by Cathryn Cade
He squinted in the bright sun, but the craft was at too sharp an angle to the shore. “Nope. Think it starts with an H. But I see they’ve already landed their dinghy.” Beyond the palm trees on the beach, he could see the trio waving as a motorized raft nosed into the bay, manned by three men. “Come on. Let’s go tell Frank.”
He jogged down across the rocks toward the cave, Bella behind him. As they neared the cave mouth, Camille stepped out from under the fig trees. The trees shivered, an odd rattling sound coming from their branches. Bella touched his arm. A lightning glance revealed a frown on her face.
Joel stopped, alarm pinging at his nerves. “Hey, where’s Frank? We’ve got transportation.”
Camille smiled. “Yes, you do. But Frank won’t be needing it. Just you.”
Then Li stepped out of the cave to stand at her side. His knife gleamed as he flipped it, end over end. He smiled at Joel, and rage burned in Joel’s middle. His hands curled, ready to drop the little bastard with a kick and chop.
Bella’s hand tightened. “What’s he doing loose? Where’s Frank?”
“I’m afraid Frank’s had a little accident,” Camille explained with a regretful shrug. “A rock hit him on the head.”
Joel started forward menacingly, and Li stepped back, eyes narrowed, knife at the ready, blade flashing. Joel stepped into the cave, and Bella rushed past him.
Rage fired in Joel’s chest at what he saw. Frank lay sprawled on the cave floor, eyes closed. As Bella dropped to her knees, turning his lolling head in her hands, Joel saw blood in his silver hair and more splotched on the sand under his head. A large chunk of lava lay nearby as if it had been dropped there.
“What did you do?” Joel demanded contemptuously, turning on Camille. “Hit him over the head to free your little whipping boy?”
Camille’s eyes flashed, but then she shrugged elegantly. “Mmm, I may have been holding the rock at the time. But not to worry; he’s not dead.”
And where was the pistol Frank had taken from Li’s bag? Eyeing Camille’s stance, one hand behind her back, Joel suddenly had a pretty good idea.
“You bitch! You didn’t have to do this,” Bella accused, her face pale as she glared up at Camille and Li. “Frank’s twice the man your boy toy will ever be.”
“Maybe,” Camille purred. “But Li’s so much more fun. Anyway, give your old cop a kiss good-bye, because you’re coming on a little sea voyage—with me.”
“You know the owners of the yacht out there?” Joel demanded. “Who the hell are you?”
“Yes, who are you?” Bella echoed. “Because you’re not a photographer, that’s for sure.”
Camille smirked at her. “It took you long enough to realize that, you naïve little fool. You were too busy being nice, weren’t you, Miss Ho’omalu?”
The hair on the back of Joel’s neck stood up, but he ignored her for the moment. He pressed two fingers to Frank’s neck. The other man’s pulse beat slow but steady.
As Bella folded her towel and tucked it carefully under his head, Frank groaned, a faint sound in his throat. He was pale under his dark tan, but he didn’t have the grayish hue that Joel had seen on a fellow rock climber after a fall that would later kill him. Joel prayed that Frank would wake up with only one hell of a headache and not much more damage.
“Get one of the sleeping bags,” Joel advised Bella quietly. “We’ll wrap him in that so he doesn’t get chilled.”
“Leave him,” Camille said impatiently. “I haven’t time for this.”
Bella ignored her, turning to grab one of the sleeping bags from the back of the cave. Li stalked forward, his eyes wide with febrile eagerness.
Joel scooped the chunk of lava from the floor, hefting it in his right hand as he moved between the Asian and Bella.
“Don’t try it,” he warned the smaller man. “You might hit me with your knife, but I’ll smash this in your face, and you’ll be looking out of one eye for the rest of your sorry life, make no mistake.”
Camille sighed, and Joel looked over to see her training the pistol on him, silencer still attached. She looked all too comfortable with the weapon in her hand.
“Don’t waste time, boys,” she warned, her eyes as pale as ice. “I start shooting in precisely”—she consulted a slender watch on her wrist—“two minutes.”
This new incarnation of the photographer was just stone cold enough to do it too. Joel felt as if he and Bella had been plunged into an alternate version of reality. Camille Whoever-she-was had sure as hell played them all, convincing them she was an amiable professional.
Ignoring Li, who laughed soundlessly, Joel tossed the rock aside and took the sleeping bag from Bella. “Get a water bottle, and put it here beside him, where he can reach it if he comes to,” he told her. Dropping to one knee again, he carefully snugged the light sleeping bag around Frank, moving him just enough to get the bag underneath him and then flapping it over his body.
Figuring he’d done all he could for the Hawaiian, he rose, calling Camille’s attention to himself. “Is this about money?” he asked her. “Because you have to know, my network has plenty. Let the others go, and take me.”
Camille stared at him over the barrel of her gun. “Now isn’t that sweet. Playing the hero. Such a noble type, aren’t you, Joel? But you’re not really, are you?” She smiled tauntingly. “Did you tell little Miss Perfect you’re just a hick from a logging town? And that you’re busy fucking your way around the world, with a woman or two in every port?”
Bella rose to stand at Joel’s side.
“Guess you’ve outed me good,” Joel said, trying to look embarrassed.
“Oh, it gets better,” Camille promised, waving the gun. “Now come along. We don’t want to be late for cocktails aboard the yacht.”
“Cocktails?” Bella echoed disbelievingly. But she rallied quickly. “We’re going to need some clothes, if we’re going for drinks.”
The barrel of the gun turned toward her. “No, no,” Camille said. “No more delays. I’ve a lovely outfit for you on board. I chose it myself.”
Joel urged Bella to his other side, away from Li, who watched them like a shark as they walked silently from the cave, ahead of him and Camille.
“Why do you think she’s doing this?” Bella whispered as they walked out beneath the trees into the sunshine.
“Don’t know,” Joel whispered back. “I’m assuming crazed fan. Just try to keep quiet—let me draw her attention.”
Something flew past Joel’s ear, stirring the drifting strands of Bella’s hair, and smacked into a palm several feet in front of them.
“No talking,” Camille chided. “I might not miss next time.”
Joel’s hand closed on Bella’s like a vise, icy fear slithering down his spine. The woman had just shot at them. She could have hit Bella. Her eyes wide with fear, Bella stumbled.
Joel held her up, trying to reassure her with a look. Damn, he was going to do whatever it took to keep her safe. If he could take either Camille or Li out, that would leave only one of them. Odds he could live with. He might not be a professional fighter, but he trained regularly, and he was used to using his body and his mind to get through tough situations.
His heart sank like a stone as they reached the little beach. Suddenly this was looking like something much more sinister than a wealthy nutcase who wanted a celebrity guest no matter what it took to get him.
Three toughs in Hawaiian shirts, shorts and sunglasses stood spraddlelegged, holding automatic weapons. The Trio, as Joel had come to think of the models and make-up artist, huddled on the sand, still wet from their swim. Cassie was crying, her face swollen and tearstained. Tanah sat stiffly by her side, looking scared and furious, and Matt sat nearby, his face pale under his golden tan.
As soon as they saw Camille, the men moved, two of them going to man the rubber-sided dinghy, the other moving back, his weapon ready. They were her enforcers, all right. Who the hell was she?
“You’re here.” Tanah l
ooked up at Joel as if he might save them all. “We saw the yacht, and we thought we were safe. We waved it down, and they came, but they had guns.” She waved one hand helplessly.
“They’re going to kill us,” Cassie mumbled tearfully. “I just know it.”
“No one’s going to kill you,” Bella soothed, but the look she gave Joel revealed what they both knew—they were in the hands of a mad woman, and they might very well not survive the experience. How could Camille let them go when they could all identify her and now her yacht?
The Hypnautique, read the name lettered on the side of the raft.
“Where’s Frank?” Matt asked.
“He’s alive,” Joel murmured, his eyes on Camille. “But injured. She hit him over the head with a rock. Keep it quiet, okay? Conversation makes Camille a little trigger-happy.”
“She’s the one who’s doing this?” Tanah whispered, her eyes round with horror. “I can’t believe it. She’s so…”
“She seemed so nice,” Cassie finished for her.
Matt snorted. “Yeah, when she wasn’t watching Joel. I think she’s a collector.”
“A what?” Bella asked.
He shrugged, his eyes on Camille. “Some rich old women get their kicks having hot guys around. She’s just more rabid than most.”
Bella shuddered, and Joel started to slide a reassuring arm around her. He stopped himself. If Camille was after him, watching him with Bella might push her over the edge. She might hurt his nani wahine.
Bella sucked in a sharp breath. She stared at the name on the raft, and then at the yacht, her eyes wide. “Oh my God,” she muttered, her words barely audible over the surf. “I know who she is.”
He bent to hear what she said, but the muscleman with the shaved head waved his semiauto at Joel. “You—get in the boat first,” he commanded in a gravelly voice. “Come on, move it.”
Chapter Thirteen
To Do: In the event that the party must change lodgings or transportation suddenly, the tour director will ensure the change adds to the enjoyment of the tour, instead of detracting from it.
Bella had never been aboard a big yacht. She’d always thought it would be fun, she remembered, with a half sob, half laugh. But only in her worst nightmares would she have imagined boarding this one.
As she clambered out of the dinghy after Joel, assisted by the sweaty grip of one of Camille’s musclemen, she wished desperately that she could turn back time, still be alone in the grotto with Joel. They’d return to the camp and find Frank waiting for them, Li still tied up. Then the Ho’omalus would arrive in Daniel’s powerful boat, and in a short time, they’d all be back at Nawea, safe.
She slipped and fell to one knee on the wet boarding platform at Joel’s feet. She looked up, squinting in the sun, reaching for his hand to help her up. But he ignored her, his eyes narrowed against the sun as he stood, tall and broad against the gleaming white and gold of the steps and rail. Hurt bloomed inside her, joining fear and anger in a thorny, poisonous thicket. So all his pretty words had been just to get sex. She was on her own.
“Come along, everyone,” Camille called from above. “You must all have a nice shower, and change.”
Bella followed Joel up the stairs to the main deck of the yacht. It was a broad, elegant space, with comfortable divans and chairs grouped under a white awning that rippled in the ocean breeze. Beyond lay the island on one side, the surf splashing on the point, and on the other side, the ocean stretched in a sparkling expanse of blue. Overhead, the sun poured down, the remains of the storm only puffy clouds on the horizon.
They trooped across the deck, and through an open doorway. The main cabin was just as elegant, carpeted in cream, appointed with dark, gleaming wood and swooping metal sculptures. Camille didn’t stop there, instead leading them into a passageway with several doors. The trio was directed into one room.
Bella started to follow them, but Camille turned on her. “No, no, Miss Ho’omalu. Your room is this way.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Bella asked, stopping in the passageway. Her toes sank into the soft carpet runner placed over the gleaming wood floor. Joel stopped and turned, ignoring Li, who was holding another door open for him.
“Because you are a Ho’omalu,” Camille replied, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes, as if she had been waiting for the question. “The first one, anyway.”
“The first one?” Through the open door, Bella saw the trio, staring at her. The looks on their faces mirrored what she felt—a deepening horror. “But, who are you?”
“I?” Camille’s eyes fairly glowed, as if she’d been waiting for the question, and relished the chance to answer it. “I am Camille. But not Camille Barrett. I made her up. I am Camille Helman.”
The woman was one of the Helmans.
On the beach, once she’d gotten a clear look at the yacht, Bella had recognized its name. The Hypnautique belonged to the crime family who had almost succeeded in murdering both David and Daniel—the Helmans. David had told her that with both Helman brothers dead, the authorities were sure their syndicate would crumble, and the Ho’omalus could return to guarding Hawaii from other dangers.
They’d obviously been wrong.
Joel turned, and Bella fought the urge to dash into his arms. He’d demonstrated that he didn’t want her depending on him anymore.
“You mean this is all about Bella?” he demanded incredulously. “This whole scheme of yours has been to get her aboard your boat?”
Camille laughed, the husky chuckle of amusement that had so charmed Bella at first. “Disappointed, Mr. Girand? Poor man, you thought I was after you, didn’t you?” She shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I don’t care who you are. You don’t want trouble with the Ho’omalus,” Bella warned Camille, although her voice trembled. “Let us go now, and you’ll be much better off.”
Joel shook his head once, a silent warning, but Camille merely sneered elegantly. “Enough of this. You’re boring me. Get in here and clean up. And don’t forget to dress in the lovely ensemble I’ve chosen for you.”
Smiling maliciously, she indicated the open door of a stateroom.
Bella obeyed, crossing the hall. She walked inside, and the door shut behind her with a soft snick. The room was elegantly appointed in gleaming wood and cream carpet, with a huge bouquet of fresh bird of paradise and ginger flowers on the bedside table. She hardly noticed any of it, staring at the things laid out on the bed.
A lei and crown of creamy plumeria with crimson centers lay arranged gracefully next to a beige grass hula skirt, the kind the Tahitian dancers wore in hotel luaus.
The door opened behind her. “You have twenty minutes,” a voice said behind her. “Or I come in to help you.” Bella’s skin crawled. It was Li. “I won’t need your help.”
He laughed that silent, eerie laugh, chomping on his gum, and closed the door. She reached for it. Maybe if they all locked themselves in until the Ho’omalus came—but there was no lock. Somehow that didn’t surprise her. How many of the “guests” that had boarded this yacht had been like her, here unwillingly? How many of them had not made it back to shore alive?
The soaps and hair products in the small shower were expensive, smelling faintly of tropical flowers. Bella ignored them, knowing that they’d been chosen by Camille Helman. What she wanted was something sharp—even a disposable razor. But there was no such implement in the shower or cabinet. She certainly didn’t need a shower, having just bathed in the grotto with Joel. Her hair was only just dry.
She wished desperately that he were here with her, waiting outside the door. She stayed in the bathroom for several moments, trying to come up with an idea for escape, but although she racked her brain, she had no ideas. If only she had a coconut tree, she thought miserably.
Finally, Bella opened the door of the tiny bathroom and peeped out. Seeing no one, she emerged into the stateroom. She looked at the grass skirt with revulsion and picked up the lei. It fell around
her bare neck and shoulders, soft and cool, the petals a reassuring caress, their perfume filling her nostrils. Turning to the mirror, she set the crown on her head. As she did so, a strange sensation filled her. With her dark hair streaming around her shoulders, and the crown and lei of flowers setting off her golden skin and black eyes, she looked like the Hawaiian princess Joel had called her.
And a Ho’omalu, she reminded herself fiercely. From a family who had been called by Pele. She might be just a half-haole newcomer, but she would get through this. And when the Ho’omalus came to see where the group was and why they hadn’t shown up at Nawea, they’d see the yacht. Bella just hoped everyone would be alive when her cousins and uncles arrived.
Resolve firming her steps, she turned to pick up the grass skirt and tie it around her hips. It didn’t feel so bad once it was on, the dried grasses swishing softly about her bare legs. She even thought she heard the faint echo of her forest voices whispering to her. She closed her eyes, biting back a sob. The forest couldn’t help her now.
The door opened. Li stood there again, now dressed in a sleek black jacket and slacks, his pale hair gleaming with pomade. He looked her over insolently and smirked.
“Nice. Now gimme your top.” He held out his hand.
Bella recoiled in horror and distaste. “No!”
His knife snicked open in his other hand. He waggled the fingers of his outstretched hand.
Was this part of Camille’s plan, to humiliate and demoralize her? Or was this just a whim of this knife-wielding creep? Either way, she couldn’t afford to argue.
Fuming silently, Bella glared at him. The flowers on the bedside table quivered as if a breeze had passed through the cabin. Reaching up, she unfastened the ties of her top at the back of her neck, and then unhooked it behind her back. She shook her hair forward over her breasts and then threw the top on the floor at his feet.
He ignored it, his eyes on the hair streaming over her breasts. “Push your hair back,” he rasped. “No fair hiding,” he added in a sing-song voice.
