by Lakes, Lynde
The crazy laugh and talk of blood told Damon he was in the hands of a psycho who wanted to harm someone he obviously cared about.
“The feisty cop is at a disadvantage. I don’t look the same these days. I shaved off my white hair, and I’m not that skinny tube-of-toothpaste anymore. In fact, I’m one fine powerhouse. I bulked up in the last ten years with hours of weightlifting. I’m now what the gals call a hunk.”
Damon heard a waver in the voice that made him wonder if the man was trying to convince him or himself.
“Unlike you, the ladies love me. I’ve got looks, charm, and believe it or not they love the novelty of my milky skin. Your wife was sure hot for my bod.”
Cold hatred shot through Damon. Every cell in his body told him this scum was his enemy on many levels.
“Your wife sent me a special reunion announcement. Asked me to join her and her classmates to renew old ties and taste again my youth. And I came all right.” The nasty voice paused, took a breath and a long exhale, as though trying to manage some inner anger. “So you see, Kiki was responsible for all that has happened.” He paused again. “I wasn’t your wife’s only lover; she had a thing going with Gabriel Rosado and probably half the other bachelors on the island.”
The names Kiki and Rosado sounded familiar. Damon wished he could remember. Try as he might, he couldn’t get his thoughts in order. One thing was for sure, this guy was enjoying the hell out of taunting him.
“Actually, I did you a favor.” A bitter laugh echoed off the walls. “I squashed the surfer-Romeo like a jailhouse roach.”
This psycho talked like he’d done time. And if Damon could believe the egotistical son-of-a bitch, the guy was a mass of muscles. So what else did he know about him? He claimed to know the lovely cop in his visions and his wife. Damon still couldn’t get a handle on the idea of being married. In spite not remembering the marriage, he didn’t like the way the bastard talked about his wife. And he felt very protective toward the cop, Malia. Damon sent up a prayer that she wouldn’t fall into the killer’s trap. He’d rather die than put her in jeopardy. Stay away, Malia. Stay far, far away.
****
She headed east out of the parking lot, her destination Bellows Beach until she got the call on her cell phone. The altered voice was difficult to hear, and she pulled over at the Blowhole Lookout, hoping without the headwind of the moving car she could hear better. The beauty of the vast ocean and frothy fountain spewing into the sky couldn’t take the edge off her jumping nerves.
“Ready to deal yet?” the voice asked.
“Yes,” she said softly. “But only after you let me talk to Damon.”
“I’ll think it over,” the voice said. Then the line went dead.
Had she blown it again? She forced herself to breathe in and out slowly. She had to have faith that he wanted her in his clutches as much as she wanted Damon in hers.
She sat stiffly, clinging to her cell, willing it to ring, barely aware that beyond the hood of her car was a panoramic slate of gloomy gray sky and ocean. She glanced at her watch several times. Had it only been ten minutes?
She flinched when her cell phone finally jangled. She clutched it in a death grip. “I’m here!”
“Malia?”
The familiar deep voice sounded tentative. “Damon. Thank God.” She cleared her contricted throat. “Are you all right?”
“Stay away!” he shouted.
She winced at the sound of fists slamming into bone. Then the killer came on the line. “That outburst should satisfy you that Mr. Stupid is alive. For now,” he said, his voice still electronically altered. “Now let’s get down to business. Where are you now? And don’t lie to me, or the timing won’t work from your location to our meeting place.”
“I’m at the Blowhole.” She was amazed she could keep her voice even.
“Alone?”
“Yes.” She wondered how badly Damon was hurt. His voice had sounded strong at the end, yet when he’d said her name she’d heard uncertainty.
“Since the clock is ticking, I won’t ask what you’re doing there. Keep driving on Highway 72. I’ll estimate how long it’ll take for you to reach our meeting spot. When you’re almost here, I’ll tell you what to do next.”
She felt her patience fraying. Her fingers reflexively tightened on her cell phone. “Just tell me where I’m going and quit playing games.”
“Want Damon alive? Then play it my way!” Then the line disconnected.
Damn. The killer probably got a kick out of cutting her off. Malia eased back into the light traffic and continued on Highway 72. Seconds later, she flipped open her cell phone and briefed Ku.
“You can’t go there alone,” he shouted. “Wait for backup.”
“Like hell. I’m not losing this bastard again. Now get me that backup out here. You know those vacant cabins at Bellows? I think that’s where he’s holding Damon. I’ll confirm when the killer contacts me again. Get some choppers into the windward sky. Have them follow Highway 72.”
“Wait,” Ku said. There’s something you should know. We got a tip that some guy was trying to buy anthrax. He bragged that he wanted to buy enough to provide a very special finale to a class reunion.”
Malia’s throat went dry. “Did he get it?”
“I doubt he’s had time to make a connection. So far, there isn’t any proof there are any terrorists on the island. But according to my snitch, he’s even making certain factions of the underworld uneasy. The crazy S.O.B’s been pretty busy. But if he gets the goods, it could start an epidemic.” Ku paused and cleared his voice. “This isn’t just about killing off classmates anymore. This psycho could take out the population of the whole damn island.”
“And you want me to wait and give him a chance to slip through our fingers again?” She disconnected without waiting for his answer and drove on automatic while the burden of the new information sent chills through her. This killer was so intent on his revenge he was willing to join forces with terrorists. She had to stop him before he followed through with his plan. He might not be aware of the full impact of his actions, including that he could even kill himself.
Dear God, would this never end? Saving Damon was enough reason to throw herself into jeopardy, and now it wasn’t just for him, but for every person on the island, including those she loved. Failing wasn’t an option; she had to neutralize this killer. Fast.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Al glanced out the lighthouse door, then strode forcefully to the center of the entry floor and stared down at his prisoner.
“She won’t come,” Damon rasped.
“Wrong.” Al couldn’t believe the guy’s guts. Damon lay prone, hogtied and blindfolded. Although Al had clobbered him, the bastard still came on strong. “And you know what will assure it?” Al paused. He wanted Damon to get it that he was dealing with a man who knew Malia better than she knew herself. “Malia’s driving need to protect and serve at any cost combined with her womanly principles and cop ethics.”
“But she’s not stupid,” Damon said. “She wouldn’t put herself in danger for me.”
“Shut up,” Al growled, “or I’ll tape your mouth again.” He had removed the gag so Damon could speak to Malia. The SOB was supposed to follow the script and say: Please hurry. or he’ll kill me. Instead, he’d shouted stay away. Al snorted. That only guaranteed she’d come. Still, Damon would pay for breaking the rules, starting now. Al kicked him in the ribs. Damon
groaned and called him an SOB.
Al laughed, but his interest had already split to include Malia. Killing her wouldn’t be enough. She’d caused him far too much trouble to let her off that easy. The key to making her suffer was Damon. Al pulled two rolls of nickels from his pocket and taped them to his knuckles. What Damon needed was a more banged-up look. Although he looked damned pathetic all tied up with a red, swollen jaw and blood matted in his hair, that wasn’t enough. The sight of him might stab at Malia’s heart a little but to sink the knife in deep,
Al needed to do serious damage to that pretty-boy face.
Al straddled Damon and yanked off his blindfold. “I want you to see where the blows are coming from.” He hadn’t removed the cloth earlier because he hadn’t wanted Damon to give away their location before the trap was set.
Damon squinted and blinked several times then his gaze locked on Al. “Get your ugly mug out of my face, and get off me.”
“Got a mouth on you, don’t you,” Al growled. “Just like Malia.” He swung a blow at Damon’s eyes. Blood spurted from the corners.
“You ghost-faced SOB,” Damon shouted, “only good at beating up men with their hands tied behind their backs. Let me loose, Casper, and see how tough you really are.”
Al winced. Ghost and Casper were two of the barrage of names from his school days that were forever etched on his soul. Damon was goading him into doing something stupid. “Bastard!” Al shouted. Then he pounded him again and again, taking sadistic pleasure in the moans, groans and whacks against flesh. “No one abuses Al Lee anymore,” he said in a mantra. “No one abuses Al Lee anymore.”
“Hey, pasty-face, you hit like a girl,” Damon said hoarsely between gasps of breath. His swollen, red-veined eyes looked glassy, and blood trickled from his nose and the corners of his mouth.
Pumped with adrenaline and shaking with anger, Al raised a fist to strike a fatal blow to the larynx. What was he doing? He needed Damon alive a while longer. He had to get away from him and cool down.
****
Outside, Al gripped the parapet railing and stared up at the dark, overcast sky. He couldn’t stay out here long. Afternoon gloom wasn’t like night when you could count on the darkness. The sun that lurked behind the grayish black clouds was even more deceptively cruel then direct sunlight. Even now its hidden rays were attacking his delicate skin. He laughed, thinking of the irony. At the moment, blistered flesh was the least of his worries.
He glanced down at the surf crashing against the spiky lava rocks and imagined he heard voices within the thunder roaring up at him: You’re losing your focus. He had an urge to deny it at the top of his voice, but sound carried. I am in control, he murmured to himself. Malia thought she was the one in charge. Over and over she had blocked his acts of revenge. Once he got rid of her, he could easily wipe out the others.
Al already had a plan. Anthrax. He was confident that he could get some of the deadly bacteria, or its equivalent. His former cellmate told him he knew a guy, who knew a guy with connections to a terrorist cell living right here in Hawaii. Al had already contacted the guy and told him he had big cash and wanted to do business. The guy sounded leery and asked him a slew of questions, then told him someone would get back to him. Once Al got his hands on the deadly bacteria, he would have two good opportunities to pump it into ventilation systems. He’d start with the hotel where the mainland reunion bunch had been housed since the fire, and then, to wipe out those not staying at the hotel, he’d repeat the procedure later at the restaurant where the farewell brunch had been scheduled. Those who might not be staying at the hotel or attending the breakfast, he’d take out one by one. But he was getting ahead of himself. He had to deal with the here and now. By joining forces with the Devil group, their combined powers would be unstoppable and undefeatable. While he’d always been a loner, and didn’t like dealing with strangers, they came highly recommended. And he needed quick action and powerful weapons, beyond his reach, to handle this job with the speed necessary to get all his enemies before they dispersed to the far flung corners of the U.S. and possibly other countries.
His neck prickled. He had an uneasy feeling that eyes were trained on him. He circled the parapet and scanned the area around the lighthouse. He saw nothing. Could someone be looking at him through binoculars? It wasn’t the cops; they didn’t have a clue where he was. At least not yet. He turned seaward and looked out over the churning, white capped water. There were no boats in sight. He gripped the railing again. This unease wasn’t a new feeling. It had plagued him since the day he’d put the word out that he needed assistance from the local underworld market. Was one of the members checking him out before doing business? Or was he just getting paranoid again?
His mind shifted back to Malia who was even now rushing toward her fate. I’m waiting, Lady Cop … I’m waiting.
****
Once Malia passed the golf course the landscape turned rugged. On one side was a lava hillside, and beyond it in the distance, loomed the rugged peaks of the Koolau Mountain Range. To the right were foothills, and just beyond the jutting lava cliffs, was the gray churning sea below. She slowed for a curve, while trying not to think of the retribution that might be inflicted on Damon for his outburst – or the danger awaiting her. A chill slipped down her spine as her father’s voice rang in her head: If you stay a cop the odds will catch up with you, and you’ll die young. Was her dad right? Her job was dangerous, but in spite of the close calls, she’d never seriously considered the possibility of dying. An image of her parents huddled over twin graves shook her. She felt their utter emptiness. Finally, she understood just how devastating it would be for them to lose another daughter at the hands of a killer. She was risking more than her life to get this maniac. But he had Damon. That meant turning back wasn’t an option. She had to find a way to out-think this crazed ticking bomb – for Damon, her parents, and the public.
Malia glanced to the right at a dip in the hills and caught a glimpse of the grayish-silver sea beyond the rough terrain. Makapu’u lighthouse was just ahead and seaward, makai, of Kalanianaole Highway. After another curve or two, she would pass the access road, but coming from the south, she’d be unable see the tower until she got to the parking lot. Why was she thinking about the lighthouse when her main concern was finding Damon?
Then it hit her. Both she and Al had been fascinated by the lighthouse’s twelve-foot-high Fresnel lens. A cold gut feeling washed over her. Was it a feasible hideout? No one could easily drive onto the state-owned land. Two large metal gates blocked the narrow, twisting two-mile paved access road that extended from the highway to the summit. If the killer was Al, she couldn’t imagine him walking the two miles, even on an overcast day with no shade. Wait a minute. If he wore his gardener disguise that covered all but his eyes, finding shade wouldn’t be an issue. Besides, if he was holed up inside the lighthouse, probably he would have snuck in last night under the cover of darkness.
But how would he transport Damon to the site? If Damon was unconscious, Al would have had to drag him, or haul him up there. And what about the blue Altima? Surely the killer wasn’t so brazen as to hide it among the other cars at the lookout parking lot. Then Malia remembered it couldn’t be there. Since the last earthquake, the lot had been blocked off to the public. Tours to the lighthouse were scheduled to resume in approximately sixty days, providing the repairs were completed. The closure of the lot and access road gave credibility to her musings about the lighthouse as a hideout.
But surely no one in their right mind would pick a place so difficult to reach. Of course, this killer wasn’t in his right mind. All the killings proved that. And maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea. The lighthouse had nearly indestructible construction. Once the killer got inside, it would be as secure as a fortress. Easy to defend and hard to raid. Still, how would he get inside in the first place? The structure itself was protected by three locked gates. And gates blocked the entry to the access road to prevent vehicles from using a road that wasn’t built to take heavy traffic. But it was possible for walkers to pass around the gates leading up the gentle incline and bikers and cyclists could steer around them.
Her cell phone rang. It was that unfamiliar number again. The number of the killer! With damp palms she flipped the cell open.
Without preamble, the altered voice growled, “Stop at the access road to the lighthouse and start walking.”
Excitement shot through her. She was right about the lighthouse!
“When you get to the lighthouse,” the voi
ce said, “the gates and doors will be open just for you. If I spot anyone else, my first bullet will have Damon’s name on it. And don’t call for backup.” Then the line went dead.
She shivered. Then, with a quick breath, she promptly brought her emotions under control. Certain that the killer had no way of knowing her next move, Malia immediately alerted Ku. “The killer might be yanking my chain, but he claims to be at the lighthouse. Get my backup there ASAP, and keep everyone out of sight.” She paused. Every second brought Damon closer to death. “I’m going in.” She disconnected without giving Ku a chance to protest. She had her gun, the tear gas pellet tucked in her belt, and her wits. Dear God, let that be enough.
****
The damp air whistled with tension, and the angry black cloud overhead threatened to spill its guts. Wind whipped Malia’s face and tore at her clothes. Up ahead the lighthouse clung to lava cliffs, ominous and forbidding. She followed the steep, rugged path. The closer she got to the lighthouse the harder her heart pounded. Although she’d frequently hiked around the structure, she’d never been inside, and her lack of familiarity with the layout put her at a disadvantage.
She stiffened at the sound of skittering pebbles. With tension radiating into the very marrow of her bones, she drew her gun and extended it in readiness before her. Malia licked her lips, salty from the ocean air. Had the sound come from ahead or behind? Scarce cover left her exposed as she darted from boulder to boulder. Her heart thudded so hard she thought her chest would explode. But she couldn’t stop. If she hesitated, she might turn back. She glanced up at the lighthouse and imagined a rifle sticking out of a window, visualized a finger slowly squeezing a trigger. She could almost feel the impact of a bullet tearing into her chest. She hugged a lava wall until it ended. Out in the open again, she ran by instinct, her mind split between Damon and all the folks who would die if she didn’t take down this killer.
Plops of rain splattered against her face. Then the rainfall came down harder, faster. That’s all she needed, a downpour. Lightning flashed, ripping open the sky, followed by snarling thunder. Her hair, previously twisted up in a neat knot, straggled around her face and dribbled water down the neck of her blouse.