by Traci Hall
K was not one to dwell on self-pity, no, she was a woman of action and it wasn’t often she felt cut off at the knees. Powerless. Even when the youngest Santo partner backed her into the corner with slobbering lips and pawing hands, she’d managed to save herself. She’d always had to save herself.
She paced the beige tiled floor, looking out at the ocean and cursing beneath her breath. The flat line of turquoise blue with white curls waving in toward the sand beckoned, but she refused to believe it offered tranquility. No, it was a ruse to tempt the unwary into the water, right before a storm.
Paolo had wanted to go whale watching in the bay, just the two of them, where they’d catch fish, cook, and make love in the caves afterward. It had been a serene day along the coast of Hawaii. Peaceful. A lie.
The memory brought angry tears to her eyes. He’d been her other half. She breathed in, he breathed out. And then, in a freak storm, she survived and he died. Leaving her alone. Alone to grieve. Alone to graduate. Alone to leave the island. A lonely life to live.
She’d channeled that anger into focused success. Sometimes, not often, the weight of doing everything alone bowed her shoulders. She’d spent the last year and a half putting all of her energy into this client.
Daring to dream big. And now Rita, who had just been handed everything she’d demanded in the divorce, overdosed because she loved her husband? It was too damn much. The apartment closed in on her, stuffy and cluttered with a life’s collection of things.
She was going to scream if she didn’t get some fresh air.
K grabbed her suitcase and left as if someone had tied a lit string of firecrackers to her ass and she had seconds before they blew. I never should have come, she thought and closed the apartment door behind her. She didn’t understand marriage. Men and woman seemed doomed to hurt each other, despite words of love.
Love made people weak. It had weakened her, and it sure as hell took the legs out from under Rita. She gulped down the rancid taste in her mouth, her breaths coming sharp and quick. Her chest, tight.
The control she prided herself on was unraveling barbed thread by thread, cutting her as it went as if to punish her. Back straight, steps determined, she made her way to the elevators, keeping her gaze ahead, her mind seeing and rejecting the picture of Rita, not breathing. It was awful for so many reasons.
K got out of the elevator on the main floor on auto pilot, becoming aware enough of an exit sign leading to the sand.
To the beach.
The ocean.
It had been twelve years since the last time she’d put a toe in the water, but she had some choice words for Namaka now. Just when things were getting better! Away from the island, she’d moved on from her despair and graduated law school.
She gritted her teeth and pushed against the door. Just when I’m on the brink of a successful career! No, I end up by the damn ocean, and under the ancient Hawaiin Goddess’s power.
Unmindful of the sinking steps she took, fueled by anger, by righteous fire, K kicked off her shoes once the surf was in sight. She dropped her bag and phone. All she needed was to be in the ocean, to tell Namaka where to put her damn blessings, the ones that had been promised K at birth. The ones that never came.
Splashing into the water and the inch-high waves, K’s grip on her frazzled emotions loosened and she lifted her fists at the clear blue sky, not that different from the sky at her home on Molokai. “Damn you, Namaka, do you hear me?”
Screaming the words out loud felt sinful and wrong, like tossing a fist at your parent. As bad as her parents had been, she’d never done that. Neglect was abuse without the bruises but she’d survived, because of Paolo. “Don’t you dare let Rita die!” I need her well. Happy.
A foot high wave crashed against her, knocking her to her knees in the water. She bounced, scrambling to her feet but unable to find the sandy bottom. She treaded water, keeping her head above the churning waves. Where were they coming from? Misery seated so deep in her gut broke free and her childhood flashed through her mind.
She’d learned when she was young to fend for herself; to find her way to the bus. To school. She’d made a friend, Paolo, and they watched one another’s backs through their rocky childhoods. They’d found love as young adults, spending all of their free time in the caves by the bay. Together.
Then they’d gotten caught in a storm outside the island. Lightening flashed, thunder clapped and fog rolled off the volcano. Waves had tipped their sturdy canoe and despite them both being excellent swimmers, Paolo disappeared. She’d searched the water for his body, calling his name for hours. Finally she’d paddled their canoe home, alone, shivering and frightened.
His body washed up on shore the next morning.
Her mother, high, of course, offered her own form of solace as K cried, her heart broken. A hit from the pipe and murmured observations of the capriciousness of the gods.
Her father? He hadn’t been home in days.
K’s insides crumbled at the poisonous memories and she burst into tears, smacking her hands against the water. You owe me, Namaka. The next wave topped her head and brought her to her belly, dunking her under as she swallowed some water. It seemed as if someone was tugging at her ankles, twisting her around until she was dizzy.
She lifted her head for a gulp of air, but couldn’t find the surface. Born in the ocean, literally, she always swam like a fish. How had she lost sight of the bottom? Panic spread throughout her body and she forced herself to calm down.
Or drown. I’m going to be really pissed off, Namaka, if this is how you take out your namesake.
The space between her eyes pounded and her chest ached. It felt like minutes passed and her brain slowed. Tempted to open her mouth, breathing in the water to find the peaceful death she knew it offered, the chance to be with Paolo again, K shook herself out of her apathy and kicked her legs. She connected with something hard and shot upward, pulled by an unseen guiding force.
Her head broke the surface and she took such a deep breath it hurt, making her instantly throw up salt water.
“Hey, now!”
K realized the power keeping her upright was a man who held her by the shoulder—
her bare shoulder. She looked down, glad to see she still wore her black shell and the goddess hadn’t taken all her clothes in addition to almost killing her.
“Turn your head, honey,” he said in a gruff voice, brushing at his shirt. He was a dark-haired silhouette against the sun and she blinked, thinking he could be an archangel. “I’ve got you now.” He slid a solid arm around her shoulders, the contact of his hand along her skin making her tremble.
She wobbled on her feet but he tucked her beneath his arm, holding her safe as she got her balance. Then he slowly moved them forward. Each step felt like walking in cement, but his strength kept her going as she let him guide her toward shallower water. She wanted to tell him he was lucky she hadn’t eaten breakfast, but her tongue was stuck to the top of her mouth.
“Are you on something?” he asked. “We can call the paramedics.”
Considering she’d just been in his situation, she shook her head without being offended. “No.” She leaned down and rinsed her face with the water. His touch on the small of her back kept her steady. Salt gritted every crevice, making her eyes sting. “I don’t do drugs.” She straightened up, ready to walk again.
“Good to know.” His touch on her elbow gentled as they neared the sand. Calm water lapped around her ankles and she remembered the feel of being twisted and caught.
“I’m an…” she stopped, not wanting to confess her identity after acting like a lunatic. “I haven’t cried since I was seventeen.” Now why had she shared that personal gem?
He cocked his head, blocking the sun behind him and she got a look at his captivating hazel eyes. Greenish-gold, with dark lashes, they seemed to see into her soul and she lost her footing. He was cute, in a boy-next-door kind of way. Definitely at odds with the tattoos all over his forearms and
beneath his once white, once dry and once clean t-shirt. “Maybe you shouldn’t go so long between crying jags.”
She sniffed at his sarcasm-heavy advice. “I jog.” A long time ago, I used to swim.
He looked down at her shredded skirt and torn stockings. “I can tell. Nice legs.”
K flushed. “For endorphins.” She needed out of this water, now. Namaka had the last bitter laugh, spitting her out half-naked into this stranger’s arms.
“I’m assuming you’re the one that found Rita Hartley?” His tone lost the teasing lilt.
“Yes.” She pressed her hands to her stomach. “How did you know that?” She didn’t offer any information. Silence made people uncomfortable and they usually talked to fill it in.
He knew the trick, too and answered her question with another question.
“Name?”
She pulled away from him, realizing she’d gravitated toward his body heat. Her teeth chattered and she bit the inside of her cheek. The sun was blazing down, so it had to be shock and not cold weather that felt like bone-freeze. “You sound like a cop.”
“I am. Joe Porter. Now the only mystery is who you are.”
K frowned and dug her heels in the sand, anchoring herself to sanity. “This is like a bad dream.”
*****
Joe studied the dripping wet female before him. In the prime of her life, her slicked-back hair showed the classic beauty of her face. High cheekbones, large brown eyes and a killer body she obviously worked at. Nature just didn’t hand out those toned arms or sleek calves. But he was a man trained to do a job no matter how attractive the distraction. “Nope. You’re awake and unfortunately so am I. Name?”
“Kar, K. K Aneko.”
“How do you know Rita Hartley?”
She lifted her chin and held his gaze. He was impressed at how she pulled it together even as she shivered in the sun. He fought the urge to put his arm back around her and hold her until she stopped quivering. He hadn’t wanted to let go in the first place.
“She’s my client. I am an attorney.”
A few strands of dyed white hair fell forward as the wind dried it, her brows a couple shades darker. Her eyes were oval, her lashes black. She gazed at him with clarity. Sober. What had caused her shouting at the sky? And where had those waves come from? The water had been smooth all day, and was hardly moving now.
“What kind?” he asked.
“Divorce.”
“Humph.” Had to have a hard heart for that job. One of the officers here had been married and divorced three times, and he said that divorce lawyers were like barracudas that weren’t happy until the opposition was nothing but powdered bones.
“What does that mean?” Her brown eyes narrowed, the eyeliner around them obviously not waterproof. She leaned back, her arms crossed under her breasts. The black silk top clung like a second skin, the skirt a torn disaster.
Had he imagined an electric charge in the water when he’d grabbed her arm? There had been something, Joe would swear it. “I didn’t say anything.” They stood at the edge of the surf, curious people fading away as they realized the woman was alright.
“You don’t like lawyers?” She stiffened her back which brought color to her previously pale cheeks.
“Does anybody?”
She shook her head, steadying those killer eyes at him. Made him want to confess when he’d done nothing wrong.
“How did you know about Rita?” she asked, touching his forearm before pulling her hand back. “Is she okay?” She folded her hands at her waist, her hard edges softening the tiniest bit.
His therapist suggested looking at situations from other people’s point of view, to try and understand that they weren’t just being dumbasses, but maybe had their own issues to deal with. Maybe this Kay had her own shit too.
“My friend was one of the paramedics on scene. He called me to check on you, actually. I was walking up to the condo when I saw you head toward the water. Rita is alive. You saved her life.”
Her knees buckled but she quickly righted herself and he sensed that she wouldn’t welcome his help. He waited, knowing he’d give it anyway if she wavered again.
“Thank the goddess,” she said, looking back at the calm-again sea with a ferocious glare.
“’Scuse me?”
Her face turned red. “Nothing. I’m glad, that’s all.”
He hadn’t pegged her for the new-agey mystical type. “She asked you to stay at her condo until she comes home. Take care of the dog and parrot?”
Her shoulders sank. “What?”
“We must have water in our ears. Not hearing what we’re each saying.” He made a show of jiggling his ear lobe and leaning over to empty it out.
“Somebody must have made the mistake of telling you that you’re amusing.” She dropped her arms to her sides, her back straight as if reinforced with steel. “You are not.”
“Ouch.” Joe covered his heart with hand.
“I have to go home. To Chicago.”
He shrugged. “She said she left the front door-”
“Open.” Kay groaned. “I don’t like dogs. Or know anything about parrots.”
“Rita’s your client?”
Kay nodded and brushed a curl over her ear, her skin bronze.
“Then I guess you need to earn the big bucks.”
She winced. “Do you know for how long?”
He wrung out the bottom of his t-shirt. “I’m just the messenger.”
“What hospital was she taken to?”
“Dunno. Probably Holy Family. It’s closest.”
Kay pinched the bridge of her nose and snapped to attention like a soldier headed to war. “I can do this.”
He could have laughed, but didn’t, at her self-pep talk. “Good?”
She made a disgusted noise in her throat and walked toward her black leather suitcase, purse and bag. Her bare feet left prints in the sand, and he noticed that her toes were polished pink. “I can’t believe how today has turned out,” she said.
“And it’s just after one.” She’d been vulnerable for two minutes while puking on him then chinned up like the Queen of England. He hated to admit it, but he was intrigued. He’d liked the way she felt, tucked close to his body for him to hold and protect, as he’d helped her to shore. He had the feeling she didn’t lean very often.
Kay turned, her hand on the curve of her hip. “In that case, good afternoon, Officer. I don’t think I require any more of your ‘assistance’.”
“Want to see if anybody took your wallet?”
“I should be so lucky. They’d have been very disappointed. Gave my last twenty to the taxi driver.”
“Sure you did.” He stopped himself from offering assistance as she started lugging her designer stuff back to the condo. “Take care, Ms. Akeno.”
He watched her go because even though she was a bottom-feeding lawyer, she was hot as hell. She’d been caught in a rip current, and maybe that was the reason he felt so itchy and bothered by her. Had nothing to do with those big, brown eyes. He’d saved her. In some countries, didn’t that mean she belonged to him or something?
“Give it up, Joe,” he told himself, watching her tug at the suitcase that didn’t roll so great on the sand. He doubted she had a heart underneath that work-of-art body.
Thanks to his on-going department-mandated therapy, he was learning to be all about the heart. But Kay had some damn fine legs.
Chapter Three
K dragged her suitcase through the marble lobby, leaving a wet trail of sand. “I’ll be taking care of Rita’s pets,” she told a concerned Marge. “Just until she comes home.”
“She’s all right, then?” The woman’s cap of gray curls didn’t move as she nodded her head, her gaze traveling over K’s wet hair and clothes without saying a word.
“Yes.” K wasn’t sure if this was true or not, but people reacted better to firm, positive answers. It made them think you knew what the hell you were talking about.
The doorman exhaled. “If there is anything we can do?”
She paused. “Well. I’ve never had a parrot.” The dog she could figure out, but she knew zilch about caged birds. On the island parrots were wild and crapped on the cars.
“Ah,” the doorman said. “I watch over Lucky when Mrs. Hartley travels. She usually boards Princey.”
She could probably just Google the information, but if the man knew the bird, then it was a match made in heaven. “I would appreciate any advice. What does it eat? Rats? Snakes?”
“Lord, no,” the man said with a chuckle. “Fruits and vegetables. Grains. There’s a pail in the kitchen marked ‘Lucky’, he gets one scoop in the morning, with snacks during the day.”
She could handle that.
“Princey!” Marge clasped her hands over her heart as if the dog had just dropped dead to be at Rita’s side. “Poor thing will need to be walked, now, a couple times a day. We have a fifty dollar fine if you don’t bag the poo.”
K breathed in. She’d gladly pay somebody to bag the damn poo, but she was broke. “Got it.”
“And we don’t like our guests to let their dogs do the business in front of the place. Makes it look trashy.” Marge gave all of this information with a straight face. “We have a nice little area out back.”
“Anything else?” K’s headache returned with a vengeance.
“No loud noises or parties?” The doorman offered with a hopeful air. If the residents were all as old as Rita, there probably hadn’t been a shindig in the past twenty years.
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Please keep us posted about poor Mrs. Hartley. I’d like to visit her in the hospital,” Marge said with a sniff.
“I’m sure she would like that.” K gripped the handle of her suitcase tight, but kept her smile in place. “I don’t know where she’s at, though.”
“I can find that out. Only two hospitals to choose from, anyway,” Marge said, her fingers already tapping at her keyboard.
