Page 36 of Hidden Falls

Jenkins nodded, and they split up.

The doors of the mansion were unlocked, and no one responded to their hails. They searched and found the place deserted.

Of Malia, there was no trace.

“There ought to be a law against a house as ugly as this,” Jenkins said, hands on hips as he surveyed the entrance foyer which had been decorated with a giant chandelier made of a cow’s skull and assorted antlers. “Oh wait. There is.” He grinned at Marcella. “I’m going to enjoy impounding this property. We can make it over as a Halloween destination hotel and raise money to help drug-addicted youth.”

“Fun idea.” But Marcella had a tension headache tightening her temples—where was a cup of strong black coffee when she needed one? “Can you call Agent Thomas? See if he’s found Paulson’s boat yet.” Marcella walked to the kitchen and helped herself to a bottle of water from the enormous fridge—not coffee, but hydration at least. She tossed another bottle to Jenkins. “We need to keep up our fluid intake. It’s been a long day.”

Jenkins got out his phone “And it’s not over yet.” He frowned, checking the screen. “Not enough signal here, and his Wi-Fi is encrypted.” He took a radio off his belt and called dispatch, asking to be connected to Agent Thomas.

“Have you located Paulson’s boat?” Jenkins asked into the handheld, once he was in contact with the Coast Guardsman.

“The yacht’s supposed to be here but it’s gone. I’m canvassing for anyone who might have seen him down at the docks,” Agent Thomas said.

“Special Agent Scott and I will fly down to Manele Bay and we can meet up there,” Jenkins said. Agent Thomas replied in the affirmative.

They closed and locked the doors of the monstrosity behind them and headed for the chopper. “Might as well protect what will soon belong to the Department of Justice,” Marcella said. “Where would he go, do you think?”

“Depends on how big that yacht is,” Jenkins said. “Agent Thomas will know. After we talk with him and our supervisors, maybe we can use the FBI chopper to do an air search along his most likely route.”

* * *

Marcella and Jenkins had flipped for the choice of getting on the Coast Guard cutter with Agent Thomas or sitting up front on the FBI helicopter as the pilot searched for the missing yacht, following most likely routes Paulson might have taken.

Marcella ended up on the Coast Guard boat, and standing near the bow, the wind in her face and dolphins leaping beside the craft, she was pretty sure she’d gotten the better deal.

Agent Thomas leaned against the rail beside her. He was a handsome mixed Hawaiian man in his thirties with a trim build and a ready smile. Lei had told Marcella about her ongoing working friendship with him over the years.

“It’s nice to put a face to your name,” Marcella told him as they stood side by side, gripping the metal rail of the swift-moving craft.

He tugged down the bill of a black cap with USCG emblazoned on the front. “Likewise. Too bad it’s a case that finally brought about our meeting. Tell me more about this guy Paulson.”

“Pill-pushing doctor who is using kids to run his drug operation,” Marcella said. “We came across his name as a lead while searching for Malia Clark, Detective Harry Clark’s missing daughter.”

“Yes, we all saw the Amber Alert.” Agent Thomas shook his head. “I met the kid last year on a human trafficking case. Malia is a tough girl, a survivor—but that said, I sure hope she’s okay.”

“Someone has her, and there’s been no ransom demand. That’s not good.”

“Where’s Harry Clark? I’m surprised she wasn’t flying with you.”

“Off the case by order of her superior officer. I’m sure she’s worried sick.” Marcella flexed her hands on the damp metal railing, staring out at the horizon through her Ray-Bans. An image of her son Jonas, locked up somewhere, crying for her, flickered across her mind.

Imagining that made her squint against the stinging of her eyes—but getting emotional wasn’t going to help find Malia. They were doing all they could . . .

A sudden raspy sound of static from the radio attached to Agent Thomas’s belt caught both of their attention. “This is Agent Thomas,” her companion said.

“Jenkins here. We’ve spotted the doctor’s yacht! It’s near the entrance of Kahului Harbor. I bet Paulson’s going to try to ditch the boat and get on another one there.”

“Don’t spook him. Keep your distance and call for MPD backup to meet us at the docks in Kahului,” Agent Thomas directed. “We’ll block him at the mouth of the harbor. See if your officers can take him when he ties up.”

“Copy that.” Jenkins’s voice was tight with excitement even through the fuzzy radio connection.

“I’m going to tell our captain to change heading and alert our forces in the Kahului Harbor area,” Agent Thomas told Marcella.

She nodded. “I’ll update my Special Agent in Charge with this development.”

The next twenty minutes were spent huddled in a corner of the small command cabin as she was patched through on a scrambled channel to SAC Waxman to let him know they were closing in on their quarry. Once he was updated, Marcella went back out onto the deck of the cutter, craving more fresh air than the cramped, utilitarian cabin afforded.

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