by Cathryn Cade
Shelle loved working in this kitchen. It was all so state-of-the-art and pretty too, with the late sun slanting in between the palm trees to enhance the cheery island decor. In her russet skinny shorts and Pike Place Brewery tank, her hair knotted up at the back of her head, she padded happily around the cool tile floors sipping her beer in between slicing, dicing and stirring.
Moke lounged at the kitchen island watching her and drinking his own beer.
She looked over her shoulder at him. "Stop staring at my ass."
He shook his head. "Huh-uh. It's way too nice not to look at it. Like the way it rolls when you walk."
She shook her head at him, but she did it smiling to herself. The hot oil in the skillet spat, making her flinch. Time to pay attention to her cooking before she started a stove fire. Also, time to hide her hot face from him. He knew exactly the effect he was having on her, the big kanaka.
She stirred the veggies and rice. "Like your legs, too," he went on. "Nice and long. Next time, want them wrapped around my back while I fuck you."
Shelle had to fan herself with a kitchen towel. "Stop," she protested. Then, at the smell of over-browned onion, she turned off the gas burner and pulled the skillet over to a cool burner. "Unless you want me to burn this, then we won’t get to eat it."
He chuckled. "Rather eat it. Smells great. You want to eat in here, or down at the beach?"
"Let's just eat here," she decided. "Because if I go down to the beach, I'll want to stay."
He took the skillet from her, and carried it to the island. "Why can't you stay?"
Shelle brought over a glass of ice water and the last of her beer, and slid onto her stool. "Because I have two papers to write."
He served himself some rice and veggies, and handed her the spoon. "No shit? That why you carry a laptop around?"
"Yeah, what'd you think—I watch videos on it?"
"Didn’t really think about it. Whatchu studying?"
She sat up straighter, pride filling her at being able to answer. "I'm going to be a family counselor, and work with kids. Teens, I hope. I'm just going into my third year at Western Seattle U."
He gave her a look, and nodded. "Respect, tita. That's awesome."
"Thanks." A serving of cold fish with fresh salsa, and some of the steamy, savory rice and vegetables on her plate, Shelle dug in.
"Nobody in my family ever went to college," Moke said, forking up some fish. "I did some trade school courses to learn auto mechanics, but don't think I could make it through college."
She frowned thoughtfully. "Well, there's no reason you should feel bad about that. College isn't for everyone. I mean, you have a great job—a career. I can't even imagine owning a business...everything you have to take care of with that."
He nodded. "Accounting comes in handy. But my partner, T-Bear is a math whiz, so he takes care of that. I do the written shit that has to be done."
"That's cool." She sighed. "My Tercel needs so much work it would probably be cheaper to just junk it and go buy something else."
He nodded. "I hear that. There's a point of no return for some rigs. So, when you gotta be back for school?"
Shelle put down her fork, her appetite suddenly gone. "Two more weeks. Summer session is short, with a three week break before fall semester starts."
Only, would her problems have solved themselves by then...or would she still be hiding out from Albany and his goons? And would she be able to find another job that paid enough to get her through two more years of school?
Moke was staring at her, frowning. "You okay?" he asked.
She swallowed. "You bet. Never better."
He took another bite, chewed and swallowed. "Calling bullshit on that. You worried about being safe when you get back?"
He turned toward her enough to set a long arm on the back of her chair. Heat radiated off his bare skin, and Shelle wanted to sink into it, rub on him like a cat. But he wanted to hear, she'd tell him.
"You're right," she announced, tossing her hair back. She waved her hand at the big kitchen, and the tropical scene visible through each window. “This? This is so great, but it’s just…a moment out of time. It’s not my reality. And I'd love to stay here forever, but I can't because I have a life to get back to. School to finish. Also, I need to talk to the cops and find out if I'm in big trouble for running away from them. And I don't know where I'm gonna stay when I get back there, because Darius fah-reakin' Albany knows where I live, and he'll keep sending men after me until—well, you get the picture. Also, I don't have a job anymore, so how the hell am I going to pay for school? Oh, and food. Food is nice. Not to mention my piece-of-crap car needs all the work done, and the gas tank insists on being filled or it won't run."
She hid her face in her hands, her eyes hot. "There, sorry you asked?"
His big hand landed on her back, and stroked down, then back up, under her hair to cup the back of her neck. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I asked 'cause I wanted to know."
"Okay." She swiped her fingers under her eyes, and then sat up, trying to smile. "Thanks."
He nodded, his gaze abstract. "What about getting a different kind of job. Like something in your field—working with kids, or something. Maybe that would pay more."
"I wish," Shelle said, shaking her head. "You have no idea...childcare, being a teacher's aide...all the things I'd be qualified to do without a degree—the pay is so low it's a joke. People do it because they love kids, not to make money."
He scowled. "That's fucked up. Keikis are important."
She nodded. "Yeah, they are. And if they don't get the attention they need, a lot of them develop into unhealthy adults."
They shared a dark look, laden with their pasts.
"About the cops," he said. "We might be far from Seattle, but Hawaii's a state. You could talk to the cops here, or just call in to Seattle, let 'em know you're not on the run from them. That if they need you to testify, you'll come back."
She nodded. "I could...but not the local cops, okay? I don't want to spend hours or days sitting in some police station here while they try to figure out what to do with me."
"True dat. So you call Seattle PD. About this Albany...you're right. You can't go back till he's out of the picture. Too dangerous."
"You sound like you know about him."
"Not him—guys like him. He has a chance to take out a witness to something like that kidnapping, he's not gonna rest till he takes care of that."
Shelle slumped back in her chair. "Great. Now you're really scaring me."
He gave her a look full of dark knowledge. "Not trying to scare you, just keep you safe. You did the right thing, getting out of there, tita. Pepper spray's only gonna go so far to keep you safe.”
She nodded, but watched him warily as he settled back to finishing his supper, because just how was an auto mechanic such an authority on crooks? Only one way to find out.
"How do you know so much about guys like that?" she asked.
He paused with a forkful of fish in midair. "I'll tell you sometime," he said without looking at her. "But...not yet. Anyway, don't you have a paper to write?"
"Why, yes I do," she retorted, sliding from her stool. "So I guess you'll clean up, right?"
She didn't wait for his answer, but walked away. And he could look at her ass or not, wasn't doing him any good tonight. She'd opened up to him, but he couldn't do the same? He was such a—a guy.
There was nowhere to write in her guest room, so Shelle carried her laptop and printed journal articles downstairs to the sitting room. It was a gorgeous room, gracious but comfortable, with big comfy sofas and chairs, a corner library with books and objects of native art, and long windows. Resolutely, she sat with her back to the view of the sunset, and got to work.
Surprisingly, given how grouchy she was, or maybe because of that, Shelle powered through writing up her research paper, finishing a solid first draft. She yawned, and stretched, rubbing her tired eyes. The place was quiet, the slight n
oises of Moke in the kitchen long over. She could hear a clock ticking on a shelf, the clatter of palm leaves in a night breeze, and something peeping outside—an insect, or a frog maybe. Peaceful sounds.
She yawned again, and then clambered to her feet with a sigh. Time for bed, or she'd fall asleep right here.
Moke appeared in the doorway from the lanai, startling her in the middle of a stretch. "You going up?" he asked.
"Yep." She bent to pick up her laptop and papers, ignoring how damn hot he looked, all dark and mysterious native warrior of the night. His hair was slicked back wet, as if he'd been swimming.
"Okay. I'll lock up." He disappeared into the shadows again.
"Yes, dear," she muttered to the empty room. "You do that. And don't forget to put your spear away for the night."
A deep chuckle drifted in on the breeze. Shit, the man had hearing like a-a fox. Except, did they have foxes here? She was fairly sure they didn't.
Whatever.
In her room, she washed up, brushed her teeth, and put on her sleep shorts and tank. Pulling her hair forward over one shoulder, she wandered back out into her room. There she stopped short. In dry shorts and nothing else, Moke stood by her bed.
"Thought I better just sleep in here tonight," he said. "So I'm here when you wake up."
Something warm bloomed in her chest.
She shrugged, and moved to her side of the big bed. "Okay, suit yourself."
They climbed into bed in silence, and he reached to snap off the light. Shelle lay on her side with her back to him, but she could feel his warmth behind her like a fortress at her back.
The man did have good points, besides his body, and the way he could use it.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
He rolled over, the bed moving as he settled. "Just tired of hoofing it down the hall in the middle of the night."
She smiled to herself. "Right. Night, Moke."
By way of answer, he flicked his finger against her ass cheek. It stung through her thin sleep shorts.
"Ow!" She rolled swiftly, and pounced on him. "You are so gonna pay for that."
He laughed, fending off her hands and hauling her close to his big, hard, hot body. "I'm counting on it, tita."
She attacked his neck with her lips, nuzzling in against his skin and inhaling him, then giving him a lick. It turned into a squeak as his long, blunt fingers slid in under her sleep shorts and found her most intimate area.
"Mm-hmm," he approved. "Already wet for me. I like that."
"So do something about it," she invited. "Or are you all talk, big man?"
He rolled her to her back and divested her of the shorts and her panties in one smooth motion. "Oh, you gonna find out how wrong you are about that, haole girl."
With his finger deep inside her, she had to agree. And when he hooked that finger to stroke her g-spot, she nearly came right then.
"Moke," she pleaded. "C'mere. Want you inside me."
"Nuh-uh," he crooned, teasing her again, while he lowered his head and nipped at her sleep shirt, drawing it up and away from her breasts. "Get this off first, Wanna taste your tits while I make you cum."
Sounded good to her. So good she ripped her tank off, pulling out a few stray hairs in the process. But who was counting?'
His hair fell across her skin, caressing her bare chest and shoulders while his hot mouth worked her sensitive nipples, drawing rhythmically while he plied her pussy with the same. Pleasure rolled through her in a wave, pulling her under where all that mattered was his touch.
Then he moved up over her, and slid inside her while she was still quaking. And started the cataclysm of pleasure all over again.
This was the best, she decided dizzily. Who the heck called it missionary style, when it meant holding a big, powerful, masculine weight bearing down on her, and driving deep inside, just where she wanted him, needed him? When it meant she could obey his command to wrap her legs around him, and hold on, while he thrust powerfully into her, shaking the bed and sending them both down into the dark pleasure, together.
That night, she slept without a single nightmare. And if she dreamed, she didn't remember.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The next morning, they ate breakfast, Shelle finished her paper, went for a quick swim, and then she and Moke drove up to his family's property.
The place smelled a whole lot better than it had last time, Shelle was relieved to note. While Moke helped two young Hawaiians load his piles of debris into a big, groaning dump-truck that muscled down the steep drive, she worked pulling weeds and vines that had grown up onto the lanai.
The truck full, it trundled away up the steep drive.
Moke appeared in the shack doorway. He was sweating heavily, his tank and shorts soaked, hair plastered to his head. Shelle was pretty sure that of the two of them, he was the only one who made the look work for him.
He tossed her a bottle of water. "Drink that."
She did, and they stood in silence for a moment, enjoying the simple pleasure of cold water on a hot morning.
"The truck won't be back for a couple hours," he told her. "I'm gonna drive to the grocery store, hardware store. You wanna come with, or keep working?"
"I'll keep working," she said. "Almost done in here."
"Okay. I'll get some lunch for us. Call me if you think of anything you want. And drink water while I'm gone."
"Yes, boss."
He chuckled. "As if. See you in a bit."
Being at least shaded from the sun by the roof, the inside of the shack was marginally cooler than outside. Shelle worked steadily, sweeping out the last of the debris from the floors before getting to work on them with the mop.
That done, she rested for a bit in the shade, gazing out at the ocean and guzzling water. Just unreal how beautiful the scenery was from up here. Today a bank of dark clouds lay offshore, and she could see sheets of rain slanting down to the sea, which was rolling toward shore, whitecaps cresting. Looked like their sunny weather might be over soon.
Back in the house, she muscled aside an old beat-up bureau that Moke had deemed worth saving, and swept behind it. An old envelope was stuck to the back of the painted wood. Shelle pried it loose and peered at it. Yuck, it was water stained, and one corner had been chewed on, probably by rats.
But she could just make out letters on the back. In pen, someone had printed 'M_ Ahuelo'. Personal, then.
She turned it over, and something fell out of the chewed corner and tinged on the floor. She bent and picked up a thin white gold ring, like a wedding band. It was dirty as well.
She wrapped the ring and envelope up in an empty plastic baggie she found in the cooler, and tucked it in her purse to give to Moke later. Then she got back to work.
Moke bought lunch at the nearest KTA Market, a length of sturdy chain and a padlock at the hardware store, and then on impulse turned south instead of north on the highway. Shelle had more work to do in the house, he'd left her plenty of cold water, and he had a hunch that this might be a good time to catch Lenny Liho'o at home.
Lenny was a kūpuna, a native Hawaiian priest, who'd lived in a small, red-roofed house south of the Mamaloa Highway as long as Moke had been alive. Daniel claimed Lenny knew where Timo was, and Moke was ready to talk to anyone who could help with that.
Moke pulled off the highway and drove slowly down the narrow, dirt driveway to a sharp bend, where he parked by a clump of trees. If he remembered right, Lenny's house was just beyond the trees, and that the front yard was cramped between banana trees and the house. No room to turn a vehicle around, at least not one this size.
He walked down the trail, the wind in his face, and the sea spread out before him in azure splendor. He could see Nawea below, the dock with its thatched shelter poking out on the Kona side of the bay. From up here, the surf was a thin white tracing between the edge of the bright turquoise sea and the black rocks. The palms were as small as toys.
Sure enough, a little house sat behind the
trees, bananas and mangoes clustered around it. The front door stood open, propped by a lava rock. A bamboo wind chime hung from one corner of the lanai, playing a soft tune in the afternoon wind.
"Aloha!" Moke called. "Anybody here?"
"Aloha!" A short, wiry Hawaiian in a faded tank and shorts appeared in the doorway. His silver hair was pulled back away from his lined, dark face. He had a short goatee and mustache, but it was his eyes, dark and almond-shaped in his wrinkled face, that Moke remembered. His gaze seemed to pierce right through his skin, through his psyche.
"Lenny," he said. "Aloha, I'm—"
"I know you," the old man said, his face lighting in a smile. "Matty Aheulo. E hele mai, Come on in." The man turned and led the way through the house to a small patio, in the shade of a thatched roof and several bushes and trees.
His host indicated one of the battered metal chairs beside an ancient wood table. "Come, sit. I got ice tea. Had a feeling I might get a visitor today." Lenny reached for the pitcher sweating on the table and poured some of the amber contents into a glass, handing it to Moke.
"Mahalo." Moke drank thirstily. The tea was cold and sweet.
"So, tell me what Matty Ahuelo's been up to since I saw him last." The Hawaiian sat back in his chair, radiating peace and pleasure in the morning.
Moke shook his head. "That's... a tall order, Lenny.
"Take your time, boy. I got all morning."
"Right." Moke didn't, but he was reluctant to be rude to this man. He told Lenny about leaving Hawaii to get away from his father, away from the place where his mother lived so close but refused to acknowledge her son or her husband. About landing in Seattle and getting a job loading ships, then meeting a guy who rode a big motorcycle and exuded the ease of living a life where he knew he always had a band of brothers at his back. About hanging out with the Devil’s Flyers in Seattle, discovering he had a knack with motors of all kinds. About riding across the state of Washington and ending up in a little town called Airway Heights because of the USAF base nearby.