by Cathryn Cade
Well, this particular haole would have to—and he had to remain on guard, or he’d find himself in the same kind of kāhehi, huge mess, as his ancestors. And like them, he could lose his treasured way of life.
He’d almost done so once before. He’d been so full of himself, ready to believe a stranger when she told him she was ready for his kind of no-holds-barred sex. She’d changed her mind a little too late.
Daniel shook off his bleak memories. He had more important things to worry about than one blonde wahine—although right now she felt as dangerous as the po’inos trying to move their drugs onto his island. He pulled to a stop at a light, gazing idly at the tourists streaming across the crosswalk before him.
He’d had his final interview with the police that morning about the explosion aboard Akeo Apana’s boat. Everyone was satisfied with Daniel’s explanation of events on the ill-fated fishing expedition. All the local fishermen knew Apana had been a dumb-ass who didn’t take care of his boat.
Daniel had kept as close to the truth as he could—he’d helped Akeo work on his motor, thought they had fixed the problem and gone out with him to make sure it was running okay. When the alternator sparked and he smelled gas, Daniel had leapt into the ocean, managing to dive deep enough to save himself from the explosion that had killed Akeo Apana.
He’d told the police he’d floated for hours, then been picked up by a passing boat, day-trippers from Maui who’d dropped him off at Nawea Bay. In shock, he hadn’t gotten their names or the name of their boat, so it was no surprise when the police couldn’t find them to corroborate his story. Since Daniel was from a respected family and had no reason to commit foul play, they let it drop. They’d found enough floating debris from the boat to show that there’d been an explosion. Death by accident.
But it was no accident that Apana had found that buoy and the package hanging under it, no matter how surprised he’d tried to act. He’d been ebullient and nervous as a puhi for days.
Keone Halama, a local who lived on the mountain , had commented about how Apana was slinging cash, when Daniel had stopped the week before at the Kolohe, a small bar frequented by locals.
In light of the recent attempt by a Los Angeles drug gang to move into the islands, and given that all the locals knew Akeo was always scrounging for enough money to get by, Daniel’s ho’omalu, guardian, instincts had kicked into high gear.
A traditional slack-key guitar riff sounded from the truck console, and Daniel looked at his phone. His brother. He clicked on his earpiece.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I got your wahines and delivered them to their hotel.”
“Mahalo,” David’s voice said in his ear, as deep as his own but smoother. “Melia can relax knowing they’re here.”
Good that somebody could relax. The light changed, and Daniel pulled out into traffic, heading west back toward the dry lava plain. “A’ole pilikia, no problem. You need anything else?”
“Not a thing, brah.”
“See you at Kona Brew about six o’clock? Don’t wanna miss your last night with da mokes.” Daniel was throwing David a bachelor party that evening at the popular brewery.
“Ah, yeah,” David said. “About that… Ma wants us to have dinner first, with Melia’s guests.”
Daniel groaned. “Fuck, you’re kidding.”
“Afraid not, brah.” David sounded as if he were trying not to laugh.
Daniel scowled at the road before him. “What time?”
“Six o’clock at the Royal K. Listen, we can head up to Kona Brew afterward. I’ll let Gabe and Jack know we’ll be there at seven thirty or so.”
“Pop coming to dinner?”
“Yeah.”
Daniel sighed.
“C’mon, why so gloomy?” David asked, obviously surprised. “They’re pretty wahines and nice too.”
“I’ll be there—that’s all you need to know.”
Daniel clicked off his phone to the sound of his little brother’s laughter.
Traffic was heavy. On a beautiful afternoon like this, the tourists were out in throngs, zipping around in their little rental cars and strolling the avenue, looking for trinkets and photo ops to take back home. With the patience of long practice, Daniel waited for a chubby, sunburned man to cross the road in defiance of the blinking yellow caution light before easing his big truck through the intersection.
Honokōhau Marina lay a few miles west of Kona on the stark lava plain that held the airport. The small harbor had been enlarged by dredging. As the only launch for bigger boats on the Kona coast, moorage was at a premium. A three-story boat loft dominated the skyline to the right, and the large lot behind it was full of boats on trailers, part of the thriving Kona Marina.
Daniel took the road to the left, past the Department of Land and Natural Resources offices. This whole area was an historic park, having once been an ancient dwelling place.
He pulled into the small parking lot of Honokōhau Marina. Owned by his uncle Hector, known as Hilo to his friends and family, the boat shop maintained a rivalry, sometimes friendly, sometimes not, with the shop at the other marina. Today there were only two pickups parked in front of the open doors of Hilo’s place.
Daniel chose his usual parking spot in the back corner of the lot. As he stepped out of his truck, the afternoon sun slapped like a hot blanket over his head and shoulders. Through the smells of boat fuel and hot pavement and the sounds of boat motors, the sea beckoned him to the cool depths below. Away from pesky haole wahines and the needs they aroused in him, away from the troubles brought by other haoles onto his island.
But of course those troubles would follow him even into the sea—had already. Apana had died on the sea, and more would follow, until he or someone else stopped the scum trying to move their drugs onto his island. No, he could swim as deeply as he wished and not outrun trouble.
Anyway, he would check in with Hilo, his favorite uncle, with whom he shared his connection to the sea. Like Daniel, Hilo bore tattoo remnants of battles fought in the sea. Tattoos awarded by the island gods for wounds received protecting these islands. Hilo bore even more ink than Daniel, although his were mostly hidden by the voluminous, flowered shirts he wore.
His uncle looked up from the front desk as Daniel came in. “Daniel, my boy. Taking your boat out?”
“Nah. Been shuttling wedding guests.” Daniel stretched, rotating his upper body. “Thought I’d go for a swim.”
Hilo smiled, his brown face creasing under his silver hair. “Stay out of the boat channels, yeah? Get those braids of yours caught in a propeller, make a real mess.”
“‘Ae.” His uncles had been giving him crap about his long hair from the time he was a teenager, thinking he grew it to rebel. The truth lay somewhere between there and tradition. Yes, Daniel lacked interest in some modern standards of decorum, but more than that, he was a warrior, and his long hair tied him to the history of the chieftains in his ohana. Given his solitary habits, he sometimes felt closer to their ghosts than to his fellow modern man. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
He sauntered out the door of the office, pausing to let a couple enter, climbed back in his truck and followed the long driveway to the rocky point at the end of the boat channel, dredged years ago by the Army Corps of Engineers. A light afternoon wind riffled the waves now, and a long line of clouds hugged the horizon, fading the ocean into mist. Only a lone sportfishing boat chugged along the channel. Others were already out at sea, their slips empty.
Daniel parked in the open gravel area on the point. He clicked off his phone and removed his earpiece. Pulling a small, waterproof pouch from his pocket, he slipped his keys into it, fastened it snugly and shoved it back into the pocket of his shorts, zipping the pocket shut on them. He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and dropped it on the seat beside him.
Locking his truck, he leapt lightly down to the edge of the water, kicked off his leather sandals and dove in.
The sea welcomed him like a lover int
o her cool embrace. Unbidden, Claire Hunter appeared in his mind’s eye, swimming before him, her eyes smoky with promise, that mouth pouting invitingly, her blonde hair waving about her face, her naked body limned in the turquoise light dappling the underwater world.
Goose bumps broke out over his skin at the clarity of his vision, as if he knew just how her full breasts would look, nipples like tight buds in the cool water, her strong, slender arms and legs moving gracefully. Even the little triangle of curls on her mons—would it be natural or a narrow trail, trimmed as many women did now?
He shook his head, furious with himself and with her. Damn, he didn’t allow his cock to rule his head, not anymore. That led straight to the loss of self-control, and he was too big, too powerful to allow himself that with a woman like her. Kahni could take it; she was a strong Polynesian wahine.
Claire Hunter might be athletic and curvaceous, but she was still far too delicate for a kanaka like him. Time to forget her and remember why he was here.
Swerving through the mooring buoys, Daniel headed out toward the open sea. Once he was beyond the breakwater, he dove under the surface. Powerful strokes of his arms and steady kicks of his legs took him deeper. The throb of the outgoing boat’s motor faded steadily, swallowed in the deep sigh of the ocean.
His pulse slowed, his blood washing in the ancient, steady rhythm of the waves high over his head. As he did each time, he let go of his body’s normal responses, of the urge to breathe in quick, shallow bursts as he did on land. Here, he could swim for several moments before surfacing for a few long breaths. In the dancing waves, his chances of being seen were very slight.
He’d like to swim for the sheer joy of being in his favorite place. But he wasn’t here to relax. He was here to hunt and to bring allies into the chase with him.
He heard the nai’a as he swam out where he could no longer see the sandy bottom, surrounded by the mysterious blue depths, where sight was the weakest of senses and danger could hide just a short distance away. He called to them, pushing sound from his chest high into his throat, a long reverberating cry. The friendly whistles grew louder as their graceful, slender shapes torpedoed toward him. The biggest pod of spinner dolphins that hunted the western shore, this group numbered well over fifty adults, with young of various ages. They raced toward him, breaking ranks at the last instant to surround him, swerving to swim alongside. One of the young males rolled on his back beside Daniel, effortlessly keeping pace, his gaze bright with mischief.
“Hello, little brother,” Daniel whistled. “You’ve recovered from your brush with that tourist boat.”
The young male agreed with a chirr and righted himself, giving way to a mother and her baby, who chattered to him as they surged along beside him, the baby always at its mother’s fin.
“Da kine keiki,” Daniel approved. She trilled her pride.
A female clicked; another answered. The pod dove deeper, then rose again. For the sheer joy of it, Daniel followed them, surfacing with them as the dolphins came up for a breath. Two of the young males swam close, and he reached out, grasping their dorsal fins. Holding on, he dove with them again, letting them carry him swiftly into the blue depths.
They raced along, drafting the others in their pod, surrounding him in a wave of silver and white. He often swam out here with the fun-loving creatures, who delighted in his company. More practically, he was out of sight of the navy surveillance systems. Should a sub pass, by himself Daniel was an anomaly, whereas with the pod he would be taken for one of the dolphins. He didn’t really worry about being seen, because he could hear a sub long before they were close enough to pick him up on sonar, but it was to be avoided at all costs.
Needless to say, no Ho’omalu with his powers would be hūpō enough to swim in Kailua Harbor where the little tourist submarines plied the water, or anywhere snorkelers and scuba divers frequented. Everyone carried underwater cameras these days.
He stayed under with the nai’a for as long as he dared, pausing only when they signaled their need to hunt. Then he was forced to recall his purpose for seeking them out. He hung in the water in their midst, calling them to him with a series of loud clicks.
Dolphins were among the most intelligent creatures on the earth and certainly in the seas. Naval powers had trained them to work as weapons, carrying depth charges and even chasing down divers, attacking them with spears mounted on their heads. These spinners had never been subverted for such purposes, but they were a powerful ally to the Ho’omalu.
“My friends, while you hunt for food, hunt for danger. Enemies have left more of the packages you saw and scented the day you saved me. If you find them, carry them to the place where Pele’s fire spills into your sea, and let them burn. Kanaloa will reward you—Ukanipo will not hunt you, and you will find plenty of fish.”
The lead female bowed to him, her bright, clever gaze meeting his. She answered him with a series of whistles, and then, as one, the pod turned and swam away. Daniel watched them go, his mood grim instead of relaxed. “Kanaloa, guide your nai’a. Help them hunt for those who would use your seas to bring their poison to Hawaii.”
Turning back toward the shore, he met a large honu flapping lazily along. A male, he saw from its long, thick tail. The turtle blinked his large eyes at Daniel, then turned back to watching the lava ridges below for bits of tasty seaweed.
“Peace, brother honu.” Daniel swam on toward the shore, following a sandy channel in the lava flow. A parrot fish barreled by, headed for a coral outcrop ahead.
The water began to surge around him with the surf. A school of yellow reef tang surrounded him in a shower of bright underwater confetti. Ready to be cheered up, Daniel rolled, watching as they swirled overhead, the surf carrying them back and forth. A pair of angelfish joined him, swimming just ahead, their lovely fins drifting like watery lace.
A tiny spotted boxfish joined them, scooting gamely along by his cheek, its minute fins whirring at great speed. A long ribbon uncoiled itself from the shadows and swirled along with him as well. A moray, with teeth sharp as razors.
At the boat channel, he slowed, shooing them all away with a gentle gesture. “Go, back to your reef, where you are safe. I will return.”
His escorts dispersed as swiftly as they’d come, and he swerved to the side, where the rocks would shield him from anyone up on the point. It wouldn’t do to suddenly appear in plain sight. Some visitor might realize they hadn’t seen him above water for some time. If he swam in on the surface, he could pretend to have been sunning on the rocks farther along the shore.
The surf was rough, the waves surging up to splash high, catching pink rays from the sun, low on the horizon. It was later than he’d thought. He’d shower here at the marina and change into the clothes he always carried in the truck.
He walked out of the water, pausing with his feet braced on a lava shelf, the surf splashing around his ankles, to let the water stream from him. He took a deep breath of the warm, humid air. The transition back to land was always unsettling—the sun was too bright, the noises too sharp, the smells too strong. Motors throbbed, machinery rattled, and the stench of boat exhaust, hot asphalt and hot grease from the restaurant at the marina combined in a miasma of civilization. He wanted to turn his back on the land and dive again, but of course he couldn’t. He had obligations—his investigation, his ohana, the wedding.
He just hoped he could fulfill all of them before disaster struck in the form of Kona Kula.
Claire and Bella shared a room at the Royal Kona, overlooking the parking lot and treetops, while Grace had the seaside room. Claire couldn’t have cared less which way her room faced—she didn’t plan to spend a moment more in it than she had to.
Her big suitcase, borrowed from her aunt, stood open on the waiting rack. She dug out the plain blue maillot she wore to swim laps at the Y, scowling at a rip in the side seam as she tugged the suit on. Her father had slipped her an extra hundred dollars for the trip, but fishing had been poor this year—Clair
e wouldn’t have taken it if she hadn’t known refusing would hurt his pride. She guessed she’d have to spend part of it on a new swimsuit. For now, the hole was too small to worry about.
“Ready for a swim?” she invited as Bella zipped open her own suitcase.
“Oh, yeah.” Bella nodded. “I plan to spend as much of this trip as I can in a swimsuit.”
The three of them swam in the lagoon-like pool, tantalizing with only a sea wall separating them from the ocean. At least it was a chance to move after being trapped on the plane most of the day, but Claire couldn’t wait to get into the sea. The ocean off Oregon was too cold for more than brief dips on a hot day.
When it was time to return to their rooms to dress for dinner, Claire wasn’t sorry to leave the pool. She’d come here to see the real Hawaii, not splash in a concrete bowl. She’d rather be staying by the beach somewhere, so she could fall asleep to the sound of the waves and wake to the light on the water.
After the wedding, they’d be going to stay at David’s family’s place south of Kona on the coast, while he and Melia cruised for a few days on a borrowed yacht. Claire could hardly wait to see Nawea Bay. Melia had sent pictures of the lovely guesthouse and the beach.
Claire’s phone emitted a bluesy riff as she was smoothing her lavender tank over a little black skirt, both from the Nordstrom Rack. She wasn’t sure lavender was her color, but it looked okay with her sun-flushed skin, and she loved the built-in bra. She stepped into her black ballet flats and grabbed her phone.
Bella fastened on dangly earrings to complement her halter dress, flowered in peach and pink. She looked like a native islander with her slightly tilted eyes and long, glossy, coffee-brown hair.
