Fic- No Way Out But Through (3/4)
***
Steve stands in the living room as he has the last couple of days, trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn't fit. Concealment is the key to a successful ambush. Strike first and your opponent will most likely fall.
He deactivates the alarm and walks onto the porch, turning around, and for the millionth time, he opens the door, this time, slamming it hard against the wall. But his assailant hadn't been behind the door; he'd rushed Steve from the other side - a side of exposure - giving him almost two point three seconds to react. Enough time to block the attack. He'd even narrowed it down to the elbow jab as the most effective counter.
He slowly closes the door and stares at the corner, wondering why his assailant hadn't used the most advantageous point of attack against him.
***
He hobbles into his father's office, resting his crutches against the chair. He'd waited for his Percocet to kick in before making two trips back and forth to gather everything he would need for the next few hours. Steve verifies he has everything required and pulls out the Sig from the waistband of his cargoes, checks the safety, and sets it next to his water bottle.
Taking a deep breath, he grabs dad's police scanner and sets it on the desk, lowering the volume. He might be sidelined from the case, but Danny still has to use the radio to coordinate with HPD for back-up and Steve won't be totally in the dark if something major occurs.
He takes the pillow he snagged from the sofa, using it to cushion his back as he sits in the chair and powers up his laptop. Magnifying the zoom and lowering the brightness allows him to read, as long as he takes a break every twenty minutes to keep any migraines at bay. He didn't lie to Danny yesterday. Steve hadn't read any case files, but that doesn't mean he can't use his Naval Intel skills to dig into Moreno's financials. That's the key to nailing the bastard.
And Danny gave Steve a key weapon in his fight, a very important ally. Taking a sip from his water bottle, he pulls out his cell and dials Toast.
***
Steve knows Toast has the attention span of a gnat unless kept constantly on task, so he's not surprised that the nerd had slacked off on the search Danny assigned him. But that's okay because Steve has a new set of objectives.
"Okay, Toast. Most of Moreno's legitimate business was in the nickel and halite mines he owned in Colombia."
"Yep. Mining's great for high volume selling to an ass-load of customers across the globe. You've got like hundreds of thousands of dollars that can be converted into foreign currency, wired electronically, and oh, wait a minute. Bingo. What a surprise, he's got a ton of offshore accounts."
"Yeah. Layering. I'm aware of the technique."
"Really?"
"I used to hunt down terror cells by following their assets."
"Whoa. Cool. Yeah, I forgot that about you."
In the distance, Steve hears a police siren and he listens to dispatcher radio about a nearby robbery. He checks his line of sight to the front door then through the French doors leading to the lanai, his eyes landing on his Sig before focusing on his laptop again.
"Look. Moreno still launders his money using his mining operations for cover, but what about when he set up shop in Hawaii?"
"Not much. I mean, he could run his business from anywhere in the world. That's the beauty of this stuff. Between cybercash, ebanking, and all those wire transfers -"
"But he's in Hawaii now."
"Yeah, brah. But we need him to be using US banks to, you know, get caught here."
"He still needs to be able to pay his instate clients."
"Which clients?"
"His legitimate employees or even some of his buyers. Not everyone has offshore accounts."
Steve hears Toast snort indignantly.
"Well, then they're idiots."
***
When Moreno had been in Colombia, it'd been hard for the CIA to track his assets, but he'd been fair game once he landed in the US. In the last month, all of his money transfers have been under the three thousand dollar amount, and not just a few transactions, but thousands a day. Small amounts that flew under banking reporting requirements and eluded security measures, but still added up to big bucks. Like money from large-scale drug operations.
"Dude, do you know how hard it's going to be to sift through this many transactions looking for the ones that originated in the States?"
Steve rubs at his temples. "Use link analysis."
"I am. But trying to find a pattern between accounts, people, and organizations is..."
"I'm sending you an algorithm," Steve says.
"Oh, that's nice, Knowledge Based One. That requires, I dunno, an analyst to use. Someone like you."
Steve closes his eyes in frustration. It's been three hours working with Toast using Skype and a private server where they had uploaded all their hacked files on Moreno. They'd barely scratched the surface. It could take days of poring over data and Steve can only look at the computer for a half an hour at time without getting dizzy.
"Look man, why don't you go chill or something? I can comb through this stuff on my own."
"You know how many hours -"
"I have a fridge filled with Red Bull. I'll be good."
"And if you need another code -"
"I'll text you. Don't get me wrong, that algorithm you sent is pretty sweet, but I've got my own bag of tricks."
"Okay," Steve says, unhappily.
He hears the rustling of a bag of chips in the background and Steve cringes at the irritating sound.
"So, what do you want me to focus on? The smoking gun that will crack open this guy's whole racket or you know, that thing Williams wanted me to track down last week?"
"Danny had you looking for the payment records pertaining to the contract put out on me?"
"Yeah. I mean, well, it wasn't a hit, I guess, but it was -"
"Do you know the profile of the type of person you're looking for?"
Steve knows exactly the type of hired muscle it took.
"God, I hope not. But yeah, there are not too many Terminator types out there. I know where they lurk."
"Then track both."
"You don't ask for much, dude."
***
Steve tries lying on the sofa, but his back is so stiff from the office chair that the best he can do is lean against a stack of pillows in a semi-reclining position. He'd taken a bad punch to a kidney during a SERE training program - the one SEALs used in Gitmo had been especially brutal. It took a couple of weeks before it ever fully healed and he dreads how long it's going to take before he can sit for long periods at a time without problems.
He was supposed to take a nap - he'd scheduled one during his day, knowing how vital sleep is for a body's recovery - but chatter on the police scanner had picked up in the last half hour and he can't risk going to sleep. He listens intently as dozens of units report to three undisclosed locations using code words, Danny's voice piping in occasionally to verify people's statuses. To an untrained ear, it would sound like a busy Thursday, but Steve pieces together everything and he can't believe it - they're conducting three raids simultaneously.
***
He paces in this half-limp half-shuffle, phone clutched in his hand. Steve isn't stupid. He won't call anyone on his team while they're in the middle of an operation. He checks his watch. It's been ten minutes of radio silence punctuated by an occasional burst of static. But this is SOP, everyone communicating via headsets. The longer the silence stretches, though...
"Units one, two, and three, report." Danny's heavy voice comes over the scanner.
"Unit One all clear. We need a bus for a single suspect, but the rest are secured."
Everyone else reports in, and Steve leans against the wall, forehead pressed against the wood, his heart slowing from a rapid beat. He beams in pride for a few seconds at such a strategic, decisive blow to Moreno's operation and allows himself to enjoy the moment. But it only takes a few seconds before the harsh reality sinks in.
Danny didn't just launch a battle; he completed an all-out assault.
***
Steve rests on the lid of the toilet after removing his clothes and the knee brace, then tapes a plastic bag around his cast to prevent it from getting wet. His evening pill has had time to work through his system, but it's done shit for his back, the spasms worsening, and fuck if he's going to add the muscle relaxant to the mix. He can't afford to be completely out of it. Not now.
Thankfully, the downstairs bathroom has a nice-sized shower stall and he doesn't have to worry about getting in and out of a tub. Turning on the water, Steve flattens his hand against the tile in front of him. He keeps his left leg slightly bent; balancing most of his weight onto his right foot, and for a few seconds, Steve closes his eyes, relishing the way the water cascades down his back.
Steve leans further against the tile while turning up the water pressure. The left side of his neck twinges as muscles start to ease in his shoulders, muscles he didn't realize until now had been so knotted up. But using crutches has its drawbacks, and he stands there, savoring the heat building as steam slowly fogs up the stall.
He lifts up his face, the water streaming down his cheeks and mouth when his ears perk up at the sound of the door opening. His knife is under the towel on top of toilet tank and he watches the blob enter the bathroom through the opaque stall glass, timing exactly how long it would take -
"Steve, it's me," Danny's voice filters through the shower. "I'm coming in."
Steve lets his head drop, swallowing a curse.
"Is that a knife I see under the towel, Steven?"
"You coming in or what?"
He hears Danny take off his clothes before sliding open the door. Steve slowly turns around, taking in those broad shoulders and hairy chest. It feels like forever since he's had a chance to admire them. "Long day?"
"Too long," Danny says. He stares at Steve, his gaze lingering on Steve's torso, probably checking the status of the lingering bruises there, before looking back up to meet Steve's eyes with a determined expression. "But I'm ready to relax."
Steve feels his heart speed up as Danny grabs a bar of soap and starts rolling it between his palms, slow and methodical. Steve swallows hard, watching Danny's hands work the soap into lather, breathing in the unmistakable scent of lemon grass, making him want to lick Danny's skin clean.
Danny grins at Steve's expression. "Turn around, babe." Steve shuffles around, one hand planted on the side of the stall and the other in front of him. "Just let me do all the work," Danny whispers into Steve's left ear. And damn if that doesn't send a shudder down his body.
Danny's soapy hands begin at Steve's shoulders, thumbs digging into his trapezius muscles, eliciting a low groan from the depths of Steve's throat. Danny continues rubbing in circles, nice and drawn-out, then crosses the line of Steve's scapula, causing Steve to almost lose his hold on the wall.
"You like that?" Danny whispers.
"God, yeah."
"Hold on."
Steve listens to Danny fumble with a bottle of shampoo and soon his hands return, sliding into Steve's hair, his fingers working into his scalp. Steve can't help leaning his head into the touch as Danny continues massaging delicate pressure points, his fingers kneading Steve's temples then earlobes.
Steve closes his eyes, breath hitching. Danny moves to Steve's neck, thumbs going from the base of his skull, down the sides, and back down to his shoulders. Steve makes another low noise, focusing on how his abused muscles slowly loosen under Danny's ministrations. And he's lost in a haze of warmth and relief, aching with it, as Danny's fingers move between Steve's shoulder blades while kissing Steve's neck.
While his shoulders relax, the middle of his back is too tender to handle all the standing and bending. But he won't lose this moment, won't give in. Steve bites down on a gasp and turns around, grabbing Danny by the shoulders, using them to hold himself upright as he presses his body closer, feeling the swell of Danny's cock against his thigh.
Steve kisses Danny, sucking at his bottom lip. Danny groans in pleasure, passing his soapy hands across Steve's pectorals, sliding over each nipple, pinching them. Steve grunts, breathing hard, sliding his mouth down Danny's throat, biting down lightly at the tendon.
"Fuck, Steve."
Steve squeezes Danny's shoulders tighter for leverage, urging Danny backward. "Move."
"Always got to be ordering me around," Danny mumbles playfully.
But Danny inches away, Steve limping with him. Danny's back hits the wall while Steve leans most of his weight on him, hoping it's enough to keep him on his feet, knowing how stupidly dangerous it is to risk his knee like this.
Danny slips a hand around Steve's hip, giving him some stability, pressing their bodies closer. "This good for you?" he asks breathless.
It helps a little. Steve's knee throbs, his back tensing up even more, but he answers Danny by kissing him deeply, concentrating on the sensations of lips, teeth, and tongue. He tries to forget about the pain, forget about the fear from earlier tonight with Danny and his damned insane, simultaneous raids.
But Steve's body has yet to respond properly to the play of skin and mouths, and he hooks his arm around Danny's neck, jutting his hips to rub against Danny's growing hardness.
"Let me."
Danny slips his free hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Steve's cock, gently squeezing it in rhythm to the motion of Steve's hips. But even after a minute of Danny's eager attention, Steve is still only half-hard and he slides his own hand down to increase the stimulation.
But the more friction he adds, the more frustrated Steve becomes when he can't get it up enough.
"Hey, hey," Danny says, grabbing Steve by the chin and forcing him to look Danny in the eye. "Give me a second, I'll figure something out," he says with an encouraging smile.
Steve watches Danny's eyes flick down, and he knows what he's thinking, imagining Danny sinking to his knees. But the mental image doesn't help, and he can't stand without being Danny fully upright.
His illusion crashes down around him. Biting his lip, Steve rests his forehead against Danny's shoulder, closing his eyes tightly against the disappointment.
Danny strokes Steve's hair, whispering assurances, and that somehow makes it even worse. "Come on, maybe we can -"
"No." Steve lifts up his head, blinking against the water dripping from his hair. "Just..."
"This isn't a thing, okay?" Danny says frowning.
But despite his words, Danny physically pulls away, one hand letting go of Steve's hip, the other dropping from Steve's face.
"I'm sorry," Steve mumbles, hurrying to get out. He slides open the shower door, using the towel rack to limp into the bathroom, dripping water everywhere. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"Thinking? This wasn't about thinking, I promise."
Steve doesn't look behind him; he's too busy trying to wrap a towel around his waist, his face flushed red from more than the heat. Stupid. He's so fucking stupid. He's not getting anywhere with the towel, and he grabs his boxers, trapped between using the toilet to help slip them on or going to the bedroom.
"Are you going to turn around and talk to me?" Danny asks, still standing in the shower, the water off. "There's no fault here. Nothing that hasn't happened to me or..." He sighs, taking a deep breath. "Sometimes things don't go right, babe."
In the back of his mind, Steve knows it was probably the painkillers or trying to do too much too soon, but on the heels of everything else, it's hard to take. He just doesn't know anymore. Can't trust that his body will work right soon, or hell, maybe it's all in his head? That he's sabotaging himself somehow.
Fuck it. He sits on the toilet - there's no pretending anymore - and Steve manages to get on his boxers and the pair of sweatpants. "Go ahead and take a shower, you just got home from work."
"Why I am I not surprised that you don't want to talk about this?"
"I'd rather discuss the case. Did you file your notes from today on the Five-O server?"
"Seriously?" Danny says irritably. Steve still doesn't turn around. "Why do I even...Actually, you're right. I'm going to take a shower, a nice long one. And use up all the hot water. Because I can't even..."
Danny slams the shower door closed. Steve rubs a tired hand over his face and concentrates on his knee brace. He'd let his mind wander, took his sights off the main goal, and he can't do that again. He needs to re-focus. Get rid of distractions. Not wanting to make a second trip, he wraps his knife holster around his thigh, snags his crutches, and hobbles out of the bathroom.
***
Steve paces the small length of his living room, crutches in all, with an intense need to get the hell out, go outside, run, or swim, or do any of the millions of things he can't do. His ribs still hurt if he breathes too deeply or turns around at anything other than half speed. So, he stares at the wall for a good three seconds, tries focusing on the paint, at the brush strokes, stalking back and forth the best he can until he uses up all his excess energy. Allows it to bleed out of him and onto the floor. Anything to keep his mind clear.
By the time he makes a seventh circuit in the living room, it's at a slow painful lurch, and it takes a moment before he realizes his cell phone is ringing. He grabs it off the table, balancing awkwardly on his crutches. "McGarrett."
"Dude, it's Toast."
"Look, man. Now's not a really -"
"I found him."
"Found who?"
"Drake Kenning."
Steve rests one crutch against the table to grip the cell better. "Drake Kenning?"
"President of Black Diamond, some firm that provides all types of high level security for private business and subcontracts to the government."
"And Moreno sent this guy payment in US funds?"
"Yep,” Toast says, slurping on something through a straw. "Ten thousand bucks seven days before your attack and twenty thousand dollars two hours after it."
Steve can still hear the sounds of the shower running so he can't shout at Danny to get the hell over here. He leaves both crutches leaning on the table and hobbles into the office to grab his laptop.
"Thanks, man. I owe you big time."
"Gonna hold you to that. Oh. And I might have already run a check on him, but he's a ghost, dude. Hope you have better luck than I did."
"Don't worry; I've got my own bag of tricks for people like this, too."
Steve logs into the HPD server just to be thorough, but he's already thinking ten steps ahead regarding his next move.
***
Steve hears Danny walk over and his shoulders tense in dread. He looks up from his laptop in time to watch Danny pad over in bare feet, waving his cell phone around, his hair still damp from the shower. "Hey. I've got some news."
It takes a moment for Steve to mentally shift gears to Danny in work-mode. "Yeah?"
"HPD located an abandoned cable van in a ditch some thirty miles away," Danny says, watching Steve. "It might have been the one used to conduct surveillance on you and the house."
"Really?"
"It's being towed to the lab now. Fong's going to go through it tomorrow."
"That's actually perfect, because I've got the name of the guy Moreno hired to come after me."
Danny's eye widen in shock. "You what?"
"I've been working with Toast going through Moreno's financials and we tracked down who he made payments to." Steve turns around his laptop, folding his arms across his chest. "Drake Kenning."
"Drake Kenning who has no record," Danny says, staring at the screen.
"No record, no address other than his current one, and nothing since he moved to Oahu six months ago." Steve turns the computer back around to stare at it again. "Drake Kenning didn't exist before he arrived on the island."
"An alias."
"Exactly. This is why you and I are going to pay him a little visit tomorrow morning."
"Excuse me?" Danny eyebrows shoot up to the top of his head while he gapes at Steve. "Um. Did I miss the part where you re-joined the investigation?"
Steve uses the desk to get to his feet, working his jaw back and forth in irritation. "I've been a part of this investigation for the last couple days. I might not be physically a hundred percent, but my brain is fine."
"Your brain has never been fine, but that is beside the point." Danny glares at Steve like he has no clue how to react. "What are you going to do? Just waltz into his office and have a chat? Ask him if he wants to turn himself in?"
"I don't know, Danny. But I'm the only one who can identify him. So, the only question is, are you going to back me up?"
"Are you serious?"
Danny rounds on Steve like he wants to shake him. And maybe he does, but Steve meets Danny's fiery disbelief with a bold, determined stare. Steve isn't playing around, he needs Danny with him, but he'll climb in his truck and drive over to Black Diamond alone if he has to.
If possible, Danny's eyes grow even bigger as if reading Steve's mind. "Oh, for...What did I say about over-thinking, huh? Of course, I'm going to back you up! I am your partner and that is my job. It might be the dumbest idea in the history of man, but it's yours. And while we're talking about this idiotic shit, do you have a plan, or are you just going to stick your Sig in his face?"
It takes Steve a second to gather his thoughts, realizing in frustration that they're a little scattered, that his heart is going a million miles per hour. "I haven't thought that far ahead yet."
"Obviously."
"Well, obviously, I'll have time to figure something out."
Danny throws up his hands and Steve sits back down in his chair, bottom lip caught between his teeth, glaring at the nearly empty file on the computer with nothing more than Kenning's current address. There isn't even a picture to go with it, but he knows in his gut that this is the guy. The guy that had laid Steve out without effort, could have easily killed him, and he hates to admit it, but a small part of Steve is actually a little scared about the whole the thing.
Danny sighs and taps Steve's leg with his foot. "Do you think if you look at the guy's name long enough it'll magically make more information appear?"
Steve looks up and catches Danny watching him with a sad sort of fondness. It sends a pang of guilt through Steve's chest, threatening to tear open his heart and bleed out all of his emotions.
"I need time to think," he says, flicking his gaze from Danny to the computer screen.
"But not time to talk?"
Steve can smell hints of Danny's aftershave and his freshly laundered T-shirt, can feel the warmth from his shower even inches away. But he ignores a desperate need to reach out and touch him. "Not tonight."
"Should I make an appointment? How about next week, that good for you?"
"Danny."
"You can't bottle everything inside, Steve. It doesn't make the things you're trying to avoid go away."
Steve desperately wants to tell Danny that he knows, he gets it, and God, he wants to get rid of the disappointment in Danny's voice, erase that expression of concern that's become a permanent part of his face. But he can't afford even the smallest distraction, not with the growing threat. He won't risk it. He won't risk Danny or Chin or Kono...not because he took his eyes off the ball. He can't allow anything to cloud his thinking.
So, instead of giving Danny a smile, or a promise to talk later, Steve focuses on the one angle that he can control. He quickly logs into the HPD server and searches for Danny's notes from the raids today, biting his lip when he hears Danny walk away.
***
Sleep eludes him all night. Steve can't turn off his brain, can't stop the rampant buzz in his head, creating whole scenarios in his mind with a man he only remembers in glimpses. Night drags into dawn, until he realizes it would have been better to have stayed awake instead of fighting to catch a few minute's rest. By early morning, he's climbing the walls.
The ride over to Black Diamond is silent, and Steve stares out the window through his sunglasses, checking for any suspicious vehicles following them by using the mirrors. His Sig is secured by his hip and his back-up at his ankle. Danny looks over at him occasionally, his hands white-knuckled from gripping the steering wheel.
"I know it's a stupid question, but did you take your pills this morning, or are you going to Superman it today?"
"I took a half. I need to be mobile."
Whatever his meds don't cover, his adrenaline will. Steve barely waits for the car to stop before unfastening his seat belt and opening the door.
"Will you wait a second?" Danny demands, slamming his door closed. "This isn't a race."
But Steve already has his crutches under him and is heading for the entrance. "Come on."
"You're going to have to keep your head today, Steven. There's no going back if you do something reckless."
"Believe it or not, I have more self-control than you think I do," Steve says, allowing Danny to walk ahead of him and push open the large heavy door.
"Uh-huh."
The Black Diamond is one of dozens of offices in the building, located on the twentieth floor on the very top level. Other than a description of services from their website, Steve couldn't find much about the firm, confirming his suspicion that it's a front for illegal activities.
Except for wandering around the house, this is the longest Steve has used his crutches, and he's actually happy to step into the elevator and have a nice long trip to the final level.
"You still haven't figured out how you want to play this, have you?" Danny asks, obviously on edge.
"Just follow my lead," Steve says, still re-playing a million different conversations in his head, many ending in ways he won't admit to Danny.
They arrive at a marble front desk with a wall that obscures almost everything except for a hallway. Steve looks for possible exits while a woman with strawberry blonde hair looks up at them.
"I'm sorry, but you need to have an appointment to come up here," she says with a fake smile.
"Actually we do," Danny says, matching her patronizing tone, and pulling out his badge. "Here it is."
The receptionist doesn't appear to care. "Like I said, you need to have an -"
"And this says I don't," Danny replies voice clipped. "We're here to see Drake Kenning."
"Mr. Kenning isn't here."
Steve listens to Danny's ongoing conversation while studying the security camera in the ceiling. As Danny continues arguing with the receptionist, Steve slowly begins making his way into the hallway, searching the corridor for offices.
"I don't think you understand," Danny's irate voice booms. "We're not leaving until we see Kenning."
There are four offices. The door to the last one opens and a man swiftly heads for another elevator located next to a stairwell. The guy checks over his shoulder and Steve freezes, locking eyes with him, all the hair on Steve's arms and neck rising.
He remembers that face.
Kenning hurries into the elevator and Steve ditches his crutches, limping as fast as he can, reaching the doors, and shoving his way inside before they close.
***
Blood roars in his ears, all his muscles tensing around his bones. But Steve holds himself with the same type of control he'd used to stay hidden in caves surrounded by the Taliban.
Kenning is all girth with the shoulders of an ox under a gray suit, his close-cropped hair tinged silver at the temples. But expensive clothes can't conceal years spent living with violence. Steve notices a knife scar under the man's chin, one above the ear, and a nose that's been broken more than once.
Steve never takes his eyes off Kenning's face, at the healing the bruise under his jaw, fully aware that he put it there. "I think you and I need to have a chat, Mr. Kenning," he says, his voice steel. "Although we both know that is not your real name."
Kenning regards Steve impassively, thick arms loose by his sides, but he doesn't speak as the elevator begins its descent.
"We've already traced the funds Moreno sent to your accounts," Steve tells him, fingers brushing against the butt of his weapon. "Not to mention that the van you used for your surveillance is being combed through inch by inch for prints by our lab." Kenning holds himself rigid; it's a posture Steve is familiar with, one used to conceal emotion. "I'm sure you were very thorough in wiping down your prints, probably vacuumed, maybe even used a powerful cleaner. Of course, there are the places you don't think about.
"Just for example: the underside of the sun visor. Or what about when you adjusted the seat - did you remember wipe down that handle?" Steve steps closer, forcing all his weight onto both legs without support and keeping his expression hard. "What about when you pumped gas? Did you get the lid over the tank?"
Kenning doesn't rise to the bait. Steve flicks his eyes toward the control panel and stabs the emergency stop button with his knuckles, the elevator jerking to a halt. He braces a hand on one of the doors for a split second to keep his balance.
"I can ID you," he says, his tone deadly. "You're looking at conspiracy and assault on an officer."
"Commander McGarrett, isn't it?" Kenning asks in a dull rasp. "I saw you in the paper a few weeks ago. A kidnapping case." He slowly holds up his wrists. "If I'm under arrest then handcuff me."
He keeps his hands in the air in a deceptive gesture of submission.
"It's only a matter of time," Steve tells him, forcing calm into his demeanor.
"I would have thought a man like you would be more decisive in his actions." Kenning lowers his hands. "Soldiers don't talk; they wage war."
"You've fought a lot of wars?"
"Many."
Steve feels the blood boil under his skin, his breathing heavy, voice a low growl. "Then you sold your uniform to the highest dollar."
"We all have talents. Mine is to locate and exploit weaknesses." Kenning steps closer, his body inches from Steve. "You have a compromised wrist, limiting the use of your right hand and arm. You favor your left leg. And I suspect those are just the ones you can't hide."
"Or maybe those are the things I want you to see."
Kenning narrows his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his lips before reverting to a set of narrow lines. "Deception is a trademark of an elite solider," he says, hitting the elevator button with his finger and jolting them back in motion.
Steve stares in steely silence until they hit the bottom floor, the doors sliding open to reveal an underground parking lot with Danny, weapon raised, his breaths coming in loud and rapid.
"Detective," Kenning nods, sidestepping Danny like he's not a threat.
Danny's shoulders stiffen, training Kenning with his H&K, eyes flicking toward Steve in question. "Is that him?"
"Yeah," Steve grits out.
Danny locks his arms in place, never taking his sights off Kenning, a look of pure malice darkening his face. And for a moment, Steve could imagine Danny pulling the trigger, can see how much he wants to do it in his eyes. How his body vibrates in need.
"Let him go," Steve says, forcing the words out his mouth, resisting the urge to draw his own weapon.
Kenning walks out of eyesight and Danny lowers his piece, spinning on Steve. "What the hell was that about? I saw the elevator stuck between floors and I nearly went out of mind!"
"We don't have enough evidence to arrest him. My testimony would be as good as my memory of the attack," Steve says, walking back into the elevator and tries focusing on the task at hand. "But he doesn't know that."
"What did you do?"
Steve pulls out a small leather case from his pocket, sliding out dusting powder and tape. "I wasn't even sure we'd find Kenning here, but..." He pauses, applying tape to the control panel. "I thought we might be able to lift a print and find out who he really is."
"Then what was the point of locking yourself in a three by three space with that son of a bitch ?" Danny demands, looking irate.
"I knew he'd start the elevator again once I stopped it and I could lift his print." Steve draws a deep breath, heart still thumping in his chest. "But I also wanted to look the bastard in the eye."
***
Danny sits behind the wheel of the Camaro, foot heavy on the gas, caught between wanting to yell at Steve or simply throw him out of the car. Maybe both. He can't stop the image of watching Steve enter that elevator, the doors closing, and the damn thing stopping between floors, trapping Steve with...
Danny angrily grips the wheel, glaring at a driver who just cut him off. "By the way, a 'you're welcome' would be nice. Or thanks for going back up to the top floor to grab your crutches after I just ran down twenty flights of stairs."
But Steve doesn't say a word as he stares out the window, his hand resting near the butt of his weapon.
"I'm talking to you, Steven. Please, at least give me the courtesy of acknowledging it," Danny barks. He's seething in anger and receding fear, his body still coursing with adrenaline, and damn it, Steve needs to realize how much his stunt scared him.
"You need to get into your far right lane if we're going to headquarters."
Danny blinks because it sounded like Steve just gave him an order. "Excuse me?"
"We need to run this print," Steve says, acting like this just any other day, any other case. "Kenning is smart; he's probably already put things in motion to pack up and leave town."
"Why?" Danny risks a glance at Steve. "Because you were oh, so, threatening to him in the elevator?"
Steve rotates his head just enough to check the rearview mirror. "I put the screws to him. Let him think we have more on him than we do. He's bound to call Moreno and that might be all it takes to have Moreno make a dumb mistake."
Everything is happening at breakneck speed, all heavily in their favor, and it makes Danny twitchy; Moreno isn't the only one who can slip up and make a costly error. And Danny won't let Steve's need to insert himself back into the action be theirs. They'll run the print, but that's it. He can't focus on the case and Steve at the same time.
For a few minutes, a heavy silence settles between them, and Danny contemplates turning on the radio for some white noise when Steve interrupts the awkward quiet. "I read about the raids you coordinated last night."
There is a hint an admiration to Steve's voice, and normally that would make Danny cringe given the ridiculous scale of last night's operations. But it doesn't, because it won't be the last one; in fact, he plans on upping the ante soon.
"We had three primary targets; the only way to be sure was to raid them all at once," he says like it'd been no big deal. "We confiscated over a hundred kilos of coke."
Steve doesn't turn his head to look at Danny when he speaks, just continues his paranoid surveillance out the window. "I hear a but coming."
"We still can't connect any of it to Moreno." Danny sighs, irritated. "He doesn't own or lease the warehouses; he's never even been within a mile of them. The bastard doesn't get his hands dirty."
"He lost over a million dollars in product and you arrested of some of his top guys," Steve tells him. "That is the worst kind of pain to someone like him."
Danny takes the next turn a little too fast, ignoring the honking of a car horn behind him, wondering what he has to do to make it hurt even more.
***
Danny wishes he had some of Steve's meds to shove down his throat to get him to relax. It's bad enough waiting on the computer to analyze the print, but the amount of tension radiating off his partner, coupled with that damn heavy scowl, is driving him crazy.
"Would you please go sit or lie down?" he snaps.
But Steve continues leaning on the computer table, his stare unyielding on the front LCD display.
Kono crosses her hands across her chest, eyes flicking from Steve's leg to his face with a disapproving look. "This could take a while, boss."
"I have time," Steve answers, mulish.
The computer beeps, saving Danny from manhandling Steve into his office and tying him down to the sofa. He scratches at his face, reading the results. "Master Sergeant Jordan Quinn. US Marine Corps. Retired. Age forty-nine. Last stationed at the Amphibious Reconnaissance School in Coronado, California." He glowers at the screen. "Is that it?"
Chin walks toward the console. "No criminal records or even a tax return in the last fifteen years. Last known address was...wow. From August, 1999."
Steve pulls out a cell phone, ignoring where his crutches lean against the table, and limps heavily away. "I need to make a call."
Danny throws up his hands in frustration at Chin and Kono, wondering when the hell Steve went from helping with the investigation to excluding the rest of them from what the hell he's thinking.
"I'll drop by the lab, maybe grab lunch for Charlie, and see if he's made any progress on the van," Kono says, walking out.
Chin grabs an empty mug, looking at it forlornly. "I'm going to get a refill then call the guys in Narcotics and see if they've made any headway interrogating Moreno's guys that we arrested last night."
Which leaves Danny with Steve and his secret phone calls.
***
Danny finds Steve in his office a few minutes later, his bad leg stretched out on his sofa, laptop perched on his thigh. He glances briefly up at him. "One of my contacts sent me most of Quinn's file. He was part of Force Recon, the Marine's special operation forces."
"So you, but a Marine?"
Steve shakes his head. "They're more about deep reconnaissance than direct action, but they're a fierce bunch. They even train with SEAL and Ranger units." He squints at the screen. "According to my contact, after his first tour in Afghanistan, Quinn joined FR, served for six years, then became an instructor at Coronado."
"He trained others. In what?"
"In close quarter combat."
"In..." Danny bites his fist, feeling an impending aneurism. "Of course he did. So he's an expert at killing people who are stupid enough to enter an elevator with him!" he shouts, jabbing a finger at Steve.
Steve presses his lips together, his expression dark, his fingers tapping absently at the side of the laptop. If Danny didn't know any better, he'd swear Steve looked unsettled. Maybe even a little nervous. And it's like a slow cold mist blanketing his white-hot embers of anger.
He walks over, expression softening. "When did Quinn become Kenning? How long has he been a mercenary?
"He retired from FR five years ago before falling off the grid."
"Okay." Danny crouches down to eye level, goes for quiet and reassuring since Steve is still so high- strung. "We know who he is; we can prove that Moreno sent him funds..."
"But we still need his prints from the van," Steve says, defeated. He rubs a hand behind his neck, sulking against the couch. "We need that final nail or those payments are meaningless."
***
Equipped with a fresh cup of coffee and a Nutterbutter Bar from the vending machine, Danny paces inside Steve's office, trying to cobble together an upbeat rundown of their efforts.
"Now that we have Quinn's bank account number, Chin's looking for any other unusual payments he might have received since his arrival. Chances are we'll be able to connect him to additional crimes since he moved here. Maybe enough to build up a big enough case him to put him away for a long, long time."
Steve pushes himself further into a sitting position on the sofa with a wince. "Do we have a unit at his house?"
Danny resists the urge to remind him that he asked that question half an hour ago. "Yeah, but so far, he's been a no-show."
"He won't return home," Steve says, rubbing ay his brow. He stopped using his computer an hour ago. "He'll regroup elsewhere."
"Speaking of home..." Danny rolls his eyes at Steve's petulant expression. It's a good thing he caffeinated up. "Hey, don't give me that look. All we were supposed to do this morning was go to Black Diamond. Then we came here to drop off the print. Now it's almost five. You're tired, not to mention -"
"I can take a nap in here if I need to."
"Yeah and where are your pills? I saw Chin fetching you some Tylenol a little while ago."
The fact that Steve doesn't have a snappy comeback is only a testament to how his crappy he feels. Danny gulps the rest of his coffee in preparation for some wrangling duties of epic proportion. He even starts pondering reinforcements when Steve's office door bursts open.
"Guys," Kono says, practically running inside. "I just got back from the lab. We got Quinn's prints."
"Was it the visor or gas tank?" Steve asks, complete with intense game face. Despite how newly alert Steve sounds, Danny notes he doesn't make even attempt to get up.
"Neither," Kono says, flicking her gaze between them. "It was from inside the glove compartment."
***
By seven, Danny has had enough. "We've got APBs on Quinn's vehicle used by his alias. Homeland Security is on alert at all the airports and even the bus terminals just in case he lies low awhile."
"He can probably fly himself out."
Danny spins around on his heel, facing Steve, the day's energy gone. But he tries, lord, he does try to be reasonable. "We're plastering private airfields with his picture. Steve, there is nothing else we can do today."
But Steve is one stubborn son of a bitch and the idiot doesn't understand the meaning of calling it a day. Not for the first time, Danny wishes they carried tranquilizer darts or some shit in their arsenal.
"Is SWAT on stand-by?" Steve asks.
"Yes. Now, listen to me," Danny says, gesturing wildly with his hands. "If Quinn is spotted, guess what? People are going to call me, not you." It pains him to see that flicker of hurt shadow Steve's face, but Danny stands his ground. "We're going home."
Steve lets out a growl of frustration, but he nods in acquiescence, moving the laptop off his legs, but doesn't do much else except stare at the floor.
"Are you looking for your crutches?" Danny asks knowingly. "Because you left them out in the bullpen, depriving them of their function in life."
Steve won't admit to how much he is hurting, but Danny knows when to pick his battles, playing annoyed. "You know what, I'll go get them. I need more coffee anyway."
Danny walks out into the hallway, slowly putting together the pieces for a real blow to Moreno's operation. A game changer. And if Steve had been running on all cylinders, he would have seen it, too. But Danny will deal with it in the morning, run it up the flagpole, and see how it'll fly. It should bring the kind of pain he knows Moreno will actually feel. And maybe by tomorrow night, they'll be the ones to watch the asshole squirm and spin his wheels.
****
Steve doesn't remember his head hitting the pillow last night, but when he wakens, his eyes snap open and he scans the room, pausing at the nightstand for his weapon, at the lamp, his clothes on the chair, his crutches next to them.
After ensuring everything is secure, he allows his attention to fall on Danny, his focus lingering on his face, peaceful in sleep. The fine lines around his eyes are fainter now, his hair tussled in all directions, the chest Steve admires rising and falling in relaxed breaths. He tries memorizing these types of moments, stores them up and secures them away. Commits the scents of Aqua Velva aftershave and the faint hint of lemongrass soap for when he thinks of Danny.
Steve fights every day for such pleasures, even without touching, for there is so much to savor, so much to relish it physically hurts. Drawing a deep breath, he stares at the door, trying to conjure the energy to get up.
"Don't even," Danny says with a yawn. "If you give me a sec, I'll help you."
"You don't have to be at work until -"
"Actually, I have to get up now. You saved me from an annoying alarm."
Before Steve can ask where Danny has to be, he rolls out of bed looking like a sleep-deprived alley cat and helps Steve to his feet, everything else lost to a foggy haze of aching pain and gravity.
***
Steve can't prowl around like he wants, so he settles onto the sofa to read yesterday's paper and listen for the sound of the shower to end.
When Danny pads into the living room wearing a white button-down shirt and a tie, Steve doesn't even wait for him to say hello. "Where are you going?"
"Jeez, you're worse than my Aunt Maggie, and she had a schnoz for gossip."
"I need to know where else we're planning on heading out to today."
Danny stares at Steve, crossing his arms defiantly in front of his chest. "We are not going anywhere."
"I'm not fucking helpless, Danny," Steve spits out, anger swelling in his veins. "I can work this case. I've been working it the last few days."
"Yes, against sane medical advice."
Steve can't believe his ears, after all the progress they've made. Together. "Are you kidding me? I've been out of the hospital for almost a week now."
"Yes, and you spent most of it colluding with one of my CIs," Danny says peevishly.
"First off, it wasn't collusion, and second, Toast is Five-O's informant. You do not own exclusive rights to him."
"Since I worked with him first, yes, I do."
But Danny has found his bone to fight over, taking the high road complete with a calm voice, making Steve sound like the angry, out of control one. "This is ridiculous. We tracked Moreno's accounts and that led to us to Quinn."
"I'm not denying that," Danny says, still way too levelheaded.
Steve clenches his jaw. "Then I'm coming to work."
"No, you're not. You have not been cleared for duty - hell, not even desk duty."
"For fuck's sake, what is it with you? This is who I am, Danny. I can't just sit here. And no, this isn't like leading one of my SEAL teams into the field. I'm still a Naval Intelligence Officer, I can still run leads, work the phones, gather -"
"Then stand up and tell me that," Danny says, moving closer, waiting a beat in expectation. "Come on."
Steve glares at Danny, eyes burning, because his knee won't let him. He hasn't taken his pain meds yet and hobbling after Quinn without crutches yesterday had hurt. "Desk work," Steve growls. "I can sit in a chair."
"Actually, you spent most of yesterday lying on a couch." Danny's expression goes from aggravated to remorseful. "Look, babe. I just want you to take it easy a couple more days. I know you're this crazy control freak, I know that you're capable of running circles around most people even when you're not at your best. But please...just please, stay home another day or two. I hate seeing you in pain more than being irritated because you're not working the case."
Steve deflates at Danny's soul baring honestly, the desperation in his voice, the frown marring his face. Steve turns away because it's too hard to confront that kind of emotional honesty on his behalf.
"Tell me why you're dressed up then," Steve mutters.
"Everything is a power play with you, huh?" Danny sighs. "Fine. I'm going to court."
Steve looks back up at him, baffled. "What for?"
"We've got Quinn on identity fraud. We have his prints in the same van that two of your neighbors can place in the neighborhood. We have your positive ID of Quinn as your attacker, and while shaky given the state of your slightly scrambled brain, you're still one hell of a witness." Danny pauses, locking eyes with Steve. "Now add in the money that Moreno wired Quinn and you have...a drum roll, please."
"Solid evidence of Moreno's involvement," Steve says, confused. He knew this already.
"Involvement as in he paid a mercenary to assault a police officer. And that is probably enough for a court order to freeze Moreno's assets since they were used in criminal activity."
"I didn't even...I should have fucking thought of that."
"And you would have," Danny says quietly. "If you were feeling a hundred percent."
Steve feels sucker-punched. The possibility of freezing Moreno's assets should have been a no-brainer and he missed it. He swallows down the self-loathing threatening to boil over. "I guess you're right."
"Judge Senna is presiding today." Danny tries for a tired smile. "She's really police friendly."
"Yeah. That's good. You'll, um...call me if she rules in our favor?"
"I'll call when she does rule in our favor." Danny wedges a hip on a tiny spot of the sofa and rests a hand on Steve's shoulder, pulling him closer until their foreheads touch. "Just wait until the weekend is over then come with me to work. No doctor's note required."
Steve isn't sure what to say, so he nods silently.
***
Conclusion