run, Hogan.Your fight.But you had better bring him home, or the next time we meet, I might not be so friendly.”
Hogan hadn’t promised, but he’d nodded once, and that had been enough.
Now the rain streaked down the windshield, a sheen of water that blurred the neon sprawl of Hilo.Hogan’s jaw flexed as he scanned the streets.Storefronts still glowed faintly from late-night diners, neon signs flickered in the downpour, and music thumped from a bar two blocks over.All of it looked normal, but he knew better.Trouble didn’t wear a sign.Trouble waited in the shadows.
He could almost feel Kai out there, thin as a thread but pulling him unerringly forward.Hogan’s knuckles tightened on the wheel, the scar across his temple and his collarbone burning like an old warning.
And then the phone beside him, and the entertainment screen it was connected to in the van, lit up.
He punched the answer button on the steering wheel before the second ring.“Kai?”His own voice carried concern, sharper than he intended.
“Hey,” Kai answered, soft and slurred, never a good combination.“You sound worried.You worried about me, Hogan?”
“Where are you?”No greeting, no wasted words.
“Inside something that used to deliver packages and now only delivers regret,” Kai muttered.Hogan heard the breath catch behind it, pain spiking through the humor.He was looking for some type of delivery van then.
“You’re slurring your words,” Hogan said, his tone steady when he was striving for calm.“How badly are you hurt?”
“Personal best for me,” Kai rasped.He was trying for a joke.Hogan clenched his jaw.“It’s okay, though.”
“Kai.”That tone—sharp, commanding, the one that kept men alive by refusing to let them give in.“Listen to me.I need three things—what you smell, what you hear, what you see.”
Hogan waited for a heartbeat, then Kai, ever the observant Special Agent, started answering.“Salt.Coffee that’s been a little burnt but roasted nearby.Hot engine.Rust.”Another pause.“Scooters.One with a missing baffle.Ocean.Wind through—pandanus?—something with dry leaves.”
“Good,” Hogan said.Relief punched through him.“Eyes.”
“Slatted shadow on the floor.Light through boards.No streetlight inside, just spill.Blue flyer stuck to the windshield of the van about a half-marathon that already happened.Dashboard has a saint charm that keeps hitting the plastic and I hate it.”
“I’ll buy you one you don’t hate,” Hogan promised.His grip on the wheel whitened.“Stay with me.”
