Last Night

by Meryl Sawyer

  He settled her on the towels and lay down beside her. Slipping his arm around her, he pulled her against him, determined to stop her shaking. How long had he been down there? How many times had she called out for him?

  Dana opened her eyes, her face just an inch from his; if he moved he'd be kissing her. "I'm sorry. I panicked. I couldn't see you and I had the strangest—"

  "The strangest what?"

  "The strangest premonition." She rolled her eyes in self-derision. "You've heard of the night marchers —that old Hawaiian legend that says if you hear the ghosts of the ancient warriors trooping their way to the sea, then someone is going to die."

  "Sure, I've heard that legend."

  "My neighbor Mrs. Hurley keeps saying she hears the night marchers." Dana frowned. "I know it's silly, but when my leg cramped and I couldn't find you, all I could think was the undertow was going to sweep me out to sea. I knew I was going to drown. I could literally hear the night marchers."

  Well, I'll be damned, Rob thought. Beneath her professional exterior Dana Hamilton was as superstitious as the islanders who could trace their ancestry back to King Kamehameha.

  "Dana, what you heard was probably the blood pounding in your ears."

  "I know," she conceded, her expression still dead serious. "That's the logical explanation. But, I swear, I thought I was going to die."

  Rob had no idea what to say. He didn't put much stock in premonitions. Maybe the blackmailer had frightened Dana more than he'd realized. Beneath that veneer of composure was a far different person, and he couldn't help wondering what other secrets she kept hidden.

  Dana moved into his arms and lowered her head to his shoulder, closing her eyes. Rob waited a minute, certain she'd move away, but she didn't. He ran his hand over her wet hair, deliberately soothing her in the same way he had when his son had been young and needed comfort. She snuggled closer, her hand sliding across his chest.

  His body surged in response to her, heat unfurling in the pit of his stomach, then centering in his groin. There wasn't anything deliberately provocative in her movements, he realized. Something snapped inside him like a violin string that had been strung too tight. Why hadn't he realized the truth before? What Dana wanted, what she needed, was to be cuddled.

  He didn't believe much of the psychobabble about getting in touch with your inner child, but he stopped to recall Dana's past. Raised by a sex siren. She must have spent hours alone without the love and comfort of a mother. He'd been lucky, Rob realized, not for the first time. Every night his mother had kissed him good night and told him she loved him, even when he'd been a teenager and hated it.

  His father, too, had been a warm man. Before every football game he'd hug Rob and wish him luck. That's why Rob found it so easy to express his affection. He'd always hugged and kissed Zach, even when Ellen reminded him other fathers didn't "baby" their sons.

  But Dana's life had been nothing like his.

  She shifted positions, pillowing her head against his chest and snuggling closer yet, her hand clutching the curve of his chest. She did need someone to comfort her. And he was the one.

  With his free hand Rob adjusted the umbrella so they were shaded. He lay there quietly, thinking about Dana's life, until the cadence of her breathing told him that she'd fallen asleep. Once he would have yearned to touch her more intimately. Now he kept his arm around her, content and feeling truly close to her for the first time.

  Almost an hour passed before Dana awoke. She raised her head, obviously surprised to find herself against his chest. He reassured her with a smile—or tried to.

  "How about lunch?" he asked to fill the awkward silence as he reached for the cooler and sandwiches.

  She was sitting up when he turned back, her knees drawn to her chest and her arms locked around her legs. A protective stance if he'd ever seen one. He refused to let it dampen what had just happened. They were close now in a way they never had been.

  He handed her an ice-cold can of Diet Coke. She popped the tab and a cool spray misted his arm. As they ate their lunch he was acutely aware that she was studying him. What was she thinking?

  "Rob." The word hung in the air like one of the gulls overhead, suspended by an updraft. Somehow he knew he wasn't going to like whatever was coming next. He managed to meet her serious green eyes and still appear relaxed. "Tell me why you left the police force."

  13

  Rob gazed out at the shoreline, barely recognizing that the tide was inching closer and closer, pushed inexorably onward by the full moon that would shine tonight. Should he tell Dana? If he wanted to build on their closeness, now was the time to do it. He hesitated, his eyes still on the breaking waves that left garlands of foam as they retreated. Aw, hell, if he was going to have a relationship with Dana, he was going to have to tell her.

  "Bruce Kenae and I were homicide detectives," he began, explaining how he knew the policeman he'd just visited. "There aren't that many murders in paradise. So we spent most of our time on loan to narcotics. That night we were wearing those black windbreakers with Honolulu PD on the back in Day-Glo orange letters."

  Dana nodded. "Too often the police shoot each other by mistake, right? It must have been hot though."

  "Hotter than hell. I was always sopping wet after a bust." He gazed into her eyes, wondering if he could actually discuss this with her. It was like reliving the longest night of his life all over again. "We had a tip that Chang, the Chinese mob boss, had a stash of drugs hidden in the Green Dragon Club. It was supposed to be in the main building. Bruce and I were told to search the annex."

  He paused and she said, "You know, in all the years I've lived here I've only been to Chinatown once."

  "It's hardly the tourist's side of paradise. A crazy quilt of apartments built in the last century and ginseng shops linked by pitch black alleys." Even now he could almost smell the unique scent of Chinatown, a foul odor of garbage that had baked in the tropical sun and opium coming from the hookers' rooms above the street. "We ventured up the back stairs of the building we had been assigned to search. It was supposed to be vacant, but we heard giggling. We went up to the room and looked through the peephole. Two girls were slip-sliding a Japanese man."

  "Slip-sliding?" Dana asked.

  "The Oriental equivalent of a Mazola party. Naked women cover themselves with soap lather. The guy gets on top and slides around," he said, and Dana's eyes widened slightly. "I told Bruce to leave them alone. No sense ruining the bust. We tiptoed down the hall until we reached the center of the building. By now we'd gone through a maze of corridors and we were just about lost.

  "There was no electricity in that part of the building, so we used our flashlights. We went past one room with boxes of ginseng piled to the ceiling. I don't know what made me stop." Even now, years later, he couldn't explain the hunch that ultimately cost him his career, his family. How many times had he wished that they'd just kept going? "We checked the boxes. They were filled with heroin. I sent Bruce back to get the rest of the men."

  "You didn't use a walkie-talkie to call them in?"

  Rob shook his head, squinting against the late-afternoon sunlight. "Not with Chang. His guys have sophisticated scanners. If they knew what we had found, Bruce and I would have been dead and the whole stash gone before help could get to us."

  "Didn't that violate procedure? Leaving you alone?"

  "We didn't have any choice. While Bruce went for the team I guarded the boxes. Obviously, the contents had already been packaged and were ready to hit the streets. I heard a noise behind me. Someone was running from the room. I went after him and landed him with a flying tackle."

  Rob stopped and took a deep breath, half-wishing he hadn't started this story. Dana gazed at him expectantly and he went on. "I'd assumed one of Chang's flunkies had fallen asleep while he was on guard duty, but as we were rolling around on the floor I discovered it was a woman."

  "Chang had a woman guarding the drugs?"

  "She wasn't guarding the dr
ugs," he answered. "It was Chang's girlfriend. She was trying to rip him off. Who'd miss a few packets in a stash that big?"

  Dana waited for him to continue, her expression concerned. Obviously she knew what was coming.

  "Turned out her name was Angela Morton. Blonde, blue-eyed, centerfold figure, and boy, could she cuss a blue streak. I arrested her, read her the Miranda, cuffed her, and took her to the back of the room behind the boxes. 'Hey, copper,' she yelled as I walked away. 'Your career's over, you fuck-up.' Now, she said this with the sweetest, most innocent smile you've ever seen. It was eerie… real eerie."

  "She sounds like quite an actress."

  "You got that right." How well he remembered Angela's total metamorphosis. "Bruce had gotten lost, so it was some time before the unit returned. At first everyone was so excited because this was the biggest bust in the islands. Then we heard Angela crying. When we walked back to where I'd left her, we saw her panties were off. Somehow she got out of them and kicked them across the room even though she was cuffed.

  "Her white dress was dirty from my tackling her." He looked straight into Dana's eyes. "She was almost hysterical and kept insisting I raped her."

  There was a moment's silence broken only by the rush of the surf on the sand. "Oh, Rob. That's terrible. Surely they didn't believe her."

  "Bruce didn't. He and I worked closely together on homicide, but a lot of the other men were on loan to narcotics for the bust. They barely knew me, and Angela was a helluva actress. I told them she was stealing from Chang, but she claimed she was only in the building to go to the slip-slide party. Everyone believed that. Who would dare to cross Chang by stealing from him?"

  "No one," Dana said softly. "He'd kill them."

  "That shot my credibility and made them wonder if I really had raped Angela." Rob searched the depths of Dana's green eyes, wondering if she really believed him or if there was a shadow of a doubt in her mind. He couldn't tell; she wore that noncommittal expression that she usually had when she was on the bench.

  "What happened next?" she asked.

  "Internal Affairs was called in. Something as serious as this required a thorough IA investigation. I went through the entire exam: sperm sample, pubic hair samples, endless questions. It was the worst." "That's what women who are raped feel like. How they're treated afterward is almost as bad as the attack," Dana said. "Now you know what it feels like."

  Her tone was matter-of-fact, but she might as well have backhanded him. He thought that she'd believed him, but she wasn't any different than most of the women he'd known. Rape was a sensitive subject; once you were accused, a shadow of doubt hung over you. He reminded himself that she'd had a life-altering experience when her sister had been raped.

  She didn't know him, didn't care about him. No doubt she had heard all the rumors and had her own preconceived ideas about what had happened that night. Like most women, she suspected he was guilty and had gotten away with it. Why in hell had he bothered telling her anyway?

  Dana studied Rob's face. There was no mistaking the earnestness of his expression or the wounded look in his eyes. And it was her fault, she thought with disgust.

  She realized she held back, not allowing herself to become involved with people and their problems. No one had ever told her anything this intimate, and she hadn't been certain how to respond. Did she have to say something so insensitive?

  She realized it had been a few seconds since he'd spoken. During that time she'd been thinking. She should say something, but what? Oh, Lord, she wasn't any good in these situations.

  "Rob, I believe you." Her voice could barely be heard above the surf.

  He rolled onto his stomach, put his head down on the towel, and closed his eyes, shutting her out. Obviously, she hadn't been convincing. He'd told her about the most traumatic crisis in his life, and she hadn't responded properly. What was wrong with her?

  Once a boyfriend had called her cold, incapable of showing her emotions. At the time she'd denied it, claiming she had a temper, which tended to flare unexpectedly. But now she wondered if he hadn't been right. For the first time she was experiencing honest-to-God emotion—not just a twinge of feeling that vanished like a wisp of smoke, but a bone-deep appreciation of what it meant to love and be loved.

  She found it hard to tell anyone she cared about them, even Vanessa. Her sister knew how she felt, didn't she? Maybe not. Perhaps she needed to be more verbal. Only with Jason was she able to cuddle and say how much she loved him. It was easy because he was a child.

  She gazed down at Rob's dark head, his hair almost dry now and curled slightly at the temples. A short while ago he'd carried her out of the water. She could still feel the panic-stricken beating of her heart as she gasped for breath.

  The night marchers.

  She'd been so certain that she'd heard them. Even though she didn't believe in any of that pooky-pooky stuff, she'd taken it as a premonition that she was going to die. Rob changed her mind, calming her and persuading her that nothing was wrong. Her life wasn't in danger.

  So why couldn't she help him? Clearly he'd taken a risk in telling her such a personal story. He had reached out to her. And she had rejected him with a thoughtless comment. She had to do something— anything—before it was too late.

  She touched him, running her hand along the solid contours of his back. "Rob, look at me… please."

  He rolled onto his side and faced her. His eyes searched hers, seeking her soul. In his gaze she detected profound sadness. And something else. Something she intuitively recognized because she'd felt it so often. Loneliness.

  "I never—not for one second—questioned your story. I know you're innocent." She let the air seep out of her lungs in a breath that verged on a sigh.

  For a long moment he merely looked at her. What else could she say? Finally he spoke. "You must have heard the rumors. Don't tell me you didn't have your doubts."

  "I heard lots of wild stories, but all I knew for certain was that Internal Affairs had investigated a rape charge against you. Since their findings are sealed I had no way of knowing anything else, but your leaving the force so unexpectedly didn't look good." She tried to buffer her words with a reassuring smile; his hard stare didn't waver. "Before I hired you I asked Garth Bradford. He said it was all gossip."

  "Good old Garth. At least I have one friend. Make that two. Bruce Kenae stood by me the whole time."

  "Make that three friends." She smiled, or tried to. The desire to touch him was swift and sharp. She stifled the soft gasp that rose in her throat and looked down at her hand. It was inches from his bare chest, but she couldn't move it.

  A strange look crossed his face. "I'm not interested in being just your friend. Hell, you're smart enough to figure that out."

  She honestly didn't know what to say. Some secret part of her, the side that seldom took risks, wanted to take one now. Still, the right words eluded her. How could she say she was attracted to him, yet afraid of him? She didn't have the time to analyze what frightened her exactly. He simply wasn't the type of man she usually dated.

  "You're worried about your career."

  "No, I'm not," she responded quite truthfully, shocked by the bitterness in his voice. "I just don't think it would work. We're too different."

  "Why don't we give it a try and see what happens?"

  Rob moved closer to her, his muscular thigh grazing her bare leg. Droplets of water clung to the skein of hair on his chest, and she had to force her eyes not to stray downward to the masculine ridge revealed by his swim trunks. His physical presence had its appeal, she realized, but his size and forceful personality made her wary.

  "If I catch the blackmailer, know what my fee's going to be?"

  Her pulse skittered alarmingly. Something was happening between them, and it frightened her because she couldn't predict—or control—the outcome. Changing the subject seemed to be the only safe course. "Aren't you going to finish your story? What happened? The sperm sample you gave cleared your name,
didn't it?"

  14

  The question had the desired effect. Dana had never seen a man become serious quite so quickly. "No. The sperm sample I gave did not clear me. Apparently she'd had sex with several men in the previous twenty-four hours."

  "That's terrible," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The test should have proved you innocent, but with more than one partner—"

  "It was still Angela's word against mine." There was more than a trace of bitterness in his voice. "It was a slow news week. No hijackings, no sightings of aliens, no politicians caught between the sheets with some bimbo. The media played the story for all it was worth. The brass cowered, scared shitless of a lawsuit. I had to do something to help myself.

  "I called the FBI training center at Quantico and spoke with the man who trains perp pros. I'd been his student, so he was glad to help me. We figured Angela Morton was a hardcase with a record— somewhere."

  "That was good thinking," Dana said, imagining how desperate Rob had been.

  "It worked. She'd pulled similar stunts in L.A. and Seattle, suing police departments and accusing officers of rape when they arrested her for prostitution. L.A. had settled out of court for half a mil when she sued them. That made the brass even more nervous."

  And willing to sacrifice you, she added silently. "What became of the money? Angela must have needed more or she wouldn't have been trying to steal drugs from Chang,"

  Rob shrugged, his bronzed shoulders gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. "Who knows? She never admitted to touching the drugs."

  "What happened to Angela?"

  "What do you think?"

  She'd been in law school at Stanford at the time, so she wasn't familiar with the case, but she could guess. "The DA dropped the charges."

  "Exactly." There was no mistaking the anger in Rob's voice. "Angela took the next flight to the mainland—one step ahead of Chang—and vanished."