TJ should be able to clear the tiny private airport for an emergency situation. Malakua said no cops, but calling TJ wasn’t the same as calling the police. He had a personal stake, and Malakua had even named him. “Brace yourself, brah,” Cameron said into the phone. “Malakua’s got Nica.”
He hadn’t expected an explosion. Like the sea drawing out from the shore to become a tsunami, TJ gathered his fury in silence.
“He wants off the island. He’s agreed to exchange her for Gentry and a ride on Denny’s plane.”
“Going kill dat moke.”
Cameron checked his watch. “He must have grabbed her on the path from Okelani’s. They had hula classes this morning.”
“Where—”
“I think she’s home. I heard the cat.” Its wrecked vocal cords were unmistakable. At least for the moment, she was in her own space. If they flushed them out, her anxiety would rise exponentially.
“I’m going—”
“TJ, we’ll lose her if we try anything stupid. I had…I saw something.” He described the vision and trusted TJ’s heritage to accommodate it. “I wouldn’t make this up.” The crimson waves that carried her away had not tasted of salt.
“What den?”
“I need you to get access to the Princeville heliport for an emergency situation. I’ll call you with timing after I talk to Denny.”
Denny serviced the six main islands with his charter jet. From any in the string, it was a short hop over. But if he was on the mainland, he’d be six hours away. Too long for Nica’s fragile psyche. They’d have to involve the police.
So that was the test. If his decision was wrong …
His call connected. God. Rang again. Please. His thoughts were already known, but he mouthed them anyway. Let him be close. With the third ring, he freed the prayer. Amama.
Denny’s voice. “Hey, Kai.”
“Denny, where are you?”
“Nawiliwili Harbor.”
Same island. Minutes away. Shame and relief purged his doubt. Mahalo ke Akua.
“Denny, I’ve got trouble.” As he spoke, he realized he’d be asking his friend to transport a fugitive and put his own life in danger. But then another possibility occurred. Denny’s jet, but …
Cameron swallowed hard. He hadn’t kept up the hours for his license, and it had been years since he’d piloted anything across the ocean. He pushed that small concern behind the greater ones.
“What trouble?”
He told Denny about Nica and Malakua’s demand. He told him Gentry’s part. As she’d said, the danger lay at the destination. If Malakua intended to disappear, he’d have to keep Gentry and Denny from revealing his location. Either immobilize—or silence them.
Cameron clenched his jaw. Not gonna happen. He had to be there to control the situation. Somehow.
“You’d have to bring her in to Princeville. Then let me fly her out.”
Gentry’s gaze shot to his face. He’d taken them by surprise, but the thought started to feel right. “ Trade one sistah for one girlfriend.” No way, buggah. I keep them both.
“It might take some balancing with the tower,” Denny said. “I’ll phone you an ETA.”
He swallowed a lump as hard as a stone. “Denny …”
“You’d do it for me, Kai.”
He pocketed his phone and began the wait. How long before he heard, before Nica—
Gentry touched his arm.
“I’m guessing he’ll wait at Nica’s. He’ll want a space he can control, and the fewer moves he makes the less attention he draws. If the police close in, he’s holding the wild card. He knows I won’t risk her. I just wish …”
“Could someone check on her? Someone nonthreatening. Like Okelani?”
His respiration increased. Someone to reassure Nica, let her know she wasn’t alone. Okelani might be the perfect choice. Who could suspect an old blind woman?
He locked on to Gentry’s gaze. “And we’d learn for sure if they’re there.”
He called Okelani and told her what had happened. “I just need to know she’s okay.” He roughed his hand through his hair and shut his eyes. She wouldn’t be. She didn’t understand cruelty. A damaged butterfly broke her heart.
“You know, Kai. Ke Akua wen handle dis.”
He had to hope. “I know, Tū tū .”
“How much time we got?”
Denny needed to get to the airport, fuel, file a flight plan and receive clearance, and then take off, circle, and land. “An hour, maybe two.”
“Kay den. You do your part; I do mine.” He slid the phone into his pocket.
Gentry took his hands. “I have one question.” Her voice shook. “Can you fly a jet?”
Pressed down by dread, Nica breathed the sharp, acidic odor of the man hunkered down beside her. The cut on her neck stung where the knife had pressed in, but he no longer held it there. It lay on the table like a totem of violence waiting to be taken up and revered.
She had never smelled her own fear. She’d smelled others’. She knew the scent of despair and long-suffering. The poignant smell of death. But her fear had startled her with its piquant immediacy. Its particular scent lasted only as long as she thought Kai might come for her and die.
Then it subsided beneath the malodorous thickening of the air, a scent that held whispers of ignorance and brutality. Death didn’t scare her. Evil did. Cruelty without cause. Banal violence. The man’s fingertips felt like the leaves of a rubber plant when he ran them down her cheek.
A quiver of loathing passed through her.
“You one little rabbit.” He felt her hair. “Nevah skin one rabbit before.”
She closed her eyes and found the face she needed. Blood ran from the four-inch thorns pressed into his head, from slaps and buffets, spittle and insults. He held out his hand. Come, Nica. Walk with me.
Blood transferred from his palm to hers as their hands clasped. He hadn’t shown her his physical suffering before. She’d seen his sorrow, his compassion, even his grim acceptance of a final rejection, a soul turning its face even in death. But today he was Iesū the man, scourged and pierced.
The rubber-plant fingers slid down her neck, across the cut. “Poor little rabbit.”
Her breath caught. His hand moved again.
Wait with me, beloved. Wait and pray. Together they knelt. He hunched over the stone. Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me.
She didn’t find it strange that he was already crucified, yet praying for the ordeal to be averted. They were outside time, no before and after. She pressed into him, her side to his, her hands on the chalky stone, his arms pearled with rosy sweat. A scent of olives and night. A nightingale impressed its song. She’d never heard one but knew it now, a melody piercingly sweet that leapt across the stars and slid like moonglow over the night.
She startled at the rap on the sliding door and opened her eyes to shuttered daylight. The man had closed the bamboo screens, but one buckled where it had snagged on a cactus. Like a candle flame illuminating the shadows was the face she glimpsed in the half-moon gap. She found her voice. “It’s Okelani. If I don’t answer, she’ll know something’s wrong.”
The irony of her statement passed over him like fog. Wouldn’t she want someone to know something was wrong? Why inform him of the possibility? But he snatched up his knife and peeked out, saw the walking stick Okelani had used to maneuver the path, the milk in her eyes. He snorted, and motioned for her to answer the knock.
While he stood off to the side, knife ready, Nica raised the screen and slid open the door. “Tūtū, aloha.” She kissed her cheek. He stood too close to risk a whisper, but she hoped her fear had come through. Okelani could hear a change in the wind.
“Bring you dis.” Okelani raised a Ziploc bag of muffins so hot they’d steamed the plastic like fog. “Mo bettah share. Grind too much you come momona.” She patted Nica’s waist with a laugh, but there was more than mirth in it.
As Nica reached for the muffins, she
saw a trace of blood in the lines of her palm. Transfixed, she stared for stretched seconds, then the bag was pressed in.
“Na Içhowa ‘oe e ho‘omaika‘i mai, ā e mālama mai.” The Lord bless you and keep you. Okelani’s smile always held ancient kapu secrets, but now it told only one thing. She knew.
Nica took the bag and kissed her again. “Don’t worry. I won’t get fat.” Her fingers shook in Okelani’s for a moment, then they parted.
“Mahalo, Tū tū .” As the man snatched the muffins, she watched the old woman turn away and pretend to be blind.
THIRTY-ONE
Gentr y had left Cameron in the hall while she said good-bye to her uncle. His grim face would have triggered Uncle Rob’s instincts, while she was schooled to portray what she had to. She hated to deceive, but this was one situation the truth would not help. “Since they haven’t apprehended the dragon man, Cameron thinks I should leave now. He’s arranged a flight.” Somewhat accurate at least.
Settled back in the bed, Uncle Rob nodded. “I trust his judgment.” That statement would haunt him if things went badly, and again she felt a pang of conscience.
“I do too.” Knowing he’d be in the plane with her and the dragon man lessened her fear. Except that he’d be flying it—disconcerting at best.
Her uncle looked fatigued, but the haunted aspect had passed. He’d be leaving in the morning himself, and she was one less detail for him to worry about. “Will you be all right?”
He smiled bleakly. “Believe it or not, yes.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for earlier.”
“For letting me see?” She squeezed his hand. “Since when have we not shared an ascent?”
“It’s not your baggage.”
“You’ve carried my pack plenty of times.”
He shook his head. “Not for quite a few years now.”
“No expiration on paybacks.” She owed him so much.
He searched her face. “Are you okay?”
She gulped back the sudden tears. “I will be. We both will.”
Taking her angst for the concern it appeared, he said, “This summit’s going to take a while.”
She sniffed. “Expect a few switchbacks.”
“Alternate routes.”
“A storm or two.”
He almost crushed her fingers. “Your father’s a lucky man.”
She let the tears drop. “I’m the lucky one. I have you both.” She kissed his cheek and went out before she broke down and told him everything.
Cameron said nothing until they were in the truck in the parking lot. Then he turned. “This isn’t right. He trusted me to keep you out of harm.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“I keep thinking we must.”
He said that, but she knew that every passing minute his concern for Nica ate at him. “What do you call the biggest, most damaging wave?”
His eyes narrowed. “A cruncher.”
“That’s what’s coming. What are we going to do?”
“Smart thing is to bail.”
She held his gaze. They were, neither of them, bailers.
He cupped the back of her neck. “We’re gonna climb it. A big S right down the barrel.”
Denny’s call came as they were en route to Princeville. “I’m cleared for takeoff.”
For the thousandth time Cameron wondered if this could possibly be right. “I’ll see you shortly.” He hung up and called Gentry’s number.
Malakua said, “You got da plane?”
“It’s on its way.”
“No cop.”
“No cops.”
Malakua ended the call. Cameron pocketed the phone. He could feel the suck of the water rushing into the wave. A moment too early; a moment too late and they’d suffer the full and deadly force.
Though the Princeville heliport mostly serviced helicopter tours, it had a single runway surrounded by cane fields and pastures. He hoped it was in decent condition; it was all he and Denny would have to work with. Cameron turned off the highway into the minimal lot and saw TJ’s truck.
He screeched to a stop and accosted him. “What are you doing here? He said no cops.”
TJ climbed out. Dressed in T-shirt, shorts, and slippers, he looked innocuous, but Malakua knew him. “I’m here for Nica, brah. When you go.”
Cameron eased up. TJ was right. If he got on the plane with Gentry, Nica would need someone. “Yeah, okay.” He looked into the building. “What did you tell them?”
“Someone threaten Gentry Fox. We going get her out.”
Close enough. “Any sign of Malakua?”
He shook his head.
“Okay.” He led Gentry into the terminal where the tour director met them with a stern mien.
“I’ve alerted the pilot that’s out and delayed the next tour, but that’s all the space I can make.” He looked at Gentry. “Very sorry for all this, Ms. Fox.”
Gentry nodded. “Thank you for helping.”
“Could you sign this for my daughter?” He held out an index card.
“Why don’t you give me her name and address, and I’ll send her a signed picture.”
“Great.” He wrote the info on the card and handed it over. “Things haven’t gone too smoothly for you here, but I hope you’ll come back to Kauai. Take a tour.” He smiled.
She returned it grimly, sliding the card into her pocket. Her tension seemed appropriate to being threatened off the island. Not far from the truth, except they were taking the threat aboard.
Cameron said, “There’s a big guy coming with a young woman. Let them through, all right?”
The man nodded, and Cameron led Gentry out to the windy tarmac. Her hair flew around her face as he searched the sky for Denny’s Cessna Citation X. No sight or sound of it yet, but it wouldn’t be long. From Lihue he would circle out to make a new approach into Princeville.
TJ sweated. He had one focus in this, to hold Nica after the storm. Cameron turned that thought over. It was about time someone realized how special she was. Or maybe she’d waited for TJ all along.
At the first sound of the jet, he threaded Gentry’s fingers into his. Why did it feel like betrayal to let her do this? She leaned in, curling her other hand around his arm, but he couldn’t tell whether she was needing or providing comfort. Still no sign of Malakua and Monica.
But as the jet touched down, braked hard, and screamed to a stop at the far end of the runway, the tour director came outside, pale faced. Malakua walked behind him with a seven-inch blade at Nica’s ribs. Her fear washed over him like a toxic flood.
Malakua glared at TJ. “I wen say no cop.”
Cameron spread his hands. “He’s here for Nica. Unarmed.” He prayed.
“Take off da shirt.”
TJ stripped his T-shirt, showing only skin and muscle and cold fury.
“On da ground.” At TJ’s resistance, Malakua put a choke hold on Nica and raised the knife.
“Get down,” Cameron hissed through gritted teeth. If TJ charged, she’d be cut. The waves churned in the back of his mind.
TJ lowered himself to the pavement as the jet turned, the whistle of its engines becoming a whine against the buffeting of the wind.
Malakua barked in Nica’s ear. “Trow him da rope.” He seemed to weave on his feet. Was he jacked on something?
She pulled a thin cord from the tote on her shoulder. Cameron caught it. Nylon clothesline from her carport.
“Tie him up.” Malakua sounded thick-tongued.
Not waiting to be told twice, Cameron tied TJ’s hands behind his back.
“Now him.” Malakua jutted his heavy jaw at the pale tour director.
Nica tossed him another rope. Cameron tied the hands of the man whose daughter would get Gentry’s autograph. The jet taxied to the near end of the runway and stopped. Without knowing how soon he’d take off again, Denny brought it down to the compressors.
“Now you tie him,” Malakua hollered at Gentry as he gestured at Cameron.
“I
can’t.” She raised her chin, pure Rachel Bach standing against the union workers who wanted to crush her. “He’s piloting the jet.”
Malakua shook his head. “No way, buggah.”
Denny opened the door and lowered the stairs. When he started to descend, Malakua shouted, “Stop.” Denny froze on the third stair and spread his hands.
Cameron hollered over the jet’s idle, “I’m flying you out. That’s the condition. Danny’s had too many hours in the air. They won’t clear him for takeoff.”
Malakua faltered. His best chance of leaving the island lay before him, and he knew it. But his mind seemed stalled. He shook himself and said, “Take off da shirt.”
Cameron looked down. His T-shirt was tight enough to reveal a holster bulge if there’d been one, but he pulled it off and hung it over his shoulder.
“Pockets.”
He took out his truck keys and dropped them on the tarmac. Denny would need them. He palmed his wallet and pulled the pockets inside out. “I’m clean.” Not for the first time he wished he wasn’t. Maybe he should have had the police there in the cane. If not for that crazy vision, he would have covered every angle. But that didn’t matter now.
Malakua shook himself. “Den tie her.” He jutted his chin at Gentry.
Cameron balked. “She’s here voluntarily.”
“Tie her, or I cut.”
Nica gasped in the grip that tightened on her neck. Red waves rushed behind his eyes. Rage shook his hands when Gentry held hers out, a seemingly submissive move that allowed for hands in front. He tied before Malakua could suggest otherwise, but apologized with his eyes. A dip of her lashes absolved him.
“You! Down here.” Weaving again, Malakua motioned Denny forward.
Denny joined them, went through the shirts-off, empty-pockets drill to prove himself unarmed, and came to a rest on the pavement next to TJ. Malakua didn’t order Denny tied, either because of his angelic looks, a lapse in focus, or no more rope in Nica’s tote. Malakua yanked the bag off and shouldered it himself.
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