Freefall

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “Okay, Kai.”

  Cameron shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned. “Ready?”

  Gentry nodded. He let go of the Close button and the doors opened. It was two-thirty in the morning, but there were still hangers-on. And these were less polite. He was getting the hang of moving through the strobe effect of the flashes, the hollered questions, the incendiary comments. If they were hoping to provoke an outburst in Gentry, they didn’t realize how spent she was. He got her into his truck, assuming they’d be followed. But it didn’t matter. On an island this size, she could no longer hide.

  The drive to Hale Kahili took less than half an hour, paying no attention to the speed limit. Not huge; two bedrooms, kitchen, dining, living, lanai, the house commanded top dollar for its ocean and mountain views, sumptuous appointments inside and out, private pool, and flowering ginger gardens with lily ponds. A narrow path led to the private beach, but most of the cost was due to its seclusion. Robert Fox had been keeping Gentry from the limelight, but that was no longer possible.

  They met the property manager at the front door. As the woman let them in, he watched Gentry for any spark of recollection, but saw none. Having ascertained that all was in order for Gentry Fox, the manager left them. Maybe she’d go back to bed; maybe she’d talk to the press who’d followed.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Anything?”

  Gentry shook her head. She crossed to the table where a creamcolored leather purse slouched. She opened and looked inside it, drew out a wallet and found her ID and credit cards.

  Cameron slacked a hip. “Insurance?”

  She flicked him a glance. “Of course.”

  She wouldn’t have needed her purse on a hike into the heart of Kauai. Made more sense to leave it locked in the house than in the Jeep, especially if they’d intended to hike some distance from where they’d parked. Her uncle had probably driven. With the recent rains, the Jeep might not be immediately retrievable from its remote location—wherever that was—but he imagined things would be squared away soon enough.

  Gentry yawned, all but dead on her feet.

  “You need sleep.” He drew his keys from his pocket. “I do too.” Where was TJ?

  Trancelike, she crossed the ceramic tile floor to the polished wood staircase. At the base she paused. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “I won’t leave before TJ comes.”

  Her face fell.

  “He doubles as a bodyguard.” His size was usually enough to make someone think twice. If not, he put his muscle to use with seemingly little effort. Like on the football field where, just by flexing, he’d opened holes for Cameron to run through.

  She relaxed. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll stay down here until he comes.” And try not to think about her up there, changing out of the soiled hiking clothes into something soft. “Go to sleep.” He almost closed the distance between them and took her back into his arms. But he didn’t repeat his mistakes.

  He watched her climb, heard a door close upstairs to the left. He scratched his ragged growth of beard and took a seat on the soft suede sofa. After a minute, he removed his boots and brought his feet up. What was keeping TJ? He curled onto his side and closed his eyes.

  Though she didn’t remember the house they’d supposedly rented for their stay, its contrast to Nica’s home and Okelani’s cottage drove home her reality. She didn’t belong in their world. She was Gentry Fox, star and pariah.

  He’d said it gently, but Cameron’s implication had been clear. Stay away from Nica or anyone else whose life she might contaminate. She entered the bedroom where someone had made the bed and left a fresh spray of flowers on the pillow. A maid, no doubt. She crossed to where her clothes hung in the closet—clothes that must have come with her since she recognized them, not part of the black hole that was her arrival on Kauai.

  Quality clothing. Designer labels. She ran her fingers over skirts and shells, tanks and shorts, sundresses and sheaths. Her spring to fame had been a story worthy of its own screenplay. An unknown actor finding acclaim and fortune—and more enemies than she could have imagined.

  The wave of hatred swept over her, condemning faces, malicious comments. Had she been involved with a sixteen-year-old? Wouldn’t she be in jail? She staggered. Maybe she’d run to Kauai to hide. Was that why she hadn’t gone to the police? She gripped the closet door. Had Cameron been right all along?

  It felt so wrong. Wouldn’t this sense of self, even outside of recall, be real? She shook her head. How valid were feelings anyway? What she needed were answers. Who had accused her of such an affair? One of the youths in Act Out?

  She’d been too shocked to push the issue with Cameron. His hazy grasp on it had been comforting, but now she wondered if he’d been trying to trap her into saying something incriminating. Maybe he’d known all along who she was. And Nica too? Was that why she’d called her brother, the investigator?

  He was downstairs waiting for Officer Kanakanui to take charge of her. Bodyguard. Guard. Somewhere out there, was someone writing up a warrant for her arrest? While Uncle Rob—A sob caught in her throat.

  She tried to focus her questions into memories, but exhaustion had muddied even the part of her mind that worked. Too tired to more than drop her clothes from her body and sink into the generous jet tub, she pushed all thoughts away beyond the warm wrap of the water and the scent of mountain-rain kukui nut soap.

  FIFTEEN

  Cameron woke to the vibration of his phone in his hip pocket and managed a groggy, “Pierce.” The voice on the other end carried on for a full minute before he turned the phone off and set it on the teakwood table. In fairness, Barry didn’t know he was on Kauai or he’d have considered the time difference.

  He peeled his eyes open enough to ogle his watch. Five-thirty. On cue, the island birds burst into song. He groaned, buried his head back into the soft suede, then realized TJ hadn’t shown up. Either that or his knocking hadn’t penetrated the sleep Barry had just interrupted. More likely something had come up that ranked higher for Kanakanui than a side job protecting Gentry Fox.

  Gentry. The thought of her upstairs obliterated the last vestiges of sleep. He sat up, rubbed his furry tongue along the roof of his mouth, and felt every minute that had passed since he’d washed. He hadn’t meant to stay the night. But now TJ had left him in the awkward position of slinking out, greeting Gentry in his grungy condition, or going upstairs to make use of her uncle’s shower and toiletries.

  Since slinking out would leave her without transportation or protection and he couldn’t stand his condition one more minute, he climbed the stairs to the next level. A door on the left was closed. He turned into the one across the hall. In the bathroom, he eyed her uncle’s Dopp kit that held shaving cream, razor, and mouthwash. Pretty invasive.

  On a hunch, he opened the cabinet under the sink. Bingo. For seven hundred dollars a night, he found those items plus a packaged toothbrush and paste. “Now we’re talkin’,” he said under his breath. The shower sent prickles of pleasure down his back, heat and pressure purging the sweat and grime and all evidence of their mountain adventure. If he could just find a brainwash as effective as Gentry’s to wash away last night’s mistakes. He stepped out and toweled off, noting the need for a haircut; but a comb through the hair, shave around the beard, and thorough toothbrushing made him human again.

  Not wanting to get into the grimy clothes he’d worn for days, he made use of the white Hale Kahili monogrammed robe. It would do until Nica could bring him something clean. He tidied up the steamy bathroom and went out, but he’d neglected to close the bedroom door.

  Gentry stood framed in the jamb in a robe matching the one he was wearing, her luminous eyes perplexed. “I thought you were leaving last night.”

  His heart quickened over the triangle of green silk revealed at the neckline of her robe. “TJ never showed.”

  She slid her fingers into her hair. A yawn arched her neck and deepened the circular h
ollow at its base where he’d rested his thumb. After thirty-one years, he forgot how to breathe.

  She lowered her hand, and the rumple in her hair was more alluring than French perfume. “Am I under arrest?”

  “What?” His heart rate increased.

  “Are you holding me until Officer Kanakanui gets a warrant?”

  That question had an effect he vigorously resisted. “A warrant for what?”

  “You tell me.” Her voice had sleepy overtones that gave it a throaty resonance.

  He swallowed. “As far as I know, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  A ripple formed between her fine peaked eyebrows. “Then … the allegations …”

  Comprehension dawned. He should have been thorough in his explanation last night. “The investigation discredited the kid’s story. Your appearance on Oprah quashed it.”

  She released a breath, relief shimmering under her gutsy exterior like a secret she couldn’t keep. Its impact was powerful.

  He turned and opened the closet. “Can I borrow some clothes from your uncle?” And will you please walk away.

  “Of course.” She came up beside him. “You’re about the same—”

  “I’ll find something.” His voice graveled. She smelled like kukui nuts, the same body rinse he’d used compliments of Ginger House.

  She reached in. “He’s got …”

  “Gentry.”

  She turned. This woman had laid bare the hearts of movie watchers everywhere, yet unless she was putting in another impeccable performance, she didn’t realize how much he wanted—

  “I can find something myself.”

  Understanding flickered, then blazed. “Oh. Okay.” She moved out of his way, and something stoic entered her spine. She walked out of the room, crossed the hall, and closed her door behind her.

  Great move, Kai. Had he learned nothing the last four years?

  He dressed in a pair of lightweight khakis and a Lacoste polo. Her uncle and he were nearly the same shoe size, so he slipped into a pair of Hugo Boss leather loafers that hardly looked worn. He’d deliver Gentry to the hospital, then get out of there. Barry had called to say Golden Years Insurance wanted his findings yesterday. He had to get back to the mainland and complete his report.

  He dug his phone from the soiled pants he’d worn into the mountains with Gentry. That excursion had all the relational elements team builders looked for; challenge, cooperation, goal. His behavior last night, while unfortunate, was understandable. Its continuation would not be.

  He called TJ. “Where are you?”

  “Da hospital. My tū tū wen fall last night. Broke er hip.”

  “Eh, brah, sorry. What happened?”

  “She need one drink and wen fall over da beagle.”

  “She in a lot of pain?”

  “Dey got her comfortable now. I kep tinking I get away, but it wen get so late. Nevah want to wake you.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Lucky I got tree days off, but, brah—”

  “I know. I’ll handle things here.” Right.

  He hung up and called Nica. “Still got press over there?”

  “Good morning, Kai. Let me look.” He listened to the sounds of motion as she must be checking through the front window. “I don’t see any. Where are you?”

  “Hale Kahili.”

  “You stayed with Gentry?” Her tone was cautious, probing.

  If his own sister wondered … “TJ was supposed to come. His tū tū broke her hip.”

  “Not Auntie Hanah.”

  He’d forgotten how well Nica knew TJ’s grandmother. “She fell over the beagle.” Neither of them laughed. Nica would be taking the blow, feeling the old woman’s pain and fear, imagining the arthritic dog licking her apologetically. “TJ said she’s doing all right.”

  Nica released her breath. “And Gentry’s uncle?”

  “Don’t know yet. The surgeon wasn’t too encouraging.”

  Another sigh.

  “Stuff happens, Nica. You have to stop taking it personally.” And so did he. Gentry Fox wasn’t his problem. She could take care of herself. She’d shown that already.

  Nica asked if he was going to the hospital.

  “I’ll take Gentry over. But I’ve got cases that need attention.”

  “I know, Kai.”

  “Are you working today?” Her position at the nursing home paid for her half of the property taxes, food, and gas. He provided her benefits and funded her IRA, a situation that had irked Myra. A sour taste filled his mouth. She’d resented his relationship with Nica and didn’t try to understand her limitations. “ You can’t keep her in a cocoon forever.”

  Maybe not. And maybe it was true that if she moved to the mainland her cost of living would be lower. But Nica had found her equilibrium right where she was, and it pleased him to safeguard her future. She’d been his to protect and sustain long before Myra. From the start of their existence.

  “Yes,” Nica said. “But I’ll see TJ and Hanah first.”

  “If the hospital’s anything like last night, I’m not sure you should go.” She wouldn’t listen to him, though, not when someone had been hurt.

  “How’s Gentry?”

  Gentry was no longer her concern. “She’s fine. You did all you needed to.”

  “It’s not just about need, Kai. It’s what I want to do.”

  “I know. But Gentry’s a hot item right now, and it’s not pretty.”

  “Then she needs a friend even more.”

  He should have kept his mouth shut. “I can’t be worrying about you.”

  “Then don’t.” Her voice softened. “Aloha, Kai.”

  He hung up, went downstairs and waited. A short while later Gentry came down clothed in beige shorts that showed off all six miles of her legs and a soft top the color of her eyes.

  She slipped her purse over her shoulder and glanced up. “Ready?” There was something brittle in her calm.

  Responsibility for that settled in his chest. “Gentry …”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I—”

  “It’s simple. You don’t see me anymore; you see Gentry Fox.”

  A strand of hair slipped forward, and she slipped it behind her ear, mesmerizing him. She wasn’t right, but he liked her version better. His was something he didn’t want to deal with right now. She tucked her chin and went to the front door.

  The press had deserted Nica’s and bivouacked at Hale Kahili. He followed her out to the small enclosed parking circle in front of the house. When did these people sleep? The questions came immediately.

  “How are you feeling, Gentry?”

  “Is your memory back?”

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  Gentry looked that last woman in the eye, sensing a fair voice, maybe. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “You still have amnesia?”

  The crowd had silenced, listening now that Gentry was giving information, taking it down word for word—to be parsed and spun later, no doubt.

  “I don’t remember the accident.”

  “Then it was an accident?” That from a reporter for the local news.

  Gentry turned. “What else could it be in the middle of the native forest in the mountains of Kauai?”

  When she put it that way, it seemed obvious, and yet … Cameron searched the crowd for Bette Walden, didn’t find her. Nor did he see the guy who’d insulted her.

  “What is your uncle’s condition?”

  “It was critical last night.” Strain crept into her voice. “I hope he’s better now.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police right away?” Ouch. The newspaper reporter named Hammel liked to stir things up.

  Cameron moved up between her and Hammel, but Gentry answered him.

  “The doctor said I’d remember. I didn’t know anyone else was involved.”

  Before Hammel could follow that line, another voice hollered, “What’s the relationship between you t
wo?”

  Not even a breath of pause. “Mr. Pierce helped me find my uncle. He’s an investigator.”

  “What did he investigate last night?” A snide voice off to the side.

  Gentry turned. “He provided security last night. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see my uncle.”

  “Gentry, how long are you staying?”

  “As long as it takes.” She pressed her way toward the truck.

  Cameron followed but didn’t touch her. Any contact would be magnified, by them—and him. He let her in, pressed the lock, and closed the door. He was on the island often enough to justify keeping the truck at Nica’s—had to have something to carry his board when nothing but catching the waves would do. But he’d have to find out what happened to the Jeep her uncle had rented or get Gentry some other transportation.

  As they left Hanalei and Princeville behind, he thought about food. The place that came to mind wasn’t open yet, but someone would be harvesting fruit from their fields, receiving more from local farmers and setting up for the day. He pulled into the small graygravel parking lot in front of the grass-roofed gazebo and quaint yellow building of Banana Joe’s.

  He told Gentry, “I’ll be just a minute,” then followed the path around the side, petted the tabby cat lying there and found someone to let him in. Chatting as briefly as possible, he purchased a bag of lychee, freshly picked, and a small bunch of apple bananas with a sweet custardy flavor Gentry might enjoy, then went back out.

  “Hungry?”

  She accepted the fruit when he climbed in. “Thank you.”

  “That’s mahalo.”

  “What?”

  “Thank you is mahalo.” He put the truck in reverse.

  “Mahalo, then. What are these?” She held up the nubby red fruit the size of a large grape.

  “Lychee. Peel the skin off, eat the flesh, but watch out for the seed.”

  As he pulled back onto the road, she peeled one and held it out to him. He took the slippery, grayish white fruit and popped it into his mouth, then chewed around the dark brown seed at its center. That, of course, presented him with the need to spit it out and hand it over or toss it out the window. His aloha‘ā ina would not allow the second, even if it was biodegradable, so he dropped the seed into his palm and pondered his next step. She held out the bag.