He gave her a wry look. “If we drown ourselves we won’t be much good in helping to find Keola’s killer.”
She had to smile at that. He did believe her. Point taken. She knew enough about boats to know you had to be careful or you could end up in Davy Jones’ Locker. “Okay. When is a good time?”
“The tide won’t be low again until it’s dark. Early in the morning is our best bet. Before six.”
“Long time to wait,” she sighed.
He turned to her and brushed back her hair. “You must be exhausted after what you’ve been through.”
His sudden touch made her flinch. He put his hand down.
She thought about seeing her father again after all these years. Learning he had a family she wasn’t a part of. Discovering Keola was her own brother. As was Mikaele and the unknown young woman who was his sister. It felt like her whole world was tumbling down around her.
She rubbed her face. “Yeah, I am exhausted. But I need to work off these bad feelings.”
“There’s a fitness center at the hotel.” There was tenderness and understanding in his voice.
“Fitness center.” Not the same as going to that sea cave, but it might do the trick. “Do they have gloves and punching bags?”
Parker gave her an apologetic frown. “I think they lean more toward Pilates and Zumba classes. Elliptical bikes?”
She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”
“We could spar in the room.”
Go back to the hotel with him? To the room she’d walked out of? But right now, that seemed like years ago. Right now, she had a boiling vat of emotion churning inside her. She had to do something or she’d go stark raving mad.
She’d risk it. “You’re on.”
Chapter Twenty
By the time she stepped into the tastefully decorated island honeymoon suite with Parker carrying her suitcase behind her, Miranda’s temples were throbbing so hard, she thought her head might erupt and start spewing lava down her face.
It wasn’t just tension or the pounding concussion flaring up. It was anger. A dark, purple rage of fury that was like a rabid leopard clawing her insides, desperate to get out.
Parker set her case in the corner. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re not fully recovered from—”
She glared at him with a growl. “You chicken, Parker?”
His face went dark. “Not at all.” He moved to the coffee table, pushed it toward the glass doors, then headed for the chocolate-and-rattan sofa. “We should try to find something for gloves.”
She couldn’t wait that long. She had to do something. Taking two long strides, she spun and threw up her leg in a roundhouse kick.
Parker barely had time to snatch a cushion off the couch to pad his chest before her foot landed square against a dark brown palm tree on the fabric with a whoof.
Staggering a bit, he couldn’t help but grin. “You’ve improved since the last time we did this.”
“Yeah, well my fudoshin’s pretty off today.”
That day they had first sparred in the Agency gym, he’d accused her of letting her emotions take over when she fought. Since then, she’d learned to control her feelings, channel them when she needed them. But not today. Today they were as wild as a tsunami. Going with the tide, she came at him again, landed a sharp right jab that bent the palm tree’s fabric fronds into themselves.
Impressed, Parker absorbed the shock and shuffled to the left. “Excellent move.”
His praise used to mean everything to her, but just now it didn’t do a thing to soothe the pain.
Prancing past the sofa to pursue him, she jabbed at the cushion again. “How could he do that? How could he abandon us and start another family?”
Parker held the pillow steady, pivoting away from her. They danced past the chairs, the kitchen area, the hallway, and ended up at the couch again.
Right, left, right. She slugged as hard as she could, but it wasn’t enough. “He went halfway around the globe to get away from me and my mother,” she shouted, still walloping the poor, defenseless cushion.
The tears started now. Angry tears. Outraged tears. She tried to hold them back, but the pain and humiliation washed over her. Like what she used to feel at Leon’s hands.
Suddenly she stopped swinging as a revelation hit her.
Leon had made her feel worthless. Every blow he’d given her had made her feel more and more worthless. For years she’d just let him. She’d done nothing about it. Nothing at all because…she’d been just as worthless to her father.
Well, she thought, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. Wouldn’t Dr. Wingate be proud of her for coming up with that? But when she remembered her father reaching out, trying to hug her today, she wanted to tear something apart again. “And now he wants to pretend he’s happy to see me? How dare he?”
Parker stood holding the cushion, quietly watching her meltdown. “People can have a change of heart.”
“Change of heart, my ass,” she growled. “Why did he leave me with her? I was no more to my mother than a servant. I hate him, Parker. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I truly hate him.” She let go and pummeled the cushion again with both fists.
“I know, I know.” Parker gritted his teeth. Her punches were like bullets shooting straight to his chest. It was because of him she was in such pain. Because he’d thought he knew what was best for her. He wished he could turn back the clock. Yet he doubted he’d have taken a different course. Perhaps it was Fate.
Exhausted, she finally stopped.
Miranda put her burning knuckles to her face. She thought of the fury and bitterness that drove her after she left Leon. The long hours of martial arts training. The low-level construction jobs she’d taken to make herself strong. To show up men. The bar fights she used to get into.
What had she been trying to prove? That she was good enough? That her father should have loved her? But he hadn’t. Not enough to stay. She stood there, grinding her teeth, fighting back another round of tears. She hated to cry and seeing her father again had turned her into a blubbering waterfall.
“Finished?” Parker asked, his low voice almost an echo in her head.
She looked up and gazed into those steady gray eyes. That rich mane of salt-and-pepper hair, that incredible physique. She thought of that day in the company gym when she’d gotten her first good lead. The day she’d first sparred with him in the ring. The day she got her first kiss from him. She remembered the fire of it. The thrill of it. The desire it inflamed.
She studied his mouth. Warm and luscious and inviting.
And then she couldn’t help herself. She tore the cushion out of his hands, grabbed his face and pulled him to her.
Her lips slammed against his in a wild, ravenous frenzy. He stumbled back, fell toward the couch and caught himself, with her on top of him, their lips still locked.
He pulled away for a breath. “Lord, how I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too.”
She was about to attack him again, but he beat her to it. He came at her, taking the lead, his mouth eager and hot, devouring her with the hunger of a starving man. He reached around her. They slipped, tumbled off the couch and onto the teal Berber carpet.
They rolled.
Over and over until they hit a chair against the opposite wall. He pivoted them back and they ended up somewhere in the middle of the room.
His hands were all over her now, touching, stroking, probing. Arms, sides, breasts. Oh, yes, breasts.
“Don’t stop,” she grasped, breaking from his mouth for another instant.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He took a quick breath and plunged back in.
Their tongues entangled, he tugged at her top, got it over her breasts. She jerked his polo shirt off him, got stuck at his arms.
He broke away to raise his torso, pull his shirt over his head, and hurl it into the hall. She echoed his movements. Raising herself on one elbow, she yanked one arm out of
her blouse, then the other. She tossed the pale blue garment into the air.
Her gaze fixated on the designer logo on the fly of his jeans. She went for it like a shark goes for a lure. Her fingers fumbled at the waistband while he struggled to find the zipper of her khaki dress slacks.
“Why don’t they put them in the front?” he grumbled.
“You’re the one who picked this outfit.”
It seemed like an hour, but at last, both pairs of pants went flying. They hit the sofa, making a nice throw to decorate its arm.
And now for the underwear.
That didn’t take as long. In two seconds, her bra was off and soaring toward the kitchen, another second and his briefs hit the glass door to the patio and slid behind the coffee table.
For a long moment, he eyed her panties greedily. Then in one swift move, he shoved them down past her knees and sank his head between her legs.
She yelped in surprise, then delight, as his tongue went to work on the soft folds of her flesh, driving her well past sanity.
Pleasure, unbearable pleasure, rippled through her. She tried to hold back, but he was too skilled, too urgent. The orgasm shuddered through her, making her whole body quake with bliss.
It had barely subsided when, he rose looking hungrier than ever. He hovered over her for a long moment, then plunged inside her.
Parker watched her blue eyes flash with surprise and desire and sensation. He loved her. Lord, how he loved her. He didn’t dare say it now, for fear it would break the spell of this magic that had come over her. He closed his eyes and groaned aloud as he buried himself in that soft, sweet cocoon of flesh, willing this feeling to last forever.
He had wealth and power and a thousand PI tricks up his sleeve, but he was powerless when it came to Miranda Steele. He could never control her. Never rein her in. Not that he really wanted to. But he’d find a way to make her stay with him, even if he had to make love to her forever.
Not a bad idea.
Her breath coming in ragged pants, Miranda surrendered her body to Parker’s powerful, greedy thrusts. His thighs pumped against her, peaking her passion, making her brain giddy, coaxing lusty groans out of her that mingled with his. Sweaty and throbbing, she let the sensation consume her. And felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt.
Nothing wrong with this, she told herself, as the pleasure mounted even higher.
They were married, after all. And deep down she knew, even if they couldn’t stay married, even if it wasn’t in the cards for them, she would always want him like this, always need him, always love him.
Once more her body convulsed. Parker uttered a deep, guttural growl and she cried out along with him as she felt him spill himself into her.
Feeling suspended in air, she clung to his shoulders, digging in as if she were drowning in emotion.
She was.
Chapter Twenty-One
They must have fallen asleep.
Miranda opened her eyes to a golden strand of light streaming in through the glass doors. The sun was setting.
She craned her neck and spotted her sports bra hanging over the marble counter of the kitchen area. “Hope the maid didn’t come in to clean while we were out.”
Parker stirred, lifted his head. “If she did, she took one look at this scene and left. Nothing’s been touched.”
He had an eye for that sort of thing. It took some effort to get up, and Miranda discovered Berber burns on her butt as she stretched and padded across the carpet to fetch the bra and pull it over her head. She turned back in time to see Parker rise in one graceful move.
The full-length view of that chiseled physique made her think of a Greek god. Not to mention going another round with him on the floor. Maybe not quite a Greek god. There was that scar along his abdomen and another on his right shoulder blade. But to her mind, those marks only made him more perfect. Besides, she had a few of her own.
Rubbing her fingers over the ones on her chest, she thought of Keola. Her brother. Time to get back to business. “How can we find this Jonathan Ha’aheo?”
Parker studied her a moment, as if assessing the state of her emotions. “Let’s get cleaned up and do some research.”
No argument. Glad he’d come over to her way of thinking, she nodded. “Sounds good.”
They took a quick shower—separately to keep from getting distracted—then threw on underwear, jeans and T-shirts. Miranda picked up the clothes in the living room while Parker called room service for a very late lunch and set up his laptop on the coffee table, which was now back in its rightful place.
It didn’t take long for the food to arrive, and they munched hibachi chicken sandwiches with avocado and Jack cheese and drank strong cups of the local Kona coffee while Parker went to work.
Miranda sat on the sofa and peered over his shoulder, watching him zip through websites and search screens. Some of his methodology didn’t seem completely kosher but that didn’t bother her. She was used to his tricks and they often came in handy.
After about half an hour, he gave a low chuckle. “Our suspect does indeed have a record.”
“Yes, he does.” Excited, Miranda scooted forward and studied the text on the screen. “Two DUIs and a misdemeanor for disturbing the peace.”
“It seems he and a group of young men were fighting and harassing tourists on Front Street one night about a month ago. He spent only a night in jail for that.”
“Not a model citizen, but not a hardened criminal, either. At least on paper.”
Parker flipped to a new page. “And there are several recent police reports of vehicles that were broken into.”
“Looks like the vehicles were rented by tourists.”
“Yes. And the thieves took personal property from them but not the cars themselves.”
“Harder to prove? Lesser sentence?” she offered.
“Possibly. None of the incidents are linked to Ha’aheo, though.”
Miranda eyed him with suspicion. “Did you get those reports from where I think you got them?”
His lip turned up in a cocky smirk. “Ryo won’t mind. Much.”
“O—kay.” Only Wade Parker could hack into a police database with so much self-confidence.
Ignoring the surge of admiration flushing her face, she leaned over and read the list of items reported missing from the cars. GPSs, watches, tickets to a local football game, cash, iPads, a laptop, a gym bag, jewelry. “Why do people leave those things in their cars?”
“They feel safe, I suppose. They have a right to.”
That didn’t make it a smart move. Rights and reality were two different things in her experience. “Those break-ins happened near here, didn’t they?”
He scrolled through the summary. “All around the local luxury resorts.”
“That sounds fishy. Like somebody’s got people working for him, keeping tabs on the tourists in those hotels and what kind of stuff they’ve got.”
“And who are likely to leave it in their cars.”
“Some folks like to brag about what they have. Valets could watch out for the careless guests. Heck, valets could swipe the goods.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You said you know where Ha’aheo lives?”
Parker brought up another document on the screen and scanned it. “He gave the address I know when he was arrested. His father’s house. I assume he’s still there.”
Unless he lied. Miranda studied the screen and committed the address to memory. Might come in handy. “Wouldn’t be hard to tail him. Maybe catch him going to a heist?”
“It would be quicker to flush him out.” Parker sat back and rubbed a knuckle across his chin. “We could set a trap.”
“What kind of a trap?”
Deep in thought, he rose and made his way to the bedroom. Wondering what he was up to, Miranda swallowed her last mouthful of coffee and followed.
She found him digging in a side pocket of his suitcase.
“I didn’t think we’d have a need for
these, but I brought them along just in case.” He produced a small velvet pouch, opened it and drew out a long strand of pearls, accented with tiny diamonds.
“Whoa, Parker.” Miranda shook her head at him. “Just in case?”
“In case we decided to take a side trip to Honolulu for the ballet or to Oahu for dinner at Benihana’s.”
Her eyebrow almost rose off her head.
“They’re not real, of course. I wouldn’t travel with genuine jewels.”
That was a relief. Then she grinned. “But Ha’aheo doesn’t have to know that.”
“No, he doesn’t.” He put them back into the velvet pouch. “We’ll take these downstairs to the concierge for safekeeping. If Ha’aheo has a contact he’s working within the Ashford-Grand, he’ll know about them in short order.”
She scratched at her hair. “Then what? He wouldn’t steal them right out of the safe. The hotel would be libel. And it would be pretty easy to prove.”
He gave her a sexy wink. “I have a plan up my sleeve. Would you like to go out for a drive?”
Now she was intrigued. “Sure.”
###
With the pearls tucked safely in the pocket of Parker’s jeans, they headed down to the concierge.
She had to admire Parker’s style as she watched him make inquires about the hotel safe with just the right amount of tourist naivety. He asked how secure it was and explained that he had some rather valuable pearls he was taking with him into town where he planned to meet a local dealer who could appraise them. He then informed the clerk that he and his new bride were going to do a little shopping on Front Street, then meet the dealer at the Beach Café.
Parker leaned on the counter with a casual air. “I hear the beef satay is particularly good there.”
The fawning clerk smiled and nodded. “At Beach Café? Oh, yes, Mr. Parker. It’s excellent.”
Dressed in the red-and-gold Aloha shirt that was the uniform for Ashford-Grand employees, the guy was short, young and bony. Asian. He had black hair and dark eyes that took in way too much, in Miranda’s opinion. He looked barely twenty as he smiled under a thin mustache—that he must have been able to grow only yesterday—over an equally thin pair of lips.
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