Freefall

by Kristen Heitzmann

  “No.” She frowned. “But …” She shook her head.

  “Say it.”

  “It’s so minute.”

  “Gentry, a minute recollection saved your uncle’s life. Tell me.”

  Her brow scrunched. “Branches. And a face. A face in the branches.”

  “Malakua?”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t try to make sense. Was his the face you saw?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “Maybe.”

  But she was right. It didn’t make sense. What motive would Grover Malakua have to hurt or kill Gentry Fox? “You said your uncle found someone to recommend a trail. Was he the one?”

  “Uncle Rob talked to lots of people.”

  “Did you ask him about the tattoo?”

  She shook her head. “He has so much to deal with already. I don’t want him worrying about me.”

  “Okay.” He slid his hand behind her neck and rubbed the tension out.

  She lowered her chin. “I thought you were going to tell me what happened with the pictures.”

  “It’s taken care of.”

  Her mouth fell open. “How?”

  “Since you guessed Troy sent the note, I dug up what I could find on him.”

  She groaned.

  He’d slogged through every article, transcript, and blog to get the public version of the whole previous mess, then extracted from the police report a clearer picture. “Gentry.”

  She turned.

  “I know you.” What he’d meant was that all his digging had pointed to her innocence, and his meeting with Troy had confirmed it. He tried to rephrase that, but her eyes pooled, and maybe he’d said exactly what he meant.

  “I found a more likely suspect in his mom.”

  Gentry shook her head. “His mom? I’ve never even met her.”

  “If you were someone else, that might matter. But you’re Gentry Fox.” How could she still not get it? “Darlene Glasier did time for embezzlement on a plea that dropped two counts of fraud. She’s filed seven lawsuits ending in nuisance settlements. She knows a mark when she sees one.”

  “I don’t—”

  “She sent the photos to blackmail you.”

  Gentry expelled her breath. “But they’re not real.”

  “Real or not, think how you reacted. Your first response was to kick me out.” The corner of his mouth pulled.

  “Well …”

  “I understand. You’d been sucker-punched. But based on that reaction, you’d soon be paying to keep her quiet.”

  Gentry bit her lip. “She hired Bette Walden?”

  Bette had delivered the pictures, but he doubted Troy’s mother could afford a PI. “That’s the piece I haven’t figured out. Might’ve been worth talking to Bette.”

  “She’s just so vindictive.”

  “I’ll catch up with her later. You don’t have to be part of it.” He lowered his knee from the seat. “The important thing is, I got the file. Ms. Glasier would be supremely stupid to pursue it when I’ve got evidence of her fraudulent behavior.”

  She turned and stared out the side window. “Then you saw—”

  “Only enough to make sure of the file.” Her discomfort touched a chord in him. He hadn’t expected modesty in a Hollywood actor. Maybe he’d bought a little of the hype. Maybe his own attraction—and that of countless others—predisposed assumptions. “Look at me.”

  It took a long moment before she turned, but he wanted to be clear. “I didn’t see. I didn’t want to.” Potential had already slid in its talons. If he threw it one tidbit …

  She drew a jagged breath. “So it’s over?”

  “Your part. Troy’s got some issues.”

  Her brow creased. “Is he okay?”

  Amazing. She still cared about the kid. But that didn’t surprise him. Her search for her uncle had revealed a tenacious outward focus. If she cared about someone, she meant it. And apparently there wasn’t much that person could do to destroy it. More than her courage, strength, or beauty, that loyalty threatened to undo him.

  “His mom’s giving him grief.”

  Gentry dropped back in her seat.

  He leaned over and caressed her shoulder. “He’ll be all right. He’s getting it.”

  “Getting …”

  “That you can’t manipulate people. He was hurt when you left the troupe to shoot Steel. In some warped way he thought he could get you back.”

  She shook her head.

  “When he got me the file, he said you were the only person he trusted. You’d gotten down and dirty—not the way it had come out—but role-playing his anger, his hurt, until he could laugh in its face.”

  “He said that?” Hope filled her smile.

  “Said he’d gotten caught up in the hype, made more of it than there was. He said he’d tell it straight if you wanted him to.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I wouldn’t put him through that.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He drew her close and kissed her mouth, hating what she made him feel, and wanting it. No one but Myra had ever grabbed so deep inside him, and he knew what it cost. He knew.

  They hadn’t kissed since he’d stifled her ranting in the hospital, but this kiss held the pull of strained muscles, hope and fear, confusion, suspicion … triumph. They’d saved Uncle Rob’s life, and her own would be marked forever by the sight of Cameron drenched and gasping, “I found him. He’s alive.”

  Maybe it was reckless, but she knew herself better for having lost her identity. And Cameron was part of that. He’d been unwilling to leave her lost any more than she could leave Uncle Rob. Because of that and so much more, she welcomed his kiss. But he pulled back abruptly.

  She searched his face. “What?”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. It was presumptuous.”

  A moist breeze came in the window, cooling the air between them. “That depends on why.”

  He frowned, unable or unwilling to hold her gaze. “Because you’re …”

  “Gentry Fox?” She had thought he knew her, but in fact he was kissing the myth. And it hurt. “I’m not a character on a screen.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “It’s just easy to pretend?”

  “Gentry …”

  She looked away. “I thought you didn’t want the fantasy.”

  “This started before, when you were Jade. That first evening you wouldn’t get into my truck. The night of the centipede. In the water under the falls …”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “All of it. Your reality is way outside mine, your ‘universe of possibilities’ infinite.” He clutched the steering wheel. “I know you won’t let this go anywhere.”

  It almost sounded like a plea. Stay up on your pedestal. Don’t be real. “Then you’re right. It’s presumptuous.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  Good. She’d rather stage-kiss Alec Warner with a camera in her face than Cameron Pierce in his truck in the woods. “Have we shaken Bette?”

  “She’s probably realized she lost us, but she’ll go to the top to be sure.”

  “Then let’s get back.”

  He hesitated as though he wanted to say more, but she kept her gaze out the window. He started the engine and backed up with a little too much force. If he was angry, he need look no farther than himself. But it wasn’t anger that came off him in waves; it was something bleaker by far.

  They took the jarring track back to the road and the road down the canyon in silence. Leaving the green forest and gray skies behind, they returned to the arid sunshine as they emerged from the canyon. Nature had captured it. Two different worlds; two different lives. Time to find closure. “I don’t want to go back to the party. Can you take me to the hospital?”

  His response was void of inflection. “Okay.”

  Then the silence solidified as he drove through Hanapepe and Koloa, to Lihue and Uncle Rob. When he pulled into the hospital lot, she turned. “Do
you mind parking? My uncle wants to meet you.”

  After messing up that bad, he’d expected to be dismissed, not invited in. But this was a chance for answers he might not get again. He parked and locked the truck behind them, scanning the lot. He saw no sign of Bette, or paparazzi. Gentry’s life might not always be the circus it had seemed, but he kept his distance anyway.

  She was right that he’d kissed her in part because nothing could come of it. Potential required opportunity to become reality. He didn’t deny the desire to touch and hold her, and kissing her was like shooting the curl of a cruncher, toes on the nose. He knew better, but something crawled inside his head and told him to catch it in spite of the damage it would do. He hadn’t meant for that damage to spill out on her, though.

  She chewed her lip as they made their way to her uncle’s room, and he couldn’t help visualizing a trapped animal chewing off the offended part. The time to speak had passed, and he didn’t know how to make it right anyway. What he needed was to put the whole business behind him.

  Robert Fox sat in a wheelchair by the window when they entered, the remaining half of his leg wrapped but uncovered. How would he handle a stranger seeing that? How would anyone?

  “Uncle Rob,” Gentry said. “This is Cameron Pierce, the one who helped me find you.”

  Her uncle held up his hand, his grip vigorous, considering what he’d been through. And he wasn’t as old as he’d seemed in the cave. Fifties not sixties, with the build of an athlete. With modern prostheses, amputees could live an active life, but still, what a blow it must be.

  “Mr. Fox.”

  “It’s Rob.” The man gave his hand a squeeze to match the warmth in his eyes. “Gentry’s told me what you did. Thank you.”

  “The way things looked in the cave, I wasn’t sure I’d have this opportunity.”

  “Me neither.” Rob’s mouth made a grim line.

  “Without the lava tube, we couldn’t have gotten through.”

  “Wish I’d known that way was there.” He sighed. “At least the Lord showed you.”

  Cameron didn’t argue the point. “I’m sorry about your leg.” By the lack of a drape, he assumed forthrightness. In Rob’s place, he’d want the same.

  Rob’s throat worked. “All things for a reason.”

  Could he say the same if their roles were reversed? He doubted it. “So what now?”

  “Now I work to keep what’s left.”

  Gentry effused. “Paul says you’re doing great.”

  Rob glared. “That man’s an insult encyclopedia. Do not give him your autograph.”

  “That man thinks you’re awesome. It’s your autograph he’ll want.” Gentry settled cross-legged at the foot of the bed, a position evocative of cozy conversations. Forced levity for her uncle’s sake, or her own?

  Cameron took the remaining chair and faced Rob. “I know you’ve spoken with the police, but can you also tell me what happened out there? Why you went over the falls?”

  “I jumped in to catch Gentry.”

  “You saw her fall?”

  “I heard her scream, saw her hit the water.”

  “But not how or why she fell.”

  “No. And she can’t remember. But Gentry’s no novice. And it wasn’t a place that concerned me, or I’d have kept a better eye out.”

  “You were behind her?”

  He nodded. “About six yards.”

  Yet he’d seen nothing. “Was anyone else with you?”

  Rob shook his head. “Just the two of us.”

  She had said the same and looked annoyed that he’d checked her answer, but part of investigation was cross-questioning, and her memory was still faulty. “Who else knew you’d be there?”

  Rob pressed his palms to the arms of his chair. “You think someone caused her fall?”

  Cameron got up, thinking in motion. “Gentry’s got sensations of being pushed.”

  “I’m not—”

  He silenced her with a glance, then continued. “She may have glimpsed a face in the forest, and recalls a dragon tattoo that matches a gnarly dude named Grover Malakua.”

  “Dragon.” Rob ran his hand over his shoulder and arm. “Here?”

  Gentry stiffened. “Yes.”

  “Remember in that tavern we were planning our hikes. That guy came over with something mo bettah.”

  She turned. “Then that’s where I saw him, Cameron. Not in the woods.”

  Maybe. “Did he know you’d taken his suggestion?”

  Rob frowned. “Knew we planned to. He sat down and helped us lay out a route for the best view of the falls. Though why he sent us to the top …”

  Gentry stood up and stalked to the window. “He couldn’t know how fast we’d hike, what time we’d get to any particular point.”

  “He could have been waiting.” Rob’s voice was gentle.

  She turned. “Then why didn’t you see him?”

  “I was filming. Out across the water, toward the crest of the falls.”

  Cameron knew the answer but asked anyway. “Do you have the camera?”

  Rob shook his head. “Dropped it when I jumped.” Something passed over his face. Pain? Post-traumatic stress? He masked it before Gentry looked back at him.

  “Why would someone push me?”

  Cameron hung his hands on his hips. “You’ve got enemies, Gentry. Haven’t you listened to Darla?” As much as he couldn’t stand the woman, she’d grasped the situation.

  “You think he meant for me to go over the falls? I could have died.” She clenched her fists. “This is real life, not some script.”

  And movies couldn’t touch real life. “Maybe I’ve got Darlene Glasier’s motive wrong. Maybe she thinks you used her son.”

  She shook her head.

  Rob said, “Gentry, who knows what whacko you’ve picked up with all the publicity.”

  She turned on him. “I will not believe someone wants to kill me because I lucked into a movie part. Or because someone else told lies. Listen to yourselves.” Hurt and anger played over her face like clouds above the waves. “Then … I live and Uncle Rob—” Her voice broke.

  “You think I’d want it the other way around?” Rob reached up and took her hand.

  Cameron dug for his phone. “We need to call the police.”

  “No.” Gentry fired the word. “The press will be all over it.”

  He’d watched them eat her up, and she might not have it in her to face it again. Balancing that with any possible threat, he had to admit what they had against Malakua was pretty slim.

  Rob turned. “Can you protect her? I’ll pay for it.”

  She expelled a breath. “Cameron lives and works on the mainland. He can’t hang around.”

  He did have cases pending, though none with imminent danger to his client—or himself. For more reasons than one, he was illprepared to accept.

  “Can you do it?” Rob’s voice crackled with effort or exhaustion.

  Looking from one to the other, Cameron nodded. “I’ll keep track of her overnight.”

  “I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  Her petulance actually betrayed the fear she was trying to hide. “We’ll look at it fresh in the morning.”

  Gentry could deny it, but his gut told him something had happened out there. He kicked himself now for going after blackmail instead of attempted murder.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The moment they left, Rob curled up in pain. It had intensified as they spoke, and by the time Gentry and Cameron had helped him into bed, he’d nearly screamed. It had started with the flashback of jumping into the water. The cold, the rush, the plunge, and—Oh, God—the pain. Lord.

  He was on Demerol, but this was different, this pain in the part of his limb that no longer existed. No drug would take it away. What had Paul said? Flex and relax. Stretch the muscles. Rob focused. They’d made clear the seriousness of contracture, but he didn’t think this was physiological.

  Phantom pain. A disorientation of his brain, th
inking him whole. He closed his eyes and felt the rocks like teeth mangling his flesh, shattering his bone. It’s not there anymore. He gripped the stump with his hands, squeezed and rocked. His breath wheezed as panic rose. He could not live with this pain.

  Lord. The effort it took to keep from Gentry the horror of his condition was more than he could stand. He had to get away from her. She believed what he showed her, but he couldn’t keep hiding it. Cameron had seen and almost asked, but he’d warned him off with a glare.

  This was his battle. She would only hurt.

  “ The Lord is my strength and my shield. My heart trusts—” Pain screamed through his leg. But this is too much! He rolled and writhed. How had he failed? Why could he not grasp the grace he knew was there for him?

  His chest felt heavy. If only he had died …

  But God had never given him the easy way out. His life had so many if onlys. But every time, he’d fought through the harder way. He’d do it again. He clenched his jaw and confronted the pain. He sank right to the center of it. And there he found grace. In the pain. In the suffering.

  He drew shallow breaths and absorbed God’s presence. “My heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy… .”

  He was not alone. Broken and maimed, he was not abandoned. “ Your right hand will hold me fast.” The hands of Christ covered his, squeezing the tortured leg, sharing the pain. Rob rested in that grasp until sleep carried him away.

  Thrown back into turbulent waters, Gentry had fought just like the last time, but once again the current proved too strong. She had not intended to have Cameron for a watchdog. She had wanted closure. But worrying about her wouldn’t help Uncle Rob. By the end of their visit, he’d looked drained and ashen. She would not add to his burden.

  She walked to the door at Hale Kahili, picturing Cameron helping him into bed with one hand under the maimed and bandaged leg. Neither had shrunk from the infirmity or obsessed on it. She was the one overwhelmed every time she saw the result of her mistake.

  Uncle Rob had called after her, “Gentry, be careful.”

  But what did that mean? It was bad enough when people wanted to kill her career, her reputation. Now they believed someone wanted her dead.