Page 62 of Emi's Hero

“The right woman came along in Kiana. He’s a one-woman man now and only has eyes for Kiana.” George tipped his head toward the stage. “There’s Rex, over by the stage, talking to one of the female VIPs.”

“Does he always look like he stepped off the cover of GQ magazine?” Emi asked.

“That’s Rex for you. He comes from money. But everything he owns, he earned for himself.” George shook his head. “He’s smart and knows a lot about the stock market. He could live off his investments without having to lift a finger for the rest of his life.”

“Why does he work for the Brotherhood Protectors?” Emi asked.

“For the same reason he joined the Army and earned a place as a Delta Force Operator. He wanted to make a difference. He didn’t feel like he could do that, relying on his family’s wealth. So, he traded his silver spoon for an M4A1 rifle. The man has mad hand-to-hand combat skills, can throw knives like a circus performer and is one of the best snipers in the US military.”

“Sounds like Brotherhood Protectors is lucky to have him,” Emi said.

“We’re lucky to have every man on this team. The experience, integrity and skills of this organization are phenomenal.”

“I’m sold,” Emi said.

George chuckled. “I guess I’m proud to be a Brotherhood Protector. Like Rex, I want to make a difference.”

“Edgar Hollingsworth just arrived,” Hawk’s voice came across George’s headset.

Emi tensed beside him.

“He has an entourage of people with him, making their way toward the VIP section,” Hawk reported. “Mr. Parkman is slowly making his way toward the VIP section. I’m looking, but I don’t see anyone who looks like Fallon, but then, the photo was blurry. Emi, let us know if I missed him.”

“Will do,” Emi said, her voice in George’s ear and echoing softly beside him.

“Here they come,” George murmured. He’d positioned them halfway to their assigned tables. Hollingsworth and his cluster of followers approached, passed and continued to their tables near the stage.

“Fallon wasn’t with them,” Emi said into the radio.

“Okay,” Hawk said. “Mingle, folks. Find our guy.”

George glanced down at Emi. If she was disappointed that Fallon hadn’t arrived with Hollingsworth, she didn’t show it. From beneath the brim of her ball cap, her eyes were scanning the crowd, searching with fierce determination for the man who held her child hostage.

They’d made one complete pass around the event when the master of ceremonies called everyone to take their seats.

George and Emi made their way slowly to their assigned table and sat amongst strangers who watched the stage eagerly as the MC announced the first act.

A native Hawaiian man dressed in a sky-blue shirt with a giant hibiscus flower print stepped up to the microphonewith his ukelele and played a traditional Hawaiian song as the wait staff served plates filled with roasted pork, salmon, sweet potatoes and rice.

The next act was an Elvis impersonator dressed in white pants and a white jacket with a long fringe dripping from the sleeves. The man sang an excellent cover of The King’s “Blue Hawaii,” followed by “Aloha Oe.”

Though the food was good, Emi didn’t touch hers. She sat still with her hands in her lap, her gaze scanning the crowd, her body tense beneath the baggy jersey.

George ate, trying to look like any other guest there to enjoy the luau and entertainment. All the while, he, too, scanned the faces in the crowd, looking for the bastard who’d done so many horrible things to the beautiful, sweet woman beside him.

They’d finished the main course of the meal, and the wait staff was clearing the table when the traditional Hawaiian dancers took the stage. The women went first with a beautiful, flowing song. A woman dressed in a colorful caftan narrated their movements, telling the story of how the islands came to be and the goddesses who created them.

When the story was over, the male dancers came onto the stage and performed an exciting dance with beating drums and spinning fire wands. The drummers increased their speed and volume, building toward the climactic finale.

George watched the performance from his peripheral vision, still scanning the crowd for one face.

As the drumming came to a crashing halt, Emi’s hand clamped onto George’s arm. “He’s here,” she whispered in what sounded like a tight hiss.

“You hear that Hawk?” George said into his radio.

“I heard,” Hawk responded. “Where?”

Emi’s eyes narrowed. “He just came through the gate. He’s making his way around the far side of the tables toward the front.”

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