by Lakes, Lynde
“Living in Hawaii, who hasn’t? Who owns this classy chassis, anyway?”
He really didn’t want to discuss that, but he saw no way around it. “Remember Kirk, my best man at the wedding?”
Malia frowned. “I didn’t know you two were still friends.”
“We’re not. But he’s not here, and I have the keys, so we’re not breaking any laws, Detective.”
Her frown deepened, and she tilted her head. “Exactly when did he give them to you?”
“Okay, I’ll admit it was before he screwed my wife and we were still friends. But he’d be the first to agree he owes me. Besides, we’re here now. Let’s make the best of it.”
The wind kicked up the water, and the deck beneath their feet rose and fell. Malia gripped the rail. “This is another of your off-the-wall ideas.”
“When I show you the bed, you’ll change your mind. Come on. Let’s go below before Ivan gets soaked.”
He showed her the galley and the head, and made up the bed in the main cabin. “Make yourself at home. I’ll give Ivan a snack.”
“Where are you sleeping?” she asked staring at the bed.
“Right here,” he said pointing to the portside divan. “This makes into a bed.”
She wrinkled her brow then to his surprise sank down on her bed as though her legs could no longer hold her, undoubtedly too tired to argue.
In the galley, Damon fed Ivan a section of apple and sliced the rest for him and Malia. He heated a chocolate chip muffin, divided it in half, made some tea, and then carried the snack to the main cabin on a tray.
The lights had been lowered. Malia lay sprawled on the bed, her eyes closed, hair spilling across the pillow. She was fully clothed in the red blouse with its slightly plunging neckline and those heart-stopping black tights. She would be more comfortable without both. The image that came to mind was more artistically pleasing than the world’s most awe-inspiring sculpture.
The real, living, breathing woman was no less moving. He noted the graceful bend of her elbow. He’d bet no other police detective had ever looked so elegant. Hell, neither had any prima ballerina. He studied her face again. Did he see her eyelashes flutter? He watched her for several seconds, looking for further movement. Nothing. Poor kid. Who wouldn’t konk out after what she’d been through?
He ached to kiss her forehead…her eyelids…the shadowed hollow of her neck…and… His arousal throbbed. He was getting into dangerous ground. Damon forced himself to turn away before he did something stupid. He locked the snack tray he carried in the no-slide slot and quietly prepared his daybed.
After a trip to the head to freshen up, he returned to the main cabin to find Malia softly sobbing into the pillow. He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered up her trembling body into his arms. Her hair smelled faintly of shampoo and smoke. He wished he could return things to the way they were before Kiki’s murder. He couldn’t tell Malia everything would be all right. It wouldn’t, but maybe if the police caught the killer she could begin the process of healing. He whispered, “We’ll get through this, Honey.”
Her cries subsided. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest. He kissed the back of her hair. She looked up at him, her eyes all liquid and sad.
Ignoring the danger signals going off in his brain, he lifted her chin and gently lowered his lips to hers. The salty taste of tears sent a pang to his heart. He groaned and pulled her tightly against him. Malia opened her mouth to him as though seeking a physical remedy for her pain. Sorrow and anger were the forces behind her urgency, and he tried to convince himself that after losing a fellow officer and her home, she needed the release, deserved it.
He desperately fought to hang onto his sanity long enough to consider the ramifications of making love to this enticing and attractive woman her in her present state of mind, but her moan triggered something in him. Jagged lust and immeasurable longing raged through him. His erection shot to a full salute and throbbed in readiness.
Then the words Malia had thrown in his face the last time they were caught up in a similar carnal situation hit him. “Whatever this heat is between us, she’d said, “I can’t handle it right now. And maybe I’ll never be able to. And I think I don’t want to.”
Dear God, as much as stopping would tear the guts out of him, he couldn’t take advantage of her grief. Tomorrow she’d hate him, hate herself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Malia blinked, stunned when Damon shoved her away and shot to his feet. Heat crawled up her cheeks as she struggled to rein in her unleashed passion.
Damon backed away from the bed. “If you still want this tomorrow night,” he growled, still breathing hard, “don’t expect me to stop.”
Since he was the one who’d pulled back, his angry tone was illogical. Dammit, she was the one who should be seeing red here. He was acting as if she were a man-eating alien about to close her tentacles around him. But they both wanted to make love, wanted it more than reason, but he’d been the strong one. And she hated him for that … and loved him for it.
She put her hand over her rapidly beating heart. “Explain what just happened here,” she said past the constriction in her throat.
“I’d say it’s pretty self-explanatory.” He stared at her for several heartbeats, his fists curled into tight balls. “I think we should eat, and then try to get some sleep.”
He turned away, unlocked a tray from the slot, and served her in excruciating silence. While he got a tray for himself, she stared at the sliced fruit, muffins and tea.
At the swoosh of a cushion, she raised her gaze. He had seated himself on the day bed across the room. Watching him, sitting there stiffly and uncomfortable, she sipped the tepid tea. Okay, he’s right. We just have to get past this awkward moment. She picked up a fork and tried a bite of apple, then a few berries. They might as well have been tasteless. Damon kept his eyes trained on his plate. Why had he started something he didn’t want to finish? Or was it she who’d started it?
She pushed her half-eaten food aside. “Thanks for the snacks. I’m going to hit the sheets again. I have to be up by six to get to work on time.” That gave her less than four hours sleep. She longed for a shower and clean clothes, but getting undressed would only heighten the tension between them and increase the temptation. She glanced down at herself. Her red silk top and black knee-length tights would be as uncomfortable as hell to sleep in, and by morning, they’d be even be more winkled. Not to mention that the getup was totally unsuitable for work, but she’d deal with that after she checked in tomorrow.
“I’ll set the clock.” The monotone in his voice irked her, but she held her tongue. He fiddled with the alarm mechanism and then yanked off his shirt and threw it aside.
Shadows and light flickered over his broad physique and highlighted tanned flat abs. She tried to close her eyes against the sight of the man she hungered for, but her lowered lashes only fluttered stubbornly, and she surreptitiously looked up through them.
He dropped heavily to his divan, tilted his head and shoved his hand into his hair and stared at her with eyes still smoky with passion. She had an urge to go to him and kiss his highlighted shoulders, trace her lips down the silvery ribbon of brightness that streamed from his chin to his artistically etched abs. She closed her fingers over a fistful of sheet and hung on.
Damon turned out the light and, in the shadowy moonbeams, slipped out of his tuxedo trousers. His silhouette reminded her of a sculpture of David. The man was definitely a work of art. He’d taken her breath away in that tux. He was definitely the best looking guy at the reunion. On the whole island. But he was more than just a guy with devastating looks. He was quick, smart and resourceful … and too damned honorable for a woman needing to bury her pain in lust. God, what had happened to her incorruptible morals? Maybe she was more like Kiki than she had thought.
Damon climbed into bed with agile grace. He lay quiet for a short while, and then she heard the wisp of sheets under the co
nstant tossing and turning. Would either of them get any sleep?
****
Malia’s answer came when the jangling alarm awoke her. She stumbled out of bed, eyes gritty, and wrapping a sheet around herself, she went to the head to freshen up.
She’d only been in there about ten minutes when Damon tapped on the door and called, “We’d better start back if you still insist upon going to work today.” When she opened the door, he handed her one of the lined jackets he’d borrowed from a closet. “It’s chilly out, so wear this.”
She followed him out onto the rising and falling deck and looked down at the choppy water. Damon took the bunny and secured it in his shirt and went down the ladder ahead of her. When it was her turn, she discovered that the steps were wet and slippery. Getting into the rolling dinghy was a challenge. A big crest sent her tumbling against Damon, and he held her a moment to steady her. He looked into her eyes, and then assisted her to sit down. His touch felt impersonal as though there had been no kisses, no fire between them last night.
Once she situated herself comfortably, he returned the bunny to her. She wrapped him inside her jacket. With a grim profile, Damon steered the dinghy back toward land and reality. A brisk salty breeze whipped their faces and tousled their hair. Malia huddled around her trembling bunny, trying to close out the chilly dampness. “Would you mind taking Ivan to Auntie Kopa’a for me? She won’t mind caring for him until I can make permanent plans.”
“Sure thing. But you can’t stay at her place,” he said shouting over the roar of the motor. “The killer knows where she lives. I’ll make reservations for you at a timeshare hotel in Waikiki owned by a friend of mine. Assumed names of course.”
“Names?”
“Yes, names. I’m not leaving you alone until the killer is caught.”
“I can take care of myself.”
The corner of his eye twitched, and he leveled a squinty look at her. “Perhaps it’s not only you I’m worried about. Ever consider your killer might want to take out his revenge on me?”
She stiffened at the thought. “I find it hard to believe you’re scared.”
“Cautious is the word, Detective.”
The fact that he wasn’t scared for himself made the danger even greater for both of them. But how would she get through another night with him?
“Don’t worry,” he said as though reading her thoughts, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
His words, “If you still want this tomorrow night, don’t expect me to stop” repeated in her mind. He’d saved them both from regrets, so why was she infuriated by his staunch honor and his failure to lose control when she turned up the heat? Maybe he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him.
Furious at herself for such ridiculous thoughts, she looked out over the gray water churning under an even grayer sky filled with dark clouds. Why had she suddenly been willing to betray her friend’s memory? The excuse came easy. Kiki hadn’t honored her marriage vows, so maybe making love to Damon would be okay with her. Malia closed her eyes. She was grasping at straws to convince herself that it was okay to have the man she had somehow allowed herself to fall in love with.
****
Al Lee pulled back the drapes of the hotel suite with its ocean view and studied the overcast sky. There had been intermittent showers all morning, but the weather report said the skies would clear by midmorning. No holding back the sunshine in Hawaii, he thought. He had to learn to straddle the world of sunlight and darkness if he wanted to live in Hawaii, and he did. It was his home. Still, he was more aware than ever of the double-edged sword that life repeatedly swung at him – the blazing daylight world against him, man against him, and at the spiky tip was Malia.
He changed hotels every couple of days, using Jake Justin’s credit card, always planning ahead. Malia couldn’t find him as long as he kept moving.
Someone would have discovered Rosado’s body by now. Investigating his murder ought to keep Malia out of his hair for a while.
Al began to pace in small circles as if he were still in that tiny jail cell. Things hadn’t gone as he’d planned yesterday, and time was running out. The non-local classmates would board planes in the next couple of days, and he would lose his opportunity to complete his deadly justice before they left.
His heart thumped hard. He had to get those who’d bullied the young, vulnerable Al Lee. A laugh bubbled up in him. These days no one bullies Al Lee!
He considered his options. His habit of reviewing all the possibilities had always served him well. But he had to speed up the process. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. Most of the out-of-town reunion classmates stayed at a hotel a block east of him. What if he planted about a thousand pounds of dynamite there for a great implosion? His mental image was clear, walls crumbling inward, crushing all in its path. It would be creative, artistic and something Hawaiian residents would talk about for years to come.
****
It had been almost unbearable to pass Morales’s empty desk. Malia bit her lower lip to hold back the tears, but now they were pooling again as she entered her office. Her gray walls reflected the outside gloom and her anguish. To quell her tears, she pressed her eyelids tightly together several times. She slipped off the borrowed jacket and hung it on the clothes tree. Fighting a closed in feeling, she opened the window. Rain fell from the leaves in sad tonal plops. The showers were supposed to pass by midmorning, but the cloud over her heart would remain.
Within the last forty-eight hours, she had lost a close friend and her beautiful home. But she had her bunny and her life. That was a helluva lot more than Morales had. He had died in her place, and she didn’t know how to deal with that. She couldn’t admit her uncertainty to anyone here at HPD, or the chief would yank her off the case.
The blinking red message light on her recording machine caught her attention. Ten calls and it was only 8:00 A.M. She pressed the play button. The first call was from Homicide Chief Michael Tonga. “My office the minute you get in,” he had said in a gruff two-pack a day voice.
She didn’t bother to play the rest. Might as well get this over with, she grumbled under her breath as she headed down the corridor to his office. She tried to organize her thoughts as she walked. Hang tough, and don’t let him ruffle you.
Malia lifted her chin and strode briskly into his office. Chief Tonga gestured sternly to the chair. Rather than sit down in the so-called hot seat, she folded her arms and remained standing.
The chief stared at her with owlish brown eyes. “I assume there’s a reason for that hooker getup.”
“I’ll pick up something suitable during my lunch break.” she said evenly. The hooker comment was to see if he could shake her calm. A lead detective had to be able to remain unruffled and in control even when her personal life was crashing down around her.
“I heard about the fire.” Of course he’d heard. Tonga was a news addict, and it was all over the networks. Besides, Ku would have told him. “Need a place to stay?”
“Got it handled, thanks,” she said.
She squared her shoulders and looked down on him, trying for height-intimidation. It didn’t work. His piercing look made her feel like she was standing on thin and cracking lava rock about to be plunged into the molten fire beneath its surface. He leaned back in his worn exec-chair, and the leather creaked in protest. “I hear we lost Morales last night.”
Her throat tightened; she forced her words past the constriction. “We didn’t lose him. The killer blew him to bits.” She was grateful for the steadiness in her voice.
“It was your car. The bomb was meant for you.”
She nodded and met his gaze with unblinking eyes.
“See the staff psychiatrist. Losing one of your men has to affect you. Especially under those circumstances.”
“It’s affected the whole department. But I’ll talk to Doc Stein to relieve your mind.”
She’d never admit that losing Morales was like losing the brother she never had. That and the job wer
e the reasons she’d never dated him. You don’t date your brother, and you don’t date your staff. But I almost made love to Damon. Do I even know myself anymore?
The chief went silent for several seconds. She held herself rigid, refusing to squirm under his relentless stare. Finally he said, “I heard our suspect drove you home.”
“Damon Shaw isn’t a suspect anymore.” It surprised Malia that she could still speak in such a level voice. “Our killer is probably a former classmate. I have a police sketch-artist working on the description of a fake waiter.” She was dying to move about to release some of her tension, but forced herself to remain still. “I’ll compare the drawing to the senior year book photos and try to match up facial features of male classmates.”
“Are you sleeping with Damon Shaw?”
Malia’s breath caught. “Who I sleep with isn’t department business, Chief.”
“It is when one of the victims was his wife. With all these red flags, I think Kwock should take over. We need someone who’s a hundred percent on the job.”
She met chief Tonga’s hard look with all the toughness she could muster. “I’m a thousand percent on the job. I want this killer behind bars more than anyone. And since he’s after me now, I’m the ideal one to set a trap for him. I told you before, I’m up to this.”
“Then you know one of your suspects was blungeoned to death last night in the old Martin House.”
She froze and fought to keep a look of shock from her expression. It wasn’t Damon. He’d just dropped her off. It had to be Gabriel Rosado. He was the only suspect with a reason to be at the Martin place at night. She wanted to ask questions but asking the chief wouldn’t be wise. Why hadn’t Ku called her?
“It’s being handled,” she said. And it would be – just as soon as she got back to her desk.
“Back to Shaw,” the chief said without missing a beat. “Two things bother me: your involvement with him and his involvement with the case.”