Page 38 of Hidden Falls

Marcella refocused her binoculars on the yacht. Bobbing against the massive dock, it looked like a child’s toy between the huge ships on either side—as fragile as an egg and in danger of being crushed. That was no doubt why tying up there was against regulations.

Red and white flashing lights moving along the docks caught her eye; the backup Jenkins had called for were zooming down the levee with lights and sirens on, headed for the moored craft. They would not board; that was the purview of the USCG. But they would scoop Paulson up if he tried to get away on foot. Three cruisers took up positions blocking in the area near the yacht; their officers got out with weapons drawn and took cover behind open car doors.

Marcella’s heart thumped in her ears as the cutter came in close to the dock and tied up to a large buoy. Before the craft had even come to a clean stop, Agent Thomas and a couple of armed Coast Guardsmen had boarded a rigid-hulled inflatable, launched it, and were zooming toward the white yacht, whose name,Dr. Feelgood, was now legible on the keel.

“Dr. Feelgood. Ugh!” Marcella took a second to wipe the spray from the lenses of the binoculars. She zoomed in on the tender craft as it pulled alongside the yacht. The Guardsmen used a grappling hook to attach to the yacht, and in moments, had boarded it and disappeared from sight, going below.

Marcella scanned the boat for activity but there was none, nor were there any sounds of gunfire or other disturbance. “Come on, come on. Where are you, Malia?”

And then Agent Thomas was back up on deck, speaking to his captain on his radio—and across the water and distance, his gaze met hers. He shook his head.

Malia wasn’t there.

The yacht was deserted.

Marcella sagged; the tension had been too great for too long, and now her knees wobbled. She tottered across the gently rocking deck to a bench below the windows of the forward cabin and sat down. The long, stark shadows of sunset streaked the water with violet and orange.

“What now? Where is she?”

* * *

Marcella followed Agent Thomas as they made a second, slower pass through the yacht together after it had been moved to a proper mooring. Each wore gloves and carried evidence bags. “I want to rule out whether or not Malia was on board at any time,” Marcella said. “All we need is a hair, a fiber—anything.”

“You should send your forensic team, then,” Agent Thomas said over his shoulder as he swung a high-powered penlight around the opulent main cabin. “The men and I did a quick pass earlier, as you know, and didn’t see anything indicating any human prisoners were held here—but hell knows what kind of trace you might find on that bed.” He swung the beam back and forth over the triangular custom waterbed built into the nose of the yacht; the satin rolled gently with the shifting of the yacht.

“The dude liked his satin waterbeds,” Marcella said. “There was one of these in his Maui house with two naked underage girls in it.”

“Then I wouldn’t want to see this bed under a blue light.”

“Yeah.” Marcella was too tired by then for outrage. “He must have gotten away before the backup units came.”

“He didn’t have much of a head start, though.” Jenkins’s voice came from the doorway. “We’ve got units crawling all over town looking for him. We’ll find him.”

“I know we will. Eventually.” Marcella glanced out of one of the portholes; full dark had fallen, the wind had died, and the lights from the cruise ship gleamed on the water of the harbor like an oil slick. “Paulson has all these kids working for him. Addicted to his pills. Owing him. He probably has a hideout set up somewhere close.”

“Now that we’ve hit a dead end, it’s time to go back to the office and see what connections we can find between him and any real estate holdings,” Jenkins said. “He strikes me as the kind of guy who would have something off the books, under another name, or a shell corporation. I don’t see him as the type to depend on his workers to hide him.”

“Agreed.” The three of them stood in the opulent stateroom a moment longer; then a jaw-cracking yawn took hold of Marcella. The gesture passed to Jenkins, then Agent Thomas; they all smiled wearily. “I have to get some shut-eye,” Marcella said. “It’s too far to go back out to Haiku and crash at Lei’s. Where’s the nearest hotel or motel where I can crash?”

“Maui Beach Hotel,” the two men said at the same time. Jenkins laughed. “It’s a three-star at best, but you can’t beat it for convenience. I’ll run you over in one of the cruisers. We both need some rest; we’ll get back to it tomorrow.”

But as Marcella followed Jenkins up the steep set of stairs to the deck, she couldn’t keep from picturing Malia, bound and helpless, being tossed overboard. Lost to the sea without a trace.

Nausea clawed at her throat. She ran to the side of the craft and heaved, her eyes watering—but nothing came up.

Agent Thomas silently handed her a tissue. “Thought you made it past being seasick.”

Marcella dabbed her mouth. “I thought so too. Guess I was wrong.”

Marcella clambered down a flexible ladder to the tender craft beside the yacht. The slight breeze in her hair, the stars overhead, the lights of the town of Kahului—all were a comforting normal that dispelled her moment of horror imagining Malia lost at sea.

Malia might have never been with Paulson, after all. Maybe Harry and Lei were on the right track, and the girl was in Mexico.

Marcella could hope so.

19

DAY THREE

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