Game ON (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 2) (Redemption Thriller Series 14) Page 5

  “You sure you two don’t want to call the cops?”

  “What?” I asked, sneaking another glance over my shoulder. “Oh, no. Denise would have my head. Keo said it was unwise as well.”

  A slow nod.

  “I hope we’re not putting you in danger. These guys mean business.”

  “I can see that. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  I touched the bruise on my forehead. It was a doozy. “Seriously, if you’re worried, I can put Denise in my minivan, and we can find a hotel to stay in.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said, flicking her wrist. “You parked down the street.”

  She was either one fearless person or somehow had not understood what had taken place at Denise’s apartment. “You and Denise are pretty close?”

  She crossed her fingers. “Best friend I got on the whole island.”

  Her words showed loyalty, but her tone was flat, as if she were reading a script.

  Give her a break, Oz. You’ve invaded her home in the middle of the night. Everyone deals with trauma in different ways.

  I finally sipped from my mug. “How long have you lived on the Big Island?”

  “About a year or so.” She slurped down more coffee, as casual as any person could be. For a moment, I wondered if she’d taken one of those pills. Then again, she’d been quite handy with the first-aid kit.

  “Do you work in the same department as Denise at Palm Tree Dreams?”

  “I work in mergers and acquisitions, but I’m a bean counter like Denise.”

  “Have you been doing this long?”

  “For a while. I used to be a school nurse back in the States, but something was missing from my life.” She looked off into the distance. Her eyes seemed to be searching for an anchor. Finally, she settled her sights back on me.

  I lifted my chin. “I’m sure you have some fun stories to tell.”

  She paused with her mug at her lips. “I think there’s a lot of people who have old lives they wanted to leave behind on the mainland. It’s good to put that part of my life behind me.”

  I wondered what event had compelled her to want to start a new life, especially on the island of Hawaii. The dog waddled up, and she reached down to pet him, her face expressionless and pale. She seemed void of emotion. Maybe it wasn’t a life event as much as some type of tragedy that had scarred her. Hawaii was typically thought of as the ultimate escape. But it was rather obvious that crossing the Pacific Ocean didn’t automatically seal you in a protective bubble. Denise was a good example of that.

  Gwen’s entire persona seemed to blend in with the drab walls. Homely was a word that came to mind. Long, flat hair that hung straight down, something akin to seaweed. The fact she wore no makeup wasn’t surprising at this late hour, but I had the feeling she didn’t own any. I saw no ear piercings. White, bland T-shirt with a faded logo of Penn State University. Gray, bland shorts. I looked around the kitchen again. No color of any kind. Even the one hand towel was an off-white shade.

  To each her own, I supposed. At least Denise, if nothing else, still had energy and passion, even if a lot of it had been negative since we last saw each other in high school. Denise and Gwen seemed as different as two friends could be.

  The dog scraped at the back door. “That’s the sign,” Gwen said, walking over to open the door and let him out. She watched him through the window. “Can’t be too careful. All sorts of animals on the island could hurt Sandy, starting with snakes.”

  “That might be the worst kind of death,” I said, making small talk.

  She asked if I’d watch Sandy while she ran off to her bedroom. I lifted out of my chair, but paused before I took any steps. A pinch pulled at my stomach area—the kind that felt like a pair of pliers had just clamped down on a muscle or maybe some other internal organ. That countered the stabbing pain in about five other places. I made it to the back door, my eyes shifting from the dog, who was sniffing the grass and weeds like he was in hunting mode, over to Denise. I could see her chest lifting, and I wondered if her sleep was peaceful or if the torment of Mackenzie’s abduction had stolen that part of her existence as well.

  I took a few steps in her direction and saw blue-green bruises on her shins. I thought more about the assault. It seemed to have lasted forever, but looking back, the two men probably weren’t in the apartment longer than sixty seconds.

  They hadn’t brought Mackenzie with them, nor had they even provided any feedback on where she was or how we could get her back. That had devastated Denise. Hell, it devastated me. Whether it was from witnessing her breakdown again, or just knowing it was my daughter—one I’d never seen or spoken to—who was being held by the people who nearly killed us, I could feel the emotional impact myself. I knew it wasn’t the same as what Denise was feeling. It couldn’t be. I just knew that the simple act of looking at Mackenzie’s picture had made my heart bounce. My longing to get Mackenzie back and look her in the eyes was growing with each passing second, as was my concern for her well-being. She was a nine-year-old kid caught in a storm that no kid should have to face. She was my kid, though. And even as odd as that still sounded in my head, I couldn’t hide my growing heartache.

  My mind was pummeled with images of the tank and the tall man with the jagged teeth. One thing about their visit was abundantly clear: they were after me. With all the emotion of not receiving any information on how to get Mackenzie back, I wasn’t sure if Denise had noticed that. Yes, they’d tossed her aside like a rag doll, and she’d suffered the bruises on her shins, but the focus of the beating was on me.

  I just wasn’t certain if they had intended on killing me—up until the moment that Denise fired her pistol—or if they were simply sending me some type of message to…

  To do what, exactly?

  How did Mackenzie’s captors know I was on the island? Why would they care? We hadn’t gone to the cops. Well, not the actual cops.

  I reviewed everyone whom we’d told about Mackenzie and the yakuza holding her. Brook, my detective pal back in Austin. She’d shared it with Stan, the San Antonio detective. They were solid. And I doubted the yakuza had much of a presence inside those police departments. Regardless, I trusted Brook and Stan.

  My thoughts went to Keo. The king of barterers. Was he trading favors with someone from the Y-clan, as he’d called it? He didn’t seem like the type who’d harm a child, but it was obvious that he enjoyed the finer things in life. But what would he get out of having Mackenzie kidnapped? Hell, what was anyone getting out of holding Mackenzie? There had been no ransom demands.

  What if they weren’t holding Mackenzie? As much as my thoughts didn’t want to go there, they could have already killed her. And maybe they would never formally convey that message. Maybe she’d been sold into slavery.

  I could feel my throat tighten as I looked again at Denise. If either of those options had happened, she would shatter into a million pieces. And even though I’d yet to meet my daughter, I’d feel the pain too. The heart-wrenching pain.

  Another angle pierced my thoughts. When we’d left the Green Dragon, Hulama was going to call her yakuza contact, a guy named Kapule. Had that call somehow triggered the violent response? They’d known we were headed back to the apartment.

  Now every part of my body tightened, including my fists.

  “Is something wrong?” Gwen appeared at the threshold to her bedroom door. Her eyes went to my fists.

  I pushed out a breath and turned to see Sandy prancing around the back yard. “I’m fine. Sandy is just doing his thing.”

  “That assault still has you riled up, I guess.”

  I could feel my brow furrow, only because it tugged on my cuts. “Of course, it does. But I’m just…confused. Not sure which way to turn right now.”

  She walked past me and refilled her coffee mug, then asked if I wanted a second cup. I shook my head.

  “So you’re waiting to hear what this Hulama person comes back with?”

  “Yep.” I anchored my
hands on the back of my chair, thinking about whether I should share my theory on how Hulama’s call might have triggered the assault. Gwen was Denise’s best friend, but I barely knew her. For now, I’d keep it to myself.

  “You don’t seem very optimistic.” She walked to the door and let the dog back in. He scurried over to my leg and sniffed my shoe.

  “I’m hopeful.” I looked up, and she was staring right at me. “I have no other choice, really.”

  She nodded and moved on to reading the Bible. Yes, the Bible.

  It appeared we all had our own ways of dealing with anxiety and the unpredictable future.

  11

  The neighbor’s roosters crowed the moment the sun peeked through the lush jungle to the east of Gwen’s home. Ozzie and Denise had just taken off. She was standing in her back yard watching Sandy chase after a tennis ball, recalling the frantic state when the pair had arrived at her home about six hours earlier.

  After giving Denise the clonazepam, she’d seized the opportunity to sit down and talk to Ozzie. To understand his motivations and what made him tick. It had been a fruitful discussion. A necessary one.

  She pulled a cell phone from her shorts pocket and punched in the new number she’d been sent twenty-four hours earlier just for this purpose. It rang, but she could hear the sound hop, which was a sign that the call was being automatically redirected. It happened three times that she could detect.

  The line was picked up.

  “Joseph?” she asked.

  A pause. “Please do not use my name. You should know the protocol by now.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I just got no sleep last night.”

  A few seconds of silence, then, “Do you have something to share?”

  She tried to think of the correct phrase to use. “It’s good news.”

  “It went as hoped, then?”

  He suddenly had more energy to his voice, and this excited Gwen as much as the “good news.”

  “Yes, it did.” Her voice cracked as emotion crept into the back of her throat. The separation of the last year would soon end. “When will I be able to come home?”

  “All in due time.”

  “But you said I could—”

  “Don’t cross me.” His tone was measured but direct.

  She swallowed, reined in her emotions. “We’re ready for the next phase, then, right?”

  She thought she heard a huff, but it could have been the breeze in the air. He said, “I will commence phase two.”

  Relief. She’d reached her goal. And none too soon.

  “We are very proud of the effort you have put in. You have paid your debt to your fellow tribe members.”

  “Thank you,” she said as tears welled. “I can’t wait to see everyone.”

  The line went dead. She stared at the phone a few extra seconds as Sandy barked at something over by the bushes. She called him inside and began to pack. Despite the uncomfortable phone call, she allowed joy to fill her heart. She was going home.

  12

  I put down the one credit card I had that I felt reasonably certain wouldn’t be rejected—a result of my odd non-living arrangement with Nicole—and pushed my half-eaten plate away from the edge.

  The waitress, a gruff old woman who held a coffeepot in one hand, swung by and picked up the bill and the card. But she paused a second before moving on. She looked at me, then to the other side of the booth at Denise, who had her hands cupped over her mug. Denise was staring blankly through the murky glass windows into a parking lot full of motorcycles and beat-up cars.

  “I think we’re good on the coffee,” I said, holding up a hand.

  She nudged her head toward Denise and then tried to lower her volume. “She okay?”

  It didn’t work. I could see Denise’s eyes flutter—yep, she’d heard the comment but apparently decided not to respond.

  “She’s fine. Just meditating some, I think.”

  The waitress shrugged, as if that line didn’t really work for her, and walked off.

  A yawn passed my lips before I could stop it. “You didn’t eat much,” I said.

  “You either,” Denise said, her sights still angled toward the parking lot.

  I reached over and held my hand over her plate. “Do you mind?”

  She tried to laugh but didn’t quite get there. “You love your bacon.”

  “It’s my weak spot, what can I say?” I ate the final piece in two bites, then wiped my greasy hands on a napkin.

  “Any reply from Keo?” she asked.

  The phone was on the table. I tapped the screen for the tenth time in the last ten minutes to verify what I already knew. “Nothing.” I’d texted Keo just as we’d left Gwen’s earlier, looking for an update on Hulama’s call to her yakuza contact, Kapule.

  “Do you think Hulama will be able to come through and—” Denise stopped short, bringing a hand to her face. More tears bubbled in her eyes. I reached across and put my hand on her arm.

  “I know this isn’t easy, Denise. It’s tearing me up just watching you go through this.”

  She didn’t respond for what seemed like a good minute but was probably no more than a few seconds. Then, without warning, she shoved her coffee away, sloshing it onto the table. She pointed a finger in my direction. She looked like she could chew through nails.

  “Don’t you care too, Ozzie? This isn’t just my daughter. It’s your daughter. Or, like every other guy out there, are you just going through the motions, waiting for your time to bail?”

  Her words hung in the air like polluted smog. A couple of heads turned in our direction. I stayed silent.

  The waitress came by and set the credit card and receipt on the table. As she searched her pockets, presumably for a pen, her eyes darted back and forth between me and Denise. She was smart enough not to make any comments. She walked off. I added the tip and signed it; then I began to slip out of the booth.

  “Ozzie,” Denise said, quickly reaching across the table to place her hand on top of mine.

  I stopped and looked at her.

  “I’m…” Her breath quaked. “I’m so sorry. I kept this secret from you for all these years, and when I finally reach out and ask you to come, you jump on the first plane. And now I treat you like shit.”

  “It’s okay, Denise. I know this is crushing you. I just wish I could snap my fingers and make it all go away.”

  “I know you do. That’s the kind of person you are.” She cleared her throat. “Despite what I said, I know you care. You’re doing everything you can to help bring Mackenzie home. You got beat up and almost killed, and yet here you are.”

  I nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, Denise. We can’t undo the past. I just want to get Mackenzie back and see what life brings us.”

  She slid out of the booth and hugged me with everything she had.

  13

  As I gassed up the minivan, I spoke to Keo—for all of about five seconds. I asked if he’d heard anything from Hulama, and he said, “I’m on the phone with her right now. I’ll call you back.”

  Denise and I waited anxiously in the minivan for the next twenty minutes. My phone sat in the cup holder, both of us staring holes in it.

  “Is he just trying to fuck with our minds?” Denise asked.

  “I think he’s trying to help. He sounded sincere to me.” I wasn’t totally convinced of what I’d just conveyed, but I was still hopeful. The same term I’d used when describing my feelings to Gwen.

  Five minutes passed. Another minivan rolled into the gas station’s parking lot. The side door slid open, and three kids hopped out. The two girls, both probably just slightly younger than Mackenzie, were giggling as they raced inside. The boy, maybe an early teen, wore shades and had earbuds in his ears. He tried to pull off a swagger as he walked inside, as if he were too cool for his siblings.

  “I’ve heard that boys are a pain in the ass to raise,” Denise said.

  “I’m sure we are.” That drew a soft chuckle from Denise.
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br />   “Your dad. He was a real nice guy. Seemed like he was good with you and your brother, Tobin.”

  “Eh. I’m not sure his parental method would be used as the ultimate child-raising template, but yeah, somehow we got through those tough teenage years and learned a few things along the way.”

  The family exited the convenience store, each carrying a drink and a piece of fruit. Well, all except the cool one. He had to be different. He was chomping on a piece of beef jerky.

  “Tell me I wasn’t like that kid,” I said.

  “Are you kidding me? If you were, I would have never gone to prom with you.”

  We traded a glance and even found ourselves smiling. For the first time since she walked into her apartment two days earlier, I saw that sparkle in her eye. The same one I recalled from our teenage years, when life seemed far less complicated.

  “We had some good times,” I said.

  “A lot of good times. Remember when your parents went on that weekend trip? Your brother was spending the night at a buddy’s house, and you asked me to spend the night.” She arched a playful eyebrow.

  I scratched my chin. “Yeah, we pretended to play house, like we were real adults or something.”

  “We even slept in your parents’ bed.”

  I nodded. “You’re right—we did. Wow.”

  “But you’re not remembering the funniest moment.”

  “By the look on your face, I think you mean funniest moment that happened to me.”

  She laughed. No, it was more like a cackle, and it warmed my heart. “You couldn’t get my bra off.”

  “Really? But didn’t we…you know.”

  “We did, only after I helped you out. I threw you a curve ball. I wore a bra that had the clasp in the front.”

  The memory finally came together, and I hooted out a laugh. “Well, besides, keeping my dad’s lover a secret from my mom, that was probably my most stressful moment of high school.”

  I recalled having shared that part of my life with Denise way back when. She hadn’t judged me or them; she was just there, always listening.