He didn’t let the pain show. He returned with a leg kick to Jonathan’s shin. “I can go on like this all night. You won’t last forever.”
“Wanna bet?” He gave Parker a knee to his ribs that would have knocked his breath out if he hadn’t dodged the full force.
Parker returned with another shin kick and a jab.
Jonathan faked with his left. It threw Parker off. Before he could duck, the boy’s right landed with a smack just below his eye. He staggered back, nearly cutting himself on one of the stalagmites. He felt blood on his cheek. His vision blurred. This young man had recently killed someone with his bare hands, he reminded himself. It was time to stop holding back.
He sauntered forward and began to pummel the young man’s stomach hard. Jonathan took a few punches, blocked another, countered. Left. Right. Left. Right.
“Tired yet?”
“You should see your face, PI,” Jonathan sneered.
Parker had had enough of this game. Perhaps what the boy needed was, in the words of his grandfather, a good, old-fashioned ass whooping. He took aim, reared back and let go with a hard jab to the nose. He connected and felt the cartilage break beneath his knuckles.
Jonathan fell back barely missing one of the rocky spears. Blood spurted from his face.
Parker watched the young man for a while as he held his nose, whimpering, reminding him of a wounded puppy.
He strolled toward him, leaned down, extended a hand. “That’s enough, Jonathan. Let’s go see Sergeant Balondo.”
Jonathan gave him the look of a demon from hell. “You must be out of your fucking mind.”
It must have been the guilt that made him drop his guard. It was a lucky punch. A sucker punch. Parker saw the young man’s bloody fist shoot up. He tried to dodge, but the boy was lightening fast, his rage giving him the power of a steam engine.
With the force of a sledgehammer, Jonathan’s knuckles landed square on his bleeding eye. Pain exploded into him.
Parker fell back, tried to catch himself. He felt the back of his head bounce off lava rock, felt the sharp edges slice into his back and hands as he slid to the floor. It felt as if the whole cave had shifted in an earthquake. He could no longer see. He felt his body go limp.
And with Ha’aheo’s raspy laugh ringing in his ears, he lost consciousness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Edward Steele opened the door of his beloved Coconut Rum and stepped inside the empty space. Letting his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light coming in the windows, he thought of the good times he and his customers had enjoyed here. Would there ever be good times again? He wasn’t sure.
He crossed the room, checking for what needed repair or cleaning as he headed for the back.
He hadn’t felt this much anxiety since…Well, maybe he’d had too much anxiety lately. And in the middle of all this anguish and pain, a spark of joy.
Miranda. He regarded the barstool where she’d sat.
His own daughter, back from the dead, as it were. Or maybe she thought he was the one in that state. He still couldn’t believe it.
A private investigator. Fancy that. Pride rippled through him. She’d been a bright little girl. He always knew she’d do well for herself. And married to the boss? Now wasn’t that something. But she hadn’t come here to look for him. It was obvious she hadn’t known who he was when she walked in or she wouldn’t have come. Once she did know, she didn’t even want to speak to him.
He couldn’t blame her for that.
Leaving his little girl had been one of the deepest regrets of his life. But at the time, he’d had no choice. Or so he’d told himself.
He made his way to the back of the bar and stepped into the narrow hallway. He paused before the door of the back room.
Last night after Olina and Daniel and the kids had left the house, he’d broken the news about Miranda to Leilani. Oh, he’d told her years ago when they were dating. He couldn’t risk the fact that he had been married before and had a daughter coming out later and wrecking his marriage to the girl of his dreams.
And she, just as she had the first time he’d told her about Miranda’s existence, had listened in her kind, patient way. Just as he knew she would. No jealously, no recrimination or disapproval. Just acceptance. She’d even asked to meet her. Leilani’s kind and gentle heart never ceased to amaze him.
He hated having to tell her his first-born wanted nothing to do with him.
Mikaele would be a different matter, but Leilani was right. It was time for the truth.
He rapped his knuckles on the door.
No answer.
Edward grunted. The boy was in there. He could smell the recently cooked French fries. After a moment, he opened the door. “Mikaele?”
He found his youngest child on the cot he’d put into the small storage room when Leilani kicked him out of the house. Even his patient angel couldn’t abide the boy’s recent activities.
His thin body was sprawled across the bedspread, his arms folded tight. In an oversized T-shirt and baggy drawers, he stared at the wall, as if he didn’t know his father was standing right here. Though how he could see through that hair, Edward couldn’t imagine.
He was awake, but he didn’t look up. He didn’t have his earbuds in, so he certainly knew his father was there. Edward was glad the boy wasn’t listening to that awful music.
“Mikaele,” he repeated.
“The phone rang a little while ago,” the boy said on a bored exhale without moving his gaze.
“Who was it?”
“I didn’t get it.”
“You couldn’t be bothered to get up and answer the phone?”
He gave him a sour face and turned over toward the wall. “The answering machine picked it up.”
“Never mind. I have something to tell you. Can I sit down?”
He shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t pressed to the mattress. “It’s your place.”
Edward suppressed a grunt of annoyance. There was no chair in the small room, so he lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “I have a confession to make.”
Mikaele didn’t move.
“That woman who was in here yesterday?”
“The nosy one?” he sneered. “What about her?”
How could he say it? Better start back a bit. Edward stared at the supplies on the shelf against the wall and gathered his thoughts. “You know I came from the mainland.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Years ago, back there…”
The boy expressed his lack of interest with a yawn.
Edward sighed. “I had another family back then. Another wife.”
That got his attention. He turned his head around. “You were married before Mom?”
Feeling guilty at his son’s surprise, Edward nodded. “I had a child. A little girl. And I did something terrible.”
“What?”
“I left them.”
“What do you mean, ‘left them?’” The anxiety in Mikaele’s youthful voice only added to Edward’s guilt.
“I took off. Packed my bags, left and never went back.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I was young and headstrong and I wanted to see the world. I wanted to come here to the islands.”
The scowl returned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“That woman in the bar yesterday…” No easy way. Just blurt it out. “Is my little girl.”
Now he turned all the way around and leaned up on an elbow. “No way.”
“Way,” Edward said, in the vernacular of the young. “Miranda’s my daughter. Your half-sister.”
The boy brushed his hair out of his eyes and Edward saw they were wide with curiosity. “Did she come here to find you?”
“No, she’s here looking into Keola’s death, like she said.” He couldn’t explain how she’d gotten involved in that, but Edward thought it best not to go into details. Especially about Miranda’s reaction to him.
“Wow.
Does Mom know?”
“Yes. She’s always known I had another family before. I told your mother last night that Miranda was here in Lahaina. She and I agreed we should tell you. After all, you’re a man now.”
He blinked at that as if he didn’t know how to take that remark. “Does Olina know?”
Edward knew the boy was testing his sincerity, but he had nothing to hide. “No. I wanted to tell you first. I’ll tell your sister when she comes to the house tonight.”
“Wow,” he said again and sat back against the plank that served as a headboard.
“There’s something else.”
“What?” Suspicion was back in his eyes.
“I just got a call from a lawyer. Miranda needs our help. Your help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Earlier today she and her husband were investigating around the blowhole where they found Keola. The police arrested her.”
He sat up. “What? Why?”
“The attorney said something about a sea cave in that area. They were in it. There were boxes of stolen goods and ‘illegal substances,’ as she called it. A police boat came by and spotted them. They confiscated the boxes and took Miranda in. They think she’s involved in Keola’s death.”
His dark eyes glowed with what looked like terror. He shot to his feet. “No, no, no. That can’t be. It just can’t be.”
“What do you know about that cave, son?”
He hugged himself and paced to the end of the bed, the only spot in the room to go. “This can’t be right. It can’t be happening.”
“Mikaele, you have to tell the police what you know. You don’t have to tell me, but we have to help Miranda.”
He glared at him. “I can’t, Dad. I just can’t.”
“Why not? What are you afraid of?”
“You don’t get it, Dad. You just don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get?”
Mikaele began to moan. He eyed the door.
Edward rose and moved to block his son in at the end of the bed before he could bolt from the room. “Tell me,” he demanded. “This has to do with Jonathan Ha’aheo, doesn’t it?”
The boy covered his face with his hands. “Dad, please.”
Edward grabbed him by the arms, resisted the urge to shake him. “You’re a man now, Mikaele. You have to face the consequences of your actions. Did Ha’aheo threaten you?”
“It was more than that.”
“Tell me what he said.”
He held his straight dark hair back and glared at him. “You really want to know?”
“Yes, I do.”
“He threatened to hurt you.”
“Me?” Edward almost wanted to laugh.
“And Mom. And Olina and her kids. He knows where they live. He told me if I didn’t do what he said, something terrible would happen to one of them. Or all of them.”
Anger pounded in Edward’s chest like a pahu drum. “That sonofa—”
“He said if I didn’t join him, or if I ever ratted him out to the cops, he’d kill one of you.” The boy began to weep.
Now everything made sense. He should have known. “Come here.”
He took his son in his arms, let him cry against his chest. Edward’s heart went out to the boy. He was frightened and lost and alone. Keola must have known about this. He must have tried to save him somehow. But he’d failed. If only his sons had come to him. But he’d been too busy enjoying life and good times in his tiki bar. He’d never neglect Mikaele again.
“Mikaele, listen to me. You have to tell the police about Jonathan.”
“No.” He tried to pull away, but Edward held him fast.
“You have to. You have to help Miranda.”
“I want to help her, but you can’t expect me to—”
“Listen to me, son. If you tell the police about Jonathan, they’ll have the evidence they need. They can go after him. They’ll let Miranda go free.”
He stared at his bed and slowly shook his head. “I can’t, Dad. I—”
“Miranda is a detective. She and her husband can help bring Jonathan in. Your testimony will help put him away.”
Edward felt the tension in the boy’s body ease. He was thinking it through. He spoke softly, letting the impact of his words sink in. “Mikaele, if you don’t do this, the man who murdered your brother will be out there running free. He will come after you then. Or us. And the police will lock Miranda up.”
He jolted from his arms. “That’s not fair.”
“But it will happen, nonetheless.”
Edward could almost smell the fear on Mikaele’s face. “What if they put me in jail? I’m scared.”
Edward hadn’t considered that. He had no real idea what his son had gotten himself into. He wasn’t going to make idle promises. He reached out and put a firm arm around him. “I can’t answer that, but I know it’s the right thing to do. I’ll stand by you no matter what. I think your mother will, too.”
The boy looked up at him with big, tear-stained eyes. He’d missed his mother most of all.
“Will you go with me to the police station?”
“Now?”
It was time to act before Mikaele lost his nerve. “Right now.”
Mikaele wiped his face and slowly nodded. “Okay.”
“Come on. Let’s go get in the car.” Gently he took his son by the arm.
Relief mixed with trepidation washed over Edward as they trudged down the hall and out of the bar.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“C’mon, Parker. Wake up.”
Something was knocking against his ribs. Parker’s legs were wet, as if he were standing in water. His backside was pressed against a hard surface. He opened his eyes and saw he’d been propped up on a surfboard. It floated on the water near the cave wall, its nose was banging rhythmically against his chest.
In a haze, Ha’aheo’s angry form appeared in the distance.
“That’s it. That’s how I want you. Awake.” The young man was holding the far end of the board. He had it wedged between the cave wall and one of the stalagmites.
Parker put his hand to the side of his head. Blood. Jonathan had knocked him out. His vision was still blurry. His eye must be swollen from the young man’s punch.
He shook his head. Pain spiked through his skull. But he was fully alert. Miranda. He had to save Miranda. He forced himself to focus on Ha’aheo. “Will you go with me to the police station now?”
Jonathan stared at him a moment, then rolled his head back and guffawed. “You really think you have the upper hand, don’t you?”
He wasn’t getting anywhere with him, was he? “You’re only going to get into more trouble, Jonathan. It’s only a matter of time before you’re in jail or dead.”
“Like my father, right?” Jonathan jerked the surfboard out from under him.
Parker reached out for it, but its surface was too slippery to hold onto. He slid into the water. The waves were waist deep. He reached behind him. His Glock was gone.
The young man hoisted his large body onto the board. Globe lights were connected to the far side of the board with a rope. So was Parker’s flashlight. He assumed the Glock was on the boy’s person. He began to paddle away.
“Jonathan.” Parker took a step to follow him. Something heavy weighed down his leg.
The boy paddled faster. The board drifted out of reach.
“Jonathan,” he shouted, taking a few more steps. Something pulled his leg back. “What in the world?”
Jonathan stopped in the water. He held his board with one arm, his side with the other as he laughed. “Oh, this is sweet. I’ve finally taken care of you, Parker. I finally have my payback for what you did to my father and my mother.”
Parker’s head pounded with the words. “What?”
“I chained you up. Just like the stash you took from me. Consider this payback for that, too.”
“Jonathan, this is no time for games.”
He spat saliva out of his mouth a
s he snorted in delight. “It’s no game, you dumb PI. I say you have about, oh, half an hour before the water’s over your head. I left you another few feet of chain for extra entertainment.” He reached his speedboat, untied the mooring line and tossed it onto the bow. “I only regret I can’t stay here and watch you struggle for your life the way my father did for his.” He climbed aboard the boat, hauled up his surfboard.
The impact of the words and the weight around Parker’s ankle sank in. This was ridiculous. He forced himself to sound menacing. “Jonathan. Do you really want two murders on your hands, son?”
“The dumbshit cops will never find me. I’m going to Oahu.” He reached for an oar then turned and paddled his boat away, taking the light with him.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“You just don’t understand family, do you?” he called out as he drifted toward the crook in the cave. “I don’t care if the cops catch me. I would risk anything to pay you back. You can’t imagine how much I hate you.” The bitterness in his raspy voice echoed the sentiment.
And then he turned the corner and was gone. Lost.
Parker stood staring into the darkness in stunned shock. Then he shook himself out of it. He had to deal with the situation.
He got to work.
Sucking in his breath, he dove under the waves and felt his way along until his fingers touched the surface of the large stalagmite. He swam down to its thick base and found the chain that had held one of the marine boxes. He worked his way back toward the other end of the chain. It was bound around his foot, secured with a padlock.
Not such a problem.
He shot back to the surface. All he had to do was get his tools and open the lock. It wouldn’t be easy underwater and in the dark, but he could do it. He patted his pockets, feeling for his pouch.
Where was it?
He always kept it in his right pocket. He struggled to slide his fingers between the soggy denim of his jeans under the moving waves. At last, he got his hand inside the pocket. He twisted this way, that way. Nothing there.
Was it in the other pocket? He pulled his hand out and tried the left side. Nothing there either.
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