find. She had seen a few of Dan’s group photos over the years. Cal always stood near Dan with a stupid grin on his face. That was years ago, in uniform. The cockiness and command still remained, but the clothes differed.
“You were in the Air Force with Dan. Worked together as pararescuemen, right?”
“PJs, yeah,” he said with a hint of pride.
She had heard the horror stories. Not from Dan, but on the news and in her various internet searches for information on her brother’s elusive career.
Search and rescue. Extractions out of hostile territory. Water rescues. She knew the danger Dan and Cal thrived on and what it did to them. Dan had retired but his adrenaline-seeking ways never abated.
Oh yeah. She knew all about one Caleb Wilson.
Dan shared the stories. Cal had years of survivalist training. Controlled his environment with deadly precision and left behind a string of heartbroken sweeties as he moved from one military town to the next across the country.
The guy’s reputation with the ladies bordered on infamous. Dan bragged about his carefree, no-ties, always-looking-for-a-bigger-thrill buddy all the time. Then one day, Dan stopped talking about Cal completely.
“Why are you really here?” she asked.
Cal’s legs carried him back and forth in front of the door. “Tell me about the crash.”
“Dan was on a routine run, scouting out potential places to take tourists for helicopter rides along Waimea Canyon. He crashed.”
Cal wore the same sort of skeptical grimace she imagined she possessed when she first got the news.
“Any reports of trouble with the engine, plane, instruments, or anything like that?” he asked.
“No.”
“Bad weather? Wind shear?”
“No.”
He studied her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The part that filled her with a killing rage. “The police think Dan got sloppy, wasn’t paying attention. That’s the official line.”
“And you think there’s another line.”
She sat down on the seat Cal abandoned for his football-tackling imitation. “Foul play.”
Cal stared at her for a second before resuming his agitated pacing. He rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“Dan was the type to take care of his plane,” she said, repeating the argument she had used over and over with the crash site investigators.
“He liked to goof off. Made some mistakes in the past. Big ones.”
“Excuse me?”
“But not like this.”
Cal’s muttering set a red light flashing inside her brain. “What mistakes?”
He waved off the question. “Not important. Continue with your story.”
She decided to get it all out, analyze his reaction, then go from there. “Dan flew in and around Kauai ever since he left the service. This is his life. He knows the area. Knows the people. Depends on tourist traffic for his livelihood. He would not have done something stupid.”
Cal stopped shifting around. “You’re not buying the accident theory.”
“Absolutely not.”
The haze of sadness cleared from Cal’s deep, hazel eyes. “Got any proof or just going by blood ties?”
“I know Dan better than anyone.” That was far from true, but she wanted to believe it so she said it. “The police version is wrong. The deputy chief handled the case. A guy named Ted Greene. He concluded this was Dan’s fault and called in the National Transportation Safety Board investigators to make a final determination.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Their report could take years. In the meantime, Dan is seen as a screw-up and the people who killed him go free.” The sting of that reality refused to fade from her memory.
“And you’re conducting a private investigation.” Cal wiped a hand over his face.
“Dan did not cause the wreck.”
“Uh-huh.” If Cal was listening, he managed to do it while scanning the floor.
She hated when people ignored her. With everything she’d been through, she did not need another boneheaded male doubting her brother’s skills or dedication. Nothing made her change faster from feeling useless to feeling furious.
“I guess you agree with Greene.”
Cal’s head shot up. “What?”
“You better understand that I won’t tolerate one more person speaking ill of my brother.”
“I said ‘uh-huh.’” Cal stood in the middle of the floor with papers he picked up from the floor wadded in each fist.
“So?”
“That means I agree with you. There’s nothing negative about an ‘uh-huh’ response.”
“It sounded more like a grunt than an actual word.” The way he stared at her, as if she were insane, put her on the defensive. “Guess I need a male-to-English dictionary to follow along on your side of the conversation.”
“You’re a tough woman to please.”
“I am—”
“Then we agree.”
“I didn’t finish my sentence.”
“I mean that we both agree there is something in this story about Dan worth looking into.”
Committing to the idea that they held a united front on anything seemed premature since she still did not understand half of what the guy said. “Why are you here?”
“Dan wrote me.”
Her heart jumped at his straightforward answer. “When? About what?”
“About a month ago.”
“Why after all this time?”
“He said he has a problem with—”
“What kind?”
The corner of Cal’s mouth kicked up. “If you let me finish a sentence, this will go faster.”
Cassie doubted that. Nothing about Cal had been easy so far, including that skid across the floor. Her shoulder still thumped from the acrobatic move.
“Sorry to interrupt your long-winded version of the story, Your Royal Highness. But, as you might imagine, I’m interested in figuring out what happened to my brother as soon as possible.”
She could tell the news of Dan’s death had not been easy on Cal. His skin tone still looked more off white than fleshy. A tug of sympathy pulled in the area near her heart for him but she knew she could not afford to let her guard down.
She had been chased, shot at, and lost her brother under mysterious circumstances. Trust was not something she had in great supply.
Cal shrugged off her concerns. “Dan’s message didn’t make a whole lot of sense. He referenced a problem, an operation that smelled funny. He asked for my help. It took awhile for the message to get to me—”
“Why?”
Cal’s eyebrows lifted. “As soon as I got it, I came.”
“You expect me to believe that you just jumped on a plane and flew here.”
He smoothed crumpled pieces of paper and piled them in a stack. “It’s a hell of a long walk to Hawaii from Florida. Those last two thousand miles underwater would be a bitch.”