It was nearly four when Storm fell into bed beside Hamlin, who was fast asleep until she nuzzled up next to him.
“Your feet are cold,” he said, and draped one leg over hers.
“Yeah,” Storm said, and didn’t know anything further until light peeked through the closed blinds and she smelled the aroma of strong coffee. She rubbed her eyes and turned over. Hamlin was already up and the bedside clock read seven-fifteen. What she really wanted to do was drag him back to bed, but she’d told Marty Barstow she’d meet him at eight. Damn. At least she had time for a cup of coffee.
“Why don’t I go with you?” Hamlin said, when they both settled with their full mugs on the lanai overlooking the ocean. “We can be co-counsels.”
“Hamlin, what would you say if I decided to come along on one of your depositions, or to visit one of your clients?”
He frowned at her. “We’re not at the office.”
“So what? This guy has a legal question. If it turns out to be in conflict with my representation of Stephanie, I’ll be the first one to suggest that he talk to you.” She slurped from her coffee mug. “I doubt it, though. He mentioned another, unrelated concern.”
Hamlin glowered in the direction of the ocean. She could tell he knew she was right, but he didn’t like it. Not with Nahoa’s death hanging over their heads.
“I won’t be alone. His partner will be there,” Storm assured him. She went into the cottage to get dressed. On the way out the door, she called Stephanie to see if Ben had shown up, but the roommate answered the phone.
“I gave her a couple of Valium when she got in last night,” the woman said hoarsely. She sounded exhausted. “We haven’t heard from Ben.”
“I’m going to meet with Marty Barstow, and I’ll ask if he’s heard from him. Hopefully, he’s over there.”
“I’ll tell her,” the roommate said. “She’ll give you a call later.”
Finding O’Reilly’s beautiful beach rental was no problem, though parking was an issue. A Porsche Boxter sat next to a Corvette in the short driveway, and Storm’s hopes leaped for a moment, until she realized the car was navy blue, not the black one Ben had been driving. Storm made a U-turn and found a parking place off the shoulder of the highway. Hers wasn’t the only car on the stretch.
The house sat just far enough back from the beach to be out of the high-surf zone, but Storm could smell and taste the tang of the ocean from the back of the house. She pushed the doorbell.
“Come in,” a man’s voice hollered.
Storm pushed open the door, which was already slightly ajar, and walked past what looked like an office. That door, too, was partly opened and she could see the glow of a computer screen. It made a “you’ve got mail” sound as she passed. Men’s voices came from the front of the house, which smelled of good coffee.
When Storm got to the kitchen area, she stopped in admiration. The entire front of the house was one big room, and the wall facing the ocean was almost entirely glass. A fireplace sat in the corner of one side of the area, with comfortable leather furniture clustered around it. The other side of the space was a modern, stainless steel kitchen, cluttered with coffee mugs, dishes, and cooking utensils.
Barstow sat on a bar stool at a granite-topped island, and the man Storm knew as O’Reilly stood on the other side of the island. He operated what looked like a commercial espresso maker. The aroma coming from it was divine, and much more appealing to her than O’Reilly himself, who wore nothing but a loosely fastened, drooping lavalava.
He leaned over the counter, offered his hand, and held on to hers for a moment too long. “The exotic and alluring Ms. Kayama. I’ve heard about you.”
“Nice to meet you.” Storm didn’t mention that she’d heard about him, too. Instead, she kept her eyes on the guileless, blue-eyed smile, and hoped that his sarong didn’t catch on a drawer pull. Storm had the feeling he’d already checked her bra size, and was so skillful at it that she hadn’t noticed.
“I make a great latte, if you’d like one,” he said.
“Take it,” Barstow growled. Dark circles underscored his bloodshot eyes. “You probably had less sleep than I did. You hear anything from Ben?”
“No,” Storm said. “Have you?”
Barstow just shook his head.
“I told you,” O’Reilly said, “he’s pissed at both of you.” He gestured with the cup he handed Storm. “Not you, the ex.” He glanced back at Barstow. “He’s probably with that blonde.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” Storm asked.
O’Reilly shrugged and his lavalava slipped an inch. “I meant that gorgeous dame Pi‛ilani was hooked up with. Aren’t she and Ben good friends?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked.
“You’re just jealous.” Barstow glared at him over his own coffee cup. His cell phone rang, and he picked it up, barked a few orders into it, and disconnected.
“True, but I’m a patient man.” O’Reilly shrugged again and Storm directed her gaze to the glorious view out the window.
Barstow, in her line of sight, rolled his eyes. His phone rang again, and he said a few short sentences before hanging up. “Questions about the set-up for today’s rounds,” he said in explanation.
“It starts at noon?” Storm asked, and he nodded. A sliding screen door opened behind her and she turned at the noise. “Goober,” she said, surprised. “Howzit?”
Goober was coming in from the side of the house, and he barely glanced her way. He looked like he’d awakened and put on the same board shorts he’d been wearing all week. Or maybe he’d just slept in them.
“Sunny wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth,” he snarled at O’Reilly.
“Ooh, someone’s in a bad mood this morning,” O’Reilly said.
“How’s the ear?” Barstow asked.
“Fine. I can surf.”
Barstow’s voice was kind. “It’s out of our hands. Those are the breaks.”
“You need someone to drive the jet ski for Kimo,” Goober said.
“Sorry, kiddo. Doctor’s orders.” O’Reilly turned on the steamer attached to the espresso maker.
Barstow waited for the racket to stop, then spoke kindly. “It happens to the best of surfers, and you need to heal before you head back into the water. You could get an infection.”
O’Reilly handed Goober a mug of coffee, but the young man ignored him. Storm noticed that O’Reilly’s hand trembled. He quickly set the mug on the counter, and turned to the sink.
Goober stared, pale and somber, at Barstow. “Please,” he said softly.
“It’s out of my hands this time,” Barstow said. “You’ll have other opportunities.”
Goober held Barstow’s gaze for a half-second longer, then turned on his bare heel and headed for the front door.
He was halfway down the hall when Barstow spoke again. “Did you see Ben yesterday?” He used the same soft tone he had when Goober stood right in front of him.
Goober glanced over his shoulder. “He met a tourist. Maybe he’s with her.”
The circles under Barstow’s eyes seemed to become less pronounced with this news. Storm was relieved, too.
She turned to him. “What did you want to ask me?”
Barstow had mentally shifted gears and wore a thoughtful expression. “What do you know about this guy DeSilva?”
“Not much.”
“You ever met him?”
“Once.”
Barstow nodded, as if he’d already known the answer. “What’s your feel for him? You know, from the coconut wireless.”
“As far as I know, he has a good reputation in the community.”
“Teaches martial arts, doesn’t he? You know if he has an arrest record?”
“I haven’t had reason to look.”
“Is that difficult?”
“Might be. Has he threatened you?”
“Yes.” Barstow looked thoughtful. “Yes, you could say that. I also heard that he’d threatened Nahoa Pi‛ilani.”
That got Storm’s attention, which was exactly what Barstow had intended. And while O’Reilly had his back to them and kept busy by scooping coffee into the espresso machine, his head was cocked as if he didn’t want to miss a word.
“How so?” Storm asked.
“Something about being a sacrifice to Lono. You ever heard of that?”
“I don’t put much store in those things.” Storm looked directly at Barstow. Though circled with fatigue, his eyes glittered, as if he’d been waiting to see how she’d react to this inflammatory tidbit.
Storm wasn’t in the mood to play games. “What’s your concern in this?”
Barstow looked down and took a sip of his coffee. “He sent a letter to our parent company and threatened, as a Native American, to sue for loss of public access to the shoreline.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago, when we established the waiting period.”
“Have you received any verbal threats or experiened vandalism against your property?”
“No, but he called me names. They were of a threatening nature.”
“Are you physically afraid of this man?”
O’Reilly seemed to stifle a snort, but Barstow didn’t react. “Not yet, but I don’t want the situation to escalate. Especially in a crowd, like we expect at today’s contest.”
“You’ve got security, right?” She remembered the bouncer-type who’d hovered over Pua yesterday.
He nodded.
“Have them keep DeSilva at a distance. But don’t let your security guys start a confrontation. Let him keep face.” She looked him in the eye.
Barstow met her gaze. “I understand.”
“Good.” Storm looked at O’Reilly, who was now watching the two of them. She wanted to make sure he knew she addressed him, too. “That’s very important.”
Storm looked back at Barstow. “And if you want to take this further, I’ll refer you to an attorney who’s very good at countering threats.”
Barstow grinned widely, which was not the reaction Storm had expected. “Your uncle taught you well.”
“Did you know him?”
“Wish I had. He had a good reputation.”
Storm allowed her eyebrows to rise, and she waited to see if he’d explain why he’d brought up Miles Hamasaki. But he took a slow swallow from his coffee mug. O’Reilly started the noisy coffee bean grinder.
Storm was hit with the impression that she’d been on trial. She wasn’t sure what their opinion of her was, but she was peeved at the assessment. In fact, she doubted either of these guys was disturbed by DeSilva’s actions, if there had even been any. The meeting was starting to irritate her. She had better things to do.
Storm stood up. “I’ve got to go and you’ve got a tournament to run. Hope I was able to help you.”
“Send me a bill,” Barstow said.
“Not this time,” she answered. Or ever, she thought to herself. She had no desire to do further business with these two. “I’ll let you get to your meet.”
“Thank you.” Barstow stood and shook her hand. O’Reilly came around the island to thank her, too. This time when he shook her hand, he didn’t hold on.