Keko found the ladies’ room, took care of that issue. Desperate for caffeine, she cruised past the few storefronts, found them all gated and locked. Damn, nothing open yet, not even a damned vending machine for coffee. As she rolled the luggage rack toward the only lit check-in kiosk sign, she vaguely noticed a tall LEO, a law enforcement officer, leaning on the counter. The body language of the woman standing next to him indicated an open flirtation was in progress. The woman’s perfectly creased, mocha-colored pants suit looked very expensive, as did her leather-trimmed rolling luggage.
Still jet-lagged and cranky from the LA to Honolulu trip, plus the return twenty-something-hour flight from Honolulu to Boston, by way of Minneapolis and two other airports that she couldn’t even identify, she suspected the counter-leaning womanizer was probably their ride to Catafuckingmount Lake.
Shit. Really? The woman was well dressed, certainly. But it stopped there . Did anyone other than NASCAR groupies do the platinum blonde poofy hair thing and the Ford Mustang Blue eye shadow these days? Crap. Then we get stuck with a backwoods Lusty Lothario who’s permitted to carry a side arm to add to the excitement.
As she and Kamaka moved closer to the kiosk, Keko caught a better look at what appeared to be thick, wavy Hugh Grant hair that barely touched the officer’s crisp khaki uniform collar. The only time she’d seen lovely, sexy, unruly hair that same color had been … .
* * * * *
Mac heard a strange, gasping sound. He turned away from Pepper Hunsacker to investigate the noise. Next to a large Hawaiian man who looked vaguely familiar, and half-hidden by the mound of bags stacked on a large, wheeled, luggage rack, stood a petite beauty whose hair hung to her waist like a shiny black waterfall.
She stepped around the luggage rack. Came to a rock-solid halt. Stared at him.
Her emerald eyes opened wide enough to mimic Garfield the cartoon cat. Wearing a sleeveless button-down vest in some dark red shiny fabric, hip-hugging black capris with a thin silver chain around her naked waist, and black high-heeled sandals, she was a knockout. Sexy enough to cause any greeting to catch in his throat. Competition enough for Pepper to utter rude, catty comments under her breath from her position next to the counter.
As he struggled to focus on the improbability, Mac’s cock recognized her immediately—followed a millisecond later by the rest of his body. The brain came in, third out of three. Dear Jesus sweet Christ in heaven, it’s her! The sex-crazed nymph, the girl with the emerald green eyes and the phoenix tattoo. How the hell … ?
The woman didn’t say it aloud, but he had no trouble reading her pouty red lips.
She mouthed the words, clearly: Oh fuck.
Her Hawaiian companion smiled broadly at Mac. “Yo dude, it’s you. Far out.”
She elbowed the big guy in his well-padded ribs, but did not break eye contact with Mac. “Please tell me you’re not MacBride. I beg you.”
The Hawaiian glanced at her, shook his head sadly. “Have I taught you nothing, my little coconut? Don’t beg—it’s tacky.”
Pulling himself into professional mode, Mac stepped forward, offered his hand.
“Sorry to disappoint. Yes, ma’am, Sheriff Brian MacBride of Catamount Lake, Maine.
Just Mac will do. If the FBI kidnapped or coerced you, if the State Police shoved you into that plane and sent you here, then yes, I’m your ride.” His brain zoomed into the pleasure zone. Oh, baby, please ride me. Again.
From the look on her face, he didn’t think she would return the welcoming gesture. To her credit, she reached forward to shake his hand. Her small hand grasped his, firmly, without hesitation. The lightning crackled in his brain when their skin touched, and he was sure his heart gave an extra beat or two.
Their hands still connected, Mac felt a slight squeeze from her fingers. He also caught the woman’s subtle eyebrow lift and barely perceptible head tilt. Aha, Pepper.
Pepper Hunsacker stood there, observing them intently. He knew from experience that the word secret was not in Pepper’s vocabulary. He released the woman’s hand, then turned toward the blonde. “I’m sorry. Miss Hunsacker, would you please excuse us?”
“You expect me to leave? Well. Really.” Obviously annoyed, she glanced out through the glass doors. “Anyway, my car is waiting. Sheriff Mac, I’ll see you in town.”
After petting his arm possessively, Pepper stalked off without another word, her leather luggage wheeling smoothly behind her.
Now, back to his visitor. Oh yeah, there it is. The scent of honeysuckle. As if I had any doubt.
She offered a modicum of civility. “Thank you, Sheriff, for maintaining our anonymity, and for providing transportation.”
“When the FBI makes requests that aren’t really requests, we hear and obey.”
Since she still didn’t offer, he had no choice but to ask. “Now that we’re alone, I assume neither of you is Kyle Holloway.”
She blinked at him. “Who?”
He stared at the woman, then shook his head to rouse himself out of the mental haze of their brief time together. “Never mind. And your name is … ?”
She handed him a business card from a pocket secreted in her sexy vest. “Keko.”
Then she angled a thumb toward the large Hawaiian. “My comic relief here is Kamaka.”
Mac read the card twice, turned the card over, read it again, then stared at her.
“Keko Holokai, Larsson Demolitions? As in John Larsson?” He flipped back a page in his notebook. “I have a message that refers to a Mr. Kyle Holloway.”
He must have butchered the pronunciation of her name, enough to get a giggle from the Kamaka guy. He soldiered on. “We were never … ah … formally introduced in L.A. Are you the office manager for Larsson Demolitions? I don’t mean to be rude, but we really need your lead explosives expert.”
He turned toward Kamaka. “You must be—”
The big guy held up both hands, took a quick step backward. “Whoa, boss. Don’t look at me! I get my ass in enough trouble all by myself. Man, I like you, so I’m giving you fair warning: piss her off at your own risk.”
In a manner Mac remembered all too well, the petite woman invaded his personal space, jammed a slender finger against his chest.
” I am your expert, Sheriff.” Poke.
” I represent Larsson Demolitions.” Another poke.
“I’m not a freakin’ secretary!” Poke poke. “Why the hell did you think I attended the conference? Did you think I decided to troll a convention center chock-full of powder monkeys to search for husband material?”
Kamaka could barely control his mirth, obviously at Mac’s expense. ” Ooh, sheriff, dude, you are so righteously busted.”
Mac couldn’t prevent a sigh as he shook his head. “Ma’am, it’s too early in the morning, it’s been a bitch couple of days, I haven’t had anywhere near enough sleep or enough coffee, so I’m not tracking real well at the moment. Exactly who are you?”
Kamaka laughed outright, a big booming sound that echoed through the high ceiling rafters of the nearly empty terminal. “You’re on a roll, dude. She likes ma’am about as much as she likes being mistaken for Mister Kyle Holloway.”
Keko whacked her companion’s arm with an open hand. “Will you shut your poi hole?”
Her lips tightened, then she addressed Mac directly.
“Kailani Holokai.” She drew out the syllables. “My fa—I worked with John Larsson as a senior crew chief. He called me Keko, which proved easier than going through the whole pronunciation thing each time. So, there ya have it. In a manner of speaking, I’m your man.”
Mac took a hard look at her. “We all knew John, either in person or by reputation. Nothing, not even scuttlebutt, about a Keko. Nothing about a Kailani.
Nothing about a woman working on any of his teams.”
Keko of the slender sexy body shot back a glare of her own. “John worked on such high security projects that only a few people know about me—or the specifics of any members of our c
rews. I would greatly appreciate your assistance in maintaining our privacy. We all look alike in helmets, facemasks, and hazmat suits. Just think of me as one of the short guys.”
She could never be mistaken for just one of the guys, even a short one.
Then she mumbled something that sounded Hawaiian.
Kamaka clucked, shook his head. “Oh now, that was naughty.”
She crossed her arms in a definitely confrontational posture. “Did you actually know John Larsson?”
Mac looked away, took a moment to collect himself in the face of the red-hot bedroom memories.
“Yes, I did know John, as a matter of fact. SecNav called him in as advisor on a SEAL mission of … some sensitivity. We had an issue. John bailed us out. Showed me things I’d never seen before, amazing tricks. He saved lives during that op, probably saved me and my team.” He stopped himself, pulled in a deep breath. “I … we …
admired him greatly.” He looked at her squarely. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
The light apparently dawned in her brain at the exact moment the thought pierced his. “That’s why—” she began.
“—the demolitions conference, ” he finished.
Mac recovered quickly. “But you were flying to Hawaii, not Boston. I wasn’t snooping, but I saw part of your ticket.”
“Family obligation.” Keko left it at that.
Kamaka prodded Keko out of the way, steered the luggage trolley toward the doors. “Well, kiddies, this has been a real gas, but yours truly is fainting from hunger.
I’ve had nothing to eat except a few peanuts and little, tiny pretzels. I need sustenance.
Real sustenance.”
Keko followed. “Bullshit. You could survive a famine of at least six months’
duration. One more cheddar-bacon burger, and the post office is going to assign a separate zip code just for you.”
Kamaka shook his head slowly. “You’re a harsh, bitter woman, Kailani Holokai.
And soon, you’ll be a harsh, bitter, old woman.”
“Bite me, Ma-ka-ha.” She drew the word out, snarked at the big man.
” Ka-ma-ka. And you wish I would. Maybe just a little nibble. You know what they say, once you go gay, there’s no other way.” He blew her a kiss.
She flipped him the bird.
Mac shook his head, slapped his palm against the metal wall button that swung open the doors. And these are my experts. Great. Just what I need, pre-school kiddies battling between themselves.
They headed for a big SUV parked in the no parking zone, the only vehicle emblazoned with Sheriff on the side, bold gold lettering across a white circle. He slowed his stride, which gave him the opportunity to observe the sexy sway of Keko Holokai’s trim hips as she marched down the sidewalk. She was obviously still in a foul frame of mind.
Oh yeah, it’s her all right. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the memory .
It’s her, with the incredible tattoo of a fiery phoenix rising from the ashes on her naked back.
Now, with her clothes on, the phoenix’s tail feathers peeked out between the bottom edge of her vest and the top of her waistband. The wing feathers shot out from the armholes of her vest as the unfurled wing tips crept along the outer edges of her shoulders.
And I’d remember that perfect ass anywhere. Hoo-ya.
* * * * *
“Do you want to eat first, get settled first, or go out to the site first?” Mac had pulled up in front of the police station, about a block from what looked like the town square, let the truck idle.
Keko glanced at him from the passenger seat, hoped he didn’t notice. Not only did he notice, but her body swore the sparkle in his eyes promised good things to come.
Her hoo-hah remembered how good he’d been, which left her poor sex to twitch and tingle. Now is so not the time for this. Can he really be the MacBride?
“The site first.” Her voice sounded firm. At least, she hoped it did.
From the back seat, Kamaka whined.
The sheriff looked in the rear view mirror. “Sorry, friend, we don’t have fast food joints around here. There is a great diner two blocks down the street, the Hungry Bear Café, an easy walk. Open ‘round the clock, good food, reasonable prices. Put it on our tab.”
He handed Kamaka his business card. “You could come back here to the station and make yourself cozy until I get back. Or catch a ride out to the site with one of the Fibbies. They’re sharing the last vacant suite at the Cata-Lodge Hotel, and the other motels are full. Autumn tourist season. The FBI guys are working in shifts to cover Smitty’s place. Or—”
“Diner works for me.” Kamaka slid his bulk out of the SUV with surprising ease, then headed toward the Hungry Bear, seemingly oblivious to the slight chill in the air.
“Catch ya later, boss lady.”
Just like that, he was gone.
“What’s with the names?”
She cocked her head. “Excuse me?”
“Your buddy’s name. It changes.”
“Ah.” She faced front again. “Translated from Hawaiian, Kamaka means beloved, adored, venerated. You get the idea. He’s very proud of that. He was the last-born of the offspring, so his parents were older. They followed the ancestral custom of not using a surname. His passport and driver’s license actually state Kamaka Kamaka, because he needed a last name for ID.”
She sighed. “He believes that makes him doubly blessed.”
“And … the Makaha?” He bungled the pronunciation.
“It translates to fierce. He hates the name, insists that it’s harsh and messes with his good karma.”
“So, you do it … .”
“Just to aggravate him.”
” Uh huh.”
His arm still draped over the back of the seat, MacBride turned his attention to Keko. All his attention. At his clearly lascivious glance, the tiny hairs on her arms prickled in remembered passion, as did the hairs at the back of her neck. Oh man, this is so not going to work. Three thousand miles between here and our assignation, yet fate steps in and plays us. Some joker god is having quite the giggle at our mortal expense.
“Now that your co-worker’s made his choice, I am totally at your service. What would you like me to do for you?”
It was a loaded question, dripping with innuendo, and they both knew it.
He released his seat belt, turned to face her. “You were gone when I woke. You didn’t need to leave, I hadn’t planned to kick you out of my hotel suite. I thought we’d have a nice, leisurely breakfast together, perhaps become better acquainted—maybe even exchange names. You flew the coop, which left me no way to get in touch with you.”
Oh God, he’s going for it. Shit.
His alpha body posture made her feel very vulnerable, naked. She wasn’t familiar with the feeling, and she didn’t like it.
“Kamaka and I had a flight to catch.” The excuse sounded lame, even to her.
Please let him drop it.
“Not even a business card on the night stand.”
She bit her lip, something she hadn’t done since she was ten. Words wouldn’t come.
“You don’t want to discuss this, do you?”
A wave of relief rolled through her. Oh, thank freakin’ heavens. “No, I don’t.”
“Husband? Boyfriend? Ex? Just so I know how we stand.”
“None of the above.” And we’re not standing anywhere, friend.
Keko read the bald desire in MacBride’s eyes, almost gave in to the same yearning that ramped up in her body. Her nipples—the little traitors—immediately perked to attention. Afraid to look down, she was sure the peaks were attempting to push through the rich satiny fabric of her vest. She knew what he looked like out of uniform. The memory of him panting in her ear, his hot, hard flesh sliding into her wet, overheated … . Oh, no way. This shit needs to stop. Now.
MacBride brushed a wave of thick, gorgeous hair away from his eye.
Oh dear God, he’s killin’ me here.
Her sex throbbed, and with that last throb, she nearly came. A smidgen of squeak escaped her lips. She swallowed. It took all the control she had to keep her hands to herself, and to prevent her voice from cracking.
“Will you take me to the site, please? I need to see the device, put together a report for the FBI. I haven’t been home or had a good night’s sleep in nearly two weeks.”
She realized how whiny that sounded, but the words were already out there. And I need you to go away, I need you to leave me alone before this becomes too complicated for words.
He actually bowed his head. “As you wish. The FBI finished processing the house and buildings. You can use the indoor plumbing facilities, and they’ve stocked the kitchen. No one will starve.”
She’d faced forward again, but at his comment she glanced sideways. “Why didn’t you tell Kamaka there was food available at the cabin?”
Mac smiled, fastened his seatbelt, put the truck into gear. “I would have gotten to it. He didn’t give me the chance.”
And you didn’t see fit to stop him from leaving, either.
She guessed that, as the crow flew, Smitty’s place wasn’t all that far. It was the condition of the secondary and seasonal roads—more like barely widened, twisty game trails—that made the trip arduous and time-consuming. MacBride stopped apologizing after the first few minutes. The silence dragged on, as neither chose to be the first to break it. She refused to bring up their very recent association.
Keko did her best to enjoy the scenery. At least, to do whatever it took not to look at her driver. Not to notice the tousled look of his thick, tawny hair. Not to observe how well his heavy shoulders filled out his tailored uniform shirt. Not to glance at the khaki fabric that pulled tight across his hard thighs. Not to see how Top Gun he looked in mirrored aviator sunglasses.
She didn’t understand herself. Never, not ever, not even once in her life had she reacted to a man the way she reacted to MacBride.
Bombshell - Men of Sanctuary Series, Book Three Page 3