by Meryl Sawyer
"You stole his tapes?" She let out a long, audible breath. "I suppose you had to do that to get proof."
"Damn right. Otherwise your sister can plan on joint custody or maybe even losing Jason if the Coltranes muster enough power."
"Big Daddy will make good on his blackmail threat if we don't have leverage against him," Dana agreed.
"We have to pressure Coltrane, but I don't think he sent you the knife."
"If he didn't, who did?"
"This is a strange one. I'll be damned if I know who's out to get you."
The shrill ring of the telephone woke Garth; it was followed by the fluttering of Puni's wings as he woke too. Garth shook his head, trying to get his bearings. He was out on the lanai with Puni on his shoulder. Obviously he'd fallen asleep while gazing at the sea.
What time was it? Almost three-thirty. Anyone calling at this hour had to be in real trouble, Garth decided. They'd probably heard the Miranda and howled for a lawyer. He wheeled himself inside, a spurt of excitement sharpening his sleep-dulled brain. Maybe this would be an interesting case. He needed something to get himself out of this funk.
"Hello?" he said, answering the telephone and flipping on the light at the same time.
That was a mistake. The light hit Puni and he came to life. Stomping on Garth's shoulder, he chanted, "Sue the bastards! Sue the bastards! Sue their asses."
"Garth? Is that you?" It was Rob Tagett's unmistakable voice.
Garth cradled the receiver against his shoulder and put his hand over Puni's head to shut him up. "It's me. Where are you? What's that noise? It sounds like you're in a wind tunnel."
"Close," Rob yelled. "I'm in a helicopter heading for Hickum Field. I need a huge favor—two of them actually."
"Shoot," Garth said, ignoring Puni nipping at his fingers.
"Can you pick us up? We land in about twenty minutes."
"I'll come get you, but you'll land before I can get there." Hickum Field was the military airport on the other side of the city, where the heliport was located. "What else do you need?"
"Would you mind letting Vanessa Coltrane and her son spend the night with you? We had to get out of there in a hell of a hurry. I'm expecting Big Daddy to come looking for them tomorrow. I don't want him to find them."
Garth hesitated. Vanessa Coltrane. The sensuous voice on the telephone. Dark, silky hair and long, tapered fingernails. He had no business getting anywhere near this woman.
"Sure. There's plenty of room here," Garth heard himself say.
He was still questioning his decision when he pulled up to the terminal in his customized van with Puni on his shoulder. The bird wasn't quite asleep or awake. When they were in a dark area he'd nod off, but if they pulled up under a streetlight Puni would threaten to sue. Garth stopped the van in front of the dark terminal and saw Rob waiting. He told himself that he didn't care what Vanessa Coltrane thought. He'd deliberately not changed his wrinkled clothes and had brought Puni along.
"Thanks for coming," Rob said after he'd opened the side door of the van.
"No problem," Garth said, watching as Rob helped Dana into the backseat and tossed in a few bags. Then he opened the door to the front seat beside Garth.
The most incredibly beautiful woman Garth had ever seen slid into his van. She wasn't a brunette like Dana. Vanessa Coltrane was a classy blonde with eyes as blue as the island sky. Cradled in her arms was a sleeping boy. One of her hands was on his bottom, supporting his weight, and the other was across the back of his neck.
He couldn't take his eyes off the hand on the boy's neck. A loving hand, gently stroking the child. A hand crowned by long oval nails painted a dusky mauve.
"Thank you so much for coming for us," Vanessa said. "I—"
"Sue the bastards," screeched Puni, who'd been awakened by the van's interior light. "Sue the bastards! Sue their asses."
Garth clamped his hand over Puni's head, but it was too late. The boy was already awake.
"Mommie, where are we?" He squinted at Garth.
Vanessa kissed the top of her son's head. "We're visiting Aunt Dana, remember?"
Jason's eyes were open wide now and he was staring at Puni, fascinated. "What's his name?"
"You ask him," Garth said gently. Jason had his mother's arresting blue eyes and blonde hair, but his jaw was the Coltranes', right down to the dimple on his chin that would become a deep cleft as he grew older.
"What's your name?" Jason asked.
"Puni." The bird stomped on Garth's shoulder. "Puni. Puni."
"That means little," Vanessa told her son, and Garth didn't bother to correct her.
"I'm Jason." He pointed to himself. "Say Jason."
"Jaa-son. Jaa-son."
Jason clapped his little hands and laughed. "Puni."
"Jaa-son. Jaa-son." Puni ruffled his feathers, flashing brilliant crimson.
"Will he sit on my shoulder?" Jason asked Garth.
Garth shook his head. Puni was a difficult parrot, who didn't like many people. He especially hated the cleaning lady and would spit birdseed over the freshly mopped floor just to annoy her. "He's shy."
Jason leaned closer. "Puni, don't be afraid. I'm your friend."
Garth stole a glance at Vanessa and found she was enthralled with her son, smiling as he tried to make friends with Puni. Despite her smile, her eyes looked sad, troubled.
"Thanks for coming out in the middle of the night," Dana said.
Garth glanced over his shoulder, momentarily having forgotten the other passengers, who were now settled in the backseat.
"Can I try to hold him?" Jason asked. "Puh-leeze?"
"Okay," Garth said, realizing no one could refuse this kid. "Put out your hand and see if he will walk up your arm to your shoulder."
Jason offered the parrot his hand, but Puni didn't budge. "Come on, Puni. I'm your friend. Come, Puni, come."
The parrot cocked his head, looked at Garth as if asking permission, then hopped onto Jason's hand and moonwalked up to his small shoulder. "Jaa-son. Jaa-son."
"Well, I'll be." Garth's eyes met Vanessa's, and he was greeted by a genuine smile of astonishing warmth. His heart backfired, but he kept his expression neutral, a trick he'd learned from years of court appearances.
"We're outta here," Rob reminded him from the backseat as he slid the door shut and the interior became dark.
Garth used the hand controls that did the work his feet could no longer do and pulled away from the curb.
"Puni," said Jason. "What else can you say?"
"He doesn't talk when it's dark," Garth answered, still astonished the bird had gone to Jason. "He thinks that's time to sleep."
"Oh. We'll talk tomorrow." Jason ran his hand over Puni's feathers, sounding more than a little sleepy himself.
They drove in silence through paradise's deserted streets. Garth braved a glance in Vanessa's direction as he came up to a corner and pretended to check for oncoming traffic. Jason had fallen asleep, his towhead pillowed against the fullness of his mother's bosom. Puni was asleep too, perched on the boy's shoulder, resting his head against Jason's cheek like the leaning tower of Pisa.
Garth lifted his eyes and saw that Vanessa was staring at him. He quickly looked away, paying careful attention to his driving. What did she see? A cripple with wrinkled clothes who smelled like a gym sock. Only a nut case would ride around with a parrot on his shoulder. Under the best conditions he was hardly the image of a powerhouse attorney, but now he felt especially foolish.
"Great parrot," Vanessa said, but she wasn't looking at Puni. She tilted her head slightly, sending a silky fall of blonde hair across her cheek, and treated him to another of her irresistible smiles.
He managed to smile back, and, incredibly, her smile widened.
18
"Rob," Dana said as they stood on the curb outside her house watching Garth drive away, "do you think we made a mistake calling Garth? He seems a little strange."
"Your sister affects men that way." He gave her a half smile an
d a wink. "Some of us are immune."
A hot flush raced up her neck to her cheeks, and Dana blessed the darkness. She was embarrassed at her overreacting, her jealousy. Her sister was only trying to protect her. And Rob… well, he did seem truly interested in her.
The neighborhood was dark except for the streetlight at the corner half-hidden by a coconut palm. Somewhere a dog barked; the sound carried through the tropical night along with the sweet scent of plumeria. They were alone now, really alone. It filled her with a strange inner excitement that almost frightened her.
"I've been thinking about what you said," she told him as he draped his arm around her shoulders and they began walking up the driveway to her house. "You think I choose men I can dominate, don't you?"
"Do you?"
"I'm not sure. It isn't a conscious decision."
He halted and drew her closer. "When you're traumatized the way you were, the mind calls on all its defense mechanisms. Subconsciously you've selected only men who make you feel safe—those you can control."
"Let me think about it a little more," she said. The past was so ugly that Dana had deliberately blocked it from her thoughts. But you couldn't really escape anything that traumatic. It was there, a ghostlike presence, hovering in the shadows of her mind. If she was going to have a relationship with Rob, she'd have to deal with her own private demons. It could wait though; too much was at stake to indulge in self-analysis. She couldn't get on with her life until the blackmailer was caught.
"Do you think Big Daddy will show up here?" she asked. No matter what Rob's theory was, she still believed Coltrane was the blackmailer. Nothing else made sense.
They began walking toward the house again, and Rob held up the small duffel that contained the incriminating videos he'd taken from Big Daddy's suite. "As soon as it's light I'm hiding these. They're Vanessa's insurance. When Coltrane shows up—and believe me, he will—he'll want Vanessa and Jason back. That's when we hit him with the tapes."
"Why Vanessa? Won't he settle for Jason?"
Rob stopped again, his free arm still around her. "I found more than just a video camera monitoring station in his suite. Coltrane's sick. Obsessed."
She waited, fear coiling inside her stomach at his words and his concerned expression. They hadn't been able to talk during the flight over.
"There are cameras in the main house and in some of the cottages, but most of them are in Vanessa's house. He watches every move she makes."
"That's psychotic." Her heart shot up to her throat and lodged there. She couldn't imagine someone watching every move she made—day after day after day. An even more disgusting thought hit her. "There's a television in her bathroom—"
"Right. Big Daddy has an astonishing number of tapes of Vanessa; many of them would be considered pornographic."
"She'd die if she knew," Dana said.
"Too much was going on there for her not to have at least suspected."
"Maybe," Dana admitted. Once she'd been so close to her sister, but living with the Coltranes had put an invisible barrier between them. Perhaps the divorce would change things and they'd be close again.
She wasn't close to anyone, Dana realized, except Lillian Hurley. Her neighbor was so much older that it put a certain distance between them despite their fondness for each other. Distance. It was there in her relationship with Gwen Sihida too. Their relationship was defined—-and confined—by their positions as judges.
With a growing sense of self-awareness, Dana realized that distance was the hallmark of all her relationships—even with women. What was she afraid of? What would it be like to really have a best friend?
She glanced sideways at Rob and wondered if she could ever be friends with a man like him. Friends and lovers. The old phrase echoed through the corridors of her mind. He would never settle for being just friends. Friends and lovers. It was a scary thought and one that would take some getting used to.
"What are you thinking?" Rob asked.
"Kapu," Dana said, unwilling to discuss what she'd really been thinking. "That's the sign on the gate that lets you into Kau Ranch. In ancient Hawaii it meant forbidden. Incest, adultery, theft were kapu—punishable by death on the spot. I've always felt the old meaning suited Big Daddy. Now I know I was right."
"You surprise me, Dana." There was a low, husky pitch to his voice that sent a thrill of anticipation up her spine. "I'd never have guessed you were into Hawaiian lore. I can guarantee you won't be hearing the night marchers tonight."
Dana knew what he was implying and ignored it. "Speaking of the night marchers, that's Lillian Hurley's house over there." She pointed to the modest home that bordered her driveway. "I guess her daughter has arrived. That's a strange car in her driveway."
Rob didn't comment. Instead he gazed at her with a look so galvanizing that it sent a tremor of excitement rippling through her. They'd agreed he would spend the night with her so he'd be certain to be there when Big Daddy showed up, but they'd never discussed sleeping arrangements. After the way she'd behaved at the beach, she knew what Rob expected, and she wasn't sure she could say no.
Dana stopped at her front door and reached into the side pocket of her purse where she always kept her key. She unlocked the door; it swung open and they stepped inside. Her breath stalled in her throat. Something was wrong. She halted, her sixth sense telling her not to go any farther.
Rob bumped into her. "What's the matter?"
"The light in the hall is on a timer. It should be on."
"It burned out."
"Probably," she agreed, reaching for the light switch. The house was stuffy, the way it usually was after being left closed all day. The feeling that something was wrong persisted despite Rob s logical explanation. She flicked the light switch, once, twice. Nothing. "The power's out."
"Could be a blown fuse. Where's the fuse box?"
"In the kitch—" An explosion of light blinded her.
"Don't move, brah," boomed a man's voice from across the living room, "or we'll shoot."
In the backwash of the high-beam flashlight, Dana could see two men built like brick walls. Mokes. The island tough guys, who spoke pidgin, using words like brah for brother. They were responsible for much of the crime in Honolulu. She'd seen enough of them in court to know how vicious they could be.
She couldn't make out their faces, but she did see the gleaming silver of a gun barrel. Rob's hand on the small of her back tensed. Her pulse thundered in her ears, making it impossible to think clearly, and droplets of sweat blossomed across the tops of her breasts.
"Hands in the air. Hele on." Get moving.
"Do it." Rob dropped his camera bag and the duffel with the videos.
Her purse hit the floor, and she reached high. What did they want? This didn't have the earmarks of a simple robbery. They could have grabbed the TV and stereo and escaped out the back door when they heard them coming.
"Check the bags," said the moke, and Dana had her answer. They wanted the incriminating videos. How could Big Daddy have gotten these thugs to help him so soon? They'd left Kau Ranch only a little over two hours ago.
One of the men crossed the room, a high-beam flashlight in one hand, while the other man kept the gun trained on them. He ignored Rob's camera bag and grabbed the duffel with the videos.
Unzipping it, he said, "Maika'i!" Beautiful. He spoke a combination of pidgin and Hawaiian, his breath so strong you could walk to the mainland on it.
As he sauntered back to the moke holding the gun, Dana glanced up at Rob. She'd never seen him look this disheartened.
The man with the gun grunted with satisfaction as he inspected the contents of the duffel. "Be sure they don't have another one somewhere."
The other man lumbered over to them again and grabbed Dana's purse. He dumped the contents on the floor. "Nuthin'."
He emptied Rob's camera bag. The expensive Nikon hit the floor with a thump that sounded unusually loud in the stillness. "Nuthin' here either."
"Okay
." The moke with the gun panned across the room with the flashlight. It settled on Dana, sweeping from her ankles to her eyebrows in slow motion. "Let's have some fun, brah."
Bile shot up Dana's throat as one man ambled toward them, his eyes on her. For a gut-wrenching second the world froze. Then she was thrown back in time. That night—so long ago—but never forgotten, returned with astonishing clarity.
She'd been helpless then too, she recalled, clenching her eyes shut, fighting an onslaught of terrifying memories. The young girl she'd been resurfaced, immobilized by fear. It was all she could do to force her eyes open.
Rob lunged forward. "Don't touch her!"
"Careful," she heard herself cry. The man had a gun for God's sakes. But Rob didn't listen, stepping between her and the burly moke.
"Take care of him first," snarled the one with the gun.
Before his buddy could respond, Rob walloped him with a killer punch to the gut. The man's eyeballs shot upward and vanished into the back of his skull, leaving the whites glaring at her as he sank to his knees, clutching his middle.
Stark fear whipped the breath from Dana's lungs as Rob decked him. A brittle, splintering crack like a board breaking ripped through the room, and a geyser of blood shot from the man's nose. His buddy tracked Rob with the barrel of the gun like a hunter sighting a sure kill.
Please don't shoot Rob, Dana silently prayed.
"Hit him again and you're a dead man," warned the one with the gun.
Rob's arm was in motion to cold cock the man again, but he had the good sense to stop. Dana clamped her arms around herself and clenched her jaw to keep from screaming, terrified if she moved or made any sound, they'd kill Rob.
"You fuck-up." The man waved the gun and cursed his partner, who was still on his knees, one hand on his nose, blood trickling over his beefy fingers. "You hold the gun, lolo." Dummy.
Dana's pulse hammered in her ears, roaring with tremendous force. That's what people heard, she realized. Not the night marchers—just the sound of your own fear. As panicked as she was, Rob appeared unfazed, almost relaxed, but Dana knew better. There was a tenseness to his shoulders, a lethal calmness in his eyes.
