by Toby Neal
“I know. They did a really rude, crude job. It sucks, and they were in a hurry. They did it quickly because I told them to. I came hurrying home, hoping you’d be here, and instead they were waiting to be let in because of our alarm and Keiki. So I was right outside while they tore through here in fifteen minutes. I told them to hurry.”
Stevens’s fists were clenched, his jaw tight. His chest heaved with anger. “So you told them to trash our house like this.”
“No, of course not. I told them to hurry up and not to bother cleaning because I wanted them out before you came home.”
Stevens strode over to the sideboard and splashed himself a glassful of scotch. He tossed it back in quick gulps, the bomb of warmth that went off in his empty stomach almost dizzying.
“It’s a shitty thing to come home to.” Lei slid up under his arm, her wet hair touching his shoulder, a towel around her slender body. “I just wanted them gone.”
He set the empty glass down with a thump. A wave of desire rose in him—a fierce need to bury himself in her, to be obliterated there, if even for a moment. He craved her in times of pain. She was his haven, the only person who knew every broken place in him and matched it with one of her own. Lei was the only one who could take all he had and give it back to him, pressed down, shaken together, overflowing.
“I want you,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Now.”
Her tilted eyes flared wide, and she let go of the towel. “You got me.”
He could barely wait, both of them tearing at his clothes to get them off. He was consumed by frantic want, and with no finesse whatsoever, he took her among the discarded couch cushions on the living room floor, the coffee table shoved aside.
She met him with an explosion of equal fire, bite, and power. In the tangling clash of their damaged hearts and wild emotions, he found a measure of peace.
For a brief moment they were that one body—the one safe and welcoming place in the world.
Chapter Twenty
Lei lifted herself onto one elbow as she and Stevens lay facing each other on the floor. Stevens’s arms were still locked around her, their legs entwined. Her skin complained from several rug-burned spots, but the knot of tension she’d carried in her chest, queasiness left over from the blood-spattered crime scene, and the anxiety she’d felt at getting home from work to find McGregor and Chun in the driveway—all of it was gone.
He’d buried his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder, her damp curls covering his face. He’d instantly fallen asleep, but his arms were still clamped tight around her.
Lei pulled back slightly so she could see his face. There was tension in his squared jaw and shadows under those blue, blue eyes, hidden from her by a fan of lashes. She smoothed the crease between his brows with her thumb, stroked her hand down the plane of his cheek, and massaged the muscles between his neck and shoulder. Gradually, the grip he had on her body loosened and his muscles went heavy and slack.
She eased away, picked up the towel and wrapped it around herself. Went into the bathroom, washed. Squelched some Curl Tamer into her hair, slipped into her robe, and moving as quietly as she could, she let Keiki in. She went around the house and tidied up the mess left by the search.
A search that, thankfully, had yielded nothing.
It was Chun who’d given her a subtle thumbs-up as he followed his partner out, with a murmured, “Sorry for the hassle.”
She’d banged the door shut behind them, and after her afternoon in the crime scene, she’d wanted nothing more than to get clean in the shower.
Lei hadn’t counted on Stevens’s explosive response to the mess or she’d have picked it up first. She put some hot water on and made spaghetti, heating up some canned sauce as he slept on in the living room. Finally, when the food was almost ready and she’d poured them each a glass of Chablis, she woke him up, kneeling down in front of him and kissing his closed mouth.
“Michael. Dinner’s ready.”
He blinked awake, and she saw the remnants of a bad dream in the whites around his eyes, the tension that surged back into his tall frame, the way he leaped to his feet, reaching for his weapon, which had been discarded and now lay under the coffee table.
“Michael, it’s me. Dinner’s ready.” Her smile felt strained. She saw when he recognized her. He cleared his throat, grabbed his pants.
“I need to get into the shower. I’m sorry about all this.” He made a gesture that covered the mess of couch cushions, discarded clothing, and rough sex.
She held up a hand and he tugged her to her feet. “No need to apologize. We both needed that. Come eat when you’re done.”
He nodded and went into the bathroom. She heard the water running and frowned as she went into the kitchen, drained the pasta and set it out, then set the table.
He didn’t seem okay. And now she was leaving tomorrow to go watch her aunt die. Sometimes it was all just too much. She wanted to cry, and took a sip of wine instead. She grimaced at the taste.
He joined her at the table in his terry-cloth bathrobe, rubbing a hand through damp dark brown hair. “What, no chili?” He gave the ghost of a smile.
“Variety is the spice of life. Thought I’d show you my full range of cooking skills now that we’re married.”
He dug into the pile of pasta. “Delicious.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
When they were both sated, Stevens sat back and lifted his glass to toast her. “Thanks for getting the guys out of the house quickly. I’m not sure I would have been in control if I’d gotten home and they’d been in here. With my mind, I know they’re just doing their jobs, being cops. I’d have to do the same thing in their shoes. But another part of me is just—raw.” His voice caught. “It’s better, but I still see Anchara. Those last few minutes she was alive. What was done to her, so wrong and terrible. And then, trying to save her and being treated like a criminal—I can know what’s going on with my mind and tell myself it’s okay, but I can’t seem to make my emotions behave.”
“Dr. Wilson thinks you’ve got some post-traumatic stress symptoms. Her murder has activated old traumas that never got dealt with—your dad’s death, your mom’s alcoholism, your stint in the army, all the blood from all the crime scenes you’ve walked through in your career...and then this. Dr. Wilson told me what to expect.” Lei took another sip of her wine, just a small one because it tasted funny, metallic and strong. She set the glass down and pushed it away. “She said you might have trouble sleeping. Mood swings. Angry outbursts, emotional overreactions. Flashbacks. You should see her a few more times. It’ll help you get better, faster.”
Stevens pushed his plate away and buried his face in his hands. “I feel like shit for doing this to you. To us. Even the baby. Forcing him on you.”
“It’s okay. You’ve put up with so much crap from me over the years. For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, remember?” She tipped his chin up with her hand and kissed his hard mouth until he responded to her, coming alive gradually as if she were breathing life into a statue. Finally, his arms came around her and he drew her onto his lap and held her there for a long time, and there were no more words.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lei got off the plane in San Francisco, retrieved her bag, and waited at the curb until Wayne Texeira drove up in the huge extended-cab F-150 he drove. Her dad leaped down from a doorframe so high there was a step to get in and embraced her with all the strength in his strong arms. “Lei-girl. Sweets. How are you?”
She hugged back. “I’m okay, Dad. More importantly, how’s Aunty?”
“Not good, honey. I’m so glad you could come. They’re saying only a few more days.”
Lei found she couldn’t answer. She let her dad heft her bag into the truck bed, and she grabbed the door handle and stepped up into the solid-feeling cab. “I know why you drive this beast. You want to feel like you’re going to win any kind of encounter on a California freeway.”
�
��You got that right.” Wayne grinned, his teeth flashing handsome. His curling hair, shot with silver, looked long. Lei knew Aunty cut it for him. It was a sign of Rosario’s illness that now he had a rock-star-wild hairdo. “When I want to turn, everyone gets out of my way.”
“Must be murder on the mileage.”
“Speaking of murder, I saw a news story that Stevens’s pregnant ex was killed and that he’s a person of interest. When were you going to tell me this little bit of news?” Her father’s voice rose with distress as he pulled the truck away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Lei sighed. “I’m sorry, Dad, that you had to hear it that way. I wanted to tell you in person. I should have remembered you always watch the Hawaii news.”
“Did he do it?”
“Of course not. It’s the shroud thing again. He was set up.” She filled him in on the case so far. “You can’t talk to anyone about it, but I don’t want you thinking your son-in-law is a murderer, especially when we’re going to be parents.”
“What?” Wayne took his eyes off the road, swerved. “I thought you said nothing happened!”
“She was pregnant, remember? With Michael’s baby. The goodbye screw on her way out the door had consequences, apparently.” Lei wondered when she’d be able to speak Anchara’s name, and she couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice. She also wondered when she’d really accept baby Kiet’s existence, when telling the story wouldn’t rub salt in the wound left by Stevens’s first marriage, when her grief for Anchara wouldn’t be mixed with guilt and jealousy, too.
“You sure you want to be a mama to this baby?” Wayne frowned.
“I’m sure. He’s in foster. We’re his family. We have to do the right thing by him. Stevens is totally committed.” She told her father about coming home to her husband’s truckload of purchases. “He can’t wait to bring Kiet home, but we can’t until he’s cleared in her murder.”
“I don’t know what to say. I wanted to be a grandfather, but not like this.”
“I know.” Lei turned her head to watch the lights of Marin County stream by, the rounded, dark velvety hills garlanded in colored lights of civilization.
They drove on in silence. Lei heard muttering from her father. “What are you saying, Dad?”
“I was praying. Asking God to give me peace.”
“You can pray in front of me.”
“Oh, God.” Wayne’s voice vibrated with emotion, his large rugged hands squeezing the steering wheel. “Help my daughter accept and love this child who’s lost his mother. Help the detectives find answers to who did this evil thing, and surround all of us with protection that no arrows of darkness can penetrate. Give Lei and Michael wisdom and strength to be loving parents, and give me a right heart to help them. Amen.”
Silence filled the cab. Lei looked back out at the lights, surprised at the calm that followed his words. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You can pray anytime. God is always there for you.”
“I forget. I try to do everything on my own.”
“We all do.” He reached over and patted her hair. “I’m so glad you came.”
They pulled up at the little 1940s stucco bungalow on D Street, with its scrap of lawn and clipped junipers in front, the porch light casting a welcoming pool of amber. Wayne parked on the cement driveway and hefted Lei’s suitcase out. She followed him up the walkway, waited as he unlocked the door, and followed him into the small front room.
A smell assaulted her nose—a chemical reek covering something darker—the smell of serious illness. Lei rubbed the pendant at her throat, taking some calming breaths.
“You’re in your old room, as usual,” Wayne said. “Go in and see her. Momi was waiting for us to get home.”
Lei made her legs carry her down the short hall to her aunt’s bedroom. The drapes were closed, and Rosario Texeira was a small mound in the middle of the bed. Gentle light from a lamp fell over her aunt’s best friend and business partner, seated beside her.
“Aunty Momi. I came as soon as I could.” Lei hurried to the statuesque older woman, and Momi stood up and embraced her.
Momi brushed tears off her cheeks. “Just when I think I’m done crying, I find a few more tears leaking out. She will be so glad to see you.”
“It was hard to get away. Crime never sleeps.” Lei tried to smile but failed. “How’s she doing?”
“Weak. Hospice has her on a morphine drip, so she’s as comfortable as she can be.”
“What’s that smell?” Lei whispered. It was making her queasy.
“It’s the cocktail of medicines they’ve got her on. Kidney medicine, pain medicine, and her catheter.” Momi gestured to the clear, dangling intravenous bag on the steel pole beside the bed. “Her kidneys are failing, as Wayne probably told you. They’re doing dialysis every couple of days. She doesn’t want to go into the hospital anymore, so now it’s all about keeping her comfortable.”
“This is so hard.” Lei felt her legs fold up, and she sat abruptly on the bed. The movement startled her aunt awake, and Rosario’s deep brown eyes opened.
“Lei! You came!” Her voice sounded thin and rusty.
“Aunty. I love you.” Lei embraced her aunt carefully around the cords and wires. She was dimly aware of Momi’s departure as she lay down beside her aunt, plumping one of the pillows so she could lie facing her aunt with her head on it.
“I love you too, Lei-girl.” Rosario had continued to lose weight since Lei had been there a month ago. The bones of her skull were prominent, and her thick braids had gone almost entirely white. She still had her hair because she’d opted not to do chemo. “I’m so glad you got here in time. It won’t be long now.”
“Don’t say that, Aunty.” Lei could hardly speak through the tears pouring down her face. She dabbed her eyes on the sheet. “I have good news. You’re going to be a grandmother, sooner than we thought. You have to hang on to see him.” She told her aunt about baby Kiet—that his mother had died and they were adopting him.
“You’re going to be such a good mama.” Her aunt’s skeletal hand, soft and pink on one side, bony and brown on the other, stroked her hair. “I am so happy for you. She will be such a beauty.”
“No, Aunty, he’s a boy,” Lei said, but her aunt had fallen abruptly asleep, eyelids crepe-like over her sunken eyes.
Lei kicked off her shoes and reached over and turned off the light, snuggling down under the covers beside her aunt. She fell asleep as if tumbling down a rabbit hole.
Stevens and Captain Omura sat in Interview Room B with Magda Kennedy and her lawyer. He felt like they were pressing Play on a recording of the interviews he’d watched a few years ago, when the gallery owner was interviewed in connection with art smuggling and money laundering. Her hair was a shimmering blackbird’s wing under the harsh fluorescent lights, icy blue eyes haughty as she gazed at them.
Her lawyer paced behind her. “I wonder how we can help the Maui Police Department today,” he said. “As quickly as possible. My client is a busy woman.”
“Thanks for coming in.” Omura opened a file. “We’re working on a case that’s been in the news a lot lately—the heiau desecrations. Someone is, apparently, looting Hawaiian sacred sites for petroglyphs and other artifacts.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Kennedy said. “Terrible thing.”
“What do you know about the case?”
“I know there have been lootings and lost artifacts on Oahu, and now Maui. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re an art dealer. Have you heard anything in the art world? Rumors about where the artifacts are going?” Omura asked.
“The art world is a small one, but it’s a competitive one. I don’t generally spend a lot of time with other gallery owners, talking about dealing in stolen objects.” Magda Kennedy kicked a pedicured foot, irritability in the way she tossed her hair back. “Besides, the value of these items seems to be in their antiquity and scarcity more than any artistic merit.”
/>
“If you have any specific questions regarding this investigation, please just ask them,” the lawyer said. “We’re on a schedule.”
“Well, your name has come up in connection with the distribution of the artifacts,” Stevens said. “We think they may be going overseas. What can you tell us about that?”
“Ridiculous and insulting.” Magda made as if to stand.
“I wonder if you’ve heard about the recent murder of a visitor to our islands. His name is Norm Jorgenson, and he was a professional art thief.” Omura opened the file and pushed over a picture of Jorgenson’s bashed-in head. “There is evidence linking him to the heiau desecration here on Maui. We’d like permission to search your gallery and check your computers to see if you, or anyone in your employ, has a connection with this man.”
Magda Kennedy gave a delicate snort and stood. “You’re wasting my time. Show me a warrant.”
Her lawyer followed her as she went to the door, but it wouldn’t open. Stevens unlocked it, and she picked up speed as she walked down the hall, gold sandals winking and creamy Grecian-styled dress billowing.
Omura came to stand beside him as they watched her go. “She was right about one thing. That was a waste of time.”
“I need to check in with Brandon Mahoe. Get more on where and who he heard that from, because we aren’t getting a warrant on someone with her clout with so little probable cause,” Stevens said. As if on cue, his phone rang. He recognized the number as Mahoe’s. “Speak of the devil.” They walked out of the interview room and down the hall as Stevens picked up the call. “Hey, Brandon. What you got for me?”
“This isn’t Brandon; it’s his mother. Who is this?” The woman’s voice throbbed with emotion.
Stevens stopped in his tracks. “What?”
Omura looked at him and frowned but continued on to her office.
“This phone was in his pocket and this is the only number he called, so I’m calling you before I turn you into the police!” the woman yelled. “So I’m asking one last time, who are you!”
