Wet

by Angel Payne

He let another moment stretch before replying. “Tried to. Wanted to.”

  Kellan actually gave half a smile. “But you didn’t.”

  Tait surged to his feet. “Don’t go striking up the goddamn violins.”

  “Fair enough.” Kell held up both hands but lowered them the next moment, bracing his elbows to both knees. “But since your head is all here, maybe we should talk about—”

  “What time is it?” There was no way in hell he was letting the guy bring up last night. It happened; it was over. He wasn’t about to spill how he’d longed to be the one slapping bodies with Lani last night or how the woman had taken over his five-knuckle-shuffle in the shower this morning.

  “Half past one,” Kellan answered.

  “Damn. I slept a long time.”

  “You want to go get some lunch? Lani keeps telling me we have to hit the restaurant at the Kilohana Plantation during our stay. Guess it’s famous, and the food’s supposed to be decent. Waitress service, even.”

  He sent the guy a broad smile, again hoping it conveyed more than what he put to words. “That sounds cool. Unless we have to wear ties.”

  “Dude, when was the last time you saw me in a tie?”

  “Hawk’s wedding?” he conjectured. “Well, the first one. Second time around, we all got to make like Ren Faire peasants.”

  “Sure made it easier to scratch the nuts. Discreetly, of course.”

  He tossed half a grin as they walked out to the rental car. “I assume nut scratching is frowned on at this plantation thing, huh?”

  Kell chuckled. “Probably.”

  “So we’re on the needle between Windsor knots and open testicle attention. Sounds do-able.”

  * * *

  A little over two hours later, Tait polished off a perfectly cooked piece of halibut, while Kell had gone for the restaurant’s massive Reuben sandwich. They’d split a plate of fries, too, and scarfed on the last of the potatoes while waiting for the waitress to process the check.

  After the fries were demolished, Kellan tossed his napkin onto the table and swung a steady gaze at Tait. “There is something I need to talk to you about, T.”

  Tait took a swig on his water in temporary evasion. How the fuck was he going to deflect the house visit from uncomfortable this time? “Look, man, I don’t really think we—”

  “It’s about Gunter Benson.”

  “Oh.” He disguised his surprise—and relief—by taking another swig. Both feelings were overshadowed by the ire that came with thinking about Benson and his fashion plate posse. “What about the asshat?”

  Kell’s jaw stiffened. “I don’t think he’s got straight-up intentions about Hale Anelas.”

  Tait almost laughed. “‘Intentions’? You going all protective papa on me about an estate that’s not even yours, dude?”

  “Like you’d blame me? You’ve spent enough time at the stables and the beach with Leo to know why the words mean home of the angels.”

  Or maybe one angel in particular?

  It took one fast glance with his buddy to confirm Kell “heard” the thought, loud and clear. He felt a flash of guilt for causing the tight lines at the corner of the guy’s eyes, but trying to reroute the very neurons of his brain was going to be impossible. Kellan had to realize, from the second they’d first seen Lani, that it’d be impossible for Tait to douse some kind of attraction for her—and after last night, that little campfire in his psyche had combusted into a full pyre of lust. But they didn’t have to dissect the issue, either—nor had he been concerned about Kell pushing for such a debrief. In the history of their friendship, the sharing-is-caring sessions had always been Bommer-sponsored endeavors. If he was officially back-burnering last night’s events, he counted on Kell to do the same.

  “Okay. Giving you the gold star on that one,” he conceded. “But I still don’t follow your tack on Benson.”

  Kell scooted in tighter, sliding his trigger finger up and down along the tablecloth, indicating the rapid spin of his thoughts. “The guy’s hotter for Lani’s land than a dog for peanut butter, right?”

  “Nice work, Sherlock. But I still bet you can’t name my last deployment by eyeing my tan lines.”

  “Your tan lines do not interest me, dick brain. But Benson and his motives? That’s another story.”

  Tait scowled. “Motives?”

  Kell pulled in a breath and changed his finger pattern to a full circle. “I don’t think he wants the place to build a resort.”

  This time, Tait leaned forward. “You’re right. That’s way more interesting than tan lines, even mine.”

  “Something hasn’t added up about the guy for me, ever since we met him and the pretty boy crew that first night. I kept wondering why he didn’t want to survey the mansion, the gardens, or the pasture. He only asked to see the orchard, the beach, and”—Kell’s voice hitched for a weird moment—“the lookout point.”

  “Interesting observation. But I’m not the guy to be asking about accurate memories from that night.”

  Kellan cracked only a slight smirk at that. He took back his napkin and started folding the thing with more precision than he gave his airborne harness pack, so Tait knew the guy was entering serious deliberation mode now. “Something just hit me wrong about the whole thing, so I started poking around online. Personally, there wasn’t much to discover about Benson. He’s made a religion out of his privacy. Has a permanent residence—actually, a small fiefdom—in Beverly Hills. He exclusively dates indie film actresses but drops them if they make it into big commercial releases or start bitching about commitment. He’s got a thing about publicity and relationship strings.”

  “What about the company? Benstock?”

  “Also privately held. He started it with trust fund money but has worked his ass off to make it into the multibillion-dollar monster we all know and love. There’s a partner, too. That’s the source of the last half of the company name. But he’s more reclusive than Benson. I didn’t hit on anything other than his credentials are stellar, ensuring the company has excellent markers on its bets.”

  “He…or she.”

  Kell stabbed an affirming finger. “Good point.”

  Tait tapped the salt and pepper shakers together to keep his own hands busy. “None of this reveals anything crazy.” So the guy owned an estate in the 90210, was in bed with some deep pockets, dated girls who gave him street cred in Hollywood, and was a condescending dickwad to women like Lani, who were the real deal. He studied Kell with expectancy. Where was the ricin on the guy’s envelope?

  “So on the surface, Benstock’s main game is real-estate purchase and repurposing, primarily for five-star hotels and resorts.”

  “Still not dropping my jaw.”

  “Hold on to your panties. I’m getting to the juicy stuff.” The guy rolled his shoulders then settled his elbows back to the table. “Hotels are only the start of Benstock’s client list,” he asserted. “Close to home, they have a division that secures high-end properties for filmings and special events for the entertainment industry. There’s another subsidiary that brokers extended-stay property rentals for offshore investors, those needing ‘ultimate attention to luxury and privacy.’”

  Tait felt his teeth grinding. “In other words, oil sheikhs wanting to bang American virgins.”

  Kellan’s face tautened. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “What?”

  His friend nodded tightly. “Benstock has another subsidiary, not listed on their website and deeply hidden on most others. It’s called Forte. Clicking on links for it always leads to a screen requiring a password. Nothing came up when I tried cross-searches, either. I even did a mind-fuck on myself and pretended I was an oil sheikh seeking the ‘services’ of the company.”

  Tait hunkered his brows. “And still nothing?” When Kell affirmed with another head dip, he probed, “So then what?” His senses started sizzling in commiseration with the frustration his friend must’ve felt at hitting those dead ends. But h
e also knew that in true Spec Ops style, Kell hadn’t given up there.

  “I bought a burner phone, then used it to call Benstock’s corporate headquarters in California. I faked an accent for the call, something between early Vin Diesel and vintage Omar Sharif.”

  Tait chuckled. “And I don’t get a sample?”

  Kell pursed his lips with sarcasm. “You’ll thank me for sparing you. Good news is, it worked on the first five layers of gatekeepers that I spoke to at Benstock.”

  “Five? Damn. Who do they let you talk to on level six? The Pope?”

  “Not sure. But get this: the dude I spoke to on level five was strange enough to make me hang up as soon as he put me on hold, on my way to level six.” The color drained from Kell’s face. The sight was weirdly fascinating, mostly because Tait had never experienced it before. “I’m only going to admit this to you, T. The fucker scared me.”

  Tait scooted in again. “Damn. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Wish I wasn’t.” Kell’s face, still too pale for Tait’s comfort, gave up that answer. “I could’ve dealt with a typical henchman act, you know? The whole battery acid crossed with tacks kind of voice? But this bastard was smooth, like a shiv dunked in butter—that had attended Oxford.”

  “An Alan Rickman vibe?”

  If it was possible, Kell’s glare narrowed again. “Damn it. Lani hit you with the swoony-over-Rickman thing too, eh?” Though they shared a couple of snickers at that, the guy’s humor faded fast. “Strangely, the weirdo’s accent wasn’t what made me eventually hang up.”

  “Then what was?”

  “After I went through the drill of asking about the Forte project and indicated I had substantial funds to invest, he got even oozier on the demeanor. Then he told me, as if he were some servant just checking my martini order, that he noticed I was calling from a location on Kauaˋi”—he stopped to let Tait bark the F-word at that—“and assumed I was on the island to take a look at their unique opportunity here. He assured me that the asset was days away from being secured and accessible.” Like a character from a bad spy movie, Kell hunched his shoulders and leaned deeper over the table. “Then he asked which delegation I was representing: Pyongyang or Tehran.”

  A two-by-four of shock knocked Tait back in his chair. “Are you fucking with me?” He took another hard gulp of his water. “Don’t answer that. Of course you’re not.”

  Kellan worked his jaw back and forth. “Now you know why I hung up.”

  “No shit.” He swallowed hard. “Rephrase. Holy shit.”

  “I’ve been running all kinds of nutso scenarios in my head since then,” his friend supplied. “Like maybe the words are just some sick inside joke among the Benstock crowd. Maybe they’re using them to stand in for something else, to make the poseur investors run when hearing them.”

  Tait shot him a hard stare. “You really going to play ball with that hunch? Kell, crazy men print the president’s likeness on toilet paper in both those cities for the fun of wiping their asses on his face. This intel is too insane not to—”

  “Okay, back that pony up. Like I said, we’re not even sure it is intel.”

  Thanks to his time with Leo the last few days, Tait had perfected the art of eye rolls. He threw a good one at his friend before charging, “Whoever the hell you called, he was able to drop a locator pin on your burner phone. And if you were calling from a car—”

  “Fuck,” Kell cut in. “Yeah. I was in Lani’s jeep.”

  “Then the reason why the guy got sappy on you was due to stalling. He was likely repositioning some private satellites with the intent of photographically feeling you up.”

  “Shit.”

  “You tossed the phone after you hung up, right?”

  “Straight into an eco-collection bin.”

  “Good.” Nevertheless, the breath he released was harsh and heavy. “Dude, we’ve got to call Franz. There’s a good chance he can pull in his buddy from the spooks and give us guidance on what needs to happen next.”

  Kellan’s relief blared across his face. “Dan Colton, right? He still with the CIA in South America?” At Tait’s nod, he continued, “Good man. That’s a sound plan.”

  Tait consciously schooled his features as he managed a nod of agreement. Truth was, he’d never forget Dan. The guy had been a key support during the six months of Luna’s coma and, more importantly, the six months since she’d gone to sleep forever. At least once a week, Dan had called from wherever he was in the world for regular check-ins. While Tait was sure the guy was motivated by misplaced guilt—Dan wasn’t even with the same agency that had “borrowed” Luna for the mission—he was still grateful that somebody remembered Luna’s sacrifice. Her actions had prevented a domino effect of bombs that would have put everything west of the Rockies beneath a radioactive cloud for decades to follow.

  He gave himself a mental wrench. Right now, there was no room for sticking even a toe into grief’s swimming pool. Much bigger issues were at hand.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he asserted while tossing down his napkin. “I’d rather call Franz from the house, where we can’t be overheard. And I think your protective fleas have jumped to my hide. I don’t like the idea of Lani and Leo being alone back at the estate, so the sooner you get back to them, the better.” When Kellan didn’t match his haste, a thread of discomfort snaked back through his stomach. “Come on,” he prodded to cover for it. “Let’s bug, bro.”

  “Tait.” His friend’s voice sounded like a bucket of dry lava rocks. “About Lani…”

  He thrust to his feet. “Not going there, man.”

  “I think we need to.”

  “Well, I think you’re wrong.” He grimaced. “Since when are you such a fan of the emotional slice-and-dice anyway?”

  “Did I say I was a fan?” He thrust up his jaw. “Some people are just worth getting uncomfortable for. Like it or not, dickhead, both of you fall into that category for me.”

  Hell. Ignoring the shitball now really would make him a dickhead. “Okay, fine. We’ll talk about it, just not here. First things first. Let’s get back to Franz’s place, grab the guy on the horn, and make sure your discovery is disseminated to the right people. After that, I promise we can sit down, brew up some herbal tea, and have a long, cozy chitty-chat, if that’s what you want.”

  “Chitty-chat?” Kellan glowered as he pushed to his feet. “You’re pushing it, T-Bomb.”

  “But I’m worth it.” He batted his eyelashes in an open taunt. “Remember?”

  * * *

  Thanks to a huge accident on the 50, their drive time back to Franzen’s was prolonged by an hour. A stroke of luck helped Tait in veering Kell away from approaching the subject of Lani again. He gave himself a mental high-five for thinking to load the full Timbaland music library on his phone. After plugging it into the rental car’s USB, he was able to keep Kell more occupied than a two-year-old with his mama’s key ring.

  When they got back to Franzen’s house, the sun had disappeared, leaving the sky a brilliant blend of purple, crimson, and gold. Lani’s jeep was still in the driveway, as they’d expected, but it was joined by a black pickup. Since the wheel wells were splattered in fresh mud and dust, Tait drew the conclusion that the second vehicle had come from Hale Anelas, as well. He peered at the house in curiosity. The living room and lanai lights were aglow.

  “Somebody’s here,” he stated. “I didn’t think we’d be gone that long, so I didn’t leave the lights on.”

  “Shit,” Kell spat. “You think we need to be worried?”

  “That’s not what my gut’s saying,” he replied. “But who the hell is—”

  He was plunged into silence by a figure bursting from the house and racing across the packed earth. His breath was kept captive by the sight of luscious hips encased in snug jeans, incredible cleavage in a flowered camisole, and a flowing mane of thick black hair—

  Flying around a goddess’s face, flooded with terror.

  “St
arshine?” Kellan followed it with a rough grunt as Lani launched herself at him. She sobbed hard into his shoulder, revealing she’d been waiting a while to do so. “Hey, hey,” Kellan crooned. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  Now Tait’s gut began its alarms. “Is it Benson?” he charged. “Has he fucked with you again? Where is the bastard?”

  As he fired the demands, someone else emerged from the house. Ike, one of Hale Anelas’s ranch hands, appeared in the twilight. The man’s face, normally ruddy and smiling, was redrawn by lines of worry. “It’s not Benson,” he explained. “It’s Leo.”

  “Leo?” Screw the alarms. His stomach clenched into a full fist of dread. “What’s wrong with Leo? What’s happened?”

  Kellan held out a surprisingly steady hand. “Whoa. Wait. This isn’t undue drama, is it? Ike, we already know about the shiner.”

  “The shiner?” Tait growled. “When the hell did that happen?”

  Ike shook his head. “No. This is more, I’m afraid.”

  Kellan scowled. “More…how?”

  “He’s gone.” Lani’s confession spilled from trembling lips. Tears were so thick in her eyes, they resembled iridescent glass.

  “Gone?” Tait echoed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Ike shifted forward again. “We didn’t notice anything screwy until it was time for dinner. Most of us were down at the barn all afternoon, and Hokulani was working in the rose garden. Everyone thought Leo had gotten home and was in his room, doing homework. We didn’t realize the room was empty until we called him down for dinner with no response.”

  Lani sucked in a shaky breath. “Th-That’s when I checked my texts and emails.”

  She held out her phone for both of them to view.

  Lani,

  I love you, but I can’t do all this anymore. I was so proud of myself for standing up to Parker yesterday, but I should have seen what the prick was up to. He only backed down because he had a better plan in mind than bashing my face in. Kalea is with him now, and my heart is ruined instead.

  What’s the good of continuing to try, when shit like this keeps happening? Mom and Dad are gone. Soon our home will be too. And having to see my greatest love with my worst enemy… It all sucks bigger bones than what I can handle.