by Lakes, Lynde
Published by Evernight Publishing at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2012 Lynde Lakes
ISBN: 978-1-77130-049-0
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my faithful reader, sizzling author, and friend Deborah Roden, and to the dedicated and extremely talented members of the Aloha Chapter of RWA.
And to those who worked diligently to bring this romantic intrigue to my longtime and new readers: My publisher Stacey Adderley—EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING, my editor Karyn White , my cover artist Sour Cherry Designs, & the acquisitions manager Marie Buttineau. And as always, to my husband for his loving support and encouragement.
MIDNIGHT DESTINY
Lynde Lakes
Copyright © 2012
Midnight on a dark, moonless night is the most treacherous time to speed along, hugging hairpin curves, but Rick Laro didn’t even consider decreasing his speed. His headlights illuminated a bank of fog directly ahead, so thick and opaque that for a split second it seemed as if he was plowing straight into a solid wall. His heart pounded as he clutched the steering wheel and locked his gaze on the center white line, barely visible in the murk.
Fog, although rare in Hawaii, formed when least expected along this location of the highway. Rick couldn’t see the Makapuu Lighthouse, but he knew it loomed on the high cliff just ahead. He recalled a story about the spirit of a sad, beautiful woman whose wraith-like image could be glimpsed gliding down the winding path from the lighthouse to the highway on foggy nights like this. He laughed without humor. A ghost was the least of his worries.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Even without the thick fog, he was driving too fast for the slick, curving road. On one side loomed the rugged peaks of the Koolau Mountain Range and on the other, the sheer edge of the cliff and the gray churning sea below. He hadn’t met an oncoming car for miles; apparently most people had the good sense to stay off the dangerous, snaking highway on nights like this.
Accelerating with a heavy foot, Rick had managed to out drive the sleek black sports car that he hoped was still at least a quarter of a mile behind him. Better to risk an auto accident than to face sure death at the hands of the madman.
His headlights flashed across a road sign: sharp S-curve ahead. Rick gripped the steering wheel. Then he saw her! Swathed in a transparent gown of layered veils, she drifted along inches off the ground.
Reflexes took over. Tires screeched. He swerved and struggled to control his vehicle as it careened into the oncoming traffic lane.
Out of the fog ahead, a car sped straight for him.
Rick hit the brakes. His Lexus skidded out of control, clipping the oncoming car on the rear driver’s side. His vehicle zigzagged crazily toward the guardrail. As his bumper crashed through, the barrier collapsed with a sickening sound of grinding, crunching metal. He had roughly twenty feet of land beyond the road in which to escape before the car would go over the cliff edge in a deadly drop to the sea.
He grabbed the silver metal suitcase from the seat next to him, swung open the car door, and jumped – just before his car arced and plummeted over the cliff into darkness.
****
Mele Keliikuli hung upside-down, suspended in her seatbelt. Blood rushed to her head. She fought dizziness and the crush of the straps squeezing her chest. Other than uncontrollable trembling, she seemed okay.
Which was more than could be said for the occupant of the other car. When she’d felt the impact, she’d hit the brakes, but her car was already out of control. It rolled once before finally coming to rest upside-down, dangerously near the precipice of the cliff edge, which she could clearly see in her vehicle’s headlights. In the turmoil, she’d had a flash image of the car crashing through the barrier and going straight over the cliff.
An explosion rocked the ground and momentarily lit up the darkness. Mele closed her eyes to block out the blinding light. Lord, bless the poor soul in that car.
Fog swirled around her, circling like phantom sharks. She jabbed repeatedly on the seatbelt release button. Jammed. She took a deep breath. Stay calm.
What twist of fate had drawn two cars into the same space at the same instant? Had the other driver misjudged the curve? Was he drunk, asleep at the wheel, or could he have had a heart attack?
The sky glowed orange from the explosion, then slowly faded to a film of gray. The mist thickened. In the distance a foghorn moaned. Everything was silent except for the whir of the breeze, sounding eerily like a woman softly humming.
Mele shivered. She was alone in a pocket of gray, made silvery by her headlights. Please, God, send help.
As though in answer to her prayer, the dense fog over the road thinned, and two circles of light emerged, headlight beams piercing the darkness. A sporty-looking black car squealed to a stop.
Thank You, Lord.
“Help! Over here!” In her crisp Hawaiian-Japanese accent, Mele’s words rang strong and clear.
Without giving her so much as a glance, the driver of the black sports car got out and ran to the mangled guardrail. Mele couldn’t make out his features, but his silhouette in the illumination of high-beam headlights showed him to be tall and muscular. He stepped over the mangled metal barrier onto a spoon-shaped, brush-covered extension of ground. He kicked at the bushes, and then looked over the cliff into the blackness, cursing and slamming one enormous gloved fist into the other.
Hadn’t he heard her? She cleared her throat and shouted even louder. “Please, I need help!”
He turned slowly. Dressed all in black, he looked more like the Grim Reaper than an angel sent by God. He lumbered through the mist toward Mele, dark and ominous. A chill washed over her.
I’m not dead yet, Lord. Please don’t let death claim me.
The big man wrenched open her door with a loud crack, squatted on thick haunches and looked up at her, dangling and helpless.
“You hurt?” His gravelly voice, shrouded in a thick Indo-European accent, echoed around her. She shuddered.
“No. But I’m trapped. Seatbelt’s jammed.”
From upside-down, the man’s angular face looked distorted, almost grotesque. His slicked-back black hair emphasized his broad misshapen nose.
“You alone?”
Mele’s skin crawled at the lack of humanity in his voice. “Yes. Please, get me loose.”
Eyes the color of the Dead Sea slithered over her body. His thick lips twitched. He remained motionless, measuring her like prey. “When the other car went over the side, did the driver get out?”
Mele’s teeth chattered. “No time. The car skidded into the guardrail and crashed through. Whoever it was never had a chance.”
The Baltic guy’s eyes narrowed. His tone had all the warmth of the snow peaks of Mauna Kea. “Uncomfortable hanging upside-down like that?”
“Yes, yes.” He was finally going to help. Thank You, God.
As he withdrew a long wicked-looking knife from his belt, her throat constricted. The sleeve of his shirt hiked up, revealing a Mickey Mouse watch. She exhaled, laughing at herself for being afraid of him; how could she fear a man who wore a Disney character on his wrist? He lifted the knife, and its sharp edge caugh
t a glint of light.
From the direction of the twisted and collapsed guardrail, another man dressed all in black soared through the air, tackling Baltic Guy and knocking the knife from his hands. The weapon flipped into Mele’s car and lay gleaming on the ceiling beneath her.
Grimacing and uttering feral grunts and snarls, the men fought with straight-handed chops and flying kicks, displaying equal karate skill. Blood trickled from their mouths. With such powerful blows, Mele feared only one man would be alive at the end of the fight.
Where had this other man come from? Since no other cars had stopped and no homes were nearby, the tackler had to be the driver of the car that had gone over the cliff. Far from being dead, he looked as dangerous as Baltic Guy. He was tall and lean, with hair as inky as midnight, and shoulders wide enough to be a linebacker.
Her heart pounded. She didn’t want to be at the mercy of either of them. Somehow she had to escape the seatbelt on her own. She arched her body and stretched for the knife. The car teetered and lurched. She froze, suddenly aware that the passenger side dangled precariously over a narrow place on the side of the cliff.
Don’t give in to fear. Breathe.
She eased herself into a more balanced position, equalizing her weight. Moving slowly, pushing upward with her legs, she arched her back and stretched downward with her arms. The knife lay mere inches from her straining fingertips.
Outside the car, the tackler – Midnight, as she thought of him – gained the upper hand. His hard, rapid-fire blows bore down without mercy. Baltic Guy’s body thudded to the ground, his head hitting the asphalt with a loud whack. Midnight whipped a gun from inside his black flight jacket then pointed it at the downed man’s chest.
“No! Don’t kill him!” Mele shouted.
Her excited thrust against the seatbelt made the car groan and teeter dangerously. Midnight froze, his eyes wide. He shoved the gun back into its shoulder holster and ran to her. Grabbing the knife, he deftly sliced the seatbelt and yanked her from the car. As they cleared the vehicle, the metal groaned, and Mele’s new Maxima slid off the edge of the cliff.
Midnight held her cradled in his strong arms. Shivering, she stared at the emptiness that once held her car. Fighting tremors, she rested her head against his solid chest and heard his heart thudding as hard as her own. She sighed and closed her eyes. It was all gone – car, purse, ID, credit cards, cell phone – everything.
“You’re alive,” he said as though he’d read her thoughts.
Mele nodded, and their gazes locked. An unfamiliar sensation shot through her and stirred a wildness in her belly, a tension, a deep uneasiness mixed with the hum of excitement. The thrill charging through her made no sense. The man’s eyes narrowed and intensified as though he’d felt the same current.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
She swayed, and he supported her with an arm around the waist. “Are you hurt?”
The huskiness in his voice deepened emotions already too strong for comfort. She fought the illogical notion that they were allies because they’d both survived this near-fatal collision. Mele refused to call it an accident. His speed on the S-curve in the fog had been reckless. “I’m fine.”
She shrugged off Midnight’s hold and rushed to the downed man. His face, a road map of blood and gashes, had clearly taken the most blows; but what worried her was the loud whack when his head hit the asphalt. Kneeling at his side, Mele ignored the loose pebbles cutting into her knees, the dirt soiling her silky dress. She pressed two fingers to his throat. Relief shot through her. “He’s alive, thank God.”
Midnight quickly grabbed her arm and with an edge to his voice that wasn’t there seconds earlier, he growled, “Get away from him! He’s still dangerous.”
She rolled her eyes and shrugged off his grip. “This man isn’t getting up any time soon.”
“Don’t underestimate your enemy.”
“He’s not my enemy.”
“Dom is everyone’s enemy.” Midnight’s tone sent chills up her arm.
“I’m not afraid.” She hated the tremor in her voice.
“Well, you should be.” Midnight grabbed her arm again and pulled her with him to the side of the road where he picked up a silver suitcase hidden in the brush. He looked around. “Did you see what happened to the woman?”
Still feeling a bit disoriented, Mele shook her head. “What woman?”
“In the road. I swerved to miss her, and that’s when my car clipped yours.”
“I didn’t see—”
She stopped abruptly. The accident had happened in the shadow of Makapuu Lighthouse! She glanced at her watch; it was just past midnight! No. No, it couldn’t be.
Frowning, her rescuer scanned the area one more time. His fingers dug into her upper arm as he led her to the black sports car belonging to the unconscious man. Keys dangled from the ignition. She had an urge to run, but Midnight’s unyielding hold made escape impossible.
“Get in,” he ordered.
Mele glanced at the man lying in the road. “What about him?”
“Dom meant to kill you, miss.”
“Kill me! Why?”
“You were there. A witness. For him, that’s reason enough.”
Mele rubbed the goose bumps on her arms. “You don’t know that.”
“Trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you!”
Either man could be the bad guy. Maybe even both. Midnight looked like the cliché bad boy: tall, dark and dangerous – the kind of sexy guy who’d be found on the cover of a rugged-male pin-up calendar. His heavy black biker boots and black leather jacket were scuffed and dirty from the brawl, but that only added to his appeal. A wide black leather belt with an ornate silver buckle hugged his trim waist. His black jeans fit like latex. His shirt, ripped open during the fight gave a glimpse of sleek, taut and powerful muscles.
“See that Mickey Mouse watch Dom’s wearing?” Midnight didn’t wait for an answer. “The cops found the five-year-old boy he stole it from lying bloody and dead in a Kailua park barbecue pit.”
Her heart froze. Horror burrowed deep into the marrow of her bones. Tears rushed to her eyes.
“Now get in. Please.”
Stunned, she almost did as he asked. But what if he was lying and only preying on her instinct to mourn a child whose life had been taken so horribly, so senselessly?
“Why should I believe you?” Her words came out as a croak. The accident and this unbearable story about a child were too much.
He reached a hand inside his open jacket. She flinched. Perhaps sensing her wariness, he slowed his motion as he pulled out a badge. “Name’s Rick Laro. FBI.”
She studied him, noting his intense eyes and the wild tangle of curly dark hair on his forehead. The badge might be real, but Rick – if that was his name – with his disheveled, dark good looks and banged up face reminded her more of a rebel who thrived on trouble. She lifted her chin and glared at him. “FBI or not, I’m not getting in that man’s car.”
Mele jumped when Rick slammed the top of the hood with his hand. “It’s a rental, for crying out loud. We’ll return it.” His tone softened. “Now please get in.”
Mele held her chin high, and refused to budge. “We can’t just leave him here.” Typical of the island’s local people when excited, her voice rose like a question. She hated that, and to fight the misconception, she narrowed her eyes, hoping to spark enough fire in them to leave no doubt that it was an order. “He may have a concussion. Or internal injuries.”
“I should have shot him.”
Mele glared at him. “You certainly don’t sound like an FBI agent. At least get him off the road. In this fog another car could come along and run over him. Better yet, put him in the backseat.”
Rick closed his hands as though fighting an urge to shake her. “Not a chance. If he comes to, he’ll kill us.”
“If you’re FBI, why not just handcuff him and take him to jail?”
****
>
Rick sighed. Her musical accent enticed him in spite of her bossy tone. “Lost my cuffs when I jumped from the car. And at the moment, jail is not an option. But I’m not at liberty to explain why.”
The lovely creature crossed her arms. Her long red Mandarin-style dress clung to her slender curves like a cranberry sushi wrap. “I won’t leave him like this.”
Rick stared at her. She merely stared back. Her eyes had a hint of the Japanese slant, merged with an exotic Hawaiian almond shape. Throw in glossy dark mahogany brown hair and the blend resulted in one sensational-looking woman. A smudge of dirt on her cheek disturbed him beyond reason. His urge to wipe it away, although irrational, thawed something within him like a smelting furnace liquefies iron ore.
He swore under his breath as his resolve disintegrated. Roughly, he dragged Dom to the edge of the road and left him behind a boulder. “He’ll be safe enough back there. Now get into the damn car!”
She hesitated. He saw that she was too brave for her own good. Still, the alert sparkle in her eyes confirmed high intelligence.
He threw his hands in the air. “It’s your choice. Get in, or enjoy a nice long walk on a narrow, foggy highway.”
Still she didn’t move. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine!” Rick almost exploded, frustration knotting his stomach. “And that’s what scares me. As long as he’s alive, that man is dangerous.”
It fascinated and worried Rick the way the woman’s earth-brown eyes darkened to onyx. Until she climbed into the car and clicked her seatbelt closed with an exaggerated snap, Rick hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He would never have left her, but her cooperation made his life easier.
She huddled in the bucket seat, close to the passenger door, her arms wrapped tightly around her body as if holding herself together. He slid behind the steering wheel and eased the silver suitcase onto her lap.
“Hold this for me,” he said. “I need it up front to keep my eyes on it.”
“What’s in here?” She stroked the smooth top with long graceful fingers. “A cell phone, I hope.” She pressed the locked clasp and frowned.