Chapter Seventeen

 

“You got something going with your suspect?” Ku asked as Malia grabbed up her files to leave the windowless interrogation room. The big Hawaiian, whom she loved like a brother, in spite of his annoying ability to read her, stood with his arms folded, looking like a cross between King Kamehameha and the Jolly Green Giant.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She thought about not answering. The only sound was air pouring through the AC vents. “First of all,” she told him, rubbing her aching head. “Your intimidating stance won’t work with me. Second, Damon is no longer a suspect and—”

“You like him,” Ku interrupted in a monotone. He held her gaze with eyes so brown they looked black, unreadable eyes that showed no emotion. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t have dinner with him.”

“Who made you my conscience?” Malia whirled around and headed for her office. She groaned when Ku followed. She had just interrogated five uncooperative men, and now she had to deal with a man who thought he had the right to interrogate her. She didn’t have to justify herself, but the words seemed to roll out of their own volition. “We’re having dinner to discuss the case. Damon has some ideas about—”

“He has ideas all right, but they have nothing to do with this case.” Ku slouched into the chair in front of Malia’s desk. He looked like a Warrior line-backer trying to wedge himself into a child’s chair.

She slammed the files down on her desk. “I refuse to have this conversation. Even if what you say is true, that’s his problem.”

“Yah? It might be if he was just interested in a bit of fun and games. I know you cut guys like that off at the knees. But I saw our guy’s face while waiting to hear word about your condition. He really cares, and because you like him, it’s like dynamite and a lit match.”

“Look,” Malia said, turning to face the window to hide her awareness that he was right. A bolt of lightning lit up the black clouds, warning that even Mother Nature disapproved. “I know you don’t like Damon but—”

“Not so. I’ll admit I didn’t when I thought he’d offed his wife for a cool mil, but he’s a stand up guy when the chips are down. Still, bottom line, he’s not a cop, and you have no business discussing this investigation with him. And whether you like it or not, this guy is—”

Malia thrust her hand forward. “Stop. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.” She unclipped a list from the top of a file folder and handed it to Ku. “Get these guys in here in the morning for questioning, and don’t forget we’re on reunion-duty tomorrow night. The plan is to cover the ball, while our team covers every exit and the parking lot. Nothing bigger than a clutch evening bag gets through the door, and the bomb squad will do periodic sweeps of the premises. Only the killer knows what he’ll pull next.”

****

Exhaustion, flood warnings, and downed electric poles and trees wiped out Malia’s and Damon’s dinner plans. Since she’d been rocky from the pain pills, she allowed Damon to drive her from her place in Kapolei to the funeral in Honolulu and now regretted it. She should have stayed in town.

Heading back to her place, he didn’t drive over thirty miles an hour, slowed by sheets of rain that made seeing nearly impossible. “The storm’s getting worse,” he said. “Even fast food is out. Can we grab a bite at your place?”

She still ached from her fight with the killer, and her adrenaline surge was dwindling fast. Worse yet, Ku’s words hammered in her head like a second conscience: Damon really cares, and because you like him, it’s like dynamite and a lit match. “Afraid not,” she said, “I—”

“Hey, this is white-knuckle driving. Are you really gonna to turn me away in this storm without even a sandwich?”

Oh, hell. I guess I owe him at least a snack or something – and I don’t want to be alone “Okay, okay.” No matter what I do it’ll be wrong. “But it’ll have to be canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. That is if the electricity stays on.”

Damon sent her a grateful smile.

She frowned. Tomorrow she’d have to face more questions from Ku in his non-relenting, and disapproving tone. So what? I don’t have to answer to him.

She sighed, wishing she could just lay her head back and relax. But in this storm, driving took two sets of eyes. And the storm within Malia was even more unnerving. In a few minutes they’d be alone in her cozy little house. Trying to distract herself, she thought about tomorrow. It’d be another long day. Of course, the days would all be long until they caught the killer of what the press was calling, the Reunion Murders. Malia shivered and rubbed her arms.

“Cold?” Damon asked

“Delayed reaction to a lousy day.”

Damon reached over and squeezed her hand. Before she could react, a huge palm frond slammed against the windshield, blinding the view for an instant. Damon grabbed the steering wheel again with both hands. All talk stopped. They were too busy trying to see the road ahead and watching for hazards, which Malia suspected couldn’t be as dangerous as bringing a man she was deeply attracted to into her home.

By time they stood in her entryway, Malia was rigid with tension.

Damon gave a humorless laugh. “Was my driving that bad?”

She shook her head; water from her dripping hair sprayed in every direction. “Think the killer is out on a night like this?” she asked, trying to distract them both from the awareness charging between them. Water pooled at their feet.

“Got a towel?” Damon asked. Like her, he was soaked and dripping.

“Better than that,” she said, without thinking it through. “I’ve got a couple of terry robes, the cozy, thick kind. Bought them at a hotel in Vegas when I attended a police convention last year.” She got the towels and robes, telling herself she could handle this. “We can slip into these while our clothes dry,” she said, handing him a robe and a towel.

As their fingers brushed, hot, impossible feelings she wanted to deny surged through her. Damon’s eyes brightened, and he looked at her with a new intensity. She swallowed. She could really be in trouble here. She had to stay smart and not let her urge to make love break free of its tight restraints. Arcs of sexual energy zigzagged between them as they dried their hair with the towels.

She had to set the boundaries. Fast. “I know my need for modesty may seem irrelevant after you saw me nearly naked last night, but I’d be more comfortable if—”

“Me, too,” he said, with a lightness in his voice, and then turning away, he added, “Don’t you dare look, Detective.”

She laughed. He had turned the tables on her, and darn him, although his teasing tone failed to relax her, it warmed her heart. She kept sneaking glances at him to see if he was peeking. He wasn’t, but...

Her breath caught as he dropped the towel.

He was naked in all his tanned glory, wide shoulders, narrow hips, tight buttocks and beautiful runner’s legs with long muscles. He would put the sculpture of David to shame.

Her whole body blushed with longing.

What was she doing? Looking at him was wrong, wrong, wrong. And dangerous. Yet, she couldn’t seem to look away until he slipped on his robe.

Oh, God. He could turn around any second! She wrapped herself in the terry cloth robe and drew the belt tight and sang out, “Are you decent?”

He laughed. “Don’t you know?”

She remained silent. With images of his gorgeous physique swirling in her brain, she turned and stood before him. Her awareness that they were nude beneath their robes shook her. She wanted to believe she was immune to temptations. Her self-image was built on it.

I have to get away. She headed for the kitchen. Damon grabbed her wrist as she passed him. His touch set off a ripple of tiny hot spots as he pulled her close, dwarfing her with the sheer size of him – at least six feet of lean muscle and overpowering maleness. Could he feel her pulse racing? She seemed unable to protest as he led her to the couch.

“You rest,” he said in a low rumble. “I’m the cook tonight.”

Malia gasped. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Oh, damn, now he knows that wasn’t what I expected him to say. So what am I dealing with here? Kindness? That puts a new spin on things. She forced a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I wasn’t kidding; there isn’t much in the fridge.”

He leaned over her. Their faces were inches apart as he piled pillows behind her head. His chest grazed her breast, sending a flush of heat through her. “I know,” he said huskily.

He grabbed the knit throw from the back of the couch and covered her. Although burning up, she restrained herself from immediately kicking it off.

He winked. “I can open a can of soup and make toasted cheese sandwiches with the best of them.”

The lights flickered. “There are candles in the fridge,” she said. “Second shelf inside the door. Flashlights are in the drawer at the end of the counter, right hand side.”

Why doesn’t he leave? He hovered over her, his face so close she could feel his breath. He bent lower and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control.”

She thought she did, too, until he leaned over her like that, smelling of rainwater and his own male scent, his robe gapping, revealing that tanned chest. Her heart pounded. She had an urge to yank him down by the collar and give him a real kiss, one full of passion and tongue.

God, what am I thinking? They had just buried Kiki – his wife– her best friend. Nothing more than friendship could ever happen between them. He knew it; she knew it.