Hawaiian Honey (Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance Book 7)

by Cathryn Cade

  The cafe manager snorted, a disgusting, phlegmy sound. "Don't bother. The guy you pissed off is a very wealthy customer—one with lawyers."

  Wait, what? Wealthy men did not as a rule patronize the Travel Center Cafe. She sure as hell had not waited on any guys like that.

  Although...wait just a hot minute. She had waited on one's bitch of a girlfriend.

  Shelle stiffened. "Does he happen to go by the name of Albany?"

  Was the man really so powerful he could reach anyone he wanted to? Not to mention evil, because who did that? Who got a waitress fired from her job for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  There was silence on Harry's end. Then he spoke again. "Doesn't matter. You're still fired."

  Then he ended the call, leaving her standing there, her mouth open and a dial tone in her ear.

  Fucking Harry. For a moment she stood there, fantasizing about what she'd like to say to his ugly face. Matter of fact, she'd like to punch him right in his face. Maybe kick him in the nuts. Or what the hell, pepper spray him.

  It had worked on those creepy bikers.

  "Okay," Officer Ruiz said, coming back into the room. "Here's your protection for the day. Shelle Mason, this is Officer Jon Pilner and Officer Macy Quint."

  Shelle turned to face the two uniformed cops standing just inside the room. Geez, the two were young. He still had acne, and she looked like a cheerleader. One of the tough ones who took the bottom of the human pyramid, but still.

  They nodded at Shelle, and the guy smiled.

  "Shelle is real nice," Officer Ruiz said with a tired smile at Shelle. "Just don't let her near any pepper spray."

  The two younger cops snickered, and Ruiz shrugged. "Sorry, but you're kinda famous now," she told Shelle. "Taking out two bikers with bear spray. Although, that was a really big can of spray."

  "Thanks," Shelle said. "I think."

  Ruiz left, and the two young cops shifted, exchanging looks. "I'll be out in the cruiser," Pilner said.

  "And I'll stay with you," Officer Quint said.

  The morning passed at a snail's pace. Fortunately, this meant that Shelle had plenty of time to think. And to make a plan.

  By noon, a plan had formed. It was daring, and somewhat dishonest, because the cops were now trying to help keep her safe. Still, they were up against a ruthless opponent, who seemed to have the ability to reach anyone in Seattle and yank their leash, as hard as he wanted to. And everyone knew that even though ninety-nine percent of law enforcement personnel were honest, there were some who were crooked, and could be gotten to by crooks with money—like Darius Albany.

  Thus, she knew what she had to do.

  She and Officer Quint ate takeout burgers and fries, delivered by Officer Pilner. Shelle drank her ice-cold Coke Zero and considered the young cop sitting across from her.

  "I got fired today," she announced.

  The blonde cop froze, a fry poised before her open mouth. Her eyes widened to match her mouth. "You did? That sucks."

  Shelle nodded, and allowed her lips to tremble. "My boss is such a jerk. Now I don't have a safe apartment, and I don't have a job. I don't know what I'm gonna do."

  Officer Quint chewed her fry and swallowed. "Do you have family here? Or friends who can help out?"

  Shelle shook her head. "Well, one friend. She works where I do—where I did, I mean. Waitressing at the Travel Center out on I-5."

  The cop nodded sympathetically.

  "Hey," Shelle said. "Maybe you could help me. I have to pick up my last paycheck. If I don't get it fast, they'll mail it, and...well, let's just say the manager at my apartment has been seen going through mailboxes."

  Quint scowled. "You report him?"

  "I think someone did," Shelle said vaguely. "It never happened to me, because I never receive money in the mail. So, do you think it would be all right if you and Officer Pilner gave me a ride there? Just to pick up my check—I really need that money."

  Quint shrugged. "Don't see why not. Long as we check in."

  "Oh, thank you." Shelle crumpled her empty burger wrapper and took a last slurp of Coke. "Thanks for lunch too."

  She went into the bathroom and turned on the fan. Then she texted Tawny.

  'Hi. I'm ok. If I ask u to do something for me, will u?'

  ...

  'Girl, been worried bout u! Wher r u?? Of course Ill help u, u know that.'

  'Thx. I'll be at cafe in a while. Don't leave, ok?'

  'Ok. But u better explain whats going on!!'

  'I will. Love u.'

  '<3'

  Once in the police cruiser, her backpack safely at her side, Shelle asked, "Could we...do you think we could go by my apartment? I—this is embarrassing, but I forgot some stuff I really need."

  The two young officers exchanged a look. Pilner shrugged.

  "Okay," Quint said. "Long as it isn't weed or something."

  "No way," Shelle assured them. "It's some, you know, female stuff."

  "And enough said." Pilner held up his free hand.

  Quint snickered, and Shelle sighed with relief.

  Her apartment now had crime scene tape dangling from one side of the front door. A pair of workmen were fitting a new door, supervised by Dave, the manager.

  "Hey, Shelle," Dave said, with a bleary grin. "How you doin'?"

  "Hi, Dave. I'm...fine." Shelle hurried inside, avoiding the curious gazes of the workmen.

  To the clothing she already had in her backpack, she added another pair of shorts, her swimsuit, sport sandals, and a flowered canvas satchel. Her additional bathroom items fit in a zip-fasten kitchen bag, as did the granola bars, small bag of raisins and salted nuts from her kitchen.

  Then she and her escort headed to the Travel Center. Quint backed in in front of the cafe, between a compact car and a big sedan. Next over was a big, shiny black SUV.

  "You go in with her," she told Pilner. "I need to message the sergeant, let him know our ETA."

  Shelle hooked her backpack over her shoulder, along with her purse. "I have to return my uniform," she told Pilner. He nodded and preceded her in the glass doors of the cafe.

  Tawny was waiting, seated at the counter with a soda, flipping through messages on her phone.

  "Hey, girl," she said as Shelle and the young cop walked in. Her troubled gaze flicked between Shelle and her escort. "What's going on?"

  "Just here to pick up my check," Shelle informed her. "Harry fired me."

  "What?" Thunder gathered on her statuesque friend's brow. "That little worm. What the hell'd he do that for?"

  Her raised voice had customers staring. Shelle started to shush her, and then shrugged mentally. Why should she care what anyone else here thought? "He said a customer complained about me. A wealthy customer. I'll give you two guesses who that was."

  Tawny's eyes widened. "Albany?" she hissed.

  Shelle nodded. "I looked him up, and he owns a trucking company—All-Roads." There were always at least two or more All-Roads semis in the parking lot of the Travel Center.

  "Jesus, girl. What are you doing here? Do you not see those two guys over by the coffee bar? I've been wondering about them—been sitting in here drinking coffee for two hours. They may be wearing trucker jackets, but if they're truckers, I'm Ivanka Trump."

  Shelle looked in the mirrored glass behind the counter. Two men in their thirties, their hair cut in the latest style, sat over cups of coffee in one of the booths. Their hard gazes were on her and Tawny, and Officer Pilner. And Tawny was right, they wore shirts with a familiar logo, but they did not look like truckers. They looked like professional thugs.

  Pilner looked their way, and the two guys quickly turned their attention to the football game on TV above the window.

  "Let's get your business done, and get out of here," Pilner said.

  He followed Shelle and Tawny to Harry's office, where the manager sat at his desk. He looked up and scowled at Shelle, his jowly face like a pouty toddler's. Then he saw Pilner, and his head
went back, his eyes flaring. "What's going on here?" he demanded. He had to stop and cough, not an attractive sound.

  "I'm here to pick up my check," Shelle told him. She opened her backpack and pulled out her uniform, crumpled and smelling of grease and food. "Here. Didn't have time to wash this, what with your buddy Albany sending his goons to break into my apartment, and all."

  "Why you little—" Harry began, his face going red with anger.

  Pilner took a step forward, one hand on his very business-like weapons belt, his gaze on Harry. “There a problem here, sir?”

  The manager swallowed whatever he'd been about to say and picked up an envelope from his desk. "Here," he snarled, tossing it at Shelle. "Take it and get out."

  She caught the envelope and tucked it in her backpack. "Oh, I will. And I hope I never have to see your face again, you cowardly jerk."

  He scowled at her and then at Tawny. "Whaddya want?"

  "I'll tell you what I want," the tall woman said, hands on her hips. "I want to work for someone who has the guts to stand up for his employees, not hide in his filthy office and give in to some evil thug boss who tells him to fire good waitresses."

  "What?" the manager roared. "You can't talk to me like that."

  "I can if it's true. And my husband don't like me working here, anyway. So I am on the edge. Right on the edge." She held up one hand with her fingers poised for descent, as if off a steep edge.

  Tawny turned and surged toward the office door, and such was the force of her personality that Pilner and Shelle both got out of her way, then followed her. Harry slammed his office door behind them.

  In the hallway outside, Shelle turned to Pilner. "Thank you. You're a nice guy. Both you and Officer Quint have made me feel safe."

  "Just doing our job," he said, but his cheeks pinked.

  Tawny took Shelle's arm. "We girls have to use the restroom," she informed the cop.

  Pilner, nodded. "I'll wait by the door."

  The employee's restroom was around a corner from the manager's office, just outside the cafe kitchen. On the wall catty-corner was the door leading out to the back parking lot, where the employees parked.

  "You should wait here," Shelle said quickly, giving him wide eyes. "You think Harry's a grouch, wait till you tangle with the cooks. And they come barreling along here with hot grease, to pour in that barrel." She pointed at the lockers, and the grease disposal barrels.

  Pilner grimaced. "I'll wait here."

  Inside the tiny, malodorous restroom, Tawny turned to Shelle. "Okay, now what gives? What's the favor you need?" she asked in a low voice.

  Shelle swallowed. "I need you to take me to the airport."

  Tawny thought this over. "Okay, I see why you want to leave town. That probably would be safest. Where will you go?"

  "Hawaii."

  When Tawny's eyes widened, Shelle put a hand on her arm. "Listen. Albany sent bikers to kidnap me, he made me lose my job...I don't feel safe anywhere around Seattle anymore. What if the police can't prove that he kidnapped that prosecutor? Or what if they arrest him, but his trial drags on and on? How long am I supposed to hide out? I don't have family to go to, except for Vicky. I texted her this morning. She said come on over, she and her husband have a guest room in their rental house. So, I'm going to."

  "But, do you even have money for a plane ticket?" her friend asked.

  "Just enough. I checked prices this morning on my phone. Hawaiian Air is running a special deal, because I guess not that many people wanna go this time of year."

  Tawny nodded. "Okay. But how we gonna get past that cop—oh-hh, I get it. That's why you told him to stay out of the cooks' way. Wondered why you complained about Emilio—he's a sweetheart."

  Shelle nodded. This was true—right up until a customer asked for coddled eggs.

  "Okay," Tawny said, a hand on the door. "Let me see if the coast is clear."

  She poked her head out, then motioned to Shelle to follow her. In a moment, they were outside. Shelle climbed into the back seat of Tawny's compact and lay down. Tawny got in, started the car up, and drove sedately from the parking lot.

  Shelle waited tensely for sirens to sound behind them, but none came.

  Sea-Tac Airport was busy as always.

  Tawny pulled in along the curb outside the Hawaiian Airlines desk. "You call or text the minute you get there," she said. "And let me know how it goes, okay?"

  "I will. And thank you."

  "Of course, girl. I'mma miss you."

  "You'll be busy looking for a new, better job."

  "That's true. And when I find one, gonna quit so fast it'll make Harry's head spin round like in The Exorcist."

  They both grinned, and Shelle hugged her friend goodbye. Then she walked inside and straight to the ticket counter. "I'd like a one-way ticket to Hawaii, please."

  "Just one way?" the woman asked, her gaze alert.

  Shelle nodded. "I'm using your special rates to go see my mom. And hopefully get a job, you know? I'm a waitress."

  The ticket agent smiled. "Good for you. Do you have picture ID and a major credit card?"

  Shelle did. Which meant that several hours later, as dusk fell over Seattle, she was on a plane, and on her way to the one person besides Tawny who would take her in unquestioningly.

  The one of her string of foster parents who had been so welcoming, so strict and yet boundlessly understanding that to Shelle, she was like a real mother. Vicky, who now lived with her new husband on the Big Island of Hawaii.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Moke's evening with the Ho'omalu brothers and their families was as different from the earlier part of his day as was possible.

  After the shit afternoon he'd had, he felt as if he'd been transported to another Hawaii. The gracious, tropical, Hawaii that people pictured when they dreamed of the islands.

  Nawea Bay, several miles south past the famed Honaunau Bay of Refuge, was small, secluded and beautiful. A paved drive led down from the highway. Beyond a screen of trees and shrubs, the big yellow-and-white house rose gracefully, surrounded by lanais, as if it had grown there among the plumeria trees and hibiscus shrubs, all in full bloom.

  Moke parked in the paved sweep to one side of the garage. Walking around on the lanai, he saw Daniel waving to him from the small beach at the foot of the gently sloping lawn. Moke strolled down across the soft grass, enjoying the sound of slack key, a Hawaiian favorite, playing from a boom-box somewhere. The dreamy guitar notes floated on the warm, humid air, scented with flowers and the ocean.

  A long table was set up on the grass under the shade of palm trees. On the other side of the trees, loungers were placed on the sand, along with a big cooler and a few small tables. Beach toys and floats were stacked nearby.

  Daniel's younger brother David sat on the beach, wearing red swim trunks and holding a toddler on his knee.

  "It's true, then," Moke said, eying the little boy, who stared back at him with dark eyes like his father's. His dark hair was curly and tinged with lighter highlights. "You Ho'omalus have settled down."

  David, a smooth shaven and clean-cut version of his older brother, grinned. "Hey, Moke. Good to see you. Yeah, this is my Isaac."

  "Where's yours?" Moke asked Daniel.

  Daniel smirked. "In the house with his mama. You ready for a swim, or a cold one?"

  After the day Moke had had, both sounded great. "Swim first, then a beer."

  He shed his tee and flip-flops near a lounge chair, and followed Daniel into the water. The little bay was shallow and clear, the sandy bottom dotted by a few small lava rocks. The water was a cool benediction on his skin. Diving under, he felt it flow through his long hair, washing away the sweat of his labors.

  In the Inland Northwest where he lived now, the lakes were warm enough to swim only for a few months in summer.

  But like the Ho'omalus, Moke had grown up spending as much time in the water as possible, and the strokes came back to him like an old friend. He swam out to the reef th
at rimmed the little bay, watching bright yellow tang dart away at his approach. Beyond stretched the darker blue sea, the afternoon wind waves splashing onto the other side of the reef, white foam curling over the rocks.

  Moke dove under again, feeling the tension and angst of the day wash away. Hard to be in a bad mood when cradled by Hawaiian seas.

  Back on the shore, Daniel handed him a sweating bottle of local brew, and Moke drank deeply. Then the three of them settled back, the toddler in the sand between his papa's legs with a sippy cup and caught up on each other’s lives.

  Moke heard about Daniel's sculptures, David's paintings, both selling for high dollar these days in art galleries in Honolulu, on Maui and in a local Kona gallery. He shook his head, grinning. The two brothers had grown up outdoors here, doing every kind of outdoor activity, even played football at the University of Hawaii. "Always thought you two would end up taking over your uncle's boat business, or your parents' farm. Not be artists."

  Of course, he'd taken it for granted they'd be successful, no matter what they chose. Just as everyone on the island assumed he'd be a drunk like his pop, or a strange one like his mother. The Ho'omalu family had been one of the few who he felt saw him as himself, not a reflection of his parents.

  Daniel shrugged. "Mother Pele's gifts are not to be ignored."

  "So whatchu been doing on the mainland?" David asked Moke. "Still working on autos?"

  "Yeah," Moke said, not without pride. "Been at JJ's Auto outside Spokane for going on five years. Owner's retiring, so me and my partner, we're buying the place." It was what he'd wanted to do here, but the owners of the local garages wouldn't even hire him. Which was why he'd left home. Daniel and David's father had offered to give him a solid reference, an in, but by then Moke had just wanted off the islands. Wanted to shake the red dirt off his boots, and be free of his past.

  "You own your own business," Daniel said. "That's good. This partner, he Hawaiian?"