Gentry turned. “You know her?”
Cameron shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“When did you tell her your name?”
He caught the implication. “The SAR team and police knew I was with you. Word spreads.” Far and wide around Gentry.
She removed her ponytail holder and combed her fingers through her hair, pushing it back and away from her face, then looked up, eyes weary. “I should have been here.”
“They’d have taken him right in.”
“He was conscious. I could have said something.”
“You hadn’t remembered.”
She sighed. “I know, but …”
“You’d have been swarmed without warning.” Having her intercepted hadn’t been his call, but he’d made it. And if she hadn’t been in Okelani’s kitchen when TJ delivered the news about her mother, she might not remember yet. He imagined the confused Jade stepping out into the crowd instead of the poised Gentry Fox.
Her brow pinched. “You know what he meant, don’t you. That reporter.”
He lowered himself into a chair, feeling the release of muscle and sinew and a general post-exertion letdown. “Don’t you?”
She shook her head. “I thought it had all come back. But I’m finding holes.” She turned. “What—”
“You’ve got enough to worry about.”
She looped her ponytail holder around and around her finger. “That look on his face. His lip curled up like …” She spread her hands, then dropped them in her lap. “Past puberty?”
He rubbed his beard. He hadn’t paid enough attention to the story to explain it to the person involved, especially when she looked so vulnerable. He should have ducked out when he had the chance. “Let’s just focus on now.”
“That bad?”
He weighed what he knew against what she might imagine and said, “There were allegations that you had an affair with a minor.”
“How minor?”
“Sixteen, I think.”
“Sixteen?” She sank back as if he’d walloped the air out of her. “Who?”
“I don’t know the name.” He rarely tuned in to celebrity scandal, but the pain that gripped Gentry’s face had substance. “You don’t remember any of it?”
She pressed her palms to her temples. “No wonder they’re out there.” Her voice squeezed.
“Comes with fame. You must have expected it.”
“Not really.” She let her hands drop. “I’ve done some TV parts and stage productions, but my focus the last few years has been a troupe called Act Out. An improv ensemble I started with my friend Helen Bastente for at-risk teens.”
He remembered that now. Oprah had emphasized its purpose, providing a creative avenue for troubled kids to express their tangled emotions. He’d been on the rowing machine when Gentry’s interview aired. Mostly he remembered his annoyance that someone had switched from ESPN.
“I wasn’t seeking a script.” She caught her hair back with her fingers. “Helen was reading for the part in Steel; I went along to support her. But for some reason, the casting director had me read too.”
Some reason? Gentry could have been typecast for the gutsy Rachel Bach.
“It was a small, independent production, so I didn’t think it would take much time from the theater. Then it got legs and attracted some serious interest. Big shots took over, renegotiated contracts—the works. I almost bailed, but I’d fallen in love with the character.”
That had come through on the screen, Gentry playing the wife of a striking steelworker who took his place as a scab to pay for their child’s operation. Even he’d seen how she peeled the character off the page and breathed life into the part. “And you thought afterwards you’d slip back into obscurity?”
“I’m not that naïve.” Her gaze returned bruised. “I knew things had changed. I just wasn’t prepared for the rest.”
“You remember now?”
“Not a memory as much as … I can feel the hatred.”
Once again she’d accessed the emotion, but not the facts. “Hate’s as potent as love; maybe more.”
She shook her head. “I won’t believe that.”
Her universe of possibilities must be rose tinted.
She got up and circled the room, the only sounds the ticking clock and the low buzz of the lights. She bit off the broken nail of her index finger, and once again he had a hard time visualizing her as a Hollywood personality. Was it something she turned on and off, as she had when she stepped from the truck? Or had that been a subconscious shift in response to the crowd? How would anyone know what was real with Gentry Fox?
She looked at the clock and rubbed her neck. “How long do you think they’ll have him in there?”
“No way to tell.”
She gripped and released her hands. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I’ll stay.” Nervous energy had built up in her, but now it seemed to seep away and leave her empty. “Want something to drink?”
The time it took her to answer revealed her exhaustion. “Diet Coke if they have it.”
“If they don’t?”
“Anything diet.”
He went out past the guard and strolled down to the vending machines, waited while a slight woman clinked in her quarters, and the machine clunked out a soda. This late at night, those were the only sounds except for the distant ding of an elevator.
A flowery perfume wafted from the woman, who stepped aside from the machine, but it didn’t quite cover an underlying sweat. She looked up with eyes like pale sea glass in a face as sharp as a prow. “Cameron Pierce, right? Kapa‘a High. Ninety-three.”
He brought up his guard. “You local?”
“Waimea. I won’t tell you what class.” Her teeth formed a narrow arch to fit the sculpting of her face.
He could usually tell a local even if they’d left the islands, but not always. Just to check, he said, “Any class in your age range, you must have graduated with one of the Barretos.” The twelve PortugueseHawaiians had actually attended his own Kapa‘a schools. He’d graduated with Miguel.
She nodded. “Telling which one gives it away.” And she’d just proved herself a liar, though why she felt the need puzzled him. She could have simply said what paper or station she was with. He scanned the soda selection, slipped in quarters, and procured a Diet Coke.
She said, “Running back, first team, but you prefer the long board when the surf ’s up. Won the ’97 Haleiwa Surfing Championship.”
“You know this because?”
“I talk story.”
“That’s how, not why.”
She popped her tab. “Aren’t you going to drink your Coke?”
He started down the hall, then thought better of giving away his destination. The guard would keep her out, and in fact, she probably already knew, but it still felt like leading the wolf to the door.
“Did she tell you the boy overdosed?” Her voice grated.
He didn’t have to ask who she meant. The media had played up the youth’s attempted suicide. He’d smelled a rat, medical fraud being his specialty. But it wasn’t his business. He headed for the room.
“His mother’s filing a civil suit for pain and suffering. Now Gentry’s lost her memory.” The woman kept at his heels like a terrier. “I’d call that convenient.”
He turned. “Look, Ms… .”
“Walden. Bette Walden.”
“You need to fish another stream, Bette.”
“She’s reeled you in?”
Whatever answer he gave to that could be spun. Even saying she was Nica’s friend would shift the scent a direction he wouldn’t want it to go. “What’s your part in all this?”
“What’s yours?” She slid her purse strap up her narrow shoulder.
“Wouldn’t you rather make that up? Isn’t that what you people do?”
“I’m not a rag reporter.”
“What, then?”
“An investigator. Like you, only impartial.”
She took out her identification.
He frowned. “Who’s paying the bill?”
She smiled without teeth.
“Then tell me this. Why are you investigating a hiking accident?”
“Accident? Funny how people get hurt around Gentry Fox.”
Not what he wanted to hear. Had he lost his impartiality? But if she’d injured her uncle, why go back for him? The amnesia seemed real, though a good actor could pull it off. He’d watched her transform in the time it took to round the hood of his truck.
He expelled a breath. The clock had tipped toward morning, and he was nearing exhaustion. Not a good time for judgment calls.
Bette slid her card from her wallet. “Maybe we can help each other.”
“We’ll see.” He took the card and left her standing in the hall, then let himself into the room. Gentry sat with her face in her hands. The expression she raised to him was so bleak, it tugged the doubt right out of his head. He walked over and set her Coke on the table, then laid the card beside it. “Anyone you know?”
FOURTEEN
Gentr y stared at the name on the card, but nothing came to her. “Should I?”
Before Cameron could answer, the door opened. A doctor came in, sandy hair receding from a slack-cheeked face. His chin all but disappeared into his neck, but his eyes were sharp and aggressive. She jumped up and faced him.
His nostrils collapsed as he drew in his breath and spoke in a thin, nasal voice. “Ms. Fox, I’m Dr. Long. Your uncle has come through surgery but has not yet stabilized. I repaired injuries to the knee and ankle of his right leg, but the extensive damage and septic condition of the lower-left extremity could require amputation.”
She startled. Amputation?
“That is a solution we hope to avoid, but the infection is severe and his condition critical.” His robotic delivery set her teeth on edge.
“Is he conscious? Can I see him?”
“He’ll remain unconscious until he’s stabilized. From recovery, he’ll be taken to ICU. Someone will let you know, but …” He tipped his head back and sighted her down the narrow barrel of his nose. “I won’t have a circus in there.” Understandable, considering the circus outside, but his expression suggested that, on top of everything else, this was her fault. Guilt hit her so hard she staggered.
The doctor’s icy manner started her meltdown as he left the room. Cameron’s hand on her shoulder undid her. She turned, and he pulled her into his chest. Uncle Rob critical and unstable? She had thought as soon as he reached the hospital everything would—Amputation?
She refused to think of Uncle Rob without both strong legs. Uncle Rob unable to conquer a boulder field, to leap rock to rock across a stream, to set a pace only the hearty could match to reach a summit at peak light. If infection caused the loss, then it would be her fault for not remembering, for not finding him sooner.
Cameron’s “I found him; he’s alive” had been a clarion call to hope and expectation. A feast of relief. Fait accompli. Even her uncle’s dire condition hadn’t quenched hope as this surgeon’s words did now. She clenched her jaw and refused to surrender the field. “They won’t take his leg.”
Cameron’s face was grim. “There might be no choice.”
It hit her like a cold splash from the falls. She pulled away, remembering he scorned hope. “I’d ask you to pray, but you don’t expect anything.” She shook him off like an irritating fly and circled the room, issuing her own orders to God. Specific and vehement, she still couldn’t help feeling that Cameron was canceling her out.
Why was he even there? He didn’t know her, didn’t know Uncle Rob. He was an investigator like the woman on the card, Bette Walden, PI. She stopped short. A face flashed, the sharp, pale-eyed face of the woman, sneering, “How convenient, Ms. Fox.”
She spun. “What did you tell that woman, that PI? That if I’d gone to the police, my uncle would be fine?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’d have been identified. They would have known that first day he was out there.”
Cameron crossed over to her. “That doesn’t mean they’d have found him. You did that. And you couldn’t have done it sooner. You needed to heal.”
She pressed her hands to her face. “If it’s too late. If I’ve ruined his life …”
“You saved his life.”
She jerked her face up. “You don’t know him. He can’t stand to stay cooped up, to be constrained. What I’ve done to him is a crime.”
He took hold of her shoulders. “Don’t say—”
“Anything that can be used against me?” He had come to the island to investigate her. He’d admitted it. Just like that PI and the reporters—waiting, hoping for a scandal. “Anything damning enough—”
He gave her shoulders a shake. “Are you through?”
Her chest heaved. They were both ragged and sweaty, their scents mingling with fear and tension. “You’ve thought from the start—”
“Forget what I thought.” His mouth took control, kissing the words and thoughts away, then softening, giving back what he’d taken. That first sight of him had stirred something in her. She had fought even the thought of connection when she didn’t know who she’d lost, but now she couldn’t help responding so deeply it took her strength away.
He propped her against the wall and leaned on his elbow, looking frayed. “I didn’t plan that.”
“You want to forget it?”
“Unfortunately my mind’s a trap.”
“Must be nice.”
He cupped her shoulder. “It’s coming back, Gentry. You’re going to remember.”
“I’m not sure I want to.” Had she blocked things she couldn’t face? Mistakes she’d made and regretted. She looked away, beyond tired and incapable of reason.
“Look at me.” His voice was low and steady. “Whatever happens isn’t your fault. You’re Gentry Fox, not God.”
A short laugh escaped her. “That’s perspective.”
He needed it too—a step back, a fresh view of the whole situation. Things had gone a far sight from what he’d intended. He slid his fingers into her hair and tipped her face up. “You’re going to be okay.”
“And Uncle Rob?”
“If he’s anything like you, he’ll handle whatever comes.”
She released a jagged breath. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“You didn’t drag.” He’d taken every step. “But it’s gotten crazy, and I don’t want Nica involved.” He rested his thumb in the soft depression above her collarbone. “No offense, but you can’t go back there.”
Her lashes dropped and lifted wearily. “We must have had a hotel or something.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t remember coming to Kauai or anything until after I went over the falls.”
None of the trauma. This or the one months ago. She was blocking things that hurt. He’d suspected that. “Who might know your itinerary?”
“Uncle Rob. He’d have made the plans; he always does. Maybe Aunt Allegra, though that’s another story. His housekeeper …”
“Who would you have told?”
“Probably no one.”
At his skeptical look, she said, “We started hiking together when I was a kid. He always made the arrangements and surprised me. As far as I know that hasn’t changed.”
“All right.” He looked at his watch. “In a few hours you can make some calls.”
She leaned her head against the wall. “In the meantime?”
His body liquefied. “Don’t look at me like that and ask.”
Her languid eyes reflected shade and mists and mossy alcoves. Her lips pulled into a slow smile. She was every inch Gentry Fox, but she was also the woman he’d fought beside on the mountain. What was he doing?
He brought her back to a chair, but she’d only been seated a few minutes when a hospital staff member came for her. Cameron escorte
d her but stayed outside the ICU. While he waited, he made some calls.
Not long after she’d gone in, Gentry came back. “They suggested I get some sleep. I think that translates into ‘give us room to do our jobs.’ ” She had to be dragging, but she didn’t show it to the press line who took her picture and murmured encouragement as they made their way to the elevator.
Badges and microphones identified the major news networks. Only local and reputable press had been allowed into the hospital in the middle of the night. He knew they were dying to press for details, and he couldn’t help thinking it was Gentry’s amazing comportment that kept them at a respectful distance.
Once the elevator doors closed them in, his own ordeal began. He did not repeat mistakes, and he didn’t break vows, even those made only to himself. No longer in the spotlight, Gentry leaned against the wall and handrail, eyes closed. She was comfortable with him, enough to let her guard down.
His throat tightened. Twenty minutes alone had cleared his head. He meant to keep it that way. His cell phone rang; hopefully TJ with answers. “Talk to me.”
“One Jeep Wrangler for two weeks. Her uncle wen give Hale Kahili for da address.”
Cameron silently cheered. He had hoped that information had been phoned in from the rental company when the police asked for information regarding Gentry and her uncle. It didn’t matter who had the itinerary if Robert Fox had left a paper trail.
“Hale Kahili.” He sent a peripheral glance over his shoulder.
“What’s that place going for these days?” None of his business, but Ginger House was one of the sweeter rentals on the island.
“Don’t know, brah. Seven, eight hundred maybe.”
A night. Only the best for this girl. The elevator dinged, but he held the Close button. “Can you get someone from the management company to open it up and meet us there?”
“Now?”
“Yeah now. And, TJ, you available?”
“For one bodyguard? Tink you want dat one.”
“Yeah, well … I’ve got cases waiting.” Cameron rubbed his face, sheer exhaustion weighting his limbs. “We’ll talk about it later. Just meet us out there, okay?”
Freefall Page 12
