Chapter Text
Steve stared at the monitor, watching Anton Hesse pace in his cell. He'd expected to feel some sense of satisfaction, at the very least, at seeing Anton behind bars. As much as Steve wanted to see the asshole dead, he was no good to them that way. The information Anton could provide would save countless lives. It just wouldn't bring Freddie back.
For that alone, Steve wanted to put a bullet between Anton's eyes.
Don't let this be for nothing.
Freddie had died for all the lives Anton's information could save. Steve had to let the son of a bitch live.
But he didn't have to like it.
"Commander."
Steve turned to see Captain Sharp hurrying forward, a tablet in his hand. "Yes, sir," Steve said, years of practice giving it just the right tone.
"We've located Victor Hesse."
Sharp held the tablet out and hit play. Shaky handheld video showed a gunfight that ended in police chasing Victor away in a car.
"Is he in custody?"
"No, he got away." Sharp put the camera down next to the monitor where Anton still paced in his cell. "The good news is that it's going to be difficult for him to get off the island."
Steve's head snapped up, eyes fixed on Sharp. "Island?"
"That video was shot near Waianae on Oahu," Sharp said. "How do you feel about at trip home?"
Not as excited as some might, but if it meant getting Victor Hesse.... Steve glanced back at Anton. "What about him?"
"We'll keep him locked down, safe and sound, until you have the other one in custody. One way or another, we'll get them to talk."
Steve took one more long look at Anton before meeting Sharp's gaze again. "When do I leave?"
***
The sudden change in speed and the sound of the engines told Steve they were about twenty minutes from landing on Oahu. He opened his eyes from his failed attempt at napping and picked up the file again.
Daniel Williams – Danny to his friends – the lone survivor of Victor Hesse's latest massacre. Born February 29, 1976, graduated The Pratt Institute School of Art in 1998. Divorced for three years, ex-wife Rachel and new husband Stan Edwards, a commercial real estate developer, moved to Hawaii with Danny's daughter, Grace, six months ago. Danny immediately moved from New Jersey to be near his daughter.
A rare enough occurrence in Steve's life to be of note, given his own family experience.
Other than that, the file was relatively thin, and offered nothing on why Danny and Rachel divorced—though the short amount of time between the divorce and Rachel's remarriage might be a clue. There were a few pictures of Danny's paintings, which were interesting enough to get more than a brief glance, even from Steve, and a couple of Danny, which were a little too interesting for Steve's own good.
He pushed that thought and all the reactions that went with it aside. Chief among all the rare things about Danny was that Victor had left him alive, though apparently not by choice. And if Steve knew anything about Victor Hesse—and five years of following him around the globe had ensured he did—it was that Victor did not like loose ends.
Which meant that Danny and any copy of that video he had shot would be high on Victor's destruction list. After all, it was a lot harder to convict someone, if they were caught, if there was little evidence.
Steve pulled out his phone and watched the video again, even though he could describe every second from memory by now. For all that it was shaky, it was a decent quality, which meant he could see Victor clearly as he shot at police and bystanders alike. One of those cops could have easily been Steve's father. The bystanders could have been friends he'd known years ago before he moved off island.
He was not giving Victor the chance to hurt anyone again, not if he could help it.
The plane's descent grew sharper, and Steve put the file in his bag and pocketed his phone before heading for the cockpit. It had been a while since he'd been home; it would be nice to see the island from a distance, at its best, before he dug into its worst.
***
Danny Williams' house was far from a mansion, but given the location, that size house said that either he made a decent living as an artist, or his wife had been really guilty and Danny had had a good lawyer.
The lack of a second floor and the proximity of other houses limited the lines of sight and provided more places for Victor to hide than Steve was really comfortable with. However, it also meant that, if the neighbors were nosy, they would likely notice strangers poking around.
After his initial assessment of the perimeter, Steve showed his credentials to the HPD officer standing guard outside, who opened the door to let him in. The main room was empty, but there was music playing in a room just off to the side.
He went to the doorway of the room to see Danny Williams, his back to Steve, brush hovering over a blank canvas. Steve knocked on the open door to what he could now tell was a studio. "Mr. Williams?"
Danny turned, and despite the pictures, Steve was wholly unprepared for the effect of Danny Williams in living color. The black and white photos hadn't warned Steve about the blue of those eyes, and he wasn't sure a still photograph could capture the way Danny looked in motion. It should be wrong for anyone to make ratty jeans and a paint-splattered t-shirt look that good.
"Yes?" Danny said, after a moment.
"Sorry." Steve took a few steps into the room. "Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett. I'm here to talk to you about Victor Hesse."
Steve held out his hand. Danny paused the music before he crossed the rest of the distance to shake Steve's hand. "I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't already told the police," he said, as he let go. "But ask whatever you want."
"It helps to hear it from the source," Steve said. "And I know Hesse better than the police would." He realized he was rubbing his hand where it had touched Danny's and dropped both hands to his side. "Can you just take me through what happened?"
"Yeah," Danny said. "But can we do it in the kitchen? I've been staring at this canvas until I'm cross-eyed, and I could use some caffeine."
Steve nodded. He followed Danny out of the room, across the living room and into a kitchen that was as bright and airy as the studio had been. "You want some?" Danny said, as he nodded at a Keurig.
"Sure. Thank you." Steve stood in the middle of the room at parade rest, looking around as he listened to the sounds of Danny making coffee.
"You know, you're not under inspection or something," Danny said suddenly.
Steve looked back at Danny, who looked like he'd been watching Steve. "Sorry?"
"You don't have to stand. You can sit down."
Danny nodded at the kitchen table, and Steve took one of the chairs, sitting on the edge, elbows leaning awkwardly on the table. "Thank you."
"Are all soldiers this polite?"
"We try to be," Steve said. "So, Mr. Williams—"
"Danny."
"Sorry?"
Danny pulled the first mug from the machine and brought it over to Steve. "Call me Danny. You say 'Mr. Williams' and I'm looking around for my dad." He put the mug on the table. "Cream? Sugar?"
Steve shook his head. "Nothing, thanks."
"Okay. So, Lieutenant Commander, I—"
"Commander," Steve corrected automatically.
Danny's eyebrows shot up. "In that case, you can call me Mister," he said, those eyes laced with an amusement that made them sparkle and made Steve wish Victor's witness was an 80-year-old great grandmother. At least that would be less distracting.
"Sorry," Steve said, trying a smile. "Call me Steve."
"Steve it is." Danny put another mug in the machine and pushed the buttons. "So, Steve, I assume you read the report I gave the police."
Steve took a drink of coffee, savoring the strong Kona flavor he'd missed, a small taste of home he'd never quite gotten over. "I did, but I want you to take me through it in your own words."
"Okay." Danny took his coffee out of the machine and poured an almost sickening amount of sugar into it before taking the chair next to Steve. "I'd gone out to Waianae to take some pictures—inspiration for the series of paintings I've been working on. I'd just framed a shot when I heard what sounded like a car backfiring, except cars don't generally backfire multiple times in rapid succession. So I dove behind the nearest car."
Danny took a drink of his coffee, his hands steady in a way most people wouldn't be when recounting something like this. "As soon as I figured out which direction the shots were coming from I held my camera out with one hand and tried to get some video. Figured it would be good evidence whether I made it, or, well...."
The mug shook, just a little, and Danny set it down on the table. "Anyway," he said, "sirens started coming from everywhere, and your guy took off with the cops on his tail."
There wasn't much there to help, but the fact still remained that Victor wasn't the type to leave a witness around, especially one with video. Steve took a long drink of his coffee before he asked, "Has anything weird happened since then?"
"You mean other than having a guard on my door 24/7 and every news outlet on this island calling me?"
"Other than that, yeah."
Danny shrugged. "A few hang up calls on my cell, but I figured it was people who saw me on the news. My cell is on my website, so it's not exactly hard to find."
"Maybe." In his head, Steve ran through the list of ways Danny's phone could be used against him through just a phone call. Steve pulled out his phone and held it up, putting his finger to his lips in a shushing motion, then held the phone out at Danny.
Danny frowned for a second before his face cleared, before he said. "I turned the phone off last night," he said. "I got tired of the calls. Anyone who knows me knows my landline number."
So if someone had been trying to listen in through his phone, they wouldn't have heard any of his conversation with Steve. "Good," Steve said. "Best to leave it off until we know what's going on."
Danny shrugged. "It bothers me when I'm working anyway, so good riddance."
"You've been here the whole time since the shooting?"
"Yeah, the police followed me home and took my statement here." Danny shrugged. "It's not like I leave the house a lot when I'm working anyway."
So it wasn't likely Hesse had had a chance to infiltrate Danny's house before that. He'd have needed time to even find out who Danny was. Still, Steve would need to bring a bug detector back, just to be sure, if he was going to follow through on his plan.
Steve pulled out his notepad and wrote down a note, handing it to Danny before he stood. "Thank you for your time," Steve said, as he headed into the living room to the front door, Danny jumping up to follow after a second. "We'll be in touch."
He handed Danny the note, along with his card, and shook his hand. "Have a nice day Mr – Danny," Steve said with a smile before he turned around and left.
***
Steve walked the perimeter for the fourth time, checking the vantage points where his people were installed to keep an eye on Danny's house. He watched the house for several minutes from the back before he checked his watch, then slipped through the darkness into the garage.
Danny met him at the door from the garage into the kitchen. "So what—"
Steve put two fingers over Danny's mouth, a tactical error, he realized at once, as something like an electrical current went through him at the touch. But he kept them there until Danny nodded that he understood. Steve dropped his hand, fingers still itching with the phantom ridges of Danny's lips as he stepped into the kitchen.
He dropped his pack to the floor and pulled out a bug detector to do thorough sweep of the house, finally putting it away when he was as sure as he could be that no one had bugs inside. He'd already checked the outside on his first and third perimeter sweeps.
Anyone who was listening in on Danny Williams had to be better than the CIA, FBI and NSA all rolled into one. Victor might be good, but he wasn't that good.
"Sorry for the secrecy," Steve said, as he pulled his pack off his back and put the detector away. "I needed to be sure that no one was listening in."
"So I gathered," Danny said. "And now?"
"Now, we wait."
Danny blinked rapidly a few times. "Excuse me?"
"We wait."
When Steve didn't elaborate, Danny said, "For?"
"Victor Hesse doesn't leave loose ends," Steve said. "There's a good chance he's going to try to come for you. And when he does, I'll be here."
"I'm sorry," Danny said, tilting his head and frowning. "You'll be here?"
Steve nodded. "I hope your couch is comfortable."
"My...oh. You mean literally here," Danny said, pointing at the floor. "Okay. If that's what it takes...okay." Danny scratched the back of his neck. "I, uh, I mean, there are three bedrooms, though, so you can have a bed."
Steve shook his head. "The couch is in the best spot to monitor the house. It covers the most routes to your room at night, short of—well, it's the best spot," he finished, because the even the suggestion of sleeping in Danny's room was something he couldn't think about. They had eyes on all the ways inside his bedroom from the outside; that would have to be enough.
"Okay," Danny said, nodding. "Okay. So...what now? Or would you rather write me another note about what happens next?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.
His good humor in the face of all this had Steve off balance. Most people would be complaining or scared, or both, but Danny just seemed to be going with it. "Sorry about the note, too."
"I know, I know, secrecy. Though I have to admit," Danny said, lowering his voice a little and leaning in, "a lot of thoughts went through my head as to why you wanted to sneak in through the back of my house after dark."
His tone was suggestive, and Steve had to swallow hard against everything that set off inside him. "Funny," Steve said, stopping to clear the hoarseness out of his throat, and ignoring Danny's raised eyebrows at that.
Steve cleared his throat again and bent down to pick up his pack. "As for 'what now,' you can go do whatever it is you'd normally do. It's important that, if anyone is watching, it looks like you're just going about your business and there's no sign of me."
"So while I'm going about my business, what are you going to do?"
"We've put some equipment in your garage. I'm going to get it and set it up."
Danny seemed to take that in stride. "Need any help?"
Steve shook his head. He did, in fact, need help, but the help he needed was a break from the overwhelming presence Danny seemed to have. "I'm good. Go paint, or whatever you'd be doing about now."
"Okay, I'll get started on my naked yoga in the living room."
Steve forgot how to breathe for a second.
"Man," Danny said, bursting into laughter, "your face! I'm kidding, Steven."
Steven? "You're hilarious," Steve said, not even bothering to clear his throat this time. "I'm gonna go get the rest of my stuff. Feel free to do naked yoga on the rooftop if you want."
He couldn't make out whatever Danny mumbled as Steve headed for the garage, but given the conversation so far, he thought that was maybe a good thing.
God give him strength to get through this assignment. He was going to need it.
***