Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1

by Cathryn Cade

  She frowned indignantly. “As if I’d let you leave me behind.”

  His mouth quirked. He bent over and kissed her. “I know, you’re sparky for such a little wahine.”

  “Well, to a point,” she admitted as she thought of something else. “You’re not going to…be moving the mountain, are you?”

  His face sobered. “I hope not, pua. I hope not.” He tightened his grip on her hand.

  As they stepped out of the shade of the big trees, the sun slapped them like a hot blanket. Melia followed Malu up the lava field, grateful for his sheer power boosting her up over the bigger rocks.

  They arrived at the top of the natural heiau, Melia damp and breathless, Malu apparently unaffected. Keone stood in the middle, gazing at the lava and the walls of jungle pressing in on both sides.

  He held out his hands in disgust. “Now how you figga? Nuttin’ here.”

  Melia looked around, disappointed. She didn’t know what she’d expected—a big box with an X painted on it?

  “Well, it was after he climbed up here that Dane relaxed, started joking around as he usually does. So, I just thought—he must have found the cache of drugs.” She looked miserably at Malu. “I’m sorry, I guess I led you on a wild nene chase.”

  He looked unperturbed. “Nah. I’ll find it.”

  She caught her breath. “You mean…you’re going to—you know.” She broke off, looking at Keone, who stood a short distance away. “Use your kupua, your powers?” she finished under her breath.

  Malu’s lips quirked. “Nope.” He held up a small object and pushed a button with his thumb. “Dane’s cell phone.”

  A faint beeping sound emanated from the trees behind them. Keone whirled, and he and Malu moved toward the trees, stepping easily from boulder to boulder. Melia followed them more carefully, the lava shifting, grating under her feet.

  There, in the shadows of a huge clump of monstera leaves, sat an ugly crate. It looked like a giant fast-food takeout box, except that it was painted with irregular shades of dark gray, brown and green camouflage. It also had a complex-looking lock. A messy length of rope and fabric hung off one side. A parachute, she realized.

  “The cell phone app was a homing device,” Malu said with satisfaction.

  Keone reached down for it, but Malu grabbed his arm. “U oki, careful. Maybe ‘upiki trapped.”

  He studied the lock for a moment while Melia opened her water bottle and took a long, thirsty drink. Screwing the top back on, she moved into the shade with the men, lifting her T-shirt away from her skin. The cotton felt like a used wash cloth, hot and damp. The two Hawaiians seemed unfazed by the heat, but she couldn’t wait to get back off the mountain and dive into the ocean. She gazed out at its calm blue expanse and groaned with longing at the thought of the cool water closing over her head.

  “Ah, got it,” Malu said. He did something with the lock, and the box opened. Inside the crate sat a duffle bag.

  “That looks just like Dane’s bag,” Melia said, impressed. Malu had figured it out.

  Malu nodded. “Yup. He’d have brought the stuff back to Kona town with him, right under our noses.”

  He stood up with a fluid motion. “All right. We found it.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked. “Destroy it?”

  Keone moved sharply but said nothing.

  Malu shook his head. “Nope. Leave it here.”

  “Why?” Melia asked, bewildered.

  “Good idea,” said Keone. “These bad dudes—we betta stay clear.”

  “We have to take it with us,” Melia said indignantly. “And call 911, so the police can destroy it.” She looked around. “Or, if you call them now, they could land here and pick it up.”

  Malu shook his head again. “No. We leave it.”

  She frowned up at him from under her ball cap. She was hot, sweaty, she’d spent her morning putting up with him and his retro friend, and now he was just going to abandon their find?

  “You are a…a big, incomprehensible, aggravating, infuriating…male. Stop being so macho. If you have a super solution in mind, you could at least share it with us.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Malu said mildly.

  Melia frowned up at him. It was an exotic scene straight from paradise, the mountain rising majestically behind them, cut sharply by the black lava flow, swooping down to the bay with its frame of rocks, surf and palm trees. Over it all, the sky was a bowl of blue, reflected in the deep blue of the sea beyond the bay.

  And Malu, standing on the edge of the heiau in his tattoos and his red shorts, the embodiment of Hawaii. A lot of good that did if he wasn’t going to use his powers.

  She crossed her arms and waited. Leaning over, he gave her a quick, hard kiss.

  “Okay, you wanna give me more hell, or you wanna listen?” he asked.

  “I just think it’s stupid to leave the drugs here, where Dane’s horrible friends can just come and get them. How will you know if they do? Then the police will have to chase them. You could hand the drugs over and save them the trouble. Or you could—could burn them up.”

  “Nah, nah,” said Keone. “Worst idea yet. Forest fire, maybe.”

  He stood over the drugs like a stout tiki god, scowling at her.

  Malu turned to look up the mountain, his gaze sweeping the edge of the trees on both sides. There was bad popilikia here, he could feel it. Close.

  Melia moved sharply beside him. “Um…Malu?” she whispered, her fingers closing on his arm.

  He turned back, every cell in his body alerted. Trouble was close, all right. Much closer than he’d thought.

  Keone gave him a guilty grin over the Glock semi-auto pistol in his huge paw. “Sorry, man, can’t letcha ruin everyt’ing.” He beckoned to Melia. “Pick up da bag an’ hand it to me, wahine. Nice and slow, nobody gets hurt.”

  Malu thrust a protective arm in front of her, anger and sadness swelling in his chest. “So, you didn’t just show up because Frank called you,” he said.

  Keone shrugged. “Already been looking for dis. Couldn’t find it. Figured you might have.”

  “Aue, Keone, you should go back home! You don’t know what you’re doing with dis la’au ino, fool. It’s poison.”

  “Hell I don’t.” Keone sneered. “Many of us—we going back to the old ways, whedda you comin’ or not. This good ho’okalakapua—magic, man. Dey lemme try it.”

  He leaned forward intensely. “I saw the old ones, Malu. In a vision. They told me they’d come back and wipe all da haoles off da islands, if we pray and make hula to dem. Au’a ‘ia.”

  Malu shook his head. “Hoapili kāne, the old ones are always here with us. You don’t need to bring them back. They’re here.” He thumped his fist over his heart. “All you saw was a hallucination.”

  Keone shook his head stubbornly, the beads in his braids clacking. He waved the gun at Melia. “Bring da bag, haole wahine.”

  After a frightened look at Malu, Melia edged past his arm and bent to grab the duffel.

  A little lopsided from the weight, she crossed the rocks to Keone, teetering as they shifted under her.

  “Thanks.” He gave her his ferocious grin and then grabbed her arm. “Tell you what, you come with me, carry it. Den if your ku’u ipo here try to take me down, I shoot you. One less haole already.”

  “You hurt her, and I’ll never stop hunting you,” Malu said in a voice as deep as a fissure.

  Keone moved nervously, jerking Melia back with him. She clutched the duffle, freckles standing out on her white face, her eyes wide and frightened—fastened on him. He had to keep her safe and without Keone shooting them both. He’d recover, but his sweet wahine might not.

  “You say you saw the old ones,” he said to Keone. “If I can make you see them again, will you believe me?”

  Keone snorted. “Ass right, bro. You do dat.”

  “All right,” Malu said. “Makakilo.” He took a deep breath and held out his arm, willing Pele’s sacred power to rise in him.<
br />
  “This what you want?” he asked Keone.

  There was a faint rumble, as if the foundations of the island shifted beneath their feet. Keone looked around, startled. Melia stood very still, watching him. Smiling at her, he beckoned, feeling the island sigh as a breath of Pele’s dreams exuded from it.

  A mist blew out of the trees, twining around them, bringing with it the faint music of a ukulele being strummed and the rhythmic clack of sticks. Flexing his fingers as if he held a paintbrush, Malu stroked his hand across the invisible canvas before him, turning on his heel to sweep his arm wide. A thrill of kupua sent triumph soaring in him. This was a gift he had been born with, to create images of his beloved island. Those on canvas and paper would last for generations, this one only for a moment, but he intended that on his audience, the effect would be lasting.

  Melia’s eyes widened in awe, and Keone’s mouth dropped open as all around them, from the mist, a hula took shape and form.

  Lovely Hawaiian women in kapa-cloth skirts and fragrant leis shimmied and swayed, smiles on their faces as they waved their hands gracefully to Keone, giving him homage. Behind them, ranks of men similarly clad danced with the kāla’au—rhythm sticks—white teeth flashing.

  A crowd of Hawaiians in traditional dress watched as a great imu steamed before traditionally thatched houses. Chubby children wove among their elders, laughing and giggling. The celebration surrounded them, real as life, insubstantial as the mist.

  “Yes,” Keone said hoarsely. “Yes, here they are. Ohh, dis betta den I see before. See?” he cried to Malu. “See how it could be again?”

  He let go of Melia to turn, his rapt gaze following one golden-skinned woman with long, flowing black hair and a familiar flashing smile. “Leilani, is dat you? Ah, ka popohe.”

  “Is she?” Malu asked. His voice rumbled like lava rocks shifting, ready to tumble.

  Slowly, the scene began to change. As Keone and Melia watched in dawning horror, the dancers’ smiles turned vacant, their eyes hollow. Bodies thinned, golden skin now mottled with bruises, sores. Some stumbled, fell. They did not rise.

  The imu no longer steamed. Instead, the watchers now sat listlessly in front of rusted tin shacks while mangy dogs snarled and scrawny, dirty children cried. Two men fought drunkenly while a woman wept, holding out her hands ineffectually to stop them.

  “No! Leilani!” Keone’s gaze was fastened on the now thin woman huddled by a palm, wearing only a torn sarong, her breasts sagging. Her dull black hair straggled around her shoulders.

  At Keone’s call, the horrid caricature of Leilani straightened, her come-hither smirk showing rotten teeth. “Hey, nohea,” she mumbled. “I show you good time, you get me ona.”

  Melia put her hands to her face, shaking her head. Keone groaned in horror and disgust. Then he turned on Malu, the gun trembling in his hands.

  “What you do to her?” he demanded hoarsely. “To all dem? Kepolo! Devil.”

  “Not me,” Malu said sternly, gesturing at the scene. “Dis what the drug will do to you and Leilani and to Hawaii. At first, you’ll think you’re living high, bringing back the old ways, and you’re powerful enough to throw all the haoles out and live like the kings of old. But den you discover you need more and more of the ona to have your visions. Only, your pushers will up the price. They’re the kepolos.” His voice wove relentlessly through the air, filling the clearing, echoing off the mountain.

  “Pretty soon you’ll sell everything to get more. Then you’ll steal, and send your wahine out to whore herself, maybe even your keikis. That’s how far down it will take you, bro. And then, guess what? They’ll offer to buy your land for a few more hits, only now you got no place to live, and they own bigger and bigger chunks of our island. Then all of old Hawaii will be gone, and you with it.”

  As Keone stared at him dumbly, Malu shook his head in disgust and strode over to take Melia by the arm, drawing her to his side.

  “You want to keep Hawaii free of scum like that, help us,” Malu said.

  Keone shook his head as if clearing away cobwebs. He was breathing hard, his barrel chest rising and falling quickly. “How’d you do dat?” he mumbled. “You Ho’omalu always been fuckin’ ‘ano ‘ē, strange.”

  “Not me. Pele.” Malu jerked his head toward the mountain.

  “Pele?” Keone whispered. He looked up the mountain and then shivered. “Of course, she da only one who could really bring dat vision.” He shoved the gun in the waistband of his shorts and looked at Malu. “What I gotta do, bro?”

  “You can help me take out da trash.”

  Keone’s huge shoulders sagged. He nodded.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Volcano Smack-down—no recipe included.

  The sound of slow clapping filled the quiet air.

  “Very affecting,” drawled a new voice.

  Malu turned swiftly, gazing up the lava flow. A man stood above them, just outside the trees. Lean and tanned, he wore a silk tropical shirt and slacks of pale gray, the same hue as the hair pulled back from his face. The hair rose on the back of Malu’s neck. Despite already knowing what kind of creature he had to be to sell drugs that turned people into the living dead, facing him was a revelation. The man had the coldest gaze Malu had seen since a dive trip with Daniel, where he’d looked a hammerhead in the eye. The eyes of a predator, empty of compassion, relentless.

  The new arrival strolled farther out into the open.

  “So, you’re going to save your people, are you, Mr. Ho’omalu?” he went on, his smooth voice flowing like oil through the damp, hot air.

  “Who are you?” Malu demanded. He wanted to be sure of his enemy.

  “Who am I?” The man smiled. “Well, since none of you are going to survive, I suppose I don’t mind introducing myself. I am Stefan Helman.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” The Helmans had been on the mainland law-enforcement radar for years. They’d built a family business founded on shady dealings and outright crookedness, then branched out into drugs and prostitution on the west coast. There were two brothers, along with a sister who stayed out of sight, apparently not involved in the business. Stefan was the oldest, followed by his brother Darien and the sister.

  There’d been rumors for months that they wanted to branch out to Hawaii. A tip from a Hawaiian crewing for private yachts out of California had alerted the Hawaiian police to a possible drop, and a beer with an old friend now on the force had led Malu to investigate further.

  Ho’omalu instinct had led him, ironically, here to Nawea. “You and your brothers are aptly named, Hell-man. But this time you’re not in Los Angeles. You’re on my island.”

  “What can I say? Seemed a fine place to vacation on my yacht and do a little business at the same time.”

  “Your yacht. Is that how you brought the drugs over?” Malu asked.

  “Very good, Ho’omalu. Yes, it was quite simple. I had a chopper fly out and pick them up before we docked. Missed those pesky inspectors that way.”

  “And then you dropped them here, where your mule could retrieve them. Now you think you’ll distribute them to Hawaiians.”

  Helman shrugged modestly. “Oh, not me personally. I have people to do that. As for me, I’m just a business man here to enjoy myself. Lovely place, your Big Island. Pristine waters. I plan to dive tomorrow.”

  “I wouldn’t make too many plans, if I were you,” said Malu. “You are on my island.”

  The sound of familiar laughter preceded the blond man who followed Helman from the trees, climbing down to the back edge of the heiau. Dane carried a Glock semi-auto carelessly in one hand. The gun of choice for everyone today, it seemed. “I noticed right away you’ve got an ego the size of Kilauea, Malu. Too bad you can’t back it up.”

  “Ah, Gifford,” Malu said contemptuously. The po’ino had gotten out of jail in record time, thanks to his master’s fancy lawyers. “You’re Helman’s drug mule, eh?”

  Gifford shrugged casually, but his cheeks reddened u
nder Malu’s contemptuous regard. “I prefer to think of myself as a valued employee.”

  “How‘d you get here?” They certainly hadn’t driven—the highway was far above them, with trails that, for the most part, only the Ho’omalu, Keone and the Kau forest rangers knew.

  “Chopper last night—I’m sure you heard us. Camped out here and watched the sun rise. Nice. I knew you’d show up sooner or later. Should’ve kept your nose out of our business, Malu.”

  Melia moved sharply at Malu’s side. Malu shifted, pushing her behind him, but the movement had attracted Helman’s attention.

  “Who’s the woman?” he asked Dane, his eyes assessing her as if she were for sale. Of course, in his world, pretty women often were.

  “Just a stupid tourist,” Dane sneered. “She’s not a problem.”

  “You slime-ball,” Melia answered him, her voice shaking. “You beat up Cherie, you attacked Malu from behind, and you’re a drug pusher besides? You’re nothing but a little coward.”

  Malu shoved her farther behind him, wishing she would be quiet. Now she’d attracted attention—he watched Gifford’s eyes narrow with the knowledge that she was with Malu in every sense of the word. He restrained himself from vaulting up the heiau and grabbing Gifford by the throat. He knew damned well the little bastard wanted him and was the type to be jealous of the woman Malu had chosen instead.

  Dane sneered at her. “We’ll see what tune you sing, bitch, when he’s dead and you’re the plaything of whoever wants you.”

  Rage flamed inside Malu, Pele’s heat rising. It felt good. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Charming as this little byplay is, perhaps we can get on with business,” Helman drawled. He beckoned without looking behind him.

  Melia gasped, clutching at Malu’s shirt as more men poured out of the trees. They carried short automatic weapons, their eyes hidden behind sunglasses. The big guns had arrived.

  Malu eyed them. Although the initial effect was impressive, there were only six of them. A few pale-skinned imports, a couple of Asians, and one young Hawaiian, trying to look tough and cool. Damn, he hated to lose a brother, even one dumb enough to get tangled up with this slime.