Free Stolen in Paradise (A Lei Crime Companion Novel) by Toby Neal

abruptly in Natalie’s apartment.
    Marcella waited. Five minutes more, and she’d leave, Natalie no doubt tucked up for the night.
    She put her hand on the key to turn on the car and spotted Natalie. The girl was all in black, coming out the glass front door of the apartment building. Natalie walked rapidly along the sidewalk to the corner, head down, then stopped. Raised her head, looked around. Marcella scooted down in her seat.
    Natalie’s hair was spiked in tufts, and a metal-studded collar gleamed around her slender throat. Her hands were buried in the pockets of narrow black jeans, and the pale skin of her arms gleamed under the streetlight like poured cream.
    A car rolled up—navy blue Toyota RAV4. Light-colored hair gleamed in the driver’s seat, height consistent with a man. Natalie hopped into the vehicle, and the little SUV pulled away on the opposite side of the road. Marcella spotted the plate as they passed, memorized the number, and did a U-turn out of her spot to follow the Toyota. She speed-dialed HQ as she cranked the U-turn.
    “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Honolulu Branch. How may I help you?”
    “This is Agent Scott, Angie.” Marcella rattled off her ID number. Angie was the graveyard-shift dispatcher, a veteran operator recruited from HPD emergency 911 when she got “too stressed out” by years on the job. The Bureau maintained its own twenty-four-hour dispatch. Though technically closed during nonbusiness hours, the dispatch kept the communication loop humming within the agency.
    “I need you to run a plate on a Toyota RAV4.” Marcella rattled off the number, keeping the Toyota in sight and half a block away.
    “Just a minute, Agent Scott.”
    Marcella took a turn a little too quickly, nervous as the Toyota headed into heavier traffic. They were headed farther downtown. Dinner out?
    “That Toyota is registered to a Dr. Ron and Julie Truman. Need the address?”
    “No. I have it.” Marcella punched off.
    She wasn’t terribly surprised, given how cagey they’d both been about their alibis—Dr. Handsome Truman was meeting Natalie Pettigrew. A more unlikely pairing she had yet to see. She kept her eyes on the Toyota until it turned in to an underground garage. She circled the block and then entered, rolling up and down the rows until she spotted Natalie and Truman walking toward the stairs.
    She pulled the Honda into the nearest stall, grabbed her purse, and hurried after them. She was glad she’d worn pants and low-heeled sandals this time, because she was able to hurry up the metal stairs and poke her head out the exit in time to see them walk down the block.
    Ron Truman looked great, not that that had ever been a problem. His blond hair shone gold under the streetlights and he was all in black—and suddenly the pairing didn’t look that odd. They turned into the entrance of a building. Marcella hurried to catch up, pulling up short in front of a pair of double doors.
    Techno music thumped from inside. A blue neon scripted sign above the black doors spelled out BATCAVE .
    Marcella pushed it open. A chain-covered bouncer eyed her. “Welcome to the Cave.”
    “What kind of club is this?”
    “First time? Well, the bar’s over there.” He gestured into a darkness lit by glowing orbs set in the walls. The music, all synthetic and percussion, thrummed through a packed dance floor. “We’re a Goth club. You know, vampires, bondage. Dark shit like that. I can show you around.” His incisors had been sharpened, and he showed them in a feral grin.
    “No thanks. I’ll check it out myself.” Marcella pushed past him. At least her dark clothes would help her blend. She elbowed her way through ghouls of various sorts to the bar.
    She had no idea the Goth scene was so alive in Honolulu, a city better known for surf, sun, and bikinis. Natalie was one of a handful of Goths she’d come across in a year of working the city, and here she was in a club jam-packed with the freaks. She