Deadly Reunion

by Lakes, Lynde

  She headed for her car, glad her auntie and uncle hadn’t pointed out that worrying was getting her nowhere. Still, the tug at her heart told her that she could do her job better if she knew Damon was safe.

  ****

  In a coffin-of-darkness, zigzagging flashes of light stabbed at the back of Damon’s eyeballs. He closed his eyes against the lightning bolts of excruciating pain that jabbed at his skull. He tried to move; restraints dug into his skin and held him immobile. Sweat rolled down his face, soaking his body. His rapid heartbeat thudded against his chest. The gag in his mouth allowed only low guttural sounds to escape. He couldn’t get his mind to function. Stay calm, he told himself. Think back to the last thing you remember. But he remembered nothing. The darkness and restraints shouted that he was in serious danger.

  Some niggling notion at the back of his mind that he couldn’t drag forward told him he’d been in danger before, had escaped before. He felt vibrations, heard the hum of an engine, the whir of tires against pavement. He was in the trunk of a car! Headed where? Why? Who was behind the wheel? He forced himself to ignore the excruciating pain, the roasting heat that sent sweat gushing from every pore of his body, and concentrate only on getting out. Placing his feet against the trunk wall, he rotated his body and walked his fingers, feeling for anything sharp. Heat and dizziness threatened to claim him again. Please, God, let me stay conscious. He felt the car come to a stop and footsteps outside coming in his direction.

  ****

  Damon, where the hell are you? Malia stared into the bedroom mirror, wishing it could provide the answer she desperately needed. The morning sun coming through the open blinds did harsh things to her face, but rather than adjust the slats to soften the effect, she studied the dark circles under her eyes. A few more nights with little sleep, and she’d look her mother’s age, although her mother never had. Mom always looked twenty years younger than any of her friends. Malia smoothed back her hair and twisted it into a cone. Would her mom and dad throw fits when they learned she’d spent the night with Kiki’s parents instead of them? Maybe in light of the fire at her own place and the fire at the hotel, where she’d spent the previous night, they’d be relieved that she kept trouble away from their door. Auntie Kopa’a and Toby didn’t feel that way; they had opened their home and hearts to her. She had to make certain she didn’t bring more disaster into their lives. At first she’d hesitated about staying, but they insisted, saying with Damon missing they would feel better if she stayed with them.

  As long as Damon was unaccounted for, nothing would make her feel better. She smeared on some hi-voltage pink lipstick to distract from the dark circles and grabbed her keys from the koa wood night table.

  Passing through the living room on her way out, she paused and gave Kopa’a and Toby each a peck on the cheek. With steaming mugs of after-breakfast coffee in their hands, their gazes stayed glued to the local newscast.

  “You’re not leaving without breakfast?” Kopa’a asked.

  “I’ll pick up something on the way to work.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” Kopa’a said. “Grab that white paper bag off the entry table. “It has a pancake sandwich with bacon and egg, a fruit cup and a thermos of tea in it.”

  Malia was about to say, “you spoil me,” when their collective gazes locked on the coverage of the hotel fire. She shuddered, thinking of all the lives that could have been lost had the fire not been contained so quickly. The news commentators mentioned the luck aspect several times then speculated about the three murdered people found inside. Malia knew the families of the maintenance man, firefighter and security guard wouldn’t appreciate the luck

  viewpoint.

  Without taking her gaze from the TV, Kopa’a said, “If you hear from Damon, please give me a call right away.” Her face had gone pale, her expression drawn.

  Malia took a big breath, fighting her own fear. “Of course, the minute I hear some good news.” She didn’t want to contemplate what she’d do if the news was bad. She had called Damon’s apartment repeatedly, and Wilcox had checked out Damon’s friend’s timeshare where Damon was supposed to be staying while she stayed in the hotel.

  She left Kiki’s parent’s home, her uneasiness growing. She stopped by Damon’s apartment. The stubby Japanese-Hawaiian manager with a gray crop of Brillo-pad hair let her in.

  “Hasn’t been around for days,” he said. Malia knew that except for yesterday, last night and this morning, Damon had been with her, or under the watchful eye of Wilcox. “Parking space stayed empty, and his mailbox is full.” He paused and cocked his head. “Kupanaha, very strange. Before, he’s always told me when he’s going to be away so I can bring his mail in for him.” The manager’s bloodshot gaze met Malia’s. “With his wife being murdered, I’m worried about him.”

  Even after she arrived at her office, the manager’s words stayed with her. Everyone was worried about Damon. If only he’d call….

  She played her messages. In a monotone, Wilcox said, “We found Damon’s truck in a parking garage four blocks east of the hotel fire site.”

  Her heart froze and skipped a beat. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  Ku chose that moment to lumber into her office. He studied her expression. “Looks like you heard the news.” His forehead furrowed, and wariness glinted in his eyes.

  Malia cleared her throat. “About finding Damon’s truck?”

  Ku evaded her eyes for several heartbeats, and then his gaze softened and captured hers. Her stomach knotted. Soft looks from Ku was not a good sign. “About the blood discovered in the alley next to the fire site,” he said, grimly.

  Her breath caught. Her hand shot to her breast where her heart beat wildly.

  Ku continued as though if he stopped he couldn’t get out what he needed to tell her. “Forensics is running DNA on it.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “They’ll cross-match it with Damon’s blood.”

  The room tilted, and she grabbed the edge of her desk.

  “You okay?” Ku asked.

  She forced her chin up. “Of course.” She wasn’t, but it was more important than ever to keep that to herself and hang tough. No way did she want to get pulled off the case now.

  Malia waited until Ku left to allow the full impact of his words to hit her. She couldn’t have kept up her tough act much longer. What if the blood turned out to be Damon’s? Dear God, don’t let it be his. Tears misted her eyes. It was probably too late for such a prayer – with no sign of him – and then finding his truck abandoned. He’d been missing since yesterday afternoon. Almost twenty-four hours, she thought, her throat tight. And the killer had him! She knew it. Terrifying images flashed into her mind: Kiki in a fetal position in the trunk of her car, Rosado sprawled on white tile in the Martin Mansion, Ainsley, Nancy – the bloody images of the people who had died at the hands of this killer kept coming, heads bashed in – all dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the scenes of horror. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her to stop shaking. Damon, dear Damon. Had she failed again? That had been the problem all of her life. She had never been able to save those she loved.

  No more of this! she told herself. Stay focused, and don’t give in to the fear. She stood and paced in front of the window. Earlier she’d put out an all-points bulletin for him. But she couldn’t count on that. And it would take days, maybe weeks, to search every unoccupied building on the island … every uninhabited acre … and hours was all Damon had, if that.

  Malia stopped and stared out the window barely aware of the dark clouds rolling in from the east. This killer thinks he’s infallible. Would he hide Damon under their noses? On a hunch, she sent a team to the pineapple field where Kiki had been found and a couple of men to the Martin Mansion. Think. Think. If the killer were Al, what would he do? He doesn’t like the sun. What dark or shady places had intrigued him? Caves, of course. But there were so many uncharted caverns along the mountain ranges. It would take mor
e than luck to find Damon.

  She jumped when her phone rang. She glanced at the unfamiliar caller ID and pushed a button to activate a trace.

  “Don’t trace this call,” an electronically altered voice said. “Or I won’t deal.”

  Tension pulsed through her. She gripped the receiver tighter. “Deal? What kind of deal?”

  “You for Damon,” the voice said.

  The killer wanted her to know he had Damon. Fighting to retain control, she buried how much she cared and hardened her voice. “And why would I do something as stupid as that?”

  The line went dead.

  Dear God, what have I done? He hadn’t stayed on the line long enough to get the trace. And she might have goaded him into doing something rash. Damn, damn, damn. She had an urge to pound the phone into smitthereens with the receiver. She took a deep breath. Okay. He’s playing with me. He’ll call back.

  Ten long, agonizing minutes passed. She couldn’t just wait here with the clock ticking on Damon’s life. She transferred her incoming calls to her cell and headed for Ku’s office to brief him on the latest development.

  “I was just coming to see you,” Ku said. “Last night one of our 911 operators took a call from a teenager, who refused to identify himself. The kid claimed when he skateboarded past a car in the Aina Haina Shopping Center, he heard noises coming from the trunk. The operator sent a man out right away, but when he didn’t find anything, including the teen, he figured the call might be a prank.” Ku’s eyes didn’t dull. Instead, they glinted with new excitement and his words speeded. “Then a few minutes ago, a woman called. Said it was probably nothing, but last night her little girl claimed to have heard thumps and moans coming from inside a trunk of a car near McDonald’s in the same shopping center. Since the child is prone to have an active imagaination, the harried mother ignored her ramblings. But when the kid kept fretting and talking about the noises even today, she decided to notify us.”

  Malia could scarcely breathe. “What was the make of the car?”

  “The little girl claimed it was just like her auntie’s car, which her mom said was a blue Nissan Altima.”

  The words blue Nissan Altima brought back an indelible memory. It was early in the case shortly after Kiki’s murder. I’d been teed off with my parents, as usual, but because of the hang-up calls I’d been receiving, not too teed off to take in my surroundings. In my rearview mirror, I’d noticed a blue Nissan Altima make a U-turn and follow me. She’d barely digested that vision when a new one flashed in her mind like movie trailer: the fire at her house; the killer running to an Altima. Damon had sped onto the freeway after him, but the Altima had disappeared. It had to be the same car as the one the child saw last night! Was the little girl right? Had Damon been in the trunk? The image of Kiki in a fetal position in the trunk of her car washed over Malia again. Kiki’s head bashed in. Dear God, let Damon still be alive.

  Malia breathed in and out slowly like the rhythm of the tides, trying to keep the building panic from her voice. She cleared her dry throat. “The make of the car fits our perp. Order a trunk check on every Altima on this island.” She knew it was an impossible task, but they had to at least try. “Start in Aina Haina and work east. And get a chopper up in the sky to look for blue Altimas in isolated places or near known deserted buildings. “Call my cell if you need me. I’m going to cruise the A.H. Shopping Center myself. Maybe I’ll luck out and spot our killer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Damon regained consciousness, slowly becoming aware that he was no longer in the trunk of a car. He was lying flat on hard concrete, bound and blindfolded. He tried to reorient himself. He’d lost all sense of time. Was it day or night? The rough material pulled tight over his eyes either blocked out all light, or it was dark. Where was he? The wind had an eerie echo like he was in a tunnel or tower. Dampness hung in the air. He smelled mildew and heard waves hitting rocks. He breathed in salt air. All right, he was in a round structure somewhere along the miles of coastline. His first guess was a lighthouse, but that was impossible, wasn’t it? Those places were under the control and protection of the coast guard.

  He shifted and tried to loosen the rope that cut painfully into his wrists and discovered his legs were still bound as well. He tried to call for help, but only a muffled ummm sound escaped.

  Was anyone looking for him?

  An image flashed in his mind. A woman staring into a bonfire, her features soft and womanly in the flickering light. He remembered wanting to take her in his arms … then taking her in his arms. For a moment, she stepped back, then slithered out of her bikini bottom and shimmied it down her shapely legs with the speed of an eel. Damon felt a heart-constricting emotion that rocked his senses. Were they in love? Was she looking for him?

  Suddenly the image changed. That intriguing creature was glaring at him, and her words hit his mind like a Mack truck. The woman you just made love to is gone…forever. Reed-the-cop is in charge now. Get used to it.

  Cop? He couldn’t get his mind around the conflicting scenes. One thing was for sure, she didn’t feel about him the way he somehow believed he felt about her. He was in big trouble. Someone glaring at him like that wouldn’t be looking for him. He had to get himself out of this. The duct tape across his mouth itched like hell. If he could scrape it off, he could yell, and maybe someone would hear him. When his face got raw, he concentrated on scraping his wrists up and down across the concrete.

  There was a slight creak behind him that gave him the impression of a door opening, followed by a humid breeze hitting the sweat trickling down his back. Then a door slammed, and heavy footsteps thudded toward him. He froze and waited. Only wind whistled around him.

  ****

  Malia cruised the Aina Haina area, looking for blue Altimas, concentrating on small deadend streets and beachpark areas, then found herself back at the shopping center where the kids had heard something in the trunk. She pulled into a parking space in front of McDonald’s and tried to absorb any vibes that might lead her in the right direction. The only thing that drifted into her mind was the image of Damon making love to her. She recalled his salty-fresh scent from their dip in the bay and his smooth deep voice and smoldering eyes. Longing and desperation erupted so fast that tears rushed to her eyes.

  She had to find him. She rested her head back against the seat headrest for a moment, trying to clear her mind. It was getting more difficult every minute to wait like a puppet for some evil force to yank on her strings and give her direction. Damon was running out of time. She swallowed to moisten her dry throat. For a moment she sat stiffly, her fingers cramping on the steering wheel, the pain in her throat so terrible she could scarcely breathe. Would she never see the lights of mocking laughter in his eyes again … never feel the warmth of his touch? She had committed to memory every look between them, every caress. She rubbed her aching head with rigid fingers. She couldn’t just sit here.

  Okay. This was Damon’s last known whereabouts. The Altima had come from town, and it was likely that the driver continued heading east. There were so many places to dispose of a body, especially after dark. The fact that the killer had called a while ago and offered to exchange Damon for her, gave Malia hope to cling to – that Damon was still alive. If – l no, I have to think positive – when the killer contacted her again, she was ready to give him what he wanted.

  She found herself concentrating more and more on Al Lee. When they were young, she and Al had snuck, on foot, into the Bellows campground a number of times. Al loved it there because of the shade trees that lined the beach and protected his white skin from the sun. But after 9-11, security at the grounds had tightened. Now there was no way in except through a barracade and a guarded gate. He’d have to have stolen an ID card. Even if he managed that, passing security with a body in the trunk was risky as hell. What if the guards decided to search the trunk? Would he take such a crazy chance? She had to be wrong about the location. Trying to hole up inside a military campground was i
nsane. But wasn’t this killer known for taking risks and somehow accomplishing what a reasonable person would never try?

  She recalled that deep within the acres of overgrown terrain and a forest of pine there were a few isolated cabins scheduled for refurbishing and left vacant until the work could be completed. An unoccupied cabin would make a great hideout.

  ****

  Heavy, decisive footsteps thudded across the concrete toward Damon. He sensed someone staring at him, drilling holes into him with menacing eyes.

  The kidnapper didn’t speak for what seemed like an eternity. “She had her chance,” a cold, husky voice finally said. “But she passed it up. Asked me why I thought she’d trade herself for you.”

  Good, Damon thought. He didn’t want any woman exchanging herself for him. And if it was the woman in his visions, he sure as hell didn’t.

  “Guess your little cop playmate isn’t as sweet on you as I thought.” The voice laughed coarsely. “You’re not doing so good in the woman department, are you? Your hot-pants wife didn’t think much of you either.”

  Wife? Good grief, am I married? He didn’t feel married, but cop playmate matched his visions. Was he dating a cop? Was he the kind of guy who would cheat on his wife? He wished this SOB would remove the gag from his mouth so he could ask some of the questions whirling in his brain. Then it hit him. Maybe the killer didn’t know about his memory loss. Would asking a bunch of questions work for or against him? He got the impression that, in his attempt to flush out a killer, he’d screwed up and ended up the bait.

  “See this reunion announcement?” The laugh that followed echoed with insanity. “No of course you don’t. You’re blindfolded. Anyway, stroking it keeps me focused. I imagine it dripping with blood. Malia’s blood.”

  Damon winced. The name Malia struck a deep emotional chord he didn’t fully understand. He strained at his bindings, wanting to crush this creep who threatened to harm her.