Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Thinking his knowledge of military security might help, Damon tagged along with Malia as she pointed out gaps in the hotel’s security to the manager. Damon’s interest sharpened when he noticed how easily people flowed throughout the hotel. “This loose setup is begging for trouble,” he said, unable to remain just an observer with lives at stake. “One way to correct it is to station guards around the perimeter to keep unidentified visitors back fifty feet and stop anyone without a picture ID.”

The manager, who had ignored Damon when they were introduced, frowned at Malia and asked, “Who did you say this guy is?”

Malia pressed her lips together to squelch a smile and re-introduced Damon, this time adding that he was a security specialist. Then she winked at him and said, “Excellent suggestions, Mr. Shaw.” She pressed her lips together as though holding a smile at bay. “Since we’re almost through here, you can speed things up by checking on security problems in the lobby.” Malia’s heavy emphasis on the word lobby left no doubt that he’d been dismissed, albeit delightfully.

On his way to the hotel entrance, Damon passed a gift shop and had an urge to buy something to coax out the smile that Malia had slyly constrained. In the window, a huge glossy rattan basket filled with a wealth of goodies and draped with an orchid lei caught his attention. From there, an idea gelled, and he purchased an empty basket and a lei. He carried the basket to the kitchen and asked the chef to fill it with what Damon hoped would be Malia’s favorite picnic food. He carried his surprise to the hotel parking structure and put the covered basket in the trunk along with a small ice chest filled with sodas and a bottle of Petit Syrah wine.

Figuring Malia would be finishing up her inspection any minute, he hurried back to the lobby to wait. His breath caught at the sight of her. Her all-business stride made her appear to defy gravity. He must have been grinning when she joined him because she gave him a suspicious look. “Now what have you been up to?” she asked.

“Nothing. You said I could choose our dinner venue, so I made arrangements for a place where we’ll be safe and undisturbed.

She looked down at her tailored pant suit. “Am I dressed appropriately?”

He laughed. “As a matter of fact, you’re a bit over-dressed. How about slipping on one of the more casual outfits I picked up for you?”

When she opened her mouth to object, he said, “Just a few things. No strings attached. I’d do the same for any friend who lost all of their clothes in a fire.”

She held his gaze with those brown gold-flecked eyes for several heartbeats. Finally, she said, “In the interest of keeping my work clothes neat for tomorrow, I’ll humor you. Just this once.”

He exhaled a breath of relief and grinned. “Great! Wait right here.”

Damon ran all the way to the car, removed the bag with the outfit from the trunk and returned before she had a chance to change her mind. When he thrust the bag into her hands, she headed to the restroom to change.

Expecting a long wait, he sank into one of the overstuffed chairs. Would she actually put the clothes on? He’d tried to match her tailored style, knowing if he wanted her to wear the threads, he couldn’t get too wild.

Within minutes, she strolled out with that fluid walk of hers, her sandaled feet barely touching the floor. In spite of the chin up erect stance that screamed I’m in control and her slim, fit appearance, she looked more feminine than any other police detective he could ever imagine. And the tan Bermuda shorts with matching jacket seemed to suit her. The way the knit top fit her curves took his breath away.

“I see everything fits.” Really well, he thought.

“Kopa’a gave you my sizes, didn’t she?”

Rather than admit it, he just grinned and took Malia’s arm. As they walked to the car, she scanned the dimly lit hotel parking structure as though expecting trouble.

“Any new development that I should know about?” he asked, inspecting the shadowy stalls along the way.

“Nothing specific,” she said, lowering her gaze.

That evasive lowering of lashes suggested that she was holding out on him. He decided to let that pass for now. “You’ve done all you can to tighten security here. What you need is a few hours of R & R away from your battle of wits with this maniac. Sometimes, when the mind relaxes, you can see things from another perspective.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “What did you have it mind?”

“A moonlight picnic on the beach in front of a softly glowing fire.” The weather was on his side; the showers had passed.

“You offered dinner at a safe place. What’s safe about an open beach?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Moku O’ Loe in Kaneohe Bay.”

“Sure, what local hasn’t? It’s a private island only a mile or so off shore.” Her eyes narrowed in skeptical slits again. “You have permission to go out there?”

“Would I take you somewhere illegal?”

He removed the permit, about the size of a temporary license, from his wallet and showed it to her. “I was in the right place at the right time and saved the owner’s son during a conflict in Bosnia.”

Doubt faded from her expression. But she hadn’t actually okayed the idea, and he expected her to object when he said they’d have to travel out by another borrowed dinghy. When she just shrugged, he had the feeling her mind was more on what might be lurking in the shadows than another ride in a dinghy – and perhaps on what it would take to catch the killer.

Unless Malia knew something that he didn’t, Damon doubted that the HPD would catch the killer tonight and until they did, he didn’t want to be the maniac’s prey. He took measures to assure that no one followed them, zipping down alleys and cutting through crowded parking lots. Tonight he didn’t want her to have to worry about a thing.

When they arrived at his friend Kimo’s modest beachfront home, the Hawaiian led them around to the sandy shore in back, keeping up a line of chatter in pidgin about his wife’s cousin whom Damon didn’t know. From what Damon gathered the squat, rotund man was related to half of O’ahu.

At the private dock on the ocean side, Kimo gestured to the dinghy and beamed. “All gassed up and good to go.”

“Thanks, brah,” Damon said. He helped Malia into the craft, steadying her as it dipped slightly on the quiet moonlit water. Behind them, someone was strumming Beyond the Reef on a ukeleke. Damon felt the tension in his gut uncoil. But when he heard what sounded like the whump of a falling coconut, he tensed again and looked around. The only moving shadows were those made by the flickering tiki torches lighting Kimo’s lanai. Still, he would feel a hell of a lot better when they pushed off.

Damon quickly untied the line, hit the starter button, and the craft roared to life. Kimo waved as they left him behind across the wake of water.

Malia stared straight ahead, and Damon got the impression again that her mind was elsewhere. He wished that, for just for a few hours, he could persuade her to set aside her troubles and responsibilities. Her dedication made that unlikely. At least they were together and breathing the same crisp salt air. As it filled his senses, he felt himself relaxing again and prayed that it had the same effect on her.

****

Malia’s thoughts about the disturbing phone call and her uneasiness that the caller might have been lurking about when she left work were interrrupted by a sense that Damon had fixed his gaze on her. His plan to give her a few hours away from danger and worry might’ve worked if she didn’t carry the building anxiety within her. The chief’s unrealistic five days to catch the killer wasn’t what drove her. If she didn’t stop that maniac, many more could die. What if the killer somehow managed to breach hotel security? She’d set in place as many safeguards as possible. But evacuation was the only really safe measure. Damn the mayor for tying her hands!

She took a deep breath and filled her lungs with salt air to calm down. Anger was counter-productive. Staring ahead at the silvery water cresting under the bright moonlit sky, she went over the things she’d learned today. Although there was nothing conclusive, she’d opened doors to frighteningly strong possibilities about Al Lee. It was his profile as an abused loner and his disturbing job history that bothered her – Marine ammunition specialist, makeup artist in a morgue, and demolition specialist. God, what a demolition specialist could do to a hotel and its guests.

She hated speculating against someone who’d been as close as a brother. And she didn’t even know if he was on the island. When Ku checked the incoming flights for the last thirty days, Al Lee’s name hadn’t turned up. That didn’t prove he hadn’t slipped in. She shivered, remembering what a genius Al was. She needed something concrete. The lack of evidence was frustrating. How could anyone kill all those people and not leave a trace?

Where was the killer now, and what was he thinking…planning?

“You okay?” Damon asked.

She nodded and met his gaze, admiring his strong features in the moonlight. His brow was slightly furrowed and his jaw firmly set. Even with his face crinkled with worry, he was no less handsome than the day they’d met. From the first moment, Malia had fallen under the spell of his soft spoken voice and piercing intelligent green eyes. She could still picture him in the magnificent white tuxedo, yet somehow tonight he looked more real and approachable in his knit T-shirt and tan walking shorts, which emphasized lean hips and muscular legs.

She’d never gotten to know him while he was married to Kiki because he’d been sent overseas almost immediately after the wedding. All Kiki had told her was that his childhood was lonely and he’d turned to writing as a solace. Malia could sympathize with the loneliness. After her sister was murdered her parents had shriveled into their own grief and had left her to her own devices. Perhaps she and Damon had that in common. But the way her parents tried to smother her these days, she doubted that he’d see any shared thread. When people saw her parents’ mansion they assumed she’d had an easy, silver-spoon childhood. That just showed how wrong outside appearances could be.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he shouted over the roar of the craft’s motor.

She forced a smile and shook her head, unwilling to compete with the engine or confess that she was staring because everything about him intrigued her, attracted her in ways that were too dangerous to contemplate. It was safer, even crucial, that she keep her mind on the case.

What was the killer doing right now? Was he holed up somewhere basking in his recent feats of glory, or was he nearby the hotel, studying the security, looking for an entry point or watching for a moment when the sentries might let their guard down long enough for him to sneak by? Malia looked back toward the shrinking shore and felt eyes on her. What if the killer was waiting for their return, or was planning to follow them to the island? If the killer approached from the other side, he could sneak up on them.