Chapter Twenty-Three

 

No, Malia thought, that isn’t what I want. I want to bury myself in your arms and receive whatever comfort you can give. I want to forget about the rising body count: Kiki, Ainsley, Nancy, Ginger, and the latest victim, Morales, honored twice for bravery under fire. I want to press my body against yours, get drunk on your mind-numbing kisses, wake up in the morning with the scent of our lovemaking heavy on the air and you leaning over me, in all your naked glory, pressing gentle kisses to my face.

Dammit, I want to get to know you, and discover if I’m really as madly in love with you as I feel. And if I am – marry you and grow old with you. With those impossible thoughts hammering in her brain, Malia merely shook the DVD tape in his face. “I want to watch this.”

She looked at him in his black tux trousers and white shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing his tanned and well-shaped forearm and knew that letting him stay the night was asking for trouble. She had to handle it because the truth was, she didn’t really want to be alone.

Damon frowned, and then cut her a smile that started as a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and spread to full lips that she’d already learned could sweep her into forbidden yet wondrous sensations. Who would know if she threw caution to the winds and jumped into his arms – wrapped her legs around his trim hips – and begged him to make love to her? You would, her conscience warned, and you couldn’t live with the guilt.

Damon reached for her hand, and it got lost in his solid grip. If she’d seen it coming, she might have avoided his touch. She allowed herself to revel in the sense of togetherness for a moment before pulling away.

“While you put the video in and get things set up,” he said, “I’ll feed Ivan. And if it’s okay, I’ll make us some coffee.”

Malia wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but she wanted to stay awake for the video. She was about to say, “Sounds good,” when all seven smoke alarms started shrieking. She scanned the room; black smoke curled down from the cooling vents.

“It’s the roof,” she said.

Damon nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

Clinging to her bag of tapes, she scooped up her bunny and her purse, containing her gun.

Damon grabbed her arm and yanked on the front door, and they charged out into the night. Gasoline fumes swirled in the breeze. “I have to get my truck away from the garage,” he shouted. “Get in!”

The wood-shingle roof on her house and attached garage was ablaze. She’d barely gotten the passenger door closed when Damon jumped behind the steering wheel and sped backward out of the driveway, continuing in reverse down the street until they were about two-hundred feet from the flaming structure. Something inside the house exploded, and the walls caved in. A mountain of fiery debris rumbled into the driveway where the truck had been.

The killer had almost succeeded in taking her out … and Damon with her. Rage filled Malia. She had lived only to put the killer behind bars, but now, God help her, she wanted him dead.

****

Malia’s expression changed from a wide-eyed alarm to a narrow-eyed cold stare. Damon figured she was thinking of the killer. He touched her knee. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Malia used her cell phone to call the fire department. Probably others had called them, too. With the station nearby on Makakilo Drive, the response would be quick, but the gasoline induced explosions guaranteed that her home would be lost.

Another explosion sent a blast of fiery particles into the sky; gravity turned them into a fountain of fireworks. Damon watched the neighbors watering down their roofs. Those whose homes weren’t in jeopardy gathered on the street to stare transfixed at the inferno. Firelight and shadows obscured their features. Was the killer concealed among them, ghoulishly feeding on a perverted thrill?

Sirens and the rumble of fire engines added to the din of the roaring of flames licking the night sky. Damon pulled out of the way and parked next to the curb on the opposite side of the street. That maneuver brought them closer to a cluster of gawking neighbors.

Malia leaned forward. “Look at that guy!”

Damon knew at once whom she meant. The man stood in the shadows at the edge of the group, bundled up like a climber heading for the snow-capped Mauna Kea. Malia thrust her bunny at Damon and shoved her door open. She was halfway out of the truck when the guy broke and ran. “That’s him!” she said, and gave chase, gun already in hand.

Damon tossed the bunny onto the empty jumper seat behind him, planning to join the chase. But when he turned to see where Malia and the suspect were, he changed his mind. It was clear that the guy was heading for a blue Nissan Altima parked near the corner. The fleeing man had a head start on Malia, and unless she downed him with a bullet now, he’d get away.

Suddenly a resident with a small child riding piggyback on his shoulders stepped from behind a hedge and right into Malia’s line of fire.

Her hesitation allowed the killer to make it to his car. Damon gunned his truck to life. Behind him, the Altima made a U-turn. Damon flipped a U as well, and pulled up alongside a furious Malia. “Get in,” he ordered, unable to keep the stress out of his voice.

Cursing under her breath, she struggled into her seatbelt. “Floorboard it,” she said.

Praying no one got in his way, he tromped on the accelerator. Malia was on her cell phone requesting backup and ordering a freeway blockade of blue Altimas.

The suspect’s tires squealed as he skidded around the corner onto Makakilo Drive. He ignored red lights and zigzagged around other cars. He sideswiped a car, and sent it smashing into a fire hydrant. A spout of water gushed into the night sky.

The freeway entrance was just ahead. If the suspect made it that far, they’d lose him. Damon had to force him off the road now! He swung a hard right. At the same moment, a double semi truck turned in front of Damon. He hit the brakes and went into a spin. White knuckled and gritting his teeth, he maneuvered out of it and onto the freeway onramp. With two wheels on the curved embankment, he sped around the semi and onto the freeway, but the Altima had disappeared.

“I’m sorry, Malia, we lost him,” he said as they cut across lanes and zipped around a car and merged into the fast lane.

“Where did you learn to drive like that?” she asked on a gust of breath. Her eyes were wide. “And what happened to your claim that you were too tired to make it down the hill?”

“Did I scare you?”

“No. You did a hell of a job. Ever think of going into law enforcement?”

He laughed without humor. He’d broken a slew of laws, and she asked him that? “I like your style, Detective. Now what?”

She lifted her chin. “We try to find him.”

“Are you kidding? It’ll be like finding a lost fishhook in the deepest part of the ocean.”

“Just drive.” Malia checked out every car they passed for miles. Then, she pointed ahead at a blockade. “Pull over. I want to speak with those officers.” Two Altimas waited to be cleared. She asked the occupants to step out of their cars. Even from where Damon sat, he could tell that the Oriental drivers were too short.

“Any news?” he asked when she returned to his truck.

“The perp must’ve pulled off before the blockade. But I told them to keep checking.”

Damon drove on, following the light flow of early morning traffic. Malia flipped open her cell. Figuring she was checking in with headquarters, Damon didn’t bother to ask any questions. While the number was ringing, she grabbed a flashlight from the glove department and withdrew a list of some kind from her purse and trained the light on it. Now she was leaving a message on her insurance carrier’s recording machine, giving numbers and dates like a robot. Damon shook his head, amazed at how she kept her mind so focused on everything at once.

After Malia finished her call, she sat rigidly staring straight ahead, her expression grim. She stroked her bunny in long, slow strokes. How much more could Malia take? She needed a safe place to rest and regain her equilibrium. He glanced at the dashboard clock. Two thirty in the morning was too late to check into a hotel, and his apartment was out as well because the killer knew where he lived. The son of a bitch confirmed that when he ransacked the place and stole the message tape that proved Ainsley had called him. It was likely the scumbag knew where Malia’s parents lived, especially if he was a former classmate as Malia now suspected. Kiki’s parents’ place was out for the same reason.

That left him with his ex-friend’s luxury cabin cruiser docked about a half mile off shore from the Ward Avenue docks. It would be difficult to go to Kirk’s swinging bachelor’s hideaway, knowing his back-stabbing best man had undoubtedly taken his wife there at least once. Damon’s fists tightened on the steering wheel as the image of Kiki and Kirk in the heat of passion flashed before him. Dammit, Kirk owed him. The SOB had ducked serving in the armed forces in favor of volunteering on the home front to screw his lonely and more-than-willing wife.

Damon took a breath to calm down. None of that was important anymore. This was about keeping Malia safe. Bottom line, a boat anchored off shore and surrounded by water was their best bet tonight.

Malia cleared her throat and asked, “Where are we going?”

He listed the places they couldn’t go and the reasons why before springing the boat idea on her. Unfortunately preparing her didn’t assure agreement.

“No boat!” she said. “Just drop me off at my office. Lots of people will be around, and there’s no safer place than the HPD.”

“But you won’t get any rest. And you need some sleep to keep going.” He reached over and stroked the bunny. “Besides,” he said trying for an upbeat tone, “after jangling fire alarms, Ivan needs a peaceful place for what’s left of the night, and there is no more peaceful place than a gently rocking boat.”

Malia kissed the top of Ivan’s head. “Nice try, but he’ll be fine.”

“Come on, Malia, just for tonight.”

She looked torn. “I’ll need clothes to go to work in the morning. I have a few things at my parents. I agree that going there is dangerous, but we ought to be able to stop long enough for me to grab an outfit.”

“That can wait until morning. You don’t really want to wake them at this hour, do you?”

She sighed heavily. “This is probably a mistake, but all right.”

****

Al Lee pounded his steering wheel and let loose with a string of his pet prison swear words. He’d almost gotten caught. His knowledge of all the utility service trails and back roads was all that kept him from getting snared in one of Malia’s police blockades. He knew her well enough to know that she’d immediately call ahead and block the freeways.

He’d tried to put an end to her meddling by fighting her fiery, determined spirit with his man-made fire. He might have pulled it off, if Damon hadn’t once again interfered. The horny widower had turned into a real pain in the ass.

As though driving on automatic, Lee headed straight for a place he knew would lift his spirits. He drove by the old Martin house, the real scene of Kiki’s murder, needing to feel the thrill of that kill again. Seeing all the lights on and Rosado’s truck parked in the driveway, he slowed. This was too good to be true. Apparently, the contractor was pulling an all-nighter.

Al swung into a darkened ally down the block and parked. Staying in the shadows, he walked back to the house. An open front door invited him inside. In the foyer, he covered himself with a thin, clear plastic drop cloth and put on shoe covers. Covered like a ghost, he followed the thumping vibrations of the blaring boom-box and found Gabriel Rosado in a downstairs bathroom, installing a white quarry tile floor. Al imagined the contrast of red blood spilling on the pristine white tiles.

Quietly, he stooped and picked up a short-handled sledge hammer from the contractor’s tool box. When he closed his gloved hand around it, he felt his heartbeat quicken. He raised his arm and brought it down on Rosado’s head with full force. The reality of the hollow thump surpassed Al’s anticipated thrill. It was curious how the Filipino’s blood was the same cardinal red as his albino blood.

Poor surfer-stud. His only crime had been being one of Kiki’s lovers – and being in the right place at the wrong time. He’d been a temporary release-value for Al’s thirst to kill and his tool to muddy the motive waters. Rosado wasn’t a classmate, but he’d screwed one. The distant connection would lead the cops nowhere. Al chuckled to himself. Guess the owners of the old Martin House will have to find another contractor to finish their renovations.

****

Damon stopped at an all night market and picked up a few provisions, including berries and apples for Ivan, then he headed for the Keehi Lagoon. When they left the car, Malia clung to her videos and DVDs. “I can’t leave these behind,” she said.

Damon snatched a spare backpack from his trunk and carefully tucked Malia’s precious evidence in a side pocket, and then packed the provisions into the main section.

Using Kirk’s motorized dinghy, Damon quickly transported them out to the dimly lit cabin cruiser moored in the lagoon. He took the bunny from Malia, put it inside his shirt and boarded. When he swung a ladder over the side for Malia, she scrambled up the rungs like a pro. “Looks like you’ve done this before,” he said, still taken by the way her fit, curvaceous hips and legs moved under the tights.

“Living in Hawaii, who hasn’t? Who owns this classy chassis, anyway?”

He really didn’t want to discuss that, but he saw no way around it. “Remember Kirk, my best man at the wedding?”

Malia frowned. “I didn’t know you two were still friends.”

“We’re not. But he’s not here, and I have the keys, so we’re not breaking any laws, Detective.”

Her frown deepened, and she tilted her head. “Exactly when did he give them to you?”

“Okay, I’ll admit it was before he screwed my wife and we were still friends. But he’d be the first to agree he owes me. Besides, we’re here now. Let’s make the best of it.”

The wind kicked up the water, and the deck beneath their feet rose and fell. Malia gripped the rail. “This is another of your off-the-wall ideas.”

“When I show you the bed, you’ll change your mind. Come on. Let’s go below before Ivan gets soaked.”

He showed her the galley and the head, and made up the bed in the main cabin. “Make yourself at home. I’ll give Ivan a snack.”

“Where are you sleeping?” she asked staring at the bed.

“Right here,” he said pointing to the portside divan. “This makes into a bed.”

She wrinkled her brow then to his surprise sank down on her bed as though her legs could no longer hold her, undoubtedly too tired to argue.

In the galley, Damon fed Ivan a section of apple and sliced the rest for him and Malia. He heated a chocolate chip muffin, divided it in half, made some tea, and then carried the snack to the main cabin on a tray.

The lights had been lowered. Malia lay sprawled on the bed, her eyes closed, hair spilling across the pillow. She was fully clothed in the red blouse with its slightly plunging neckline and those heart-stopping black tights. She would be more comfortable without both. The image that came to mind was more artistically pleasing than the world’s most awe-inspiring sculpture.

The real, living, breathing woman was no less moving. He noted the graceful bend of her elbow. He’d bet no other police detective had ever looked so elegant. Hell, neither had any prima ballerina. He studied her face again. Did he see her eyelashes flutter? He watched her for several seconds, looking for further movement. Nothing. Poor kid. Who wouldn’t konk out after what she’d been through?

He ached to kiss her forehead…her eyelids…the shadowed hollow of her neck…and… His arousal throbbed. He was getting into dangerous ground. Damon forced himself to turn away before he did something stupid. He locked the snack tray he carried in the no-slide slot and quietly prepared his daybed.

After a trip to the head to freshen up, he returned to the main cabin to find Malia softly sobbing into the pillow. He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered up her trembling body into his arms. Her hair smelled faintly of shampoo and smoke. He wished he could return things to the way they were before Kiki’s murder. He couldn’t tell Malia everything would be all right. It wouldn’t, but maybe if the police caught the killer she could begin the process of healing. He whispered, “We’ll get through this, Honey.”

Her cries subsided. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest. He kissed the back of her hair. She looked up at him, her eyes all liquid and sad.

Ignoring the danger signals going off in his brain, he lifted her chin and gently lowered his lips to hers. The salty taste of tears sent a pang to his heart. He groaned and pulled her tightly against him. Malia opened her mouth to him as though seeking a physical remedy for her pain. Sorrow and anger were the forces behind her urgency, and he tried to convince himself that after losing a fellow officer and her home, she needed the release, deserved it.

He desperately fought to hang onto his sanity long enough to consider the ramifications of making love to this enticing and attractive woman her in her present state of mind, but her moan triggered something in him. Jagged lust and immeasurable longing raged through him. His erection shot to a full salute and throbbed in readiness.

Then the words Malia had thrown in his face the last time they were caught up in a similar carnal situation hit him. “Whatever this heat is between us, she’d said, “I can’t handle it right now. And maybe I’ll never be able to. And I think I don’t want to.”

Dear God, as much as stopping would tear the guts out of him, he couldn’t take advantage of her grief. Tomorrow she’d hate him, hate herself.