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Keahi shakes her head.
“Because of who you are, then?” I press. “You think they’ll ignore her plight because she’s the sister of a convicted killer?”
“No. This isn’t about me. It’s because of who he is.”
“Who?” I’m truly bewildered.
“Mac. He has her. All these years later, she’s with him. Except no law enforcement agency is going to challenge him. Not a man like Sanders MacManus.”
I stare at her. Blink. Stare again. “Mac is Sanders MacManus? The tech mogul? The guy who has a net worth greater than most developed countries?”
“And who’s buying up most of Hawaii,” Twanow fills in. “One island at a time.”
I’m honestly not sure what to do with this. I’ve spent the past twelve years of my life living in mostly marginalized communities searching for people who don’t even rate mention in their local papers. I have no illusions that life is very different for the haves versus the have-nots. Meaning trying to take on a man of MacManus’s wealth and privilege… I struggle to think of options.
“Your sister is how old now? Seventeen, eighteen?”
“Seventeen and nine months. Still a minor,” Twanow provides. It’s a salient fact.
“Investigating Sanders MacManus would certainly require some finesse,” I venture, “but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be done. Especially if he’s holding an underage girl.”
“He’ll cover his tracks, buy them off, whatever it takes.” Keahi’s already dismissive. “A man with that much money and power? The police will never gain access to even look for her.”
“But I can?” I shake my head furiously. “This is way out of my league—”
“We can get you to Hawaii,” Twanow interrupts.
“First class if you want,” Keahi adds. “I have plenty of money.”
“You have money?” I feel like I’m caught in some surreal play.
“Death row men don’t get to have all the fun. We ladies have our fans as well.” That smirk again. I’m really starting to hate it.
“We can get you to Hawaii,” Twanow repeats. “MacManus bought a small atoll an hour’s flight from Honolulu. He’s developing it to be an ecolodge and needs workers. You’re an experienced bartender, yes?”
“Sure, but—”
“I have a contact in the company that’s handling staff recruitment. The crew is bare bones right now, an advance team studying the site for development, but they still need people to manage the kitchen, handle housekeeping, etc. That’ll be your in. The rest is easy—MacManus visits the atoll regularly to appraise the situation. You can meet him in person, determine if Lea is with him, then make contact.”
“So now I’m an undercover operator? Hell no. I don’t have the experience. Hire a private investigator.”
“Never work,” Keahi states immediately. “Do you know how many people have tried to get to him over the years? He’ll spot a professional a mile away. You’re not a professional.”
“Exactly!”
“Better, you don’t need to be undercover,” Twanow pushes. “Just be yourself, a wandering nomad who picks up work along the way. You have hardly any internet footprint, records in your name, anything. Even if he grows suspicious and has someone look you up, it’ll take weeks for them to make headway. Certainly it took me that long.”
“I work missing persons cold cases,” I begin.
“That’s exactly what this is,” Keahi assures me.
“No! If what you’re saying is true, your sister is a kidnapping victim. You need someone experienced in extraction, not to mention self-defense, gunslinging, and other random acts of saving the day.” I hold up arms that are stick thin compared to the rippling muscles on the woman before me. “Do I look like someone who can win a fight if the going gets tough? I talk my way through investigations. Absolutely, positively no physical confrontations. I’m not that kind of gal.”
“Then you’ll have to choose your words carefully.” Keahi’s stare remains fixed. “It has to be you. There’s no one else who can do it. And someone must save her. You can’t sentence her to spend the rest of her life with that abusive, entitled fuck!”
“Just see if she’s there,” Twanow offers placatingly. “Make contact, then let me know. I’ll assist with the rest.”
“Call in the cavalry? A platoon of Navy SEALs?”
