Captured on Kauai, page 1
“Lately, I feel like someone is watching me.”
“Did this start before you found the note?” Dex asked Katrina.
“Yes. I thought it was all in my head. But now I’m not so sure.”
Giving Katrina a false sense of security would not be a smart move. But having her afraid of her own shadow was not the way to go either. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.” Dex warned, “But keep your eyes open, and don’t let your guard down.”
Katrina smiled. “I’ll try not to.”
Dex noticed a ringlet of hair had fallen across Katrina’s brow. Without giving it a thought, he touched her soft skin, feeling a jolt in return. Did she feel it too as he tucked the errant strand behind her ear?
She blushed. “Thanks for noticing.”
“My pleasure.” He grinned. Their eyes locked for a long moment of connection before Dex did the only sensible thing he could. He walked away while he was still able to...
CAPTURED ON KAUAI
R. Barri Flowers
R. Barri Flowers is an award-winning author of crime, thriller, mystery and romance fiction featuring three-dimensional protagonists, riveting plots, unexpected twists and turns, and heart-pounding climaxes. With an expertise in true crime, serial killers and characterizing dangerous offenders, he is perfectly suited for the Harlequin Intrigue line. Chemistry and conflict between the hero and heroine, attention to detail and incorporating the very latest advances in criminal investigations are the cornerstones of his romantic suspense fiction. Discover more on popular social networks and Wikipedia.
Books by R. Barri Flowers
Harlequin Intrigue
Hawaii CI
The Big Island Killer
Captured on Kauai
Chasing the Violet Killer
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Dex Adair—The DEA special agent goes undercover at the Maoli Lodge on Kauai along with his narcotics-detector golden retriever, Barnabas, to investigate the death of a fellow agent and a possible illicit drug-trafficking operation. He hadn’t intended to fall for the lodge proprietor and want to protect her from a stalker.
Katrina Sizemore—A widow and owner of the Maoli Lodge, she begins receiving notes that suggest the death of her late husband, Joseph, was not an accident, and she turns to her new pianist, Dex, for help. Can they learn to trust each other and open their hearts with deadly traffickers in their midst?
Roxanne Yamamoto—The DEA agent died in a mysterious car accident while undercover. Can she still help in the investigation and expose her killer even from the grave?
Alyson Tennison—As the assistant manager at the lodge, is she the steady hand Katrina needs in running the resort effectively, or is she hiding something?
Clayton Pietz—The Kauai PD vice section detective heads investigations into illegal drug trafficking on the Hawaiian island. Can he break up the drug operation before another person dies?
Lynda Krause—A DEA agent who is driven to help nail Roxanne’s killer and go after the deadly traffickers of illegal drugs.
In memory of my beloved mother, Marjah Aljean, a lifelong fan of Harlequin romances, who provided me the tools needed to find success in both my professional and personal lives. To Loraine, the one and only love of my life, whose support has been steadfast through the many years together. And to the loyal fans of my romance, mystery, suspense and thriller fiction published over the years. Lastly, a nod goes out to my super editors, Allison Lyons and Denise Zaza, for the opportunity to become a valued part of the Harlequin Intrigue family.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Escape from Ice Mountain by Cassie Miles
Prologue
Her cover had been blown. DEA Agent Roxanne Yamamoto tensed behind the wheel of her Toyota Tacoma as she drove down Kaumualii Highway in the dark of night. Was she being followed? Or was it just her overactive imagination after having to flee for her life? She had a story to tell, one that Roxanne’s colleagues in the United States Drug Enforcement Administration would definitely want to hear. As an intelligence research specialist, her job was to identify and analyze the manufacturing, distribution and trafficking of narcotics, wherever it was happening, and start the process of dismantling the criminal networks. While working undercover in her latest assignment, it had taken her to the Hawaiian island of Kauai. Its moniker, the “Garden Isle,” was apropos, with awesome tropical rainforests and a lush landscape comprising much of the island. If only she were afforded the time to take it all in, instead of being on assignment, trying to put the brakes on one branch of a Western United States drug-trafficking network that marred paradise with its ugliness, turning people into addicts and criminals. Maybe someday.
Roxanne’s thoughts turned back to the unsettling moment at hand. She was able to get enough incriminating information to lead to a full-scale investigation and some arrests. Turned out that the leads they followed proved productive in targeting the operation and some of its operatives. If she survived this, it would no doubt be a feather in her cap and lead to bigger and better assignments. Maybe she would take some time off and work on her love life, which was sorely lacking at the moment, having broken up with her cheating boyfriend six months ago. Or maybe she was better off without all the drama relationships seemed to bring like a daytime soap opera.
Again, she looked up at the rearview mirror to see if anyone was on her tail. No one. Or was this meant to somehow give her a false sense of security now that she had seemingly managed to get away while still in one piece? She reached into the pocket of her flare jeans for her cell phone, needing to let other members of the Drug Task Force assigned to the case know she was in trouble. It wasn’t there. Damn. In her haste to get away, she must have left the phone at the cottage she was renting when escaping from her pursuers through the back door. Also left behind was her laptop containing crucial information and incriminating evidence in the investigation.
Only then did Roxanne spot the bright car lights from behind. Someone was following her. And gaining ground. She couldn’t make out the driver. Panicked, she increased her own speed, noting that there was virtually no traffic at this time of night to slow her down. She reached down to her waist holster and felt the cold steel of her Glock 17 duty pistol. This gave her some comfort, knowing if push came to shove she might need to use it in self-defense against the enemy.
After she had managed to put some distance between her and the other vehicle, Roxanne’s sense of comfort faded quickly, as the other car rapidly caught up to her. Again, she picked up her speed, hoping to escape to safety. When the pursuer inexplicably slowed down, for a brief moment she wondered if the chase had been entirely in her head. Only upon realizing she was going way too fast to maneuver the car safely, did Roxanne press down on the brakes. Instead of the car decreasing speed, it was just the opposite. She slammed her foot on the brakes again and realized that they weren’t working. Had they been tampered with?
I have to get through this, she thought with determination. But before she could attempt to find some way to bring the car to a stop and continue to live her life and build upon her career, Roxanne lost control of the vehicle, crashing into a utility pole with blunt force. There was nothing after that.
Chapter One
DEA special agent Dex Adair prepared to enter the warehouse in Downtown Los Angeles. He and the team of other agents and members of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Narcotic Bureau, armed with Glocks, Rock River Arms LAR-15 semiautomatic carbines and Remington 870 12-gauge shotguns, stormed the building. They were in search of illegal marijuana, following a months-long investigation of a crime syndicate that had trafficked drugs in California, Nevada and Hawaii. It was a reflection of the flourishing black market in existence for drugs, despite the legality of recreational marijuana in some states and elsewhere.
Dex expected resistance, knowing those operating the lucrative illicit business were unlikely to give up and spend years, if not decades, in prison without a major fight. Bring it on, he thought, no stranger to danger and facing perilous predicaments in life. Having grown up in the sometimes mean streets of the Motor City, otherwise known as Detroit, day-to-day survival was anything but a given to young African American males. But survive he did, motivated to do so in picking up his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in criminal justice from Michigan State University, before building a successful career in law enforcement within the United States Department of Justice. At thirty-three and six feet three inches of solid muscle, he was more than capable of holding his own when duty called. So was his trusty companion, Barnabas, a narcotic detection service dog. The male golden retriever, part of a K-9 unit, was reliable in sniffing out illicit drugs. He didn’t take kindly to being attacked and could defend himself, and then some, incl
Once arrests were made and the building secured, Dex stepped out and returned with Barnabas. He unleashed the canine in the spacious warehouse and allowed him to do his thing. It paid off big-time. “We’ve got something,” Dex called out excitedly to the team as his hard, coal-gray eyes focused on the pallets attracting the attention of Barnabas.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, Adair,” Agent Lynda Krause snapped with anticipation. The long-legged, green-eyed forty-year-old had a short, platinum layered bob and an attitude befitting her seventeen years with the DEA. “What do we get for our trouble?”
Dex grinned and scratched his forehead, if only to keep her waiting a little longer, before donning vinyl disposable gloves. He grabbed a crowbar left behind by the perps and ripped open a pallet, causing his eyes to light up. “This treat...” It contained vacuum-sealed cannabis. Opening up another and another revealed much of the same.
“Wow!” Lynda marveled at the haul. “This place is loaded with pallets of the stuff.”
“Tell me about it.” Dex petted Barnabas behind his ear. “Good job, boy.”
“There’s cannabis edibles, THC vaping cartridges and psilocybin mushroom bars...” commented Agent Sylvester Ishikawa, his brown eyes wide with disbelief as he opened another pallet. At forty-two, the slender fifteen-year veteran of the DEA was Japanese and had short dark hair worn in an undercut that was slicked backward. “Looks like they made sure there was something for everyone.”
“And now no one,” quipped Dex, knowing that the illegal drugs would ultimately be destroyed. Barnabas barked, as if happy to take credit for his part.
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Ishikawa agreed.
“We’re all good with that,” Lynda said in support. “The more we can separate the legal from illegal drugs, the better for everyone.”
Dex couldn’t agree more, having lost his only sister, Rita, years ago to a drug overdose, with heroin the deadly drug of choice. She’d never had a real chance to get cleaned up before being taken away before her time at the tender age of nineteen. He only wished he had been old enough to help her overcome the addiction and related poor choices she’d made in her life. With the better part of their job done, the team turned the cleanup work over to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and its crime scene investigators. The DEA would continue to do its part in overturning every rock where illicit drugs and their facilitators were hiding. Dex intended to give Barnabas the rest of the day off, even while knowing that the job of taking on drug cartels and criminal gangs was never ending. Or so it seemed.
Two hours later, the agents had joined others in a conference room at the DEA’s Los Angeles Division, which included within its jurisdiction Santa Ana and Ventura, California, Hawaii, Nevada and Guam. The special agent in charge was Rachel Zavatti, a tall and attractive fifty-year-old with hazel eyes and a chin-length gray shag. She had moved up the ladder in a hurry, thanks in large part to a successful takedown a decade ago of a notorious international cartel that was responsible for an illegal marijuana farm in the Midwest. Dex was admittedly impressed with her dedication to the job, which he shared in the absence of any meaningful relationship since ending things with his unfaithful girlfriend, Suzette, two years ago. Right now, this was it for him and he was grateful for the opportunity to put his skills to good use.
“Job well done,” Rachel said of their latest bust. “Apart from arresting a number of drug traffickers, including the reputed leader of the syndicate, Louis Johansson, we ended up confiscating roughly thirty pallets of vacuum-sealed cannabis, nearly four hundred pounds of cannabis edibles, thousands of THC vaping cartridges and over six hundred grams of psilocybin mushroom bars. I’d say that’s quite a load for one operation.”
“Not to mention the AR-15 semiautomatic assault rifles, .223 caliber assault rifles, some handguns and enough ammo to go to war,” Dex pitched in, though doubtful this had slipped her mind, thorough as she was.
“Oh, did I fail to mention that?” she quipped good-naturedly. “Leave it up to Adair to cover all the bases.”
“Next he’ll be telling us he did it all by himself like a superhero,” Lynda tossed out with a straight face.
“Or maybe just an average guy who displayed abilities Adair didn’t even know he had,” Ishikawa said. “Do we need to applaud him, or what?”
Dex chuckled, cool with being part of a team that learned not to take things too seriously, though at times it couldn’t be helped. They all knew that when it came to the illicit drug trade and its negative impact on society, it was definitely no laughing matter. “I’d much rather give credit where credit’s due,” he offered modestly. “Barnabas found the marijuana without giving it a second thought. The K-9 knows his business and makes my job that much easier. If he were here and could do it, I’m sure he’d happily take a bow.”
Rachel smiled. “I’m sure you deserve at least half the credit for his productivity. But Barnabas’s half is still crucial to our operation.” She smoothed creases on her open-front blazer. “In any event, before we start patting each other on the back, there are more important matters to discuss—” Dex noted a distinct change in her expression. She turned to a large presentation display and, using a remote, turned it on. A face appeared on the screen of an Asian female in her early thirties with short black hair in a wedge bob. “Last month, DEA Agent Roxanne Yamamoto was on an undercover operation on Kauai, Hawaii, when she died in an apparent single vehicle crash. What first seemed like an unfortunate accident has proven to be a deliberate act of murder. After a mechanical inspection of the vehicle, it was discovered that Agent Yamamoto’s brake lines were cut, causing her to lose control of the car. Moreover, she was driving past midnight and didn’t have her cell phone, which suggests that Roxanne was in a hurry to get away from one or more individuals. Both the phone and her laptop are missing, along with any pertinent information they contained, which we have thus far been unable to retrieve.”
Dex winced at the sight of Roxanne Yamamoto on the screen. They were friends, hanging out together once after a drug bust in Las Vegas, in which seventy pounds of methamphetamine was seized, resulting in multiple arrests. Roxanne was a nice person who, like him, loved her work and gave her all. She didn’t deserve to die, as it turned out, in the line of duty and at such a young age with her whole life still ahead of her.
Rachel switched to another picture. “This is the Maoli Lodge,” she said. “It has long been suspected of being a front for drug trafficking with ties to the same crime organization that we busted wide-open today, but we haven’t been able to make anything stick. Agent Yamamoto was working undercover there as a housekeeper, hoping to gather information that she could pass on to other agents in the field, as part of a Drug Task Force on drug-related criminality on Kauai that included members of the FBI and IRS, US Postal Inspectors and Kauai Police Department’s vice section.” Rachel’s brow furrowed. “She was killed before Agent Yamamoto was able to tell us what, if anything, she had discovered with respect to criminal activity at the resort location. Though there is an active investigation by the locals into her death and suspicion that there may have been another vehicle involved in the crash, there are no solid leads at the moment as to any suspects.” The special agent in charge sighed. “We need to find out what’s going on at that lodge, if it’s anything illegal, and who is responsible for the loss of one of our own.”
She flipped to another image of a biracial male with brown eyes and a curly raven faux-hawk haircut. “Joseph Sizemore, age thirty-six, was the co-owner of the Maoli Lodge. He was being investigated as possibly being involved in the trafficking of drugs. Unfortunately, he died in a mysterious kayaking accident six months ago off the Nāpali Coast, effectively taking him out of the equation, though the probe of Sizemore’s potential involvement is still ongoing.” Rachel switched to another picture of an adult white female. “Katrina Sizemore is his thirty-two-year-old widow, who co-owned the lodge. Upon Sizemore’s death, she took over as the sole owner. She’s definitely a person of interest as someone who may be part of the illegal drug-trafficking operation.”
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