by Toby Neal
The passion she felt now was so full and ripe it seemed her skin would split with the juicy power of it, that he could make her burst with the tip of a finger or the touch of his tongue.
She broke away with a little gasp. “I have to get these clothes off, get in the shower. I’m gross.”
“I like you sweaty. This mesh shirt—you were running through Honolulu in this? And no one got in a car accident?” He managed to sound genuinely scandalized, and she laughed.
Lei ran her hands up and down his arms, savoring their dense texture, the light springy hair beneath her fingertips. “You’re here. Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Got the papers in my back pocket. I’m free. And so is she.”
She. Anchara. Stevens’s ex-wife. Lei could never think of the other woman’s lovely face without a potent cocktail of regret and jealousy. How Lei wished she’d been able to deal with her shit and make a commitment to Stevens before she left for the Academy two years ago—but she hadn’t, and the three of them had suffered for it.
But he was here now. And he was free.
She looked up into Stevens’s blue eyes, shadowed under dark brows. “Thank God.”
He reached down to hook up the pendant at her throat with a finger, and he brushed the skin of her neck. It ignited at his touch, heat spreading across her chest. Her nipples tightened painfully, and she sucked in a breath.
“You’re wearing my ring.” His voice was rough as he looked at the humble medallion and cross dangling from his finger, her pulse fluttering beneath it. His grandmother’s antique ring, given to her long ago on their first engagement.
Burned. Melted. Beaten. Shaped and polished. Beautiful because of its history.
“Yes.”
The kiss then was fierce, and claiming, and it carried them stumbling through the house, shedding clothes and frantic. They ended up in the shower with hot water washing away darkness, tears, loneliness, and deprivation.
Lei sat curled against Stevens on the couch in her yellow terrycloth robe. Slack-key guitar music filled the little cottage along with Keiki’s snores. The big Rottweiler was curled on the rag rug at the back door, Angel tucked into her flank while they waited for pizza delivery.
She sipped her Corona. “This reminds me of when we first got together on the Big Island. Pizza and beer, sitting on the couch.”
His hand wandered into the neck of her robe, leaving a trail of sensation like phosphorescence on the tide. “Not quite. I remember a lot of awkwardness back then. Not to mention worrying about a stalker.”
Lei sighed. “Oh yeah.” She put her head back against him. “How long can you stay?”
“Got to go back Sunday. But I had to see you now that . . .” He pulled one of her damp curls out straight, watched it spring back as he let go.
“The divorce is over.”
“Right.”
“Should we talk about it?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Agree.”
They each took a sip of beer. The pizza delivery van drove up, and the dogs leapt to their feet, barking. Lei and Stevens untangled from the couch, and Stevens, clad in his jeans, went out onto the porch and across the yard to pay.
Lei savored the sight of him returning, the overhead light of the porch gilding dark hair, his wide shoulders and chest as he carried the box. The jeans rode perilously low on his hips. She enjoyed the shape of him—a graceful build, lean and well developed.
“What?” he asked.
“Just looking at you. I can’t stop looking at you.”
“Keep that up and I won’t be able to eat.”
“I’m already not hungry.”
He pounced on her with a growl, and this time they ended up in the bedroom.
Morning wasn’t kind to her hair, and she looked at the storm of frizz as she entered the bathroom.
She’d been in a storm all night.
A grin pulled up one side of her mouth, and it hurt. She touched lips chapped by kissing, chest pink from razor burn. Aches from various other places reminded her they were happy to have been touched, and she smiled some more. Good problems to have, in the scheme of things. She got into the shower, and the sensual fog lasted until she remembered Kamuela and that he’d said he’d be in touch.
She finished her shower quickly. She had to talk with Stevens about the situation.
Stevens was still sleeping, and wrapped in her towel, she looked at the great sprawl of him filling her bed. White linens contrasted with the tan of his skin. One long foot was exposed, the mountain peak of his shoulder, ruffled brown hair stark on the pillow. Big as a work truck parked in the pristine garden of her bedding, and just as perfect there.
Her chest tightened as she reveled in the sight of him. She hadn’t known that love could be so intense, so complicated. Feeling this way about a man was a triumph over everything that had been done to her, and still it was heady and terrifying. Knowing he’d be gone soon distilled each moment, intensifying its sweetness.
They’d have the weekend together at least.
She decided to let him sleep and surprise him by fixing breakfast—but in the kitchen, her refrigerator was empty as usual. She threw on sweats, scrunched some CurlTamer into her hair to prevent last night’s unfortunate ’do, and walked to the little grocery store on the corner.
She had eggs and toast going, the dogs a rapt and hopeful audience, when Stevens came out of the bedroom in his jeans. He brushed his teeth and filled a mug with coffee, came to stand behind her. He distracted her, trying to bite her neck as she worked the spatula.
“Now I know you love me,” he murmured in her ear. “Texeira going domestic. What is the world coming to?” His breath stirring the hair over her ear sent a shiver down her spine.
“Hey, I can scramble an egg,” she said, elbowing him.
He turned, looked back at the bedroom, at the rumpled, pretty white bed. Sipped his coffee. “I never stopped thinking about that bed after I spotted it last year. I like it.”
She leaned up to kiss him before she served them. “Let’s spend some more time in there, making sure the mattress is up to speed.”
Digging into the eggs and taking a bite of toast, Stevens gestured to the pizza box, still on the table unopened. “No wonder I’m hungry.”
She refilled her coffee mug, joined him, opened the pizza box, and sniffed. “It’s still good. I have an instinct for how long it takes for pizza to go off—we ate a lot of it when I was a kid.”
Keiki, looking on, gave a great sigh—nothing had fallen to the ground. The Rottweiler lay down with her big square head on her paws, soulful eyes tracking them. Angel remained upright, ears pricked. “We have an audience. Ignore them.”
“I’m the noncustodial parent.” He dropped a bit of egg and Angel nabbed it. “Oops.”
“Hey.” She smacked his shoulder, got distracted by the feel of it, reached over to stroke it, massaging the hard muscle.
“Stop that. I’m an old man, I have to fuel the machine.” He picked up his mug of coffee and reached for a slice of the pizza.
Lei sighed, addressed her breakfast. “We have to talk.”
“Same as last night. If it’s about the divorce, I’d rather not.”
“This is something different.” Stevens was the only other person who knew about her visit to Kwon. She described the discovery of the number in her grandmother’s box, how she’d called it with no answer—and then how Kamuela had called her back from the phone of a homicide victim. Stevens set the slice of cold pizza down, eyes narrowing as he frowned.
“So that was why I cried when I saw you. I’d just met with him, and I told him everything,” she finished. Took a bite of her tasteless eggs and made herself chew.
“I knew that Kwon business would bite you on the ass.” He stood with that coiled grace and set the dishes in the sink. “God, Lei.”
His words were an ironic echo of Kamuela’s. Stevens turned back, ran hands through his hair in that way he di
d when he was upset. “I’d almost forgotten about that whole thing—I guess I hoped it would just blow over. Kamuela’s got to do something about your number on the hitter’s phone. It’s a strong lead, and if I were him, I’d be all over you. Talk about means, motive, and opportunity!”
“I know. It looks bad.” Misery and terror roared back worse than before, and she pushed her plate away, covered her face with her hands. He took her half-eaten breakfast and threw the eggs outside, causing a mad scramble by the dogs. Put the plate in the sink. Returned to sit beside her, drawing her into his arms.
“We’ll get through it together.”
“How? You’re leaving tomorrow.”
“We could go talk to Kamuela today.”
“That won’t do anything, just put pressure on him, remind him what a tough spot he’s in.” Lei sighed, straightened up out of his arms. “I can’t help seeing it from his perspective. Here’s this Federal cop, his girlfriend’s buddy, and she looks guilty as hell of hiring the hitter. She’s called and left evidence on a victim’s phone. He has to document and act on it, even if he wants to believe me. I mean, I feel bad for him. Let’s not make it worse.”
Stevens tipped her chin up. She couldn’t look into those sky eyes a minute longer, and her lashes fluttered shut. She could feel him looking at her mouth, then the tender brush of his lips on hers.
“I love you,” he said. “You’ve really grown up.”
She smiled, pulled her chin out of his hand. “Lotta good that does me.”
“So if we aren’t going to go talk to him, we need to get our minds off this.”
“I can think of one or two things we can do.” It wasn’t far from her chair to his lap, her favorite place in the world.
Lei didn’t check her phone until much later as they were taking the dogs to the beach with a couple of longboards she’d borrowed from the landlord. Marcella had left a message last night inviting her to come shoot pool with her and Ang.
Her chest tightened with anxiety. Lei knew Kamuela wouldn’t say anything to Marcella, but she felt trapped. Telling her friend would deepen the conflict of interest; not telling her was a betrayal by omission. A breach of trust. These sobering thoughts dampened her mood as she navigated the downtown traffic in the truck, Stevens beside her, headed for the beginner waves in Waikiki.
“I’m wondering if I should tell Marcella about what’s going on.”
Stevens just looked at her, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Ban Aviators. “Shitty situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
Lei squeezed the wheel, turning onto the small side road weaving between skyscrapers that ended at the marina. “That’s it exactly.”
“Just wait and see what develops.”
“She called me to go out last night. Girl time at the pool hall with Ang.”
“Woulda been fun. But we were having fun too, weren’t we?” He reached out, tugged a curl. It stretched out, sprang back. “I never get tired of this hair.”
“I have to call her back.”
“You don’t have to say anything right now. Let Kamuela do what he does. See where it goes. This could end up taking care of itself.”
“I just don’t know how it could end any way but badly.”
“We were supposed to be getting your mind off it.” They’d pulled up at the parking lot by the Waikiki Yacht Harbor. On the left was the towering rainbow-tiled Hilton, further down the serene beach the famous pink Royal Hawaiian Hotel. On the right, sparkling white boats anchored in the harbor. And straight ahead, perfect little waves with only a few people out. “Shake it off, Texeira. Bumbye you come stress out.”
Stevens’s attempt at pidgin made her smile.
“As how, brah,” she said, getting out. She wore a bikini with a Lycra surf shirt over it; Stevens was in board shorts. “I’ve only been surfing for a little while, so you get to laugh at me.”
“I’ve been surfing only a little while longer. We can be kooks together.”
They carried the boards down to the beach.
In the concentration of mastering a difficult skill involving clear water, gorgeous scenery, and more fun than she could remember having learning any sport, Lei was finally able to forget the ghost of Kwon.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie woke up late, though it was hard to tell with the blackout curtains closed. She’d always had trouble sleeping, and a completely dark room with no sound but the hum of air-conditioning was the only way she could truly rest.
She felt the throb of a hangover in the base of her skull, and the sandpapery dryness of her mouth confirmed it. She cleared her throat, and someone stirred beside her in the bed.
“Is it morning?”
Marcella’s voice.
“I don’t know.” Sophie tried to remember how that had happened—they’d had a lot to drink; that was it. And taken a cab home. And gone to bed together.
She swung her feet out of the bed, padded to the bathroom. She didn’t turn the light on; it was too bright. She brushed her teeth in the glow of the night-light, then got in the shower.
She soaped her body, read her tattoos, reminded herself it was just a hangover and she’d feel better eventually. Clad in a silk robe, she walked through the room as Marcella was sitting up in the dim light from the bathroom. Her friend wore last night’s shirt and panties, a tumble of long brown hair brushing her waist. “God, what a hangover.”
“I know. Shower helps. I’ll go fix some coffee.”
In the kitchen, Sophie put her teakettle on and dug out the drip filter for guests. She knew Marcella didn’t find life worth living until the second cup of coffee.
She had her own tea ready and had drunk two large glasses of water with aspirin by the time Marcella came out, wrapped in a towel with another one wound turban-style around her hair.
Sophie had set a cup of inky, drip-filtered coffee and two aspirin beside a halved papaya with a slice of lime and a silver teaspoon. She’d opened the slider to the little balcony off the kitchen, letting in fresh morning air above a dizzying view. Marcella walked across the expanse of teak flooring to face the bank of windows looking out over the city to the ocean, Diamond Head in the distance.
“What a spread. I couldn’t see anything last night between the late hour and drinking too much. I had no idea you had a place like this.”
“It’s my father’s. Just caretaking for him.” Sophie busied herself with organic sprouted wheat toast and homemade passion fruit jam from the housekeeper.
“I’d never leave if I had a place like this. It’s amazing.”
Sophie didn’t reply, thinking of the irony. She hated being home now that her network was down. Waxman was right; she needed some other interests.
Marcella returned, sat down at the modern, brushed-steel table. “Oh, thank God for coffee. You’re an angel.”
Her phone rang and she looked down. Sophie could tell by the color that rose in her cheeks that the caller was Kamuela. “I have to take this.” She got up and walked away across the expanse of hardwood, the phone cupped like a shell against her ear.
Sophie got up, mixed honey in her tea, picked up her toast, and carried it back into the bedroom, turning on Kamala, her home computer, and pulling a cord so the blackout drapes folded open on another glorious Honolulu day.
She sat down and logged in, sipping her tea and munching the toast as Marcella came to the door. “Hey.” The other woman carried her coffee in. “Mind if I get dressed? I’ve got to get on the road.”
“No problem,” Sophie said.
Marcella dropped her towel, picked up her clothes from the night before. “Ugh, I hate wearing dirty clothes.”
“Look through my closet.” Sophie kept her eyes on her computer, but a reflection in the corner showed Marcella’s lush outline as her friend opened her closet and riffled through.
“Do you mind if I grab some underwear too?”
“You won’t fit into my bra.”
“No, just bottoms. These yog
a pants and shirt are fine.”
“Take anything.” Sophie watched the reflection as Marcella dressed, feeling guilty and aroused at the same time. She remembered how angry she’d been when Alika suggested she was gay—she didn’t think so. She was just lonely and miserable, not getting action of any kind nor likely to at the rate she was going. She logged into her email as Marcella unwound the towel from her long hair, combing it out with her fingers.
“What are you working on?”
“Still hoping to lure out the system admin from the DyingFriends site.” Sophie scanned the emails as Marcella sat on the bed behind her, picking up the half of papaya and digging into it.
“Mmm. This is good. The lime makes all the difference. Thanks for letting me crash.”
“Anytime. What are you and Marcus up to today?”
“Oh, you guessed that was him. Yeah, he wants to take me to the zoo.” Marcella blew a little raspberry. “I’ve never been. He wants me to see all the major Oahu sights. We made a list and we’re checking them off. I didn’t realize until we started going out how little I had seen of Oahu.”
“That sounds fun.” Sophie knew her voice was wooden. She’d been exactly three places in Honolulu on a regular basis: Fight Club, work, and the apartment.
Marcella finished the papaya, sipped the coffee. “Mind if I take the toast to go?”
“Not at all.”
“My hangover’s getting better by the minute. There must be something magical in papaya and aspirin. So, I’ll see you Monday?” Marcella got up, toast in her hand, plainly eager to leave.
“I’ll be there.” Sophie got up, walked her friend to the door. “See you Monday.”
Sophie shut the door behind Marcella, shot the bolt, and turned back to pick up the small traces of their breakfast. She made the bed, and the usual silence descended over the apartment. She tried to ignore the heaviness that came with it.
She went back into her email, where she’d spotted something from DyingFriends. She opened it. Another invitation, to the “next level of deeper sharing and support.” She read the disclosures, hit “agree.”
