"Freeze, HPD! Drop your weapon!"
Swearing, Matthew set his sword down, unwilling to damage the ancient broadsword. He hadn't been expecting to be challenged less than six blocks away from the FBI's offices in Honolulu, but the attack had come so swiftly he'd had no choice but to defend himself. It had been all he could do to convince his opponent to head to the former CompUSA building, in hopes of having a private fight. Now the headless corpse lay at his feet; the Quickening energy still surged through his blood.
He could run, but he hadn't been to Honolulu in thirty years; he knew his mental map of the city was rusty at best. He had no bolt-hole, and having turned in his badge less than an hour before, no FBI credentials to shield him. He'd planned to take a few years' vacation from law enforcement and take some time to study the technology that threatened to expose him and every other one of his kind. Hawaii seemed like a perfect place to start. Now that plan lay in ruins.
He studied the cop who'd cornered him. Shorter than Matthew by five or six inches, he was a muscular, compactly built man with blondish brown hair and the stance of a veteran officer, gun held steady, ready to fire. The tie, dress shirt, khaki pants, and patent leather shoes seemed to indicate that he'd perhaps just come from a court appearance.
Matthew could overpower him, force him to shoot. Exiting custody via the morgue was a time-honored way of getting out of this sort of mess, though Matthew was pretty sure morgues had started locking their drawers. Having not expected to need them, he'd locked his lock picks up with his suitcase. Before Matthew could move, however, another man came up behind him, growled, "Hands behind your back," and efficiently secured him.
Turning his head, Matthew saw the man who held him prisoner. Just slightly taller than Matthew, he radiated equal parts annoyance and anger, and in his hazel eyes, Matthew recognized a killer. Matthew's eyes widened further when he realized the cop's partner was dressed in a Navy officer's dress uniform. He'd been captured by a Lieutenant Commander McGarrett, and decided silence was the better part of valor...for the moment.
Handcuffed, and quickly escorted into a waiting HPD cruiser, he was stuck playing a waiting game. He'd spent too many years in the FBI and had gotten a bit lax about having a backup identity, secure in the knowledge that he had the perfect alibi. This was not his day, and knowing he was more than old enough to know better only made it worse.
"So what have we got on the guy we arrested this morning?" Steve asked a few hours later. Between traffic and processing their suspect through HPD, it had taken him and Danny longer than Steve had anticipated.
"Matthew McCormick. Ex-FBI, specialized in serial killers," Kono said, pulling up the profile. "Looks like he arranged it so that he could turn in his last investigation with the field office here. He's listed as retired as of 12 pm today." The youngest member of the H50 team looked at her coworkers. "He hasn't said anything to anyone since you and Danny arrested him this morning, not even to ask for an attorney."
Danny frowned at that. "Ex-agent would know all the tricks; if he says nothing we have to wait on evidence to tie him to the crime scene. I didn't see him kill anyone, but that bloody sword was a dead giveaway. What about the vic?"
"Head's vaporized, but the prints match up to Quezada, who was on our be-on-the-lookout list," Chin Ho said. "Gun runner, dabbled in illegal meat as well."
"So McCormick did us a favor," Steve summarized. "What's the tie between him and Quezada?"
"That we don't know," Chin Ho said. "When did you arrest him?"
"About 12:30," Danny replied. He jerked his thumb at Steve. "He insisted we needed sushi after all that testimony."
Now more casually dressed, Steve crossed his arms defiantly. "As if you didn't eat all my California rolls," he shot back.
"Grace taught me to eat those," Danny retorted. "And you would've shot that woman if I hadn't been there."
"She was trespassing on my beach, and she hit my truck."
"So what did the judge say?" Chin Ho asked, derailing what had become a familiar debate.
"Fined her $500 and let her go, since she's not a local," Steve said. "She was drunk at the time of the incident and sincerely apologetic in court this morning. If she'd been local, the judge would've been harsher."
Chin Ho and Kono nodded knowingly. Tourists sometimes got breaks the locals didn't. "So what do you want to do with McCormick?"
"Talk to him," Steve decided. "He's not talking for a reason."
For pat_t, who wanted a HL/H50 crossover. Blame for waking up my HL muses goes to Killa and Rhi, who talked about a certain immortal while I had H50 on the brain. With thanks to my lovely husband, who let me bounce ideas off him while we rode around two counties one fine October Sunday.
Partial beta help from ymfaery, adabsolutely, and Rhi. Any remaining errors are my own.