Last Night

by Meryl Sawyer

  His determined stance made her even more afraid. He'd do anything to save her—including getting himself killed. She couldn't just stand here like a cigar-store Indian. She couldn't let history repeat itself.

  Do something. What? What could she do that wouldn't get them killed?

  "Stand still or he'll shoot," screamed the moke.

  "And let you beat the shit out of me?" Rob barked a laugh. "No way. Besides, he's a piss-poor shot. He's as likely to hit you as me."

  Fists raised, he tracked Rob across the room. Rob lunged at the man, clobbering him with a full-bore punch to the gut. The man toppled forward, grabbing him. They tumbled to the floor and rolled over and over. Now Rob was on top, slamming his fist into the man's face, his free hand clutching the throat.

  "Don't shoot," screamed Dana at the man with the gun. "You'll kill both of them."

  The man aimed the gun, but didn't fire. Dana dropped to the floor, certain the fight had the men's undivided attention. On all fours she scrambled across the floor, searching for the pepper-spray canister from her purse.

  A brush. Her wallet. A lipstick case. Her Filofax. No canister.

  "Kokua!" Help! moaned the man pinned beneath Rob. "Jump him if you cain't get a clear shot. He's gonna kill me."

  The burly moke, blood still dribbling from his nose, shoved the gun into his waistband and dropped the flashlight. Its beam shot across the room, leaving Dana in darkness. He bellowed a primal curse, then, "Yaaahhh!!"

  Panic was a breath away, held in check by the memory of how miserably she'd failed the last time —and the horrible consequences. She watched in terror as the man catapulted across the small space and onto Rob's back. He collapsed under the force of the heavier man's weight.

  "Stop! Stop!" she screamed, but they ignored her. Her stomach heaved, then took a terrifying plunge like a runaway roller coaster. Dana, do something. The canister of pepper spray had to be here somewhere. It had been in her purse earlier.

  She scrambled across the wood floor, feeling in the darkness. Under the rim of the sofa she found the canister and yanked off the cap. Spinning around, she saw that the men had the best of Rob. One had pinned his arms behind his back while the other pummeled him with brutal punches.

  She charged up, but they were so intent on the fight that they didn't know she was there. At the top of her lungs she screeched, "I'm going to shoot!" They dropped Rob and rounded on her. She blasted them point-blank with a stream of pepper. The mokes sputtered, coughing and sneezing and cursing a blue streak. One of them sprang at her.

  With watery eyes, she managed to shoot the charging man square in the face with another debilitating round of pepper. A direct hit to his eyes. "Aaaa-chou!" He sneezed like a rhino and collapsed to his knees, choking and gasping.

  "Shit, brah," he cursed. "I cain't see. I cain't see shit."

  "We got what we came for," his partner said, hauling him to his feet and pulling him out of Dana's range. She eyed the duffel, but it was slung over his shoulder and he still had the gun. "Let's get the fuck outta here."

  With a volley of coughs and gut-wrenching sneezes, they staggered out the front door. The cloud of ultrafine pepper hung in the air like a poisonous gas. Dana knew that its effects, though disabling, were temporary. Her eyes were swollen almost shut from the pepper.

  "Rob, darling." She cradled his jaw in her hand. Hot and sticky, blood seeped over her fingers from a cut on his lip.

  His eyelids fluttered, then he sneezed. He squinted at her, his eyes as watery as hers. "Thanks, babe," he muttered. "Help me up."

  It took all her strength to haul him to his feet. Hunkered over, coughing and obviously in pain, he leaned on her.

  "Outside," he said, then sneezed.

  A step at a time they trundled to the sliding glass doors that opened onto her lanai. The fresh air filled her lungs, a welcome relief from the pepper. She helped Rob to the chaise lounge that faced tranquil Maunalua Bay and Koko Head. He didn't complain, but she saw him wince as he lay down.

  "I'm calling an ambulance and the police."

  Rob's hand shot out and locked around her wrist. "No. I'll be fine."

  "You could have internal injuries. A doctor needs—"

  "No." There was no arguing with him, she thought. "I cut my lip, is all. Get some ice."

  Cursing his stubbornness, she went inside and found the flashlight she kept in the drawer under the telephone. Seconds later she discovered the mokes had flipped the main breaker. She turned the lights on with trembling fingers.

  Until that moment she'd been going on pure adrenaline. The digital lights on her stove and microwave came on, flashing to indicate a power failure. She sagged against the wall, weak with relief. This time, you helped. You really helped.

  Well, don't stop now. Rob needs you. She mustered her strength and filled a plastic bag with ice. When she returned to the lanai Rob was lying there, eyes wide open, staring at Koko Head. He accepted the bag without a word and put it against his lip.

  "I'm calling the police," she said.

  "No, you're not. I'll take care of this."

  "You can't take the law into your own hands."

  "Watch me."

  19

  Garth parked the van in his garage and glanced over at Vanessa. She was awake, cradling Jason, who still had Puni on his shoulder. The little boy and the parrot looked so adorable, so blissfully asleep that he didn't want to open the door and break the spell. Before Garth dropped Rob and Dana off, Rob had told him about the videos he'd taken from Big Daddy's suite. Already Garth sensed just how ugly this case was going to get. Vanessa seemed stoic, resigned, but Jason was bound to get hurt if they weren't very careful.

  The garage door closed with a muffled clank, reminding Garth that he had to get out. This was the part he hated, the reason he didn't like to take out women. Nothing, but nothing, was more humiliating than hauling his wheelchair from its space behind his seat, opening it, and hoisting his dead legs to the side so he could transfer from the car to the wheelchair.

  "May I help?" Vanessa asked, reaching toward him.

  "No." There was an edge to his voice that wasn't usually there. He didn't look around, not wanting to see Vanessa watching him, not wanting to feel less of a man.

  The interior light awakened Puni, who became a welcome distraction. "Sue the bastards! Sue the bastards! Sue their asses."

  "Puni," Jason said sleepily.

  "Jaa-son. Jaa-son. Jaa-son."

  Garth was in his chair and around to Vanessa's door in record time. He swung it open and reached out to take Jason from Vanessa. The little boy was light and so fascinated by the parrot moonwalking down his arm that he didn't notice that Garth was in a wheelchair. He punched his code onto the keypad and the door clicked open.

  "Way co-o-ol," said Jason. "Jus' like the Power Rangers."

  Garth hadn't seen the latest idols of the kindergarten set, but he knew they were fond of space age gadgets. And violence. "Would you like to put Puni to bed?"

  "Yeah," Jason replied, and Garth could hear Vanessa walking behind them. What was she thinking? he wondered.

  He wheeled into the kitchen to the alcove overlooking the ocean where Puni's huge cage stood surrounded by ferns. He opened the door. "Put him on that piece of wood. It's called a perch."

  "Night-night, Puni," Jason said as Garth held him up.

  "Now pull the cover over the cage," Garth said. "We'll take it off in the morning."

  The cover in place, Jason hopped off Garth's lap and studied him for a moment. Here it comes, thought Garth.

  "What's wrong with you?" Jason asked.

  "I was hurt in an automobile accident and can't walk."

  Jason nodded, but out of the corner of his eye Garth could see how uncomfortable Vanessa was. Children were often more accepting of his handicap than adults.

  "It's time to go to bed." Vanessa picked up her son.

  Garth led them down the hall into the guest wing. "Jason can stay in the room with twin bed
s. There's another room with a king-size bed for you."

  "I'd better sleep in one of the twin beds. I don't want Jason to wake up in the night and not remember where he is."

  Garth noticed Jason was already asleep, his blonde head nestled against the sensuous curve of his mother's neck. Her slim fingers crowned by those long, tapered nails were curved around Jason's back. Garth waited while Vanessa pulled down the covers and gently laid Jason across the bed. There was such love and heartfelt emotion in her eyes that Garth had to look away. Remembering.

  His mother used to look at him with the same unqualified love and devotion. The accident that crippled him had killed his parents. He missed them both, but to be honest he missed his mother more. He'd thought time would take care of things. It hadn't worked that way. He longed for his mother as much now as—maybe more than—he ever had.

  Was there anything more precious than a mother's love? Just seeing Vanessa brushing her lips against her son's forehead had sent a pang of regret so sharp and deep that he had to inhale rapidly to make it go away.

  Was anyone ever going to love him with half that much emotion? Was he ever going to love anyone that way? It seemed not. He had his career. That should be enough.

  He whirled his chair around and was almost into the hall before he could trust his voice. "If you need anything let me know. I'm in the other wing."

  He wheeled down the corridor and across the mammoth living room, clicking off lights as he went. Why was he so angry all of a sudden? The wellspring of hostility seemed to come from the deepest reaches of his soul, taking him by surprise. He was usually a happy person.

  True, he'd felt a vague sense of ennui lately, a kind of boredom that he'd attributed to a career lull caused by a lack of interesting cases. Now he suspected it went deeper than that. He switched on the light in his room and sat there. Snap out of it, he told himself.

  "Garth." Vanessa's voice was soft, but so unexpected that it startled him.

  He flinched and turned around. She was standing in the doorway, her golden hair framed by the darkness in the hall and her long legs appearing even longer in those white shorts.

  "Sorry to bother you," she said, "but I was wondering if I might borrow a T-shirt to sleep in. I only brought Jason's things."

  "Sure." He started toward the huge armoire, but she dashed past him.

  "Let me help."

  He stopped. Jesus! Was he so pathetic that he seemed helpless, unable to open a simple armoire?

  Vanessa reached the armoire and opened it, smiling a little too brightly over her shoulder at him. "Which drawer?"

  "Third one down." He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but failed miserably.

  He wheeled over to the French doors that faced the pool and opened them. Outside he transferred from the wheelchair to the glider he often used when he couldn't sleep. He gazed at the sea, trying to let it comfort him. According to Hawaiian lore, on moonlit nights the menehunes danced on the waves, causing them to sparkle the way they were sparkling tonight. The ancient tale didn't comfort him the way it usually did. He heard Vanessa come out the door behind him, but didn't turn around.

  "Have I done something wrong?" she asked.

  He rarely lied, but this time he was tempted. Anything to get rid of her. Instead, he patted the space on the glider beside him. Vanessa hesitated, but she sat down, clutching his favorite T-shirt that read: Lawyers Do It in Their Briefs.

  "Look!" His anger, a grenade in his gut, threatened to explode. He sucked in a deep breath and counted to three. "If we're going to work together, we need to get a few things straight. I was crippled when I was eighteen. I managed to put myself through college and law school without any help. Every day I go to work and function perfectly—on my own. I find it demeaning to have people rush to open doors as if I can't do it myself."

  "I-I'm sorry," Vanessa stammered. "I just wanted to help."

  The heartfelt emotion in her voice banished the anger he'd battled only moments ago. "I'll let you know when you can help me. Sometimes there are things I can't do."

  "Tell me about the accident," she asked, her voice low.

  He shrugged, unwilling to relive the unpleasant memory. "A drunk driver ran us off the road. My parents were killed on impact. I—" He stopped himself from saying he hadn't been so lucky.

  Since when had he started feeling sorry for himself? What was wrong with him tonight? An image of a little boy and a parrot flashed through his mind. Keisk. Children. A home and a family. Now he knew what was wrong. A career just wasn't enough.

  True, once that feeling of accomplishment had helped to overcome the loss of his parents and his debilitating injury. His career had given him pride and earned him the esteem of his peers. It also made him financially independent. Yet it wasn't enough.

  "I can't believe it," Vanessa said. "Almost the same thing happened to us. I was sixteen when my father swerved to avoid a drunk driver. Dana and I were orphaned that night. We had no relatives, so we were sent to a foster home. It was terrible. We ran away and eventually made our way here." Garth realized that he'd heard only part of the story. He'd represented enough people to know when information was being withheld.

  "Nothing," Vanessa whispered, "nothing that happened to me can possibly compare with what you suffered."

  "Don't feel sorry for me," he warned, his anger again surfacing. "I hate that as much as do-gooders who try to help. Not all wounds are physical. A lot of people are crippled psychologically and don't know how to get over it. At least I could see the way out." The long silence made him anxious. What was she thinking? Was he wrong in believing she'd suffered as much as he had? Earlier, when Vanessa had seemed to be the perfect woman, he wouldn't have thought it possible, but now, hearing her speak of her youth made him believe that they had more in common than he ever would have suspected.

  He bet those years following her parents' death had been traumatic for Vanessa. He'd defended enough runaways who had been driven to a life of crime. Vanessa had escaped that, but she had suffered a psychological trauma. Of that he was dead certain.

  He looked down and saw her hand inching across the small space between them, searching for his Her fingers laced with his and she squeezed slightly He looked down at her hand, fascinated by the lone, tapered nails that were curled through his own slim fingers. The growing magnetism between them stunned him.

  Vanessa said, "I've never met anyone like you."

  Dana changed into a nightgown and went into the bathroom. She scrubbed her face, but didn't really see her reflection. Instead she saw Rob, the ice pack to his jaw, laying on the chaise outside. He'd refused to come inside.

  She was so worried about him she couldn't possibly sleep. What if he had internal injuries and died before morning? Her stomach roiled spasmodically as she recalled how Rob had hurled himself at those men.

  She'd been fighting it hard, but day by day, hour by hour, the more time that she spent with Rob, the more she cared about him. She felt protected for the first time in her life. Rob would stay by her side and help her fend off the blackmailers the way he'd come to her defense tonight.

  So why was she washing her face while he was outside hurting? Because he'd insisted. He was accustomed to getting his way. Well, if they were going to have a relationship he'd have to learn to compromise.

  She marched to the lanai and found Rob on the chaise, the ice bag held against his jaw.

  "It takes two, you know."

  Rob dropped the ice pack, revealing a vivid bruise that made her wince. "Two to what?"

  "To have a relationship." She sat beside him, but didn't put her feet up. "I insist you tell me what you're thinking. You haven't said anything since those creeps left."

  "What do you want me to say? I screwed up—big time—okay? I'm pissed as hell at myself." His voice was low, charged with emotion, and she could tell that he truly blamed himself for the loss of the tapes. "I should have known Big Daddy could pick up the phone and have some mokes waylay us."r />
  "You couldn't have known that he'd discover the missing tapes so quickly."

  "Wrong. I was in his suite, remember? I saw all the electronic gadgets he had. I must have tripped some hidden device. That's how he found out so fast."

  "At least you got Vanessa and Jason out. I'm proud of you for that—for all you did."

  "Hell, you saved me," he said, not sounding too happy about it, and she chalked it up to masculine pride. "I haven't been much help. I haven't found the blackmailer and I haven't helped your sister's custody case either."

  "The fight's just beginning—on at least two fronts. But I can't tell you how glad I am to have you with me."

  A sigh that seemed to well up from the bottom of his soul startled her. "I swear, I won't let you down again."

  "You haven't let me down." She stared into his deep blue eyes, and for once the words came easily. "You've made me happy."

  She swung her legs onto the chaise so she was reclining beside him. He grimaced, obviously in pain, but managed to put one arm around her. She gently rested her head on his shoulder.

  The rhythmic thump-thump of his heart against her chest generated a longing deep within her. Her reaction wasn't just physical. It went far beyond that into a part of her psyche she'd never explored. What she wanted was intimacy. Someone special to share her life with.

  She gazed at Rob and found him studying her. He had the most insightful eyes. They saw right through her. Then he smiled, his lips canted to one side because of his bruised jaw, and she was truly lost.

  "You could have been shot—killed," she whispered.

  "So what? I wasn't going to let you be raped again."

  "Again?" The word came out much louder than she intended, echoing in the darkness like the footsteps of the night marchers.

  "The knife that man 'accidentally' fell on. He got what he deserved. He raped you, didn't he?"

  20

  "How did you know?" she asked, hoping he'd believed the rest of her story about how Hank Rawlins had died.