Hana Du Rose Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 1 - 4

by Bowes, K T

  Logan held her close in silence as the daylight increased in strength. He felt her shift and held tighter, knowing words could break this uneasy truce. Logan took a deep breath and felt Hana tense under him. “I don’t want to talk!” He heard the panic in her voice. “Don’t say anything.”

  “I don’t want to talk about yesterday,” Logan soothed. He stroked her curls with tender fingers. “I want to talk about today and tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that.” He kissed Hana’s full lips and felt her fear. “I promise I’m in this marriage for life, Hana. You nearly had me there; you almost had me running just like you think everyone else does. I know you’ve been left behind before but I won’t do that to you. In return, you have to promise not to ask me to go or push me away. My default is to run, Hana. So don’t make me.” He kissed her again. “Agreed?”

  Hana nodded. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I said it. I figured you’d go one day anyway so I might as well get it over with. Those Chinese people, they were absolutely terrifying. The woman fogged my head and made me want to hide in a very dark place.”

  “I know, babe. I tried to warn you, but you had to see it to believe it. I won’t see them again now. It’s all done. I have a few more interests to get rid of and then I’m finished. We need to work a bit harder to trust each other, Hana. Both of us, yeah?”

  “Ok. I promise I will.” Hana pushed her face into Logan’s downy chest and sighed, satiated by sex and exhausted from her disturbed night. They cuddled together, resenting the intrusion of hastening daylight. “I don’t want to go to work,” she grumbled plaintively.

  “Tough,” Logan answered, sitting up, “I’m not leaving you here, so get up and get a move on.” He refused to bow to her tantrum, pulling the sheets all the way off the bed, much to Hana’s disgust. She got up and examined the poor pyjamas.

  “Poor monkey,” she sighed, frowning at the rumpled brown face and detached sleeve. While she was in the shower Logan confiscated them, balling them up in the dustbin in the garage and making sure they had dirty tea bags on them.

  “Oops!” He used a piece of firewood to smush the monkey face into the mouldering remains of a spaghetti bolognaise and waved sarcastically at the grimacing creature as he slammed the bin lid down on it. Another vestige of Hana’s life before him was gone.

  The couple seemed physically closer, as though some defining hurdle had been surmounted. They could hardly keep their hands off one another and a new electricity surged between them. As Logan grabbed his car keys from the hall dresser, he noticed again the picture of Jesus in a wooden frame his mother gave them. “Take this from me,” she had said brusquely. “It’s been in the hotel for years. Your dad found it in the back of the cupboard upstairs. It was your kuia’s. She liked all that Atua stuff. God never did much for me, but he might for you.”

  Now it was propped up on the dresser ready to hang somewhere. Hana must have unpacked it from her stuff last night. It was very catholic. Logan didn’t know his grandmother had any kind of faith. The Rabbi’s face was gentle and full of suffering underneath the glow of his halo. Logan studied it for a second seeing it as though for the first time. There was something different about it. It wasn’t just a nice catholic picture. It had an unusual realism which resonated of sacrifice, somewhere deep inside his chest.

  Logan snatched his keys and went down to the garage, the image firmly cast in his mind.

  Du Rose Legacy

  Chapter 18

  After work that evening, Hana was so tired she hardly managed to rehash Maihi’s soup and stay awake long enough to eat it. Logan went through to the bedroom and found her rummaging around under her pillow. “What’s up?” he asked in amusement after watching her pull the bed apart in her bra and undies.

  “I can’t find them!” Hana exclaimed crossly, “And I’m freezing.”

  “Find what?” asked Logan innocently.

  “My jamas!” replied Hana resorting to looking under the bed.

  Logan stifled a snort. “They’re in the bin, babe, where they should have gone long ago.”

  “No! How could you?” Hana was bereft. Her face lit with a redhead’s determination and Logan intercepted her at the bedroom door.

  “No you don’t,” he laughed. He held her tightly, keeping his arms around her wriggling body. “I hate them. That damn monkey gives me the evils every time I come near you. You’re my wife, not his.”

  “I liked them! Even though you chopped one of the arms short and ripped the other one off! I’m getting him back.”

  “There’s all crap in there!” Logan said convincingly, not letting go. “Tea bags and cat sick.” He added the latter to quell the determined look in her eye. “Ils sont irrécupérables, mon amour.”

  Hana glared at him. “You should know better than to speak French to an angry Englishwoman and I want my pyjamas! You ripped them on purpose!”

  Logan pouted but didn’t deny it. “Wear some of your nice ones,” he soothed, peering into the drawer where he thought they were kept.

  “Don’t fit!” Hana answered, sitting down on the bed in a sulk. Logan didn’t believe her. He pulled a red silky number out of the drawer and held it up against her.

  “Liar. I bought you this. You look really ooh la la in it.”

  “Stop with the French!” Hana snatched the silky negligée out of Logan’s hand and flicked him with it. Slipping off her bra, Hana pulled her head through the neck. It slithered provocatively over her breasts and down her waist until the material suffered some kind of silky traffic jam over her stomach. Logan tried to help pull it down but to no avail. It was clearly not a pregnancy nightie by any standards and there was a horrid tearing sound as he gave it one final yank.

  “Happy now?” Hana griped, hopelessly stuck inside the garment and spinning on the spot trying to find a piece of material handy to yank it back up. “Stop laughing at me!” she shouted. “And don’t say you’re sorry because I can see you’re not!”

  Logan removed the amused expression with difficulty and helped Hana extricate herself from the nightdress. He yanked it over her head, rolled it neatly up and fitted it back into the drawer. Then he furrowed around looking for something else while Hana sat shivering and miserable on the bed. “They were elasticated,” she said sadly. “And comfy.”

  “They reeked of your old life and I hated them.” Logan replied. But he felt chagrined. A quick glance at Hana earned himself a glare and a retort.

  “Don’t you dare look at me with that glint in your eye!” she threatened him. “I’m freezing because of you. You’re not coming near me!”

  Logan sniggered and pulled open the door to his wardrobe. All that came to hand was an old shirt he wore almost threadbare on the farm and which he caught Hana wearing after his short stint in the police cell. It smelled of deodorant and horses but was long on Hana. He offered it out to her, gratified to see the delight on her face as she reached for it. “Yeah, this one,” she said happily, her face innocent and guileless like a small child. She pulled it over her shoulders and buttoned it up the front, leaving the top three undone. Hana stood up and twirled around, deciding she probably needed to leave her knickers on for decency sake. She beamed. It was pre-loved, comfortable and made her feel close to Logan.

  He stood by the wardrobe, transfixed as she twirled in front of him. Hana grinned. “I forgive you now. I like this, it’s so...”

  “Bloody sexy,” interjected her husband, picking her up and laying her on the bed. “I don’t think I can cope with you walking around in this. It’s gonna have to come off!”

  Hana laughed and accused him of being corny. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard. Have you got any more of those little gems tucked inside your egotistical Māori book of how to bed babes?”

  “Plenty. And they all work.” Logan bit Hana’s neck and popped three buttons with very little effort.

  “Logan, stop. I only just got it on!” Hana shrieked.

  Logan buried his face in
the soft skin under her hair and muttered. “It doesn’t look right. It’s coming off.”

  Hana resisted long enough to hear the small tearing sound from the seam under her arm and squealed in dismay. “Don’t you dare! Not again!”

  “Do as you’re told then, woman.” Logan’s voice was husky and he left the awkward buttons and worked his hand underneath. “Mmnn, I love the easy access,” he breathed. His fingers found the waistband of Hana’s knickers and she capitulated, remembering the short work he seemed to make of her underwear.

  She climbed back into the shirt again a while later only to feel her husband’s hands tugging it back off her shoulders. Hana giggled and laughed but found herself defenceless against her husband’s rampant charms. The sudden sound of the gate buzzer brought them up sharp, Hana grappling for her shirt and knickers and Logan throwing himself off the bed, fumbling for his boxers and trousers. “It has to be Bodie,” Hana stage whispered.

  Logan stopped abruptly, his boxer shorts half way up his leg. “What the hell are we doing? This is our house!”

  Hana giggled. “Fine! Go out in your undies and say howdy!”

  Logan laughed and pulled on his jeans, leaving his muscular torso bare and intimidating. The huge scars on his side and stomach were notched and ugly but added to his sexuality and danger for Hana. She gave him a lovely smile as he wrenched the bedroom door open and heard him greet Bodie at the front door. Hana flopped back on the bed after pulling her knickers back on. She hadn’t seen Bodie since he’d dropped her home after the Expo and still felt cross with him. There was something deeply secretive and selfish about Vik’s son. Hana wondered what to say to him knowing that tempting as it was, she couldn’t just lay there and ignore him. She pulled her dressing gown on over the shirt and did up the cord. It felt bulky and strange, but she wandered down to the kitchen, having complemented her outfit with a pair of Logan’s woolly farm socks.

  Bodie looked momentarily awkward as Hana strolled in, her hands pushed deep into her robe pockets. Her cheeks were flushed and pink, the bloom of sex still in her twinkling eyes. Logan stood at the sink filling the kettle and Hana smiled at Bodie before going over to her husband and slipping an arm around his bare waist. She kissed the side of his bicep where his ta moko tattoo twisted and wove itself around the muscle. Hana turned to observe her son, trying not to feel guilty at his discomfort. Her early morning conversation with Logan came back to her. If they didn’t fuse as a couple and begin to trust one another; all would be lost. Logan would never be Bodie’s father, but he was Hana’s choice and her son needed to get used to it.

  Bodie sat at the kitchen table, not quite sure where to look as he poked around with a crumb of toast forgotten in the teatime clean up.

  “How’s Amy?” Hana asked, trying to steer towards neutral territory.

  “Don’t know,” he said, rolling the crumb around on the wood and not looking up. He was in mufti but not dressed as immaculately as usual. Old blue track pants formed part of his attire and a white tee-shirt, which looked like it needed binning. Hana resisted her usual urge to jump straight into the problem and waited while Logan clattered around on the counter top with the teapot and coffee. He glanced back at Hana a couple of times, catching her eye and jerking his head to indicate he would leave them alone. It was the last thing Hana wanted and she shook her head and screwed up her face with a silent plea.

  Logan had a wise head and was largely impartial. Hana saw years of Bodie’s ‘problems’ stretching out behind her, secrecy, misery and arguments ensuing from her tendency to ask too many questions and try to fix things. She felt tired of it being all about her son. If Bodie wanted her to probe so he could have the familiarity of shutting her down and running away, he was sadly disappointed. Hana changed the subject. “I heard from Izzie on Saturday,” she said brightly, getting up to fetch a packet of biscuits from the pantry cupboard. “She said she looks like the side of a barn. Marcus has to help her put socks on.”

  Bodie nodded and briefly smiled. The crumb looked awfully flat, refusing to roll around the table under Bodie’s finger anymore. Hana slapped the packet of biscuits in front of him and sat back down. He reached for one instinctively and began munching on it as Logan put the teapot down on the table. Logan hovered for a moment, trying to catch Hana’s eye and failing miserably. In the end, he excused himself. “Just nipping to the bathroom,” he muttered as Hana mentally labelled him a coward. She pulled a snarky face at his retreating back.

  Bodie looked up as Logan left the room, waiting until he heard the bathroom door click. “Do you know he does business with the Triads? He’s like a son to their head guy. I knew there was something about Logan Du Rose!” The victory in Bodie’s voice made Hana’s stomach churn.

  It all fell into place with a huge clang in Hana’s brain, the security detail, the private meal, the gun. It was too late now; she was committed. Hana turned determined green eyes on her son. “Yes, I did. We had a lovely meal with the Ches on Sunday. I hadn’t tried crispy fried seaweed before. It was lovely, I wouldn’t mind trying it again actually.”

  Bodie’s gasp interrupted her, which was fine as Hana mentally corrected herself. She had actually tried it again, but it wasn’t half as nice on the way up as it was on the way down. “Mum!” Bodie glanced hastily at the doorway before lowering his voice again and trying to continue. “These people are sooooo bad, you have no idea. You talk about this kind of stuff like it’s just social, but it isn’t, it never is! Has it not occurred to you that all your problems started when you met Logan? I mean, he’s nice and everything but Mum, for God’s sake...”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” Hana couldn’t help herself, “Just because your life isn’t going how you thought, don’t start picking holes in mine, thank you!” She stood up and tried to pour tea with shaking hands. “My problems began long before Logan came on the scene, but you wouldn’t know that, because you weren’t here.”

  She pushed a mug of tea towards her son and thumped the milk jug down in front of him before sitting down again. He looked taken aback, unused to her being able to defend herself. He wasn’t quite sure how the game went from here. Bodie was confused. He had to protect her; it’s what his dad would have wanted, had he ever had the chance to ask him to. “I’m trying here,” he began, but Hana shook her head slowly.

  “Bodie, that night you dropped me home after the Expo you made it quite clear your main concern was how things affected you and your career. I understand that. I don’t blame you. But don’t turn up a week later and try and put me straight just because you’ve done a bit of digging and don’t like what you’ve found!” She took a sip of her tea. It was too hot. “Anyway, I thought doing background checks on people without a good reason was a dismissible offence. Won’t you get into trouble?”

  Bodie chewed his lip. “I wouldn’t do that!”

  “No,” Hana countered, “but you’ve been talking to someone. Why don’t you stop making out my husband’s a career criminal and do something useful? Like find Laval, so people like Mrs Bowman, who incidentally I know you never liked, can stop looking over their shoulders. Or maybe then, I can stop looking over mine. She and I are the victims, not you!” Hana ran her hand over her stomach and sat up straighter. She realised she hadn’t heard the toilet flush and wondered if Logan was eavesdropping somewhere. She felt instantly guilty as she heard the water pump engage and the low droning sound of the motor rumble through the house. Logan appeared in the kitchen again. His hair was damp where he had run wet hands through it. A single strand flipped forward over his brow, reaching down to his eyelashes. He had no idea how devastatingly handsome he was. Hana’s heartbeat skipped and then levelled with his calming presence.

  Logan smiled at Hana and retrieved his coffee off the draining board before sitting down with them. He seemed adept at ignoring loaded atmospheres, sliding the biscuits from in front of Bodie and poking around in the packet. He struggled to make a decision and then slapped his midriff and
pushed the packet away. He lay back in his chair and lifted his arms up to cup the back of his head. His scars looked intimidating and accentuated the gangster image. “Pointless going to the gym and running up that hill if I’m gonna eat crap!” he concluded and reached for his drink instead, “Got to think of next year’s soccer season!”

  Hana smiled, but Bodie didn’t. “What happened at the Expo?” Bodie demanded, looking at both of them in turn. Hana looked straight to Logan, who carefully put his drink down. “I know something happened! I’m not stupid.”

  Logan’s grey eyes studied Bodie with carefully veiled dislike. Only Hana saw it peeking through the cracks she knew to look for. “Laval sent two guys to find Hana because the school was wide open. They found me instead.”

  His explanation was short and to the point. Bodie appeared to consider it, before looking questioningly at Logan. “And?”

  Logan sat forward in his chair again. “And they left. Look bro, with the greatest of respect, how far into this do you want to go? You’re a serving officer as you keep reminding us. Aren’t there some things you’re best not knowing?”

  Bodie shrugged. It became patently obvious that his duty and natural curiosity were struggling to line up. Logan looked at Hana, asking her with his eyes what he should do. She shook her head, not knowing. “Bodie,” Logan used the man’s name to force him to look at him. “I had a scuffle with both of them. One of them was dropped at the hospital for treatment to a knee injury and the other is alive and well and in hiding. It appears he suddenly became surplus to Laval’s requirements. Neither will be leaving either place anytime soon.”