“We’ve lost the light.” He pointed to the falls. “That’s a major climb. And you don’t know how much farther past that.”
“Really, I—”
“Fatigue is when accidents happen.” It was already too dark to attempt the climb safely. No point pushing past their strength.
She sat down on the boulder. “I didn’t think it was this far.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “Are you sure we’ve come the right way?”
“I’m sure I was here.” She looked up at the shallow falls. “The rest is fuzzy.”
“Another night’s sleep might help.”
“Another night.” Her stare lingered. “And it’s been four already.”
At least. If she’d spent one night out, there could have been others. “We’re doing all we can.”
She nodded, then sighed. “I guess the story’s run.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I really don’t know.” She unfastened her pack and pulled it from her back.
“If TJ’s learned something, there might be help coming.”
“That’s all I want.” She rested her face in her hands.
He took out his cell phone, though as he’d guessed, there was no signal. “We’ll have to wait and see.” He removed his pack and set it on the ground.
Jade turned. “What do you want me to do?”
“Collect some driftwood and I’ll make a fire.”
She moved away from the stream for dry wood while he fitted together the collapsible poles and attached the tarp, then unrolled the two mats that would keep the worst of the rocks from digging in. Unless something unseasonable happened, there’d be no need for blankets or—
Jade shrieked.
He lurched out from under the tarp and shouted, “Stop!” just as she flung off a five-inch centipede.
He thrashed over and grabbed her arm. “Are you bitten?”
She panted. “I don’t think so.”
There was no think; she’d know. But he couldn’t believe it. He searched her arm for punctures and found it unscathed—impossible with the length of contact and her frantic motion. The things wrapped around and struck with the fangs on the tips of their front legs. But though he could miss marks in the failing light, she couldn’t miss the electrical socket experience of a centipede bite. The poison swelled, sickened, and disoriented bigger, stronger adults than she, and the pain was immediate.
He ran his hand over her forearm, still not believing. But she had somehow tangled with a centipede and emerged unharmed. He looked into her face. Her hair had come loose, and he knew how it would feel. Her eyes were weary and frightened, but that only enhanced their luminous depths.
Her body was fit and supple, and if she was a psychopathic murderer it could hardly be more dangerous than the effect she was already having. He let go. “Go sit under the tarp. I’ll get the wood.” He watched her creep beneath the sagging tent, his heart racing in a way it hadn’t for a long time. Get a grip, Kai.
Jade shook all over. She hadn’t felt squeamish about the tropical forest until now. But the feel of the creature’s legs clinging to her wouldn’t go away. She tried not to show it when Cameron ducked back under the tarp and rummaged in his pack. He hardly looked at her anyway; just said, “I should have warned you about that, with the night coming on.”
“Are they going to be crawling all over us?” She’d keep moving in the pitch-dark if that was the case.
“We’re in their habitat.”
She eyed the flimsy cover that might keep off the rain but offered no barriers whatsoever to the creepy crawlies that until now wouldn’t have concerned her. The loathsome feel of that centipede was one memory she wanted blocked, and the thought of lying down and sleeping … “I can’t do this.”
He pulled out the lighter. “They’re out there, Jade. But you seem to be ho‘omalu ke Akua.”
“What does that mean?”
“Under God’s protection.”
“Ho‘omalu ke Akua,” she whispered.
“I’ve never seen someone wrestle a centipede and walk away untouched.”
She shuddered. “I just … got it off me.”
He cocked his jaw and eyed her in the deepening twilight, then ducked out and lit the fire he’d assembled near the streambed.
She joined him there. Wasn’t fire the universal defense? The night was not cold, but she huddled as though a howling wind tore around them.
He tossed her a stick of teriyaki jerky for dinner. “Centipedes are predators. They mostly hunt at night. But they’ll probably stay in the vegetation and look for bugs and lizards.”
“Probably doesn’t do it for me.” She closed herself into her arms.
His mouth pulled sideways. “I don’t blame you, but trust me, it could have been worse.”
“I don’t want to know. And I’m not staying here.”
He took a flashlight from his pack and set it on the stony ground between them. “We have no choice. It’s getting dark. Besides, you stayed here before.”
“With enough brain damage to render me insouciant.”
He tipped his head. “Big words. Maybe you’re a teacher.”
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“Now see, that’s just the tone Miss Stafford used to take.”
She wrapped her knees in her arms. “And it probably did no good.”
He pressed a hand to his chest. “She struck terror in my thirdgrade heart.”
“And you in hers, no doubt.”
He grinned. “She loved Nica, though. And since we came as a pair—”
“You’re twins?”
“We’re eleven months apart, but she accelerated a grade.”
Jade reassessed him. “I thought you were a lot older.”
“She has a young quality.”
“And he was hardboiled.” Jade leaned her chin on her knees. “You’re nothing at all alike.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We both have a weakness for squid luau.”
She half smiled. The horror of the centipede had diminished a little. But her thoughts still churned as all around them insects sang. “What else is out there?”
“You’ve encountered the worst. The centipede is the only poisonous creature on the island. He took a ride over with the Polynesians. Lots of people have lived here since, sleeping out like this, whole families on little grass mats.” He took out a bottle of repellent. “Use this for the mosquitoes.”
“Malarial?”
“Only birds get malaria in Hawaii.”
She shot him a skeptical look.
“Cross my heart. There’s a few spiders whose bites can hurt, but nothing out here will kill you.”
She applied a fresh coat of repellent, the caustic scent stinging her nostrils. “Maybe I’ll just hang over that boulder again.” She waved toward the stone near the bank where she’d huddled the first night unawares.
He shrugged. “Whatever suits you.”
With a sigh, she turned back to the flames. “I won’t sleep.”
“Then you won’t be much good tomorrow.”
And she had to be.
He ducked under the tarp. “The light’s on the ground there if you need it. Don’t go far to relieve yourself.”
She wished he hadn’t brought it up, but better now than later. “Where’s that big knife?”
He reached into his pack and held out the machete. “Just don’t think I’m a wild boar if I start snoring.”
It surprised her he could make her laugh. After everything. “Cameron?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re going to find him.”
“That’s why we’re here.”
It was why she’d sleep, in spite of centipedes, and push on tomorrow to whatever lay ahead. When she came back and lay down on the mat under the tarp, Cameron murmured, “Ma ka malu o kona ‘ēheu.”
She wished she could see his face as she settled her head into the crook of her arm. “What did you say?”
&n
bsp; “Within the shelter of his wings.”
NINE
Sweeping the drapes to the side to reveal the lights of Waikiki, Curtis Blanchard ignored Allegra’s pout. Though unbecoming in a woman of her maturity, it was forgivable, definitely forgivable. In fact, it was encouraging. He’d take a pout over arguments, questions, and demands. His bird was no squawking crow; his was a nightingale. And the trick was to lure her from the bush into the cage, to capture her so completely, she thought of nothing else, no one else.
Without a hint of annoyance, he reached over and drew her to the window. “With all this, babe, who needs television?”
Allegra planted a hand on her slender hip. “I just wanted to see what’s happening in the world.”
“Happening? What could be happening?” He circled her waist and pulled her close, hoping she wouldn’t sense his agitation. If she saw Gentry’s story on the news, it would ruin everything, and he’d worked too hard for this time with her.
Seeing the report had shaken him worse than he’d expected. Allegra would insist on responding, or so he guessed, though this particular femme was complicated, a greater challenge and pleasure than he’d expected, but also hard to figure. Like a chameleon, she shifted, but what was going on inside? That was the question.
“Allegra, darling, we’ve escaped the world.” He traced her lips with his fingertip, smoothing the pout and noting the fine lines gathered at the edges. Not even Botox was perfect. He didn’t expect perfection, only attention, undivided. “I want to pretend it’s permanent.”
With a playful cast to her eyes, she took his gold chain in her teeth and tugged. “Presumptuous.”
For a woman nearing fifty, she still had that je ne sais quoi that explained why her long-estranged husband would not let her go. “Perhaps. But I have great expectations.” He kissed her mouth in anticipation of meeting each one.
After what he’d just seen on the TV he’d have to keep her distracted. But he could do that, especially when he considered how much she meant to him. How very much.
As darkness descended once again in the cave, despair closed in. None of the challenges he faced, lying there broken, exposed, and hungry, had the power that hopelessness wielded when each successive night fell. It was almost palpable, as though it oozed from the walls and ceiling and rose up like the mist from the pool.
He fought the thoughts that infiltrated his mind. Had he placed his hope in a straw God? Were his prayers no more than wishful pleading into thin, unhearing air? Faith a ruse?
He battled back with snatches from the Psalms. “ ‘Answer me when I call to you, O my righteous God. Give me relief from my distress; be merciful to me and hear my prayer.’ ”
But his body couldn’t take much more. It wasn’t simply the injuries—there was something internal, systemic. How long he could hold on, he didn’t know. What he did know was that even painful death would be preferable to this agonizing demise of his trust, his faith. He groaned. “Lord, forgive me.”
And in the din and darkness he grabbed once again onto a lifeline of peace that invaded the pain, the doubt. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he raised his voice in praise that drove away the lying spirits and restored him more surely than the purest water, the richest food, the safest haven.
If this was to be his tomb, he would wait with the faith of Lazarus to be called forth either to his current life or to the next.
People with hard faces pressed in on every side, pushing, grasping, shouting like carnival barkers. “Look here; over here; right this way.” A macabre anticipation tainted the air. Vultures; they were vultures, there to pick her flesh. Cold metal banged her lip.
“Can you refute the allegation?”
“Are you going to fight it?”
“Is it true?”
True? How could they believe it? How could they not know? What kind of people were they?
“No. It’s a lie.” Her chest heaved; her heart raced. “It’s a lie. It’s a lie.”
The cacophony grew. Loud raucous voices, drowning her out, drowning her. She couldn’t breathe. A force strong and heavy pressed her down and swept her away. She thrashed and kicked, straining for air.
“Jade.” Cameron’s grip on her shoulder dragged her out. “Jade.”
She gasped and opened her eyes. His face was grim in the morning light. Birds clambered. She was damp with sweat, or maybe it was mist and dew.
“What’s the lie?”
“Lie?” She pressed up to her elbow on the mat.
He gave her shoulder another shake. “The lie, Jade. You said, ‘It’s a lie.’ ”
His forceful questioning mimicked something, but all she could remember was fighting for breath. “I think I was drowning. In my dream.”
He hunkered back on his heels, scowling. Whatever she’d said had set him off again, but was she responsible for what happened in her sleep? She shook her head. “Drowning dreams are supposed to be symbolic, but I don’t know what it meant.”
“Why do you think it was symbolic?”
A wave of dizziness washed over her. He was right. It could be real. It could be memory. She looked over at the faithful stream that had led her out, then up to the white threads of water streaming over the black rock. Mist clung there like confusion. No sweeping torrent. But what lay beyond?
Her vision blurred, her thoughts stilled. The birdsong faded in her ears; the damp air clung to her skin until she melted in. A shout without words echoed in her head, and with it came a sensation of falling, so strong she swayed.
Cameron gripped her shoulder again. “What is it?”
Her lungs ached. Her head pounded. “It’s right there, but I can’t—” Frustration swept in. She wanted to scream. “You think I don’t want to remember, but that isn’t true.” She scrambled to her feet. The sensations were too strong to be imagination, but until she broke through the wall, she was only groping.
Before he’d shaken her awake, he had struck camp and had the packs waiting, everything ready but the mat she’d been lying on. Even the tarp over her head had been stowed again. Good. The less time wasted the better.
She snatched her pack, slipped her arms through the straps, and started for the falls. A night’s sleep had done nothing but frustrate her. Cameron’s questions only bullied her mind. Halfway up the slippery rock face, she heard him beneath her. Maybe she’d be glad for his help when they found her companion, but right now his doubt and suspicions were an emotional drain she didn’t need.
Reach and pull, cling, find a foothold. Her muscles strained, but it was a good strain. She clawed with her fingers, clinging like … like … Her head spun. Laughter … and a voice saying, “Maybe the Hawaiians are right. I can see you coming back as a gecko.” Her hand slipped.
Cameron caught her waist and braced her against the rock. “Now is not the time to lose it.”
She grabbed hold and dragged herself up. Mist from the falls chilled her hot cheeks. Her knee banged something and pain emerged. Ignoring it, she heaved herself into a damp hollow to catch her breath. Since Cameron clung beneath her, she didn’t wait long before pulling up to the next level.
Her legs shook. Two knuckles bled. Sweat ran down between her shoulder blades as she dug in and pulled up again. Water sprayed her in the face. She couldn’t find a grip.
“To your left,” Cameron called.
She reached and found the hold, dug in with her shoe and thrust herself over the top. She scrambled back from the edge to give him room and realized he was trailing a rope again. If she had let him go first, she’d have had it to hold on to. But she’d made it without. Gasping, she tipped her head back and found a piece of blue sky torn out of the clouds. She stared hard at it.
Cameron pulled up beside her. “Are you always this reckless?”
She shrugged.
“I bet you’ve got a guess.”
Did she? Lying back on her elbows, drawing in the scent of mist and jungle and exertion, a certain exultation rose up from the danger and d
ifficulty. Reckless? She didn’t know. But the challenge had rejuvenated her. She caught the end of her water hose between her teeth and sipped the cold water.
Cameron balanced on one elbow. “So what did you remember, climbing up?”
“Someone saying I could come back as a gecko.”
She thought it would surprise him, but he said, “Only the kanaka maoli come back as geckos.”
“Kanaka …”
“Indigenous Hawaiians, or those descended from Pele, the volcano goddess, and all her numerous lovers.”
“I see.” She looked at him stretched out beside her on the rock, his hair wet with mist, the line of his beard fuzzy with new growth, a shadow of whiskers creeping down his neck. It made him look less arrogant than confident, less annoying than interesting. Or maybe it was that his anger had passed like the showers blowing down the valleys.
Removing his full-sized pack, he took out Ziploc bags of fresh shaved coconut, nuts, and dried papaya slices that he’d assembled. No chocolate. But she thanked him anyway.
Cameron dug into his baggie. “Who taught you to climb?”
She searched, but no answer came. “Part of the blank, I guess. Or maybe I taught myself.”
“Which would you guess?”
“That someone took me along, pointed out the moss on the north side of trees, and told me which berries not to eat.”
“And hauled you down from cliffs and asked you not to howl at the wolves?” He pulled a smile. “Bet you were one lapa keiki.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He laughed. “Ho sistah. I ony call you one wild kid.”
“And what kind of talk is that?”
“Da kine Hawaiian Creole. You want for talk story like a local, you learn da kine pidgin.”
He was likable when he laughed, and his benediction the night before had kept all but the bad dreams away. She nibbled a soft, white coconut flake. “So teach me.”
He chewed, then nodded. “Okay. Like the islands, pidgin’s got roots in lots of languages and peoples. Most locals switch between it and standard English, depending on the situation.”
“I see.”
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