by Lakes, Lynde
“The armor always stays on. That’s what gets me through the daily stress and ankle-deep blood that goes with the job. Now let’s get on with this. I have three murders to solve.”
Suddenly he grinned at her, taking her completely off balance. “Your determination and ability to stay on track are two of the many things I admire about you.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “You don’t make staying on track easy.”
“Haven’t you heard? You can get more from people with sweet talk than with this tough cop routine?”
“Okay, Mr. Shaw, can we please get down to business?”
“I want that as much as you do,” he said, “but this isn’t going the way I’d hoped.” He grasped her fingers, his touch warm, intimate.
She yanked back her hand again. She’d been a cop too long – careful and choosy too long – to melt at the touch of a man just because she was strongly attracted to him. Especially when he was her best friend’s husband, albeit an estranged husband. And a widower, a little voice inside her head added.
Damon’s voice lowered and sounded husky, and on the edge of desparation. “I asked you to meet me here because I needed to talk to Malia my friend, not Reed the cop.” He grasped her hand again. “If I invited you to dinner, who would show up, Malia or Reed?”
A harsh laugh escaped her lips. “Reed-the-cop, is who I am no matter what name you call me, Damon.” His touch felt so warm and right that she didn’t bother to pull away this time. “Even if I were willing to go to dinner with you, I’m working tonight – reunion dinner cruise.”
His eyes brightened as if her last comment had given him hope. He grinned and arched a sexy brow. “They pay you to sip Mai Tais and fill your tummy, Detective?” He was stroking her fingers now, his touch as arresting as his arched brow.
“Look, wise guy, my job is to spot the killer before he kills again.”
Damon’s grin deepened. “Then you’d better take me as your guest, Detective. I know his voice. What do you know about him?”
The challenge in his voice irked her enough to throw caution to the wind and take the bait. “I know he’s tall, built a lot like you, probably not bad looking, and he seems to have a flair for conning women. And, as you infered, he has an over-inflated ego.”
“I’m impressed. You have an idea what he looks like, and I know what he sounds like. Together, we could nail this guy.”
His smile addled her. She didn’t know how to handle her off-balance feelings. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Damon. You tell me what you’re hiding with no more stalling, and I’ll let you tag along to the cruise.”
“Will you keep your bargain even if you don’t like what I have to say?”
“I always do.” She wanted to shake him and force him to get on with it before her curiousity burst its seems. “Now, no more stalling!”
He grinned and stuck out his hand. “First, let’s shake on it.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to give him a quick, firm grip, but he clung to her hand, sending heat radiating up her arm, igniting her senses. God help me, she prayed, feeling like she was sealing a bargain with the devil. She thought of the ticking clock and the bodies piling up. If Damon could identify the killer’s voice, they could stop that pyscho and get him off the street for good. When Damon finally released her hand, she expected to feel relief, but tension still hummed in her veins. “We’ve shaken hands on it. Now talk.”
He looked down, took a deep breath and met her gaze again. “I was sort of following Kiki, the day of her murder. I saw her go into the Martin House with Rosado.”
“Rosado?” If Damon was telling the truth, that meant the Romeo contractor had lied to her. Then the full implication of Damon’s words hit her. “You were stalking Kiki?” Malia gripped the edge of the table, fighting her anger. Were all the men in this case liars?
“It wasn’t like that. I just wanted to talk.”
“That’s what they all say.” She paused to let her temper cool down. “What else haven’t you told me?”
“That’s it. I shouldn’t have—”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” In spite of her attempt at control, her voice rose. “Do you know how this looks?”
“Yeah. But before the third murder, things were looking bad for me. Until I was in the clear, I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“You aren’t in the clear. And you have made things worse. You lied to me. How can I trust you now?”
“I had a right to remain silent. That’s all I did. No lies.”
Technically he was right, and debating it would waste time. “Do you think it was Rosado who called you?”
“No. Rosado has that heavy Filipino accent. Our killer had no detectable accent.” Damon paused and studied her face, looking hopeful. “Are we still on for the cruise?”
She frowned. “Meet me at pier six at seven-thirty.” She was certain this was a mistake, but as she’d told him, she never reneged on a bargain. And if he could help her catch the killer, it would be worth the danger of getting more involved. Malia stood, ready to make a quick exit. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just need you to listen to voices.” She took a fortifying breath, and more to convince herself than to stress the fact to him, she added, “This isn’t a date.”
Chapter Thirteen
The bar in the Diamond Seas Hotel was cool, dark and restful on the eyes, just the way Al Lee liked it. Earlier, he’d bided his time and watched the woman sip her drinks, knowing it would be easier to approach her if she was tipsy. But he waited too long. Friends joined her and foiled his plan. Cursing his bad luck, he left and drove past the police station, hoping to catch a glimpse of Malia. He saw her enter the station with a big cop who seemed to be around a lot. She looked tiny next to the big bruiser – and vulnerable. He had a surprise for her. Soon.
He had returned to the bar and was surprised to find his prey still here. And alone. He wasn’t worried about finding Bev again. He had her room number. He ordered a drink and watched her for a few minutes. She looked lonely as hell. He stood, squared his shoulders and strutted over to her table. “Pardon me, Miss,” he murmured in his lowest voice, “but has anyone ever told you that you have the most expressive brown eyes in the whole state of Hawaii?”
She blushed. “Why, no,” she drawled in an accent that was giveaway that she’d recently lived in Alabama, or Georgia. He hadn’t remembered it being so pronounced when they were in school. Damn. He’d always been a sucker for southern belles.
She shifted in her seat and uncrossed her legs. Those gams looked better and better. He was even getting used to her heavy perfume.
He smiled and offered to buy her another Chi Chi, while allowing his eyes, hidden behind green contact lenses, to promise much more. If things went right, Bev would take him upstairs to her room, 2013, for an afternoon to end all afternoons. Before her last gasp of breath, he would reveal himself to her.
As he quizzed Bev about her life, he noticed how different she sounded with that thick accent. She looked different, too. “I’ll bet you were always a good girl and never did anything that you regret?” he said, smiling.
Those big eyes of hers widened. “Are you a mind reader, or what? Coming here brought it all back.”
“Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
She hesitated until he touched her hand and said, “Come on. You’ll feel better if you tell me about it.”
“Well, there was this boy who was very pale, and I called him Ghosty and drew ghosts all over his locker.” Her eyes got all liquidy. “I have kids of my own now and see how much it hurts them when other kids call them names. I wish I could see that guy again and tell him how sorry I am.”
He found it difficult to hate this pathetic woman who bore little resemblance to the taunting girl he’d known so many years ago. Holding onto his anger became even more difficult when he learned that she was a single mom struggling to raise three children of the tender ages of two, three and five. Someth
ing weird and surprising happened. Suddenly he didn’t want to kill this woman; he wanted to help her. It was a new feeling.
“Who’s watching your kids now?” he asked, wanting her to say something to prove that she was a bad mother like his old lady had been.
“My mom. I’m really nervous about it, too. I’ve never left my girls before, and Mom is really too old to watch them for long. A teenage neighbor is helping out. I almost canceled, but it seemed to mean so much to Mom that I have this one reunion memory.”
“It doesn’t mean that much to you?”
“Honestly, I’m lonely and miss my girls. If I had an open airline ticket, I’d cut things short and leave after the boat cruise tonight. By the way, you wouldn’t consider going with me, would you? I’m finding that doing things solo isn’t much fun.”
He feigned a sheepish smile. “I’d love to, but I get seasick. Let’s catch dinner on our own tonight. I’ll go with you to the other reunion parties, if you’d like.” He had no intention of keeping any date with her, but to keep her safe while he put his plan into motion, he wanted her to wait for him far away from the docks. He handed her a fist-full of money and told her to go buy a gown, something with a slit in the skirt to show off her great legs.
She pushed the money back at him. “I can buy my own clothes. I’m not some golddigger or a hooker. I’m just lonely.”
He felt his face crinkle with a smile, maybe the first sincere smile since high school. “We’ve got something in common,” he said, feeling this unexplainable connection to this chubby little mother. “I’ve been lonely all my life.” He touched her cool hands. “Use the cash to buy some toys for your children. No strings attached, okay?”
“I won’t take your money, so forget that.”
“Then dinner. Two lonely people enjoying a meal together.” He grinned and winked. “Come on, that can’t be a bad thing.”
She hesitated, then smiled and nodded.
He told her where he’d meet her later, miles from the docks. Too bad he had to stand her up. He liked her. But he wasn’t letting her off completely. He’d look her up sometime in the future, when her kids didn’t need her anymore. If she hadn’t done a good job, the revenge would be just as sweet then. Revenge made him think of Malia. I’m getting closer, Malia. Do you tremble when I’m near? You should – I just had a cancellation. ****
Streaks of light washed the docks with a soft burnt-umber glow and silhouetted the lone familiar female figure. Behind Malia, the setting sun painted the sky a coral sherbet as it slowly sank toward the horizon, highlighting her in a golden glow that took Damon’s breath away. He waved. She still wore her tailored pantsuit and looked very professional, which confirmed that she regarded their evening together as strictly business. The salty breeze tousled her dark hair and rippled her slacks against those long legs. The only hint that she might be on a date was her casual hairstyle. His heart lurched at that ray of hope. It was the first time he’d seen her hair loose since she’d been maid-of-honor at his wedding. Maid-of-honor replayed in his head. Her part in his wedding was one of the main reasons he shouldn’t want her. He blocked his mind, refusing to think of the other reasons.
Passengers for the reunion dinner cruise were already boarding the Windjammer. Damon wanted to glance at his watch to verify that he was right on time, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Malia. The gentle slosh of water lapping against the dock moorings should have relaxed him, but he was as jittery as a teen on his first date.
She had denied it was a date, and he had to remember to call her “detective”. A powerful urge that didn’t make sense made him want to rush to her and draw her into his arms. Feigning a nonchalance that took all his willpower, he managed to saunter over to her. “Hi, Detective,” he said, certain he was grinning like an idiot. “Ready to board?”
She shaded her eyes with a delicate hand and smiled. “You can drop the detective stuff during the cruise. I don’t want to advertise that I’m here officially.”
He tightened his jaw to keep his mouth from dropping open. Damned if she hadn’t changed the rules. She definitely knew how to keep him guessing. Refusing to reveal his unsettled feeling, he forced a grin. “Maybe more casual clothes would’ve helped.”
She arched a slim brow. “Into women’s boating fashions, are you, Damon?” Before he could come up with something clever, Malia said, “Let’s concentrate on why we’re here.” Her hair stirred ever so slightly about her shoulders, deepening the burgundy-fire that glinted there. “I’ll talk to as many men as possible,” she said all businesslike, “to give you a chance to zero-in on their voices.”
The idea of Malia flitting from man to man, even in the line of duty, sent a jolt of tension up his spine. He’d had his fill of sharing his woman. But Malia isn’t mine.
When he firmly took her arm to assist her up the boarding plank, she looked down at his hand, but didn’t pull away. She turned and scanned the faces of new arrivals lining up behind them.
“What are you looking for?” Damon asked. “You have only a rough idea what the killer looks like, right?” Maybe her backward glance had nothing to do with the murders. Was she looking for a special classmate, someone she’d dated in high school?
“I’m ruling out people,” she said, and fell silent again.
Damon watched her with a disturbing mix of emotions. She’d put him on a need-to-know basis, and apparently as far as she was concerned, he didn’t need to know anything.
It took about ten minutes to board. A photographer, dressed like an admiral, and his smiling Filipina assistant wearing a red sarong, greeted each person with a plumeria lei and took their picture. When it came time for Damon and Malia to have their picture taken, the photographer assumed they were a couple and posed them together, close enough for Damon to smell the heady fragrance of the lei and to feel the heat and firmness of Malia’s fit body. Damon expected Malia to protest and step away. When she didn’t, he felt warm and intoxicated like he’d had too much alcohol. He smiled at Malia. She merely stared at, or through, him with a serious, preoccupied expression. His joy drained into a dam of disappointment.
“How many copies, Sir?” the photographer asked.
“What?”
“Copies. How many?”
Damon had no idea. To cover his confusion, he said, “Four’s a nice round number. Yeah, four.”
Malia darted a look at him that he couldn’t read; she wasn’t smiling. Had he overstepped his bounds?
The photographer grinned and said, “Your photos will be ready by Saturday night. You can pick them up in the ballroom lobby when you arrive at the reunion dinner-dance.”
Damon nodded. Could a non-classmate like himself wangle an invitation to the function? If he didn’t locate the voice that belonged to the killer tonight, Malia might be receptive to the idea of them going together. His neck warmed, even thinking of doing something so sneaky – and so against his prime goal of avenging Kiki and saving lives.
It hit him that his desire to spend time with Malia wasn’t just to clear himself or catch the killer anymore, if it ever was. Malia’s soft suede jacket and her body warmth against his bare arm stirred him more than he’d thought possible. He tried to ignore the tightening in his groin as they moved toward the Hawaiian music and cacophony of voices inside the dining area.
“How will you introduce me to your classmates?” he asked.
Malia looked up at him, her face aglow in the coral light. “As Kiki’s husband and a friend of the family.”
Malia’s answer was appropriate, but he couldn’t have been put more in his place if she’d slapped him. So, why did the closeness between them feel so right? Guilt knotted his stomach. Technically, while legally separated, he was still a widower. And his wife wasn’t even buried yet. Damon dropped his arm away from Malia and took her by the elbow.
Suddenly he felt tired, hungry, and irritable. “This isn’t going to be a whole lot of fun, is it?” His words slipped out before he realized how heartle
ss they sounded.
Malia’s eyes flashed. “This is a murder investigation to find your wife’s killer. What do you expect? If you want fun, go surfing.”
Heat shot up his neck to his jaw line, and he whirled Malia around to face him. “Listen, I want the guy who killed Kiki as much as you do, but if we don’t put your classmates at ease they’ll clam up. Remember, I need to hear all of the men’s voices. And I think I could do a helluva better job if I could, at least, pretend to enjoy the sunset, the food, and music. Or is that a crime, Detective?”
She almost smiled. “During the cruise it’s Malia, remember?” Gently, she placed her cool hands on his arms and looked up into his eyes with such open vulnerability that his gut ached. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Guess I was taking my rough day out on you. Again.” She stepped away, breaking the warm connection that had just started to form. “Just be yourself, Damon. I’m sure whatever you do or say will be fine.”
Damon’s grasp of Malia’s underlying signals scattered wildly. Was that sarcasm he detected in her voice? Or was she patronizing him? Before Damon could decide, Malia threw him another curve by slipping her arm through his in a friendly way that sent a warmth charging through his body. She guided him around the deck, stopping to talk to couples standing along the highly varnished rail. Malia introduced him with pride in her tone, mentioning that he was a writer, and making him feel better than he had a right to feel under the circumstances. He forced himself to concentrate on voices other than Malia’s.
Damon caught a glimpse of someone who looked like Ku. Unless he was on duty, the big Hawaiian wouldn’t be part of this reunion group. He had to be at least ten years older than Malia. “Is that Ku over there?”
She nodded. “Undercover. Along with three other officers.”
Damon frowned. She’d told him earlier that she was on duty, but he’d hoped the bond he felt forming between them was more than just the investigation. It was obvious now; she was only playing a part. He was quickly learning that Malia threw herself completely into everything she was passionate about. And catching Kiki’s killer was her top priority. For that he was grateful, even proud. Something selfish and one-hundred percent male in him wanted a different passion from her, but this was one more time when he wasn’t going to get everything he wanted.
