“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Mr. Fu said, his thready voice a weak echo of his former self. “In light of how you’ve helped me out in the past, I will talk to you and, I suppose, to your detective boyfriend.” The bed sheets rustled as he shifted in the bed. His housekeeper jumped to her feet and stuffed several pillows behind his thin back so he presented the illusion of sitting up.
“I will talk to you,” he said again, “and to Aloha Pete, but your dirty cops will have to wait outside.”
“Now see here—!” Blakely shouted.
“I assure you, they are as clean as I am,” Pete said, his jaw tightening. He’d stepped between Blakely and the bed. “I would like them to stay in the room with us. They are here for Kyra’s protection.”
“Believe what you will,” Mr. Fu said. “But I will not talk with those dirty cops around. Nothing good comes from letting dirty cops hang around. Send them away, Kyra.” Mr. Fu closed his eyes and fell silent, which was a very good thing. It was becoming clear that if he’d said “dirty cop” one more time, Blakely would have pulled out his gun and shot him.
Pete grimaced in the tense silence. There was nothing he could do but to send Blakely and Grant out of the room...and let me take the lead.
“There’s nothing wrong with Blakely and Grant,” Pete grumbled under his breath soon after the two men had left the room.
“Clean cops don’t wear thousand dollar shoes,” Mr. Fu said, his eyes still closed.
Pete glanced down at his own shoes and frowned. I knew they had to be expensive—he only wore the best—but a thousand dollars a pair? Sheesh.
“Those missing women,” Mr. Fu said, shaking his head, “a shame, really.”
“Do you know what might have happened to them?” I asked, while wondering if he’d been the one who was scooping the young prostitutes off the street.
“I’m dying,” Mr. Fu said, ignoring my question.
“Open a window,” I suggested. “It’s so stuffy in here, I feel like I’m dying, too.”
He chuckled and ended up coughing. “I wish it were that simple, my angel. I’m an old man. And there is no stopping this somber march to the grave.”
“Some light and fresh air wouldn’t hurt.”
“For you”—his eyes brightened as he lifted his head and turned toward me—“I will give the outside air a try.” With a wave of his hand, his housekeeper was in action, pulling back the heavy drapes and fighting with a window that looked as if it had never been pried from its sash. “I understand that someone tried to kill you,” he said.
The housekeeper swore as she continued to fight the window that remained firmly shut. Pete crossed the room to help her.
“I hope you haven’t suffered any permanent damage from your recent...um...mishaps,” Mr. Fu said.
“That’s why we’re here,” Pete said. He was now fighting with the window. There was a loud crack that made me jump, and then the window swung open.
“You don’t think that I—?” Mr. Fu’s voice grew strong with indignation.
“I was stabbed in the stomach. And poisoned,” I told him, though I was sure he already knew every detail. Admitting aloud how I’d suffered smothered all the warm feelings I was having toward Mr. Fu. “The man who stabbed me said—and I quote—‘keep out of Mr. Fu’s business.’ You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Mr. Fu started coughing, choking really. “I was—I was—hoping—that—my—”
“That your...what?” I asked, pushing up to my feet.
The housekeeper rushed to his side and handed him a cup. His hands were shaking as he took a long sip.
“I really am dying,” he said finally. He cleared his throat. “You can ask my doctor. He’ll be only too happy to give you the sordid details of my imminent demise, the ghoul.”
“I’m sorry,” Pete said, flashing me a sharp look. “And I’m sorry to be disturbing you at this time. However, I trust Kyra and what she was told by the man who stabbed her.”
“Dustin,” it sounded like Mr. Fu said, but then he was coughing at the time.
“What?” Pete asked.
“I had hoped it hadn’t happened that way. I did pay to have you followed, my angel. But only because your investigation was taking you dangerously close to my current project.”
He held up his bony hand when I started to ask him about it.
“I have a great deal of power and money and no children. I wasted my time building an empire and forgot to think about the future.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, though I had a feeling that if I’d taken a minute to think about it, I would have been able to figure things out. But why do the work when Mr. Fu could simply tell me?
“A man’s greatest wish is to have someone carry on after he is gone,” he said.
“Yes, but—?”
“You want a son,” Pete offered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Mr. Fu nodded.
“The women,” I said, as the pieces started to fall into place. “You were interviewing potential mothers?”
Mr. Fu nodded again. “I have chosen five. All of them beautiful birds of paradise. And they will all be handsomely reimbursed for their services. But one of my birds has disappeared. When you approached, Sally, my fifth, Dustin must have overreacted.” His gaze lingered on me for longer than was necessary. “I am in search a replacement, if you are willing, my angel.”
“Uh...uh...no. I mean...no. Really...no.”
Pete laughed and did nothing to help me out. Mr. Fu simply shrugged. Or perhaps he was shifting in the bed. There wasn’t enough light to be absolutely sure.
“What you’re doing isn’t illegal,”—I turned to check with Pete—“is it?”
Pete shook his head.
“My lawyer has drawn up all the paperwork. I assure you, it’s aboveboard. I’m not buying babies. I’m creating a family. The birds will be active participants in the raising of my sons. They will have to be.” He gazed wistfully at a painting of the Great Wall of China hanging on the wall across the room from him. “I won’t be around long enough to witness any of the babies’ births.”
“You don’t know that,” I said. “You might surprise your doctor, and outlive him.”
“I know,” he said, his voice fading. “Sadly, I know only too well.”
“You could be wrong.” I hated defeat. I hated to lose anything or anybody. “Hell, I’m telling you, you are wrong.”
My determination brought a smile to the old man’s lips. “My sweet angel,” he whispered and then reached for his glass of water.
“I understand why you want children.” Though starting a family at his age seemed somewhat...um...impossible. “But why the need for so much secrecy? Why would you be worried that I was questioning the same prostitutes you had interviewed?”
“There are many who would like to have my home, my money, my position. Many who would kill to have what I have. I needed to protect my future living in the wombs of those women. After one of my chosen mothers went missing, I had to become more vigilant.”
“That isn’t a good reason to pay someone to hurt Kyra,” Pete said, his humor gone. “She nearly died.”
“I assure you Dustin was acting without my permission. That’s the trouble with these young upstarts. They think they know what I want and never bother to ask.” He scribbled an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Pete. “Throw the book at him. It’ll teach him a sadly overdue lesson.”
Pete seemed satisfied. He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. I, on the other hand, was feeling much more suspicious. Mr. Fu was being too accommodating. Too friendly. Even for him. Especially considering how only a week and a half ago, he adamantly refused to see me. Which got me to wondering, if I had died, would he have handed over his henchmen so readily? Was that why this Dustin fellow had been so determined to poison me? To protect his position in Mr. Fu’s hierarchy?
And what about th
e missing women? If Mr. Fu hadn’t taken them, who had?
“Something doesn’t add up,” I said aloud.
“The stabbing was a mistake, my angel. Don’t take it personally.”
DON’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY? How could I not? It was my life...and, despite what Pete thought, I was rather attached to it. But begrudgingly, I had to admit that Mr. Fu was right. I’d solved the puzzle of why someone wanted to plant me under the nearest palm tree, and I needed to move on. I needed to focus on finding those missing women again.
No matter how cleverly either Pete or I prodded, Mr. Fu refused to budge on his story. Apparently, he had no idea what had happened to the missing prostitutes. No one in his far-reaching hierarchy was involved...or so he said. And perhaps he truly didn’t know. His illness had taken a visible toll on him. It was possible to believe that, for once, things were happening in Honolulu that he knew nothing about.
Mr. Fu didn’t believe it, of course. He was convinced that a madman—a loner, an unknown—had to be killing the women. Otherwise, he would have heard about it. For Anna and Tina’s sake, I prayed he was wrong.
With that unhappy thought eating at my mind—I was still brimming with questions—I let Pete herd me out of Mr. Fu’s room. Blakely and Grant were waiting just outside the doorway. Naturally I checked out their shoes. Grant’s looked like the run-of-the-mill chunky black dress shoe nearly every cop on the HPD owned. Blakely’s shoes, on the other hand, were slender, fitted works of art. In fact, they were the exact kind of shoe Pete was wearing on his feet.
Pete came from money. Everyone who knew anything about the islands knew of his family. They owned a chain of hotels, some of them so posh that it would cost me a week’s worth of groceries just to stand in the lobby. I figured he could afford to waste his money on handmade shoes.
Blakely didn’t. At least, I didn’t think so. Perhaps he’d inherited from a rich uncle. Or maybe Pete had bought him that particular pair of shoes for Christmas. Or there was a chance that Mr. Fu was right...
Was Blakely a dirty cop?
I eyed him from head to toe. He was snarling at the time. He seemed to do that whenever I was within spitting distance. Pete had gone easy on me and had gotten me back on my law-abiding feet when Blakely had wanted to drag me downtown and toss my butt into jail. To Blakely, I was just another problem to be swept away. I was a criminal who had escaped justice.
Tell that to Mamma Jo. She’d made sure I’d worked my fingers until they were bloody, scrubbing every corner of her hotel in exchange for her paying back the four newlywed couples I had robbed. I considered my debt to society paid in full.
Blakely didn’t. He was one of those black and white, good and evil kind of guys. It made him an efficient cop, a cop immune to corruption. He wouldn’t cross that line. He wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, not even if it meant a bunch of extra money for his pockets. I might not like the guy, but I couldn’t believe he’d sell his soul in order to get his hands on enough money to give him the freedom to purchase a pair of handmade shoes. Not Blakely. Not in a million years.
Which meant the earth should be trembling.
Mr. Fu was wrong.
Pete must have come to the same conclusion. As soon as the four of us stepped into the bright sunlight outside of Mr. Fu’s house, he handed the slip of paper Mr. Fu had given us to Blakely. “Pick him up.”
“On what charge?” Blakely asked, scowling now at the paper instead of me.
“Attempted murder. He attacked Kyra.”
Blakely glanced at me and folded his arms over his chest. Grant mirrored him. “You think I’m going to make an arrest based solely on information given to us by known mobster?”
“No, you’re going to arrest this bastard because I’m telling you to arrest him.”
I was proud of myself for knowing well enough to keep my mouth shut. I might have been the root cause of the power struggle between Blakely and Pete, but that didn’t mean it was any of my business. Adding my two cents into the mix would only make the two men growl at me.
And I didn’t have time to waste. “Those four missing women need us to stay focused,” I found myself shouting.
“Six,” Grant corrected.
“Six?”
“You’ve been in the hospital for nearly two weeks,” Grant reminded me. “And a sixteen-year-old blonde went missing just last night.”
I felt the blood drain from my head. “A sixteen year old?”
Grant nodded gravely.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blakely snapped at Grant.
“Bringing her up to speed.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Pete—” I fought for a smooth breath as both rage and fear for those women simmered in my chest. “Why...didn’t...you...tell...me? Why...didn’t...you...tell...me...about...the...?”
“Because it isn’t your business, Kyra.” He grabbed my arm. “I’m taking her home. Call me when you get the bastard who stabbed her in custody. I’ll want to question him.”
“Not my business?”
He gave me a gentle push toward his car.
“Not my business?”
I planted my feet on the sidewalk and refused to move.
“Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder,” Pete warned. “I’m taking you home. I’m keeping you safe.”
“I don’t think so.”
He grabbed both my arms. “Those missing women aren’t your responsibility. Hell, you almost got yourself killed by playing detective when you damn well know you aren’t qualified. I won’t let that happen again. You’re my ‘ohana, my responsibility. I won’t let you get hurt.”
His ‘ohana. His family. Like a goofy little sister.
When would he figure out that he was the only person who had the power to hurt me? No one else could pull apart my heart like he could.
“I can take care of myself,” I think I forced through my gritted teeth. Okay, I also added something vicious, something I’m too embarrassed to repeat. In my defense, I was furious with him—and, worse, frustrated that he didn’t see me as a lover.
Pete jerked away as if I’d slapped him.
“I’ve been doing a damn good job on my own,” I said, lowering my voice. Blakely had paused at his patrol car and was watching us with too much interest. “I wish you could see that. I wish you could see that I’m not helpless.”
“You were nearly killed,” Pete protested.
“I was stabbed, but I didn’t die. And I’m going to be okay. Please, Pete, I don’t know how to put this nicely. I don’t want or need your protection. Either help me or get out of my way.”
“I can’t do that, Kyra.”
“And I can’t let you lock me away like I’m a china doll. Those six women need protection, not me.” My determination fueled my resolve, giving me more energy than a person fresh out of the hospital should have had. I was going to find those missing women. And I was going to find them before the sun set behind the city’s lush mountains.
Pete and I glared at each other, neither willing to budge.
“Don’t do this,” Pete whispered, his expression raw with emotion.
This was where our relationship ended.
To Pete I would always be that skinny college kid stealing wallets from the tourists. There was nothing I could say to get him to understand how much I’d changed over the years, how much I had grown. So instead of throwing myself against that prickly brick wall, I shook my head and walked away from my beloved Aloha Pete.
Chapter 7
“ARE YOU CRAZY?” Brandi demanded. I’d been wallowing in my misery over what had happened between Pete and me when I had, literally, bumped into her in downtown Waikiki. She had taken one look at me and dragged me to the closest restaurant, an outside café overlooking the Pacific, to buy me lunch. A light breeze was blowing off the water. It was another perfect day in paradise.
If she had been a man, I would have been suspicious. First coffee and now a hot lunch. And she seemed to pop up whene
ver I was at my lowest. I mentioned that to her and she turned her head heavenward and called it divine intervention. I wasn’t sure about that, but I did appreciate her willingness to listen.
“It doesn’t seem like a good idea. I can’t imagine that you’ve thought this through, Kyra.”
“I won’t be throwing her to the wolves. I’ll be there with her,” I argued even though she was right, I hadn’t thought it through. In fact, I was telling her my plan as it was taking shape. “Tina’s sister, Anna, is young and beautiful. I think she would work as the perfect lure.”
“What about the police? Blakely has been arresting pretty much everyone you’ve interviewed, you know.”
I didn’t know that, but it didn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t put it past him to follow me around, hoping I would lead him to the kidnapper. He never was known for doing his own work. I remember several incidences when he worked with Pete, where he’d tried to steal all the credit. Pete never let him get away with it. Instead, he would laugh off Blakely’s efforts to discredit him. I never understood their relationship. If it were me, I wouldn’t have been as forgiving.
“If Blakely sees you with Anna, she’ll end up in jail,” Brandi warned.
“I’ll be careful. I won’t let him see her.”
“And will you let her sell her body?”
“Of course not.”
Brandi sat back and gave me an indulgent smile. “Then how will you identify the kidnapper? Do you think he sees a prostitute he likes and, risking exposure, drags her off the street right then and there.”
“No, of course he—”
“He would employ her for the night and take her back to his place. So, how are you going to decide which big bad wolf to let this sweet little Anna of yours go home with?”
“I-I—” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I need a different plan, I suppose.” I shook my head trying to organize my cluttered thoughts. “I was poisoned, you know. I think it’s muddled my brain.”
Brandi bit her lower lip and smiled indulgently.
Okay. What did I have to work with? I was smart and clever. I should have been able to puzzle this out.
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