The Scam by Janet Evanovich Read Free Book Online Page A

I know I’m getting a call that Lono’s chromed Ford F-150, the Hawaiian Bentley, has also been blown sky-high. Lono loved that truck. Might be why Lono’s gang shot up Harlan’s place. If your dad was staying there it’s a miracle he got away. They pretty much demolished the house with gunfire.”
    “So why aren’t you sweating Lono and searching for my father?”
    “Both Harlan and Lono say their trucks exploded by accident. Harlan isn’t filing charges over the damage to his house, and there’s no evidence your father is doing anything but enjoying his vacation.”
    “You know that’s not true,” she said.
    “Look, Lono Alika owns the North Shore. He’s not just running a protection racket. He’s the Yakuza’s major drug distributor on Oahu and one of the biggest meth producers in Hawaii. I’m sure you’re familiar with Yakuza.”
    “They’re members of a Japanese transnational organized crime syndicate. I know of them, but I haven’t had any personal contact.”
    “I’ve been trying to make a case against Alika for years,” Steadman said, “but even the locals are terrified of him. Some of the cops, too. You don’t blow up that man’s truck unless you have a death wish. Not only will he kill you but he’ll do it in the most agonizing, horrible way.”
    Kate was pretty sure she knew who blew up Alika’s truck. It was justice, Jake-style. Jake was fiercely loyal to his friends and had taken on brutal dictators, revolutionary generals, and international terrorists in his career. He wouldn’t let some island mobster intimidate him.
    “Does the name ‘Bludd’ mean anything to you? Or ‘Bludd’s Money’?”
    He shook his head. “No. Why?”
    “It was a message my dad sent me before he disappeared. I can’t figure it out.” Kate stood. “Thanks for filling me in. I appreciate you taking the time.”

H arlan Appleton lived at the end of a dirt road in a one-story eight-hundred-square-foot home that backed up against the dense forest. His home was a typical Hawaiian camp house, built in the early 1900s for the sugar mill workers. It had a tin roof, a long porch, double-hung windows, and thin walls made only of tongue-and-groove redwood planks. The bullets had destroyed all of the windows and punched holes through the wooden walls. Harlan’s bullet-riddled Jeep was slumped in the mud like a dead animal, the tires shredded by gunfire.
    Kate drove up to find Harlan standing outside in a tank top, baggy shorts, and a single flip-flop. His other foot was encased in a hard cast that ended just above his knee. His broken arm was in a sling and his other arm was resting around a woman’s shoulders. She was in her early forties, wore nursing scrubs, and had an arm around Harlan’s waist, more to provide comfort than physical support.
    Harlan turned as Kate got out of her Jeep. It took him a second to recognize her, but when he did, he broke into a smile.
    “My God, Kate, is that you?” With his good arm, he pulled Kate into a hug. “You’ve grown so much.”
    “So have you,” Kate said, giving his gut a playful pat.
    “That’s old age, good living, and plenty of BBQ,” Harlan said. “This is my friend Cassie Walner, a nurse at the hospital. This is Kate, Jake’s kid. I haven’t seen her since I taught her how to throw grenades.”
    “How old were you then?” Cassie asked Kate.
    “Twelve,” Kate said.
    “Twelve?”
Cassie said.
    “Yeah, she was a good four years past the age when every girl should know her way around a live grenade,” Harlan said. “But I remedied that. I didn’t let Jake forget it, either.” Harlan’s smile and good cheer faded. “She’s an FBI agent now. I’m guessing you’ve come to find your dad. Am I right?”
    Kate nodded grimly and gestured to the house. “I heard about the friends you’ve made on the island.”
    “Yeah, I knew Lono Alika was the Hawaiian Godfather, but I didn’t think he was stupid enough to mess with me.”
    “Would you