“Either your memory’s shot, or you’re just being extra kind because I’m fragile right now. That’s only one of the words Madison Andrande and her clique of hangers-on called me in high school.”
“They were mean girls,” Lani reminded her. And still were from what she’d seen since returning home. Taking in Taylor’s wet eyes, she hoped a crying jag wasn’t on the horizon. “And how can you take anyone named for a New York City street seriously?”
“Good point.” Taylor leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on Lani’s cheek. “So,” she returned to the original topic, “it’s your turn to dish about your detective. Because personally, I believe the guy would make an amazing addition to your mutineer/royal family gene pool.”
“Not happening,” Lani insisted. “And once again, he’s not my detective.”
But that didn’t stop her mutinous mind, which seemed to have conspired with her reckless heart, to picture a Sunday morning walking on the beach, her holding hands with a bossy elder daughter in a flowered sundress and pink slippahs, who’d inherited Lani’s own Irish-setter-red hair, while Donovan carried their dark-haired toddler son with eyes the color of a deep blue sea on his back.
The sun was shining, sea foam was kissing the soft coral sand beneath swaying palm trees, and it was just another perfect family morning in paradise.
And she was in so much trouble.
13
The Honolulu FBI office was located in an enormous four-story concrete and glass building with U.S., Hawaiian, and FBI flags in front. Donovan paused at the interactive lobby display honoring agents who’d died in the line of duty. None, he noted, were from Hawaii.
He was met by Mike Dempsey, the assistant special agent in charge, who, rather than the aloha shirt he’d been wearing when they’d met at the conference, was dressed in a dark blue suit, lighter blue shirt, and red tie. Which had Donovan grateful he’d gone with his gut and worn his own suit.
That Dempsey was proud of the building was obvious. He gave Donovan the grand tour, including the gun vault, which not only housed the weapons that SWAT and special agents would use but had a display of guns used by agents over the years, going back to the Thompson (Tommy) machine gun dating back to those days when special agents were known as G-Men.
The interrogation rooms were much like the ones Donovan, along with anyone who’d ever watched a television cop show, was used to, except for the handcuff bars that had been installed in the walls and a state-of-the-art computer with a touch screen that could immediately send fingerprints to be compared to those in the crime bureau archives.
“Okay. I have serious tech envy,” Donovan admitted.
“Play your cards right and all this could be yours,” Dempsey said. “We even have an MRAP in our vehicle annex,” he added, referring to the military mine resistant ambush protection vehicle. “We used it on a multi-agency raid against a cockfighting and gambling ring.”
After the tour, they got down to business over coffee, which, while not as good as what Lani had made him, was a lot better than the stuff he was used to at PPB. “So,” Dempsey said, leaning back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”
Donovan gave him a condensed, but succinct version of the missing fiancé, the vandalism, and the supposed affair with an agent named Bob.
“We have two hundred agents here,” Dempsey said. “Which is a far cry from when we opened a Hawaii office in 1931 with one agent, only to close it three years later due to lack of crime. Which means, given the odds, we have at least one Bob. Probably more. But even if we do, and one of them happened to be on Orchid Island during that time period, you do realize I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you. Unless you’re operating in an official capacity.”
“No, this is personal,” Donovan said. “At the moment. But I get the sense that it’s more than it seems. I don’t suppose you can tell me if you’ve ever heard the names Taylor Young or Ford Britton.”
Something passed across the agent’s eyes. So quickly that had Donovan not been focused on them, he might have missed it. “I can neither confirm nor deny,” he said.
“Let’s try another way. If, speaking hypothetically, I find a reason for the FBI to become involved, are you guys available?”
“Our mission is to protect and defend the United States. Which would, naturally, include its citizens,” Special Agent Michael Dempsey answered.
“That’s what I needed to know,” Donovan said, standing up and holding out his hand. “Thanks.”
“Always happy to meet a fellow officer. Even if he is off-duty,” the agent said. “And that was one helluva speech the other day. I learned a lot and hope you’ll decide to join our ranks.”
“I’m working on it.”