Last Night

by Meryl Sawyer

  Around the clock a volcano of steam erupted from the Clean-Rite linen service. Between hotel bedding and towels and uniforms, the commercial laundry ran continuous shifts. Rob drove past, thankful he didn't have to stand for hours over a vat of hot bleach, getting lipstick-stained napkins pristine white so tourists could soil them again.

  He turned onto Hana Road, moving his head slightly to look at Dana. She hadn't said much since they'd left the ranch. He thought maybe she was brooding about losing that spot on the bench. Tough break. She'd have been damn good.

  He eased up on the gas, checking the street signs for the police department and noticing that the car he'd spotted earlier in his rearview mirror was still there. The blue Toyota was lagging back almost a full block.

  "Part of the problem is that too many people from Pacific Rim countries live here," Rob said, making a quick turn down a narrow lane.

  Dana's expression said she hadn't a clue what he was talking about. "What problem?"

  "Why there aren't more women on the bench or in executive positions in Hawaii." Rob checked the rearview mirror again. Sure enough, there was the blue Toyota. "So many of the islanders come from the Philippines or Japan or China that they have an Eastern attitude toward women."

  "I hadn't thought about it until now," Dana agreed, "but I'd say Hawaii's heart is in the United States—freedom-loving and fair—but its soul is in the East—full of traditional customs and superstitions handed down from generation to generation. Gwen found out the hard way that many islanders have a double standard for women."

  "Right. She would have been smarter to wait until she was appointed to a higher court, then run as an incumbent. Like it or not, what's seen as assertive in men is considered pushy for women—in Hawaii anyway."

  Dana's eyes followed his as he looked in the mirror again. "What's wrong?"

  She started to look around, which would have been a dead giveaway in a convertible with the top down, but he put his hand on her shoulder. "Don't look back. We're being followed."

  "Big Daddy's men?"

  "Probably. They drove off one of the kuleana roads just beyond Kau Ranch." The kuleanas were independent farmers with their own system of roads, which were little more than dirt tracks through the sugar cane fields. The car must have been hiding behind a thicket of cane that was taller than full-grown corn, waiting for them to pass.

  "Hang on." Rob gunned the engine and cut sharply to the right.

  Dana gripped the armrest as the convertible shot down the street, swerved to the left, and entered a one-way street. Going the wrong way, Rob barreled up the short road, then veered off to the right into traffic.

  They rode around until Rob was certain that they'd lost Big Daddy's men. They drove into the police station lot and parked by a fence that was sagging under the weight of a scarlet bougainvillea. Rob pulled so close to the bush that the thorns scraped the side of the car, but at least it couldn't be spotted easily should the blue Toyota pass by.

  The station was little more than a heap of concrete blocks once painted beige but now a mottled gray and tan. Nothing about it inspired confidence or reminded Dana of the Honolulu police station. It made her wonder about Rob's friend. Bruce Kenae had once been on the Honolulu Police Department with Rob. What was he doing in this backwater?

  Rob hopped out of the car. "Wait here."

  "I'm coming with you."

  "Forget it. Bruce won't talk—off the record—with someone around." He walked away, leaving her to silently fume.

  Twenty minutes later he reappeared, striding across the cracked concrete lot that was sprouting weeds. "Any sign of our friends in the Toyota?"

  She shook her head. "What did you find out?"

  He slid behind the wheel. "No IRs on any of the Coltranes."

  She knew those were incident reports. Every time a policeman stopped someone, it didn't result in an arrest or a ticket—especially in paradise where tourists were sacred. They wrote an incident report in their logbook instead.

  Rob turned the key in the ignition and the motor grumbled, but finally caught. "Kenae did know a little about Eric's mistress though. Word is he wanted to marry her, but his father had a fit. She's hapa haole."

  "Half white. That would upset Big Daddy. He detests marriages with native Hawaiians. He's a total bigot."

  "The only other thing Kenae mentioned was that Coltrane looks the other way when some of the islanders raise a little Maui Wowie on his land."

  "Marijuana?"

  "It's not the same old weed you smoked in the seventies." He looked at Dana, then obviously decided she hadn't smoked anything at anytime and shrugged. "It's kick-ass stuff and sells for big bucks on the mainland."

  "The police don't care?"

  "Now that they've closed down so many sugar mills and tourism has stalled, it's the only source of income some people have." Rob shrugged as if to say, That's the way it goes. Clearly, raising Maui Wowie didn't rate high on his list of serious crimes.

  She sympathized with the islanders. Life in Hawaii was harsh—despite the tour guides' air-brushed version of paradise—and exceedingly expensive. Food and housing were three or maybe four times what they were on the mainland. Few homes had air conditioning; it simply cost too much.

  "This doesn't give us much leverage against Big Daddy, does it?"

  Rob pulled out of the lot, saying, "Image is everything to Big Daddy. He loves being thought of as a god. Kenae says he's a hero around here. He donated all the money to build the hospital and medical center."

  "Then he's going to hate a lot of negative publicity about the divorce. I know what's going to happen." Dana frowned, shaking her head. "He'll make certain my sister gets blamed."

  "Coltrane's on a power trip. That kind of person thinks he's untouchable. He'll hate to be crossed. That makes him dangerous—and don't forget it. We need to be careful. Real careful."

  12

  "Big Daddy's concern with his image is the key," Rob told Dana as they drove along the Hana highway, slowed by yet another truck laden with sugar cane, typical of harvest time. "What do you suppose would happen if people knew he eavesdropped on his guests?"

  "He'd do anything to keep that from coming out. Anything." Now she was smiling, seeming to warm to Rob's idea.

  "That's what I'm counting on."

  "We'll need proof."

  "I'm getting into Big Daddy's suite. The proof's there, trust me."

  She was silent for a few minutes, then she asked, "Do you see them?"

  "The third car back might be the same one I spotted earlier. I'm going to pull in at Pic-Nic's and get something for lunch. You watch the blue Toyota and see what it does."

  Rob slowed the car as they drove into Paia, the last town on the isolated thirty-mile stretch to Hana. Once a sugar plantation, today Paia catered to the tourists bound for the serpentine road that would take them past countless waterfalls and through tunnels of ferns to the remote village of Hana. A cluster of gas stations and a general store plus several specialty food shops was all there was left of the historic site.

  He pulled into Pic-Nic's small lot and left Dana to watch for the blue car. He came out a few minutes later with a small rental cooler full of sodas and a picnic box with sandwiches and fresh fruit.

  "They're in the gas station across the street," Dana said. "They didn't get any gas. They're just sitting in their car—"

  "Waiting for us to pull out." Rob placed the food in the trunk on top of the towels, then got in. He leaned toward Dana. "Kiss me. We need to look like lovers out for the day."

  Before she could protest he leaned down and touched his lips to hers, gently covering her mouth. It was more of a caress than a kiss. He'd wanted to catch her off-guard, and judging by her startled expression, he had. Evidently she'd been expecting another searing kiss.

  Her seductive lashes lowered, but not before he saw the flash of regret in her eyes. Okay, babe. You asked for it. He tipped her head up and touched the soft underside of her chin with the
pad of his thumb.

  She rewarded him by parting her lips. This time his mouth captured hers in a fierce, hot kiss that sent currents of arousal through his body. Reflexively, her arms circled his neck. His awareness focused, excluding everything except the erotic signals her body was sending.

  His tongue flirted with hers, touching, moving away, then touching again as his fingers combed through her hair, lifting it, testing its weight, its softness. His blood, thick and heavy, pounded in his temples. He had the urge to do a whole lot more than kiss her, but a busload of Japanese tourists pulled up next to them.

  He released her, saying, "That should convince those bums that we haven't even noticed them." He hoped he sounded more relaxed than he felt.

  Dana responded by fumbling in her purse and coming up with a pair of sunglasses. She slammed them on her face and stared straight ahead. Okay, she wasn't quite comfortable with what happened, but it was getting a helluva lot easier to kiss her.

  He backed out of the lot and floored the accelerator. The men in the Toyota zipped out of the gas station. "Amateurs. We'd never spot a pro."

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Nothing. We're going to the beach. Let those jerks sweat away the afternoon while we're swimming."

  They drove down the Hana highway with the Toyota not far behind, going past several scenic turnouts until they reached Maliko Bay. The secluded beach had no tourist facilities, so Rob pulled onto the shoulder of the road and parked. The men were forced to drive on or make themselves completely obvious.

  "We're going down there?" Dana eyed the narrow trail between the rocks to the ellipse of powdered-sugar sand with misgivings.

  "Sure. I've done it lots of times."

  Dana started down the trail, carrying the towels and umbrella. Rob hoisted the cooler to his side and grabbed the sandwiches. They had the beach to themselves, so they spread the towels out and opened the umbrella for shade. He stripped off his clothes and tossed them on his towel.

  She eased out of her linen shorts to reveal a white one-piece suit that was cut high on the sides, which made her legs look even longer. Even sexier. That was the good news. The bad news was the top came up to her chin. A swimsuit? Hell, no. Another power suit.

  "Last one in buys lunch tomorrow." Dana ran toward the surf.

  "Watch the undertow," Rob cautioned her. He loved this beach, but it did have a stronger current than most beaches in the area.

  He let her have a good head start, knowing he could beat her. Then he charged across the beach, the hot sand burning the skin between his toes. He caught Dana at the water's edge and sprinted past her. Turning, he grinned.

  No question about it. She was miffed—big time. She was much more competitive than he'd originally thought. He liked that in a woman; it made her more challenging.

  "You're buying lunch tomorrow. We'll go to Casanova's in Makawao. I hear it has the best Italian food on Maui."

  Dana waded out to him. "It has the best Italian food in Hawaii—period."

  The slow, undulating waves rolled in, tumbling like dice across the shimmering sand, luring them into deeper water. Chains of crimson seaweed drifted up from the ocean floor, a playground for schools of flat-bodied yellow butterfly fish with circles of brilliant turquoise around their eyes. The sun-dappled sea and the bracing scent of the breeze blowing across the nearby pineapple fields made Rob smile.

  Now, this was what he loved about Maui. Pineapples on the wind and deserted beaches. Too many people lived in Honolulu; it was impossible to find a deserted beach. The pineapple fields there had become cookie-cutter condos. But this was paradise.

  When Dana reached waist-high water, she jack-knifed into a dive that cleanly split the incoming wave. Rob watched her flawlessly stroking, swimming out farther. He followed, leisurely paddling after her.

  She stopped, treading water, waiting for him. Her hair was slicked back into a smooth cap of rich chestnut that gleamed in the brilliant sunlight, making her face seem more delicate, more feminine. She had the damnedest eyes. Impossibly green, a stark contrast to the azure sea. Those eyes beckoned him.

  Close up, her long, curved lashes were wet spikes of dark brown, giving her an exotic look. There was something in them that reminded him of the way she looked at him just before he kissed her. Then she smiled at him, that slow, feminine smile that was heart-stoppingly sensual without intending to be.

  "I just love swimming," she said, happier than he'd ever heard her. "In high school I was on the swim team."

  "So was I." He wondered if she realized how much they had in common. He playfully splashed her.

  "Stop it," she cried, then laughed. Along with the hypnotic lull of the surf, her laughter hung in the summer air sounding so right.

  "Let's dive for shells," he suggested, though there were several other things he'd rather do with her. He wondered if she knew that her conservative suit, when wet, conformed to every curve, becoming semitransparent and revealing her taut nipples.

  Her smile crumpled. "Don't look, but the blue Toyota is back. They're driving very slowly along the ridge."

  "They're probably checking us out with binoculars. We should at least look like we're having fun." He grabbed her and hoisted her up to his hips before she could utter more than an astonished gasp. "Put your legs around my waist."

  She did as she was told, her slim legs circling him as she faced him, but she frowned, wrinkling her brow and tightening her lips. He ignored those signals and gazed into her eyes. A glimmer of panic hardened her vivid green eyes. And knifed right through him.

  Why, he asked himself. Her past, he decided. Dana had never fully recovered from that fateful night. Had that bastard raped her? She'd made it sound as if Vanessa had attacked Hank and rescued her. Had Dana told him the truth?

  If Vanessa had been too late, that would account for the panic not quite hidden in the depths of Dana's eyes. Her description of the incident that traumatic night returned with startling clarity. A young, defenseless girl. A bull of a man. And a dark shed.

  Rob's heart filled with emotions he didn't have time to analyze. He'd been going about this all wrong, he decided. He'd been aggressive, not compassionate, daring her to reject him. The old Rob, the man he barely remembered anymore, would never have behaved like that.

  Oh, it worked. Partway. It wasn't what she'd needed though. She might open up and kiss him back, but she wasn't going to give herself to him—the way he wanted—unless she trusted him.

  "Trust me," he whispered even though there wasn't anyone around to hear them except the seagulls drifting overhead.

  "Only as far as I can throw you." She tried to joke, but her voice was as flat as week-old beer.

  He cradled her against him, bringing her so close that her breasts pillowed against his chest. He tamped down the surge of heat that flared in his groin. "I swear, Dana. I'll never hurt you."

  "The car's driving off," she responded, breaking the spell. She dropped her legs and slipped into the water. Before he could call to her she was swimming away.

  Just as well, he said to himself, then paused to watch the rhythmic stroking of her arms as she swam. Oh, who the hell are you kidding?

  He dove under the next wave and swam along the bottom with smooth, sure strokes. Why was he trying so hard? He'd emotionally cut his losses when Ellen had left him. From then on he dated women, yet he never gave a damn about them one way or the other. How had he gotten himself so involved with Dana Hamilton?

  He shot to the surface and took a gulp of fresh air, his thoughts reeling. Son of a bitch. Had the past changed him, making him hate women? Well, maybe. Once upon a time—ten years ago to be exact —he'd been nicer, more sensitive.

  Plunging below the surface once more, he followed a colorful clown fish into the filigreed branches of delicate coral that swayed, dancing with the surge of the sea. Okay, be honest, he told himself. With each day his loneliness and alienation grew and he became more sarcastic, more aggressive—daring any woman to lov
e him.

  Stupid as it was, he blamed all women for what had happened to him. That's why he was such a smart ass. What a mouth. What an attitude. He didn't even like himself, so how could he expect Dana to like him?

  For the first time he realized that on that fateful night he'd lost a lot more than his career, his marriage. And the son he loved and missed more each day. He'd lost himself. So what in hell are you going to do about it?

  His lungs were burning, but he kept following the clown fish. It darted into a huge chunk of coral where the reef fish mated, laid eggs, and fed. Usually hovering over these coral condos cheered him. Not today.

  He surfaced, flipping his head backward and flinging rivulets of water over his shoulder. He blinked rapidly, the salt water stinging his eyes. A cry split the warm summer air.

  "Rob, help!" Dana was splashing wildly in the water halfway down the beach.

  Had she encountered a stingray or a school of poisonous jellyfish? Rob took advantage of his powerful chest muscles, using the butterfly stroke to get to her as quickly as possible. She was doubled over, clutching her leg. He could tell the way she was gasping for breath that she was nearly exhausted.

  "Ch-Charlie horse," she sputtered, pointing to her calf.

  Treading water madly, Rob lifted her over his shoulder and grabbed her leg. The usually smooth calf muscle was knotted. He rubbed it with quick, firm strokes that made Dana moan. He knew it hurt, but there wasn't any other way to unkink the muscle.

  "Better?" he asked, letting her slide down into his arms.

  "Y-Yes." Trembling all over, she curled against his chest like a small child, her arm still clinging to his neck, her eyes squeezed shut.

  "You're all right," he murmured into her wet hair, nestling her against his torso as he turned on his side. In a few strokes they were in shallower water and Rob stood up. Dana hadn't moved, her face tucked against the curve of his neck. He held her in his arms and slowly walked through the waves toward shore.