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My Life in Paradise

By: Dorothy McFalls

May 2007

For Dorothy McFalls (dorothy@dorothymcfalls.com), happily-ever-after is more than just a fictional ending, having enjoyed every day of the last twelve years of marriage to her sexy architect husband (really, he is!) who often exhibits the patience of a saint. They reside in an artsy beach community in South Carolina with their cat-like dog and dog-like cat. Formerly an environmental urban planner, she now writes full time.

If you enjoyed My Life in Paradise, check out LADY IONA’S REBELLION available from Cerridwen Press June 14, 2007

For more information and to read an excerpt go to: www.dorothymcfalls.com

I rubbed my eyes not quite believing what I was seeing. What in the world was Aloha Pete doing up there? Up on the stage? With the hula dancers? And under a starry sky in the palm-tree lounge of a touristy hotel, at that?

Not that I minded seeing him dressed in a scanty leather loincloth and swinging around a wooden spear. Because, I didn’t. In fact, after seeing Pete’s darkly tanned chest I forgot all about the man with the white hat who had followed me into the hotel bar. Transfixed, I sank into the closest wicker chair, my gaze locked on the small wooden stage where three men—counting Pete—and four women were dancing.

I’d never seen Pete with his shoulder length silky black hair loose from the leather strap he wore. But oh, it was loose and beautiful now. And my heart couldn’t help but pound in concert with the primitive moves of the dance. The bounce-thrust-bounce of his hips in time to the deep thrumming of the drums.

A passing waiter placed a mai tai on the table in front of me. I gave him a grateful smile and then took a long sip of the sweet drink.

Okay, okay. I know what you’re thinking. But only if backed into a corner would I admit it out loud. I’ve had an elephant-sized crush on Pete from the first moment we met. He was a uniformed cop back then, and I was a fledgling pickpocket. Luckily for me, he had a soft spot for young women down on their luck. Instead of arresting me—like the honest cop he was—he gave me a handful of cash and put me in contact with his aunt, a dark leathery-faced woman everyone calls Mamma Jo. She manages one of the original low-rise hotels in Waikiki. In lieu of rent, she lets me clean the rooms.

Through her and the company she keeps, I fell into my current career. Private investigations. Who knew an ivy-league-dropout, beach-bum-failure would have a knack for solving crimes? I certainly didn’t.

Five years later, Pete has graduated from officer pounding the beat to respected detective for the Honolulu PD, and I’ve built a reputation as an effective private detective. Sometimes, we find ourselves working the same cases.

It makes Pete grumble and swear in his native Hawaiian.

And still, I have that elephant-sized crush on him.

But nothing is going to happen.

It isn’t as if he even likes me.

Heck, I saved his life. Took a bullet in the shoulder to keep it from landing square in his chest just a few months ago. And what thanks did I get? A scowl. Oh, and he threatened to toss my butt in jail.

With that in mind, I knew I was wasting my time when the drums stopped beating. But my heart didn’t listen. It continued to pound. The lights came up and a line of tourists rushed the stage to have their pictures taken with the dancers. A hotel photographer with an instant camera was selling copies for ten dollars. It was an investment I was only too willing to make.

I hurried over to the stage and jumped into the line. I knew Pete wouldn’t recognize me right away, thanks to my disguise. I looked like any other tourist. A silky flower-print dress that didn’t quite reach my knees and a large straw hat with a matching band hid my blond hair and most of my face.

At the hotel, I blended quite well.

He gave me an empty smile, tossed his arm over my shoulder, and posed for the camera.

“A-lo-ha—” I tipped up the rim of my floppy hat so he could see my smiling face. “—Pete.”

His arm stiffened. “Kyra? What the hell are you doing here?”

Though I’m a firm believer in the truth—I swear, I am—I couldn’t help but remember Pete’s dire warning that if he found out I was back in the private detective business, and working without a license, he’d haul me down to the station and lock me away. Forever.

“Having a girl’s night out with some friends.” The lie came easily enough. I gave a nod toward a group of women who were giggling and a little more than halfway toward being plastered. “And you?” I lowered my voice. “Don’t tell me that you’re working undercover.”

His arm stiffened a bit more. “I’m doing a favor for my cousin. He has the flu and couldn’t find anyone to fill in for him.”

“I’m impressed.” I stepped aside so he could pose for a picture with a giggling teenage girl. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off Pete’s invitingly naked chest or wipe the goofy grin from my lips. “Really impressed.”

“Go home, Kyra.” He turned toward me and away from his flock of adoring fans. His scowl was back. “And forget that you saw any of this, okay?”

Out the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the man who’d been following me. He was heading across the bar and toward the beach.

“Sure,” I said, and gave into the urge to lay my hand flat on Pete’s smooth chest. “No problem.”

After a breathless moment I jumped off the stage, paid the cameraman for the picture of the all-too-serious Detective Pete in his native garb, and hurried after the other mystery man in my life. This was no time to play games, not with my heart, anyhow. Whether I had a license or not, I still had a job to do and a mountain of bills to pay.

* * *

“S-she’s been-been missing for nearly a week!” Anna Hartfield, a young woman with bleached blond hair and a perky little nose, collapsed into one of my office/living room/bedroom chairs, and started weeping.

I handed her a tissue. “And this has never happened before?” I asked her, using my gentle, new-client voice.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and somewhat confused. She dabbed her damp nose. “B-before?”

“Has your sister, Tina, ever run off before?” After a long silence I added, “With a man?”

Anna shook her head vigorously. “I told her it was a bad idea, but we weren’t making enough money with our waitressing jobs to cover the rent. Everything is so expensive out here on the islands. I told her that we should just go back to Iowa. But she wouldn’t listen. And now she’s gone.”

My stomach twisted. “What was your sister doing?”

“She—” Anna looked up at me suddenly, her eyes filled with terror. “She’s not like the others. She was just trying to make things work for us here. It was just until we found something better.”

“You need to tell me,” I urged her. “What was Tina doing?”

Anna continued to shake her head as pearly tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Was she dealing drugs? Robbery?” I swallowed hard and hoped it wasn’t what I feared it might be. “Prostitution?”

“She said she’d just do it a few times,” Anna sobbed. “She said she’d be careful and only get involved with rich tourists. I begged her not to go, but she went out anyhow and never came home.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Two young, pretty girls had already gone missing in the past few weeks while peddling their trade. I’d poked around—strictly out of curiosity—after the second girl had disappeared. The next day my mysterious shadow man had entered my life. Hell yeah, I thought it was too much of a coincidence. Tug on the right chains and all sorts of creatures show up. But other than my new shadow, I was coming up empty-handed.

Like the other missing girls, Anna looked to be about eighteen. Her sister was a year older. They were both too young, too innocent to be sliding down that dark path. I know...I could have easily ended up there myself.

Five years ago, picking tourists pockets was barely getting me enough money for food. I was getting close to being desperate enough to agree to trade my body for a dry, safe place to live. Sleeping on the grass in a park loses its luster pretty fast, even in paradise.

My heart ached for the two sisters. I reached out and gave Anna’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll see what I can do to find her.”

“I-I can’t pay you,” Anna stumbled over her words. “At least, not yet. But I don’t know what else to do. The police, they don’t seem concerned.”

I’m sure the police were concerned, but in a case like this one, there wasn’t too much they could do...other than wait for a body to show up.

I, on the other hand, could devote all my time to focus on this one case. Not getting paid for it would hurt. But there was no way I was going to turn Anna away.

“Have you called your parents yet?” I asked softly. “You should let them know what’s going on.”

She agreed to call her parents only after I promised to talk with them and assure them that I would do everything possible to find their daughter.

That evening I hit the streets with my butt squeezed into a black spandex skirt that, and I’m not kidding you, I’d bought thinking it was a headband. My generous upper parts were barely covered by an electric blue halter-top, and I’d gobbed on enough makeup that I when I passed Mamma Jo in the hallway on the way out, she introduced herself as if I was a new guest.

Gad, I was uncomfortable parading down the street in my rubber flip-flops while fighting the urge to tug at my skirt. Rule number one to undercover work: blend. On the glitzy sidewalks of Waikiki in front the high-priced storefronts of Channel and Versace, where I liked to conduct my PI business, this outfit stuck out like a sunburned Midwesterner. Unfortunately, where I was headed I would look conservative.

Daisy, a small but tough, oriental woman who couldn’t have been much older than me, was the first to greet me when I stepped off the bus. She followed me as I wandered a short way down a narrow alleyway where a group of ladies were standing around, waiting for men to find them.

Okay, Daisy hadn’t exactly greeted me. She’d growled and displayed her pretty row of white teeth, save for one that had been chipped during a violent encounter when she was first starting out.

“Did Mamma Jo finally kick you out of your cushy nest?” she asked me.

“Maybe she’s working for the police now,” a dark eyed beauty I didn’t recognize said. The girl sounded scared. Several of the other girls started to crowd around.

An election was coming up, and that meant the police would be put under extra pressure to clean up the streets. I didn’t blame the politicians, the police, or the women peddling their bodies for that matter. They were all doing what they thought was necessary. I blamed the men who paid for the women. Heck, I wouldn’t mind seeing any of them hung up by their—but I’m straying from the main thrust of the story.

Casey, a plump bleached blonde who had to be close to fifty, pushed a brochure into my hand. “It’s not too late,” she said quietly. “There is help for you. All you have to do is ask.”

I glanced down at the paper she’d handed me. It was a flier from a local church.

“You’ve been saved?” I asked her, somewhat surprised. Casey had been a fixture on the streets. The young ones thought of her as ‘the original hooker’.

“I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been all these years.” She puffed on a cigarette. “These girls, they don’t have to make the same mistakes I have. There are other options.”

“I know. I was lucky to find one early on,” I said, and handed her back the brochure.

She blew out a stream of smoke and shook her head. “Then what’cha you doing here?”

I held up my hands and gave her a wan smile. “I’m just looking to talk.”

“Talk. Right. And those are your talkin’ clothes?”

I rooted around in my purse for the photo of Tina that her sister had provided. “They sure are, if you’re willing to talk about her,” I said after pushing the picture into her hands.

Casey scrunched up her nose and made a face.

“She belonged in the tourist areas. This street ain’t a pretty place. Not a place for beginners. I told her to repent. To save her soul. But she told me she couldn’t. Not until she got enough money. Like money is more important than salvation.” Casey shook her head. “Poor stupid kid.”

“We all start out that way,” I pointed out.

“What’re you whispering about over here?” Daisy pushed me out of the way and snatched the photo from Casey. “Who’s that?”

“Tina,” I said. “Her sister told me that she was working in this area a few nights ago. She’s gone missing.”

Daisy turned the photo on its side and squinted. “Why do you care?”

“Because she can’t be much older than eighteen, and she can’t survive out here alone.”

“I was doing fine on my own ever since I was fourteen,” Daisy said. A couple of men were heading in their direction. “And I’ve got money to make.”

Taking a gamble that Daisy did know Tina, I grabbed her arm. “I’ll give you $50 to stay and talk with me for a half-hour.”

I had to pay up front. And the two men were greeted by a couple of other girls. Daisy shrugged and turned her gaze back on the photo.

“I told her to go work in Waikiki. But she said she’d heard about the police and didn’t want to risk getting caught. Most of the business has gone inside nowadays, anyhow. It’s slow out here.”

“So she stayed?”

Daisy grimaced. “We didn’t make her welcome.”

“I gave her a brochure. She needed guidance,” Casey said, her voice rising. “You all need guidance.” She raced over to where the two men were talking with the girls. “Repent. Turn away from your evil ways.”

The men took off running. Alone.

I bit back a cheer. Good for Casey and her new goal in life! The girls who’d just lost business didn’t share my enthusiasm. They started cursing up a blue streak.

Daisy laughed. “Between Casey, the police, and the indoor establishments with their influx of young Vietnamese imports, I’m wasting my time out here. We all are.”

“So why don’t you look for something better?”

Daisy shrugged. “I suppose I will sooner or later.”

“Do you remember if Tina had any luck finding a man to...um...hook up with the other night?”

Daisy closed her eyes. After a long silence she said, “I don’t know. I want to say no. I don’t remember seeing her walk off with any of the guys. It would have caused an outburst, you know, with the other girls. But I don’t remember her hanging around all night, either. Perhaps she found somewhere else to work?”

Before leaving, I questioned the other girls. None of them were as helpful as Daisy. With nothing better to work with, I visited a few other spots in the downtown that night, talking with the women, trying to find out if Daisy was right. Did Tina try and find another place to work?

By sunrise, I felt as if I’d been down every street in Honolulu, and no one other than Daisy and her friends had recognized Tina’s photo.

Exhausted and feeling more than a little discouraged, I went home and collapsed in my bed. Less than a half-hour passed before the sound of someone trying to break down my door woke me up with a jolt.

As soon as I unlatched the lock, the door swung open and bounced violently off the wall. A wild-eyed Aloha Pete thundered into the room. He grabbed my arm with bruising strength.

“I thought we were friends,” he shouted as he took in every scanty inch of the street-wear I hadn’t bothered to remove. “More than friends...”

My heart stuttered. Had he come to the same conclusion I had ages ago? And had he found being apart from me for even a moment longer unbearable? Was he truly expressing an interest in making our relationship more personal? More intimate?

“Y-yes?” I said, my mouth going dry as my hopes soared.

His voice deepened. “You’re my ‘ohana. My family.”

“Oh,” I said and rubbed my blurry and, suddenly, teary eyes. “Family. Like a sister.”

He nodded.

I huffed and tried to pull out of his bruising hold.

“For God’s sake,” he said, and tightened his grip on me. “Put on some decent clothes so I can take you out to breakfast.” Very brotherly sounding, I was forced to admit to my breaking heart.

“Let go of me, then.” I batted at his muscular arm. “I can’t get dressed with you swinging me about like a broom.”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” he conceded, and backed himself into the hallway. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

A little less than an hour later, I’d changed into a pair of worn jeans shorts and a faded gray T-shirt. I was wearing my hair in a simple ponytail and was sitting across from Pete at his favorite 24-hour diner in Waikiki.

Even after downing two mugs of coffee and a healthy serving of eggs, he was still scowling.

“I wish you had come to me first.” He pushed a wad of cash over toward me.

I stared at the money, not sure what to say.

“Go on, take it.” He sighed. “It’s not going to bite you, and it doesn’t come with any expectations.”

By now I was thoroughly confused. “I don’t want your money.” Okay, that was a lie. I desperately needed to pay some bills, and that wad of cash would make my life a helluva lot easier, especially considering I was spending the bulk of my time on a non-paying client.

But why was Pete so angry with me? And why was he showering me with money? When I continued to stare at the pile of bills on the table, Pete growled at me and shoved the cash into my hand, forcibly curling my fingers around it.

“I know what you did last night.” His voice tightened. “I heard it from a beat cop who picked up several so-called ladies.”

I stiffened. I had to be cautious. I remembered only too clearly his promise to lock me away if he discovered I was still private detecting without a license.

“What exactly did you hear I was doing?”

His tan cheeks turned a funny shade of pink and he whispered, “Don’t make me say it.”

“If you want me to accept this money, you’re going to have to tell me what you heard about me.” I wasn’t worried only about my detective business. I was genuinely curious what people out on the street were saying about me. And I suppose I was too tired to figure it out for myself.

He swallowed hard. “I heard you sold your body.”

I started to deny it—

“If you’re in trouble, come to me. I want to help you.” His hand closed over mine. “Let me help you.”

All I could do was nod. A lump had landed in my throat. I was touched. Truly touched by the thought that Pete cared. God, I had to tell him the truth. He was worried about me. Me! I couldn’t let him think that I had...

“You saved my life. Took a bullet for me. I owe you, Kyra.”

“Right. You owe me a debt.” I pushed away from the table and stuffed the money into my pocket. “Consider it paid.”

* * *

Last night another girl went missing. When I heard about it, my determination to find Tina kicked up a notch.

About an hour before sunset, I strolled down the palm-lined boulevards of Waikiki, across the canal, and toward the downtown of Honolulu. Tucked in the middle of an industrial area is a small house with a paper sign on the window that simply reads, “Mr. Fu.”

I jogged up the concrete steps and knocked on the wooden door. Almost immediately the door opened a crack. A rheumy eye peered out.

“What you want?” an ancient voice scraped.

“I need to talk with Mr. Fu.”

“He not here.” The door started to close.

I’d walked a long way and was hot and not in the mood to play games with the man’s housekeeper. I thrust my foot between the door and the jamb—a stupid move when wearing flip-flops. However painful, I stopped the door from closing.

“Tell him Kyra Grainger has come to collect on a debt,” I said through gritted teeth. My foot throbbed like the devil.

I was confident that I’d be welcomed with open arms. I’d kept Mr. Fu out of jail about a year ago when some young street whelp was trying to frame the old man for murder. He’d paid me handsomely, but still, he’d said himself that no amount of money could repay the debt he’d owed me. Actually, Pete’s early morning visit had put the idea in my head. Mr. Fu owed me. And even though he never left this house, he had his finger on the pulse of the city.

“He’s not here,” the she-dragon said. “Move your foot or I’ll squish it.”

“What?” Mr. Fu never left his house. Never. As in never-ever. Not even for a stroll in his back yard. “Is he—? Is he still alive?”

“He’s alive, but won’t be seeing you, missy. Move that foot.”

My foot barely made it out of the way before Mr. Fu’s housekeeper slammed the door into the jamb with a thunderous bang.

So much for everlasting gratitude...

I turned around and saw the man who’d been following me standing across the street. He tipped his white hat and smiled.

“Hey!” I called. This wasn’t the first time I’d tried to confront my shadow. And just like all the other times, he took off running. I tried to follow him, limping on the foot that was still throbbing. By the time I’d chased him a block, he was nowhere to be found. Gone. Poof. Like a freaking phantom.

I couldn’t help but wonder if my shadow in white was the reason for Mr. Fu’s refusal to see me. But no... That would be impossible. Mr. Fu was as old as the volcanoes. And tough. Not even the devil himself would be able to scare him.

This sudden change had to do with something else. But what?

In order to find out, I would have to work my way up the Fu hierarchy. And that would take days—days the missing Tina didn’t have.

After hoofing it back to the hotel, and washing a load of towels that Mamma Jo had dropped into my arms as soon as she’d spotted me, I changed into a black leather miniskirt that looked downright modest compared to last night’s spandex number, and pulled on a tiny white T-shirt that hugged my generous curves. A pair of FM shoes with heels higher than the Empire State Building made up for the fact that I left off the piles of makeup tonight. I left my hair in a ponytail—it made me look younger—and set out for the back streets with Tina’s picture tucked into my purse.

My shadow had either found someone more interesting or was doing a better job at keeping hidden. But the damage was done. Every few steps I found myself glancing over my shoulder, watching for him.

Before I could find anyone to question, six men, all reeking of too much drink and too little finesse, encircled me and offered to show me what a real man could do. I was tempted—oh, so tempted—to ask them where they were hiding the “real man” they wanted me to meet. But I bit my tongue and pulled out the photograph of Tina instead.

Only one seemed interested and actually took a look at the photo. He then had to balls to ask for a two-for-one. I patted him on the shoulder and told him that he couldn’t handle it.

Wrong move on my part. But, in my defense, it was late, I was tired, and those creeps didn’t deserve my respect.

Before I could get two steps away from him, he grabbed my arm, spun me around with that crazy strength drunks sometimes get and slugged me. Hard.

Damn. It hurt. Tears sprang to my eyes. And I was weaving.

The jerk wasted no time putting his hands exactly where they had no business going. The collar of my tiny T-shirt ripped as he tried to strip me right there in the middle of the sidewalk. I suppose he figured I owed him a freebie.

Even if I were that kind of girl, I wouldn’t be giving it up to this creep for free. Double the fee, perhaps. No, all the money in the world wouldn’t be worth it. His breath stank like the bottom of an over-ripe trash bin.

He grabbed my ponytail and jammed his tongue into my mouth. This sucked. If this was what the women on the street had to put up with, my heart went out to them. I was grateful I didn’t have to make a living by putting up with such immature cretins. And with that happy thought, I promptly kneed him in the groin.

“Shit, woman,” he wheezed and crumpled to the ground.

* * *

I was shaken. My eye ached. My clothes were torn. And all I wanted to do was get back to my room at Mamma Jo’s and lock the door behind me. Maybe put a chair in front of it. Or perhaps the dresser.

But Tina was missing. Kidnapped perhaps. Perhaps she was being forced to be with a man like my heavy-handed attacker. For her sake, I ignored my watery knees and shaky hands and stayed out until dawn, asking every woman I could find about Tina and what was happening in these forgotten back streets.

The women, especially the younger girls, were nervous and unusually chatty. They all had similar stories. Business was slow. Guys were jerks. And thanks to the missing women, the pressure from the police was mounting, especially from Officer Kevin Blakely. Blakely was Pete’s former partner. He’d remained pounding the streets while Pete had moved up the ranks.

According to the upset women I’d interviewed, Blakely had been pestering them to tell him everything they knew about the missing girls. Perhaps he’d finally developed a case of ambition. Or perhaps he just got his jollies from harassing scantily dressed young women. Either way, none of the women seemed to have any idea what had happened to Tina or the three other girls who’d vanished from the streets. If anyone had seen anything, they weren’t talking to me...or to Blakely. Most assumed the girls were dead by now. For Tina and her sister’s sake, I prayed they were wrong.

* * *

The deep red sun was just beginning to peek over the high-rise hotels that lined the beach by the time I reached Mamma Jo’s. Pete, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white button-up shirt was waiting for me outside my door. His arms were crossed, and he looked as if he’d been chewing on nails.

“Hi Pete,” I said, dredging up a cheery tone, one I didn’t feel. My heart was still sore from yesterday morning’s encounter with him. “Do you have another wad of cash for me?”

His gaze narrowed as he took in my ripped shirt and bruised eye. He treated me to one of his stony silences. I shrugged and unlocked my door. “I’m bushed,” I told him. “Good ni—”

He moved with fluid grace as he herded me inside my room and kicked the door closed behind him. He backed me up until I was pressed against the far wall...and his body was pressed against mine. Our lips were nearly touching and I had a giddy desire to gasp or sigh or laugh.

I’d missed a night of sleep and was hurt and confused, which tended to make my brain not work quite right. Not to mention that it appeared that the man whom I’d long harbored an elephant-sized crush was about to kiss me.

I think I closed my eyes and parted my lips, while dreams of princes and white knights tripped though my fuzzy head.

“What the hell kind of trouble are you in, Kyra?” he demanded...without kissing me. Instead he was inspecting my blackened eye.

“Trouble?” I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t kissing me. I twined my fingers behind his neck and tried to pull him closer.

“If you insist on selling your body—I’m buying.” He grabbed my chin. “And I’m the only one buying.”

I felt his willingness to fulfill that promise pressing against me. Obviously I’d caught the attention of his buddies walking the beat again tonight—most likely Blakely—and it had gotten back to Pete. I sighed. If only his offer hadn’t been based on a misunderstanding, a misunderstanding I couldn’t honestly explain away without risking jail time. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t let him think he needed to pay me for...

“I-I—” I stammered. He slammed his lips against mine with an urgent hunger that stunned and quite honestly made me forget everything else.

Aloha Pete tasted every bit as good as I’d imagined he would. I tugged up his shirt and ran my hands over his bare chest. His muscles rippled beneath my touch.

With a growl he lifted me into his arms and tossed me onto the bed. I know I should have said something to stop what was going to happen. But who was I kidding? This was exactly what I’d wanted to happen ever since we first met. He climbed in the bed with me and, with a predatory gleam brightening his eyes, parted my legs. There was no way in this side of hell I was going to tell him to stop.

Several hours later I found myself drifting in and out of sleep while Pete snored softly beside me. I felt drowsy and sated and confused. My head was spinning, and I didn’t want to think about why Pete had pushed his way into my bed last night. This was something I wanted to savor...while it lasted. I propped myself up on one elbow and started tracing little circles around his flat nipple.

He jerked awake and, after giving me a disgusted look, dragged himself out of the bed.

“Pack your things,” he said with a deadly chill to his voice as he moved in quick bursts, pulling on his shorts and then his shirt.

“What? Why?”

“If I’m paying for this, I’ll want you close at hand. Where I can keep an eye on you.” He tossed open the door. “I’ll tell Mamma Jo you’ll be moving out. Be ready to leave by the time I get back.”

I started to protest. But he slammed the door and was gone.

* * *

He didn’t come back.

Mamma Jo came into the room without knocking. I’d showered and had put on shorts and a baby blue T-shirt, but by no means had I packed my things. I wasn’t going with Aloha Pete. He’d have to drag me from this room before I’d let him bully me into moving in with him. Stupid me.

Mamma Jo, a woman who could carry off a muumuu with flare, looked me up and down and crossed her arms over her wide bosom. “What have you done?” she asked, her kindly gaze falling on the condom wrappers that were still littering the floor beside the bed. She shook her head. “My keiki is stomping around the office, grumbling how he had no choice but to buy you. What does he mean that he’s bought you, Kyra?”

I almost wished there was someone trying to kill Pete again. I’d much rather take another bullet for him than untangle this mess I’d made for myself. At best, he’d toss me into jail once I explained how I was investigating Tina’s disappearance, without a PI license—and was not selling my body. This misunderstanding was more likely going to end our friendship. Forever. Which made me feel miserable.

“Oh, Mamma Jo...” I sank down onto the bed and dropped my head into my hands while fat, noisy tears spilled down my cheeks. “He’s going to hate me.”

The mattress sagged as Mamma Jo sat down next to me. “You have him twisted up into knots,” she said. “You’re his pet project—the young girl he can keep safe. You know he stops by just about every night to ask about you?”

“He does?”

She patted my leg. “He’s a good boy. He wants to save everyone, but he can’t. His job takes a terrible toll on him. You’re his anchor. If he can protect you, I think it makes everything else okay. Sleeping with him...that was a mistake.”

I nodded. She was right and admitting it only made me feel even more miserable. He’d taken me to bed out of pity, or perhaps he’d felt panicked about my safety and thought that sleeping with me was the only way he could protect me from myself. A blush stung my cheeks.

“I love him, you know,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said. “But that still doesn’t make it right.”

“No.” And if I saw him right now, I would probably make some God-awful confession that would only embarrass the both of us. He needed me to be safe. He didn’t need me to love him. “I have to go, Mamma Jo,” I said as I scooped up my purse and darted for the door. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

* * *

When I fled Mamma Jo’s, I had planned to leave and never return. It would be easier that way. I’d never have to look Pete in the eye again...never have to discuss what had happened last night. I could set up shop in some other hotel. Maybe even be able to work out another deal where I could work on the staff instead of paying rent. Sure it would be tough, but I still had the wad of cash Pete had given me and if I pounded the pavement, I could probably win a few paying clients for my private investigator service by the end of the week. No more Ms. Nice Girl. All new clients would have to be able to pay. Up front.

Which brought me back to the missing Tina. Anna, her sister, had no way to pay me, but I couldn’t give up on either of them. Even though all my efforts had so far led to dead ends, I couldn’t help feel that I was getting close to uncovering the truth. Go ahead. Call me an eternal optimist. Delusional, even. I don’t mind. My gut was humming like it always did right before I stumbled on some important clue. I slapped my cheeks. I needed to be alert and ready for anything. Clues rarely dropped from the sky. A person could run in circles in a forest for days and never find her way out. It took careful observation and planning to find whatever was out there waiting to be found.

I sat down on a bench and gazed out over the bright blue ocean. A breeze played in the palms all around me while dolphins danced in the waves. Seeing them, I relaxed and started to sort through what I’d learned so far.

Four women missing. All prostitutes. All young. All new. The prostitutes on the street were scared. And business was slow. The police were tightening their fist and, according to the women I’d talked to, were arresting dozens a night.

Add to that, Mr. Fu’s strange behavior. He’d refused to see me. Why? My instincts prickling, I couldn’t help but think that there had to be a connection. But what?

“You look as if you haven’t slept in a week,” a friendly voice said, and pushed a cup of coffee into my hand.

“Hello Casey,” I said, as the bleached blonde settled down on the bench beside me and lit a cigarette. “My soul doesn’t need saving, at least not this morning.”

Casey laughed. It was a deep, throaty sound. Sexy. I could see why she’d been popular among her clients. “I assure you that you’re wrong. Your soul is crying out for someone to find you. Unlike the girls peddling their bodies, you’re much more complex and troubled.”

She was getting too personal. And after what happened between Pete and me this morning, I wasn’t feeling strong enough to do any deep soul-searching.

“Wow, Casey, you can see all that just by looking at me?” I forced a bitter laugh. “No wonder you spent more time on your back than walking the streets.”

“I’ve been watching you for years now. I know you’ve been struggling.” She flicked away some ashes before patting my leg. “But you’re a good girl, so I won’t give you a sermon.”

“Thanks.” I sipped the coffee she’d handed me. It was rich and filled with flavors. “Kona coffee,” I said, impressed that she’d spend her money on me.

“Only the best,” she said as she then stared out over the ocean. “It’s beautiful here. Paradise. People come here from all over the world with high expectations, don’t they?”

I nodded. I’d stayed in Oahu, despite my empty pockets, because I’d fallen in love with the land, the people, and their relaxed pace. Both my parents were overachievers. Type A plus-plus personalities with a shot of espresso added into the mix. They strove to be the best at everything. And since I was their daughter, I was expected to be the best by default. Between the soccer, the girl scouts, the softball, the basketball, the knitting, the theater, the swim team, the debate team, piano lessons, and academic perfection—my childhood had been exhausting.

But my childhood had taught me one thing—never to give up.

“What do you think is happening to these women, Casey?”

She shrugged and tightened her lips. “I hate to think about it. They’re lost souls, each one of them.”

“Do you think they’re alive?”

Casey shrugged again.

“I visited Mr. Fu yesterday,” I said, trying to learn something, anything new. “He refused to see me. Have you heard anything about him lately?”

She chewed on her bottom lip.

“What?” I pressed.

“I—I don’t know.” She was lying of course. And I needed to know what she knew. It could be important. Even if it wasn’t important, I still needed to know. Or else I’d keep thinking about it, wondering about it, and I’d be distracted from finding the missing women.

“Just between you and me, Casey. You know I can be trusted with a secret.”

“It’s nothing,” she said and waved her hand in the air. “Some of the girls say he’s been acting strangely, that’s all.”

“How so?” I pressed.

She leaned forward and whispered, “He’s been interviewing some of the new ones.”

“For what?”

“Who knows? He hasn’t been able to enjoy a woman for several years now. I was one of his last. And even back then nothing happened.”

“Did he interview the missing girls?”

“I don’t know.” She drew a quick breath. “I’m sure it’s not related.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but to be on the safe side, I’d like to talk to one of the girls he’s interviewed lately. Can you give me a name?”

“No,” she said too quickly.

“Come on, Casey. I won’t make trouble for you. I’ll be subtle.”

“No one is supposed to talk about the interviews. I shouldn’t know about them, and neither should you. The girls could get into trouble if Mr. Fu found out that one of them was talking when she should be keeping her mouth shut. And you don’t want to cross Mr. Fu.”

I’d always assumed that Mr. Fu’s reputation was far worse than what everyone said. Fear gave him power, and I’d witnessed firsthand his compassion. He wasn’t a violent man.

But what if he was behind the kidnappings?

“This is important, Casey. I need a name.”

She shook her head.

“Those women could die,” I pressed. “They might already be dead. We need to stop whoever’s taking them.”

Casey rose. She looked nervous. “Find Sally Porter. She might talk.”

* * *

It was well after midnight and I was still searching for Sally Porter—a woman none of the prostitutes seemed to know—when I noticed that my shadow had returned. Not wanting anyone to witness my meeting with this mysterious Sally Porter—I was still confident I could find her—I gave my shadow the slip at the Ala Wai Canal by climbing into a thick growth of mangrove trees on the bank of the canal. Their web-like roots and limbs swallowed me into their shadows, making me as invisible as the native plants the alien trees were displacing.

My shadow poked around the area for a while and then continued down the main road without me. Feeling extremely clever, I climbed out of the tree and brushed mud from my arms and legs. Not only had I outsmarted my mystery man, crouching up in that tree had given me time to think. And that’s where it had hit me. Of course I hadn’t been able to find Sally Porter. I’d been running around like a headless chicken all day and hadn’t been looking in any of the right places.

Casey had told me that Mr. Fu had been interviewing women who were new to the streets. Very few women chose prostitution as a fulltime career. Instead, it was a tempting hell that was slipped into...slowly. First, like Tina, a woman might tell herself that she’d do it for just one night to pay the bills. To make ends meet. But the bills would pile up again. And then one night becomes two nights. Two becomes a week. Soon, she’s depending on the money she can make from peddling her flesh.

Sally Porter, like Tina, was new to the streets. Which meant, she was probably still holding out hope of landing a decent job that could pay for food, clothes...rent. If I had any chance of finding her, I needed to visit some of the same shelters I’d used when I was homeless.

I shivered at the thought of returning to the very places I had firmly vowed to leave in my near-starving past. But for the missing girls, I would have to do this.

At first, my efforts gave me nothing, and I was beginning to wonder if I was wasting my time. Perhaps Casey had given me bad information. Perhaps there was no Sally Porter. No one had heard of her at the local YMCA or the women’s shelter. An older woman, who was the night manager at a rundown old hotel that made Mamma Jo’s place look like the Ritz, thought she knew the name. But she was pretty sure Sally was no longer a registered guest. She suggested I try the park.

Just across the canal from Waikiki there’s an oceanfront park that spans several blocks. At night, the grassy areas under the protective canopy of the coconut, banyan and monkey pod trees served as home to those who couldn’t afford even the seediest dive. I know, I’d slept there myself often enough.

It was nearing midnight by the time I reached the spidery, fern-like leaves of the monkey pod trees in the park. A spring concert was wrapping up, and the homeless were moving to the far reaches of the park, mostly under the banyan trees, where the vine-like roots hung down from the long branches like curtains, while the tourists and locals headed to their comfortable beds.

Bed. My sleep-deprived body was crying out for my bed, which brought tears to my eyes. Like Sally Porter and girls like her, I had no place to call my own. Not anymore. Not unless I wanted to face Pete and explain to him why I’d been lying to him...and why I’d let him sleep with me under false pretenses.

Perhaps sleeping under the stars wouldn’t be such a bad thing. The weather was warm, the moon was bright in the sky, and there was the gentle sound of waves lapping at the shore. As I made my way through the park, striking up conversations with whoever would talk to me, I searched for a safe, comfortable place of my own.

Not that I’d use it. But a wise girl always knew her options.

My mother had drilled that sentiment into my head from a very young age. A wise girl always knows all her options. No matter how farfetched. Perhaps that’s why I’m pretty damn good at this detective thing.

I was thinking about how I should call Mom to thank her for guiding me to Hawaii and my calling in life when I found Sally.

“You’re really Sally Porter?” I asked for the third time. I giggled from delight and from that punch-drunk high only exhaustion could bring.

I’d found her! Finally, I’d found her! And she was going to help me solve the case. After gaining her confidence—by pushing some of that cash Pete had given me into her hands—I led her away from the group of college students she’d hooked up with for the night and over to a bench next to a pond where a couple of homeless men were doing a little night fishing for the sleek keiki-kine who lived in the waters. The men nodded in our direction and returned to their quiet conversation. All in all, everyone pretty much minded their own business.

“I-I really shouldn’t be talking about any of this,” Sally said, but pocketed the money I’d handed her.

“I won’t go blabbing what you tell me to anyone. You can trust me on that.”

“I don’t even know you.” She was a small woman. Her hair was as black as the night with eyes that matched. She was wearing a touristy T-shirt with a smiling surfer on the front and a map of the islands on the back. Her denim shorts were a couple of inches too short, but clean. And she looked well fed. I was betting Mr. Fu had paid her handsomely for her time, the old softy.

“You’re right, you don’t know me. But I know you,” I said, leaning in close and lowering my voice. “You have a stash of money hidden away, and yet you don’t spend any of it on a room for the night. You won’t, not until you find a steady job.”

“How do you know?”

“I used to be you. Well, not exactly you...” I’d never sold my body, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. She didn’t need to feel as if I was judging her. I’d simply made different decisions. Different bad decisions. I’m betting she would never pick the pockets of newlywed couples. I did...until I got caught. “Like you, I was just as careful with every penny I could get my hands on.”

“But life got better?”

“Things aren’t perfect, but you could say I’ve hit a patch of good luck.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered, shaking her head to fight off the tears that were glistening in the moonlight. “I’m really glad to hear it.” She was thinking of herself, of course. And of her own future. That was something I could use to my advantage.

“Let me help you get to a stable place in your own life,” I urged, figuring I was about to get myself a roommate. “Tell me about this meeting you had with Mr. Fu.”

“Meeting...?” She tilted her head back and stared at the sky. “He didn’t want me to talk about it, but I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if he’d told me anything shocking or had asked me to do anything illegal. It was odd. He didn’t exactly come out and say it but I got the impression that he wanted me to—”

I didn’t get to hear the rest. Someone slammed into me—hard—and suddenly I was on the ground. Sally screamed as she fled...with my money...leaving me alone to fend for myself.

“Hey!” I protested. I didn’t have the time to fight off yet another horny drunk. I needed to find out what Sally knew. It could help me save Tina’s life. “I was having a conversation here!”

“Conversation over,” my mysterious shadow growled, his face inches from mine. I’d been so careful to lose him, and still, he’d found me. “Keep out of Mr. Fu’s business,” he said, and plunged a knife into my gut.

Getting shot in the shoulder last year had felt like someone had taken a hot poker and had stuck me with it, and then had used that searing hot poker to keep me pinned to the ground. It had been the worst pain I could ever imagine.

Getting stabbed in the stomach was ten times worse.

I’d doubled over, hugging my middle, trying to hold my spilling blood inside me. I needed that blood. Without it...

I was dying. I was sure of it. And Pete still thought I was selling my body.

I should have told him the truth.

I should have...

I should...

“Pete...”

* * *

“Kokami, Kyra! What the hell were you thinking going anywhere alone in the middle of the night? Especially to that park?” Pete demanded. I don’t think he expected an answer. In fact, I don’t think he realized I was conscious.

I hadn’t died. Though at the moment, I wished I had. Not from the pain. Oh no, I’d been pumped so full of painkillers I couldn’t even feel the bed beneath me. I was floating in a cloud of medicated bliss. But I’d also been listening to Pete swear at me for the past ten minutes. He dredged his fingers through his hair and started pacing again.

“What the hell were you doing out there?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Officer Blakely said as he entered the private room. His slender black shoes squeaked as he walked across the highly polished linoleum floor. “She was selling her body again, only this time she met up with the wrong Joe.”

Pete’s face turned a strange color. Sort of a greenish-gray. He looked as if he needed to sit down. “She wasn’t selling her body,” he said. His voice sounded odd...raspy. “What are you doing here, Kevin?”

Blakely calmly picked at his nails. “The captain wants me to take her statement.”

“It’ll have to wait. She’s not awake yet.”

“Yes, she is.”

“She’s—?” Pete turned to me. “You’re awake? For how long?”

I tried to give him a disarming smile. I don’t think I pulled it off. It wasn’t as if I could feel my lips. And since neither man smiled back, I was sure I had to be doing something wrong.

Instead of expressing gratitude at this being-alive miracle I’d managed to pull off, Pete launched into a lengthy lecture regarding personal safety. I must have dozed off halfway through. Not that it mattered. He’d recited the same chapter and verse shortly after I had jumped in front of the bullet that had been meant for him. When I opened my eyes again, I was alone. Which was good. I needed the time to think.

I still couldn’t believe that Mr. Fu had hired someone to kill me just because I’d been questioning Sally Porter. That didn’t make sense. From what little Sally had been able to tell me, it didn’t sound as if she knew what Mr. Fu was up to. And Mr. Fu wouldn’t want me dead. I’d saved him from being taken from his home—a home he never leaves—to be locked away in a jailhouse. He’d been grateful. Tears had filled his eyes, and he’d vowed that he owed me a debt that could never be repaid.

I would have asked him to try if I’d known he was going to forget all about his debt and hire someone to kill me. Hell, Mr. Fu probably paid a small fortune to the man who’d stabbed me.

I really needed to get on the ball and start demanding my clients pay me what I’m worth. Oh, I enjoyed my work, I really did, but that wasn’t a good reason to be working for peanuts. No one was giving me housing or food for free. Like everyone else in the world, I have expenses. I need to make a living. I needed to get a backbone.

But Anna, although she couldn’t pay me, I wasn’t going to give up on looking for her sister. And I wasn’t going to give up on Sally Porter, either.

Who was I kidding? Nothing was going to change.

“I spoke with Casey shortly after they brought you in last night,” Pete said, startling me out of my skin. I’d thought I was alone in the room. How long had he been leaning against the far wall, watching me? “She told me you were back to your old tricks, that you’ve reopened your illegal P.I. service.”

Reopened wasn’t quite the right word. My service had never closed—I’d simply become more...um...careful. But I wasn’t about to correct him. Instead, I reached down and gingerly touched the thick bandage plastered to my middle.

“How much damage did he do?” I asked.

“He?” Pete asked, raising a brow. He stayed in the corner, looking too damned calm. Personally, I was a mess. There was so much ground we needed to cover—my P.I. business, the mysterious shadow who’d tried to kill me, the missing girls, that night we spent together...in my bed. And the future of our friendship.

I didn’t want to talk about any of it.

“What have the doctors been saying? Are all my internal parts intact?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He knew me well enough to recognize a stalling technique. I’m sure he would have called me on it if I hadn’t recently been stabbed in the gut. Instead, he just shook his head. “You must have twisted away at just the right moment. It seems you have good instincts for those kinds of things. Unfortunately, you’re sorely lacking when it comes to...” He turned to stare out the tiny window into the silvery predawn light.

“So, I’m going to live.” I should have felt happier about it. “There was so much blood, I was sure that I was headed to the big luau in the sky without getting the chance to let you know that...that I’d never... I—I’m glad I didn’t die.”

“I’m surprised to hear that, Kyra, especially considering how you treat your life so carelessly.”

He was wrong about that, but I wasn’t about to argue with him. Doing so would only open up that can of worms I was trying so hard to avoid.

“When will I get to go home?” I asked, trying not to let his angry words hurt me.

“Home, Kyra? You have no home. You have the charity Mamma Jo gives you. Nothing more.”

Pain sliced through my middle, making me want to curl up into a ball. But I couldn’t. Not in front of Pete. Not unless I wanted him to figure out how in-over-my-head-over-heels I was in love with him.

“You know what I mean, Pete. And if you don’t stop being mean to me, I’m going to be sure everyone at HPD gets a good look of that picture I have of you...in full native garb.”

His eyes flashed in my direction. “You wouldn’t.”

“Trust me, I would.”

His lips twisted. Could my charming Aloha Pete be fighting a smile? “You must not value your life much.”

“As you’ve already determined. When will I get to move back into my room at Mamma Jo’s?”

“You won’t be. I’ve moved your belongings to my house. You’re going be living with me.”

“With you?” I felt suddenly pinned to the bed. “No, Pete. I won’t. I can’t.”

* * *

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I was being handed my dream man—my dream life—on a golden platter. Was I insane? Was I an idiot? How could I turn down his offer and not end up kicking myself for the rest of my life?

I suppose I could blame it on the painkillers. They were spectacular. But I knew the truth. It all came down to one thing, the one thing many believe foreign to someone like me...someone who was a step away from living on the street again. Despite everything, I had a strong sense of right and wrong. I wasn’t going to allow myself to be bullied into doing anything for the wrong reasons.

I needed Pete to want me for me. Not out of a sense of duty or an unpaid debt of honor. And definitely not because I was an object of his pity.

Pete glared at me and then shrugged. “You’ll change your mind.”

“When will I get to leave the hospital?” I asked for a third time.

“Not for a couple of days. You were damned lucky, Kyra.” He pulled his hand through his already mussed hair. “Dammit, what were you thinking? Have you lost your mind? If an anonymous caller hadn’t reported your precise location, you would have bled to death. You could easily be in the morgue right now.”

He spun back toward the window. Too angry to look at me, I supposed.

So, an anonymous caller had saved my life. I wasn’t surprised. Hopefully, Sally Porter was my mystery benefactor. At least then I would have something to show for all that money I’d paid her.

“As I was saying,” Pete said, his back still toward me, his shoulders drooping. “The knife blade didn’t hit anything vital. It’ll take time for the wound to heal, but you should be back to 100% soon enough.”

“That’s me. I live under a lucky star or something. Always have, I suppose.”

“That’s no excuse to live recklessly.”

“I don’t live—” I started to argue. But what was the use? To push the issue would only lead us to talking about the one thing we were both avoiding—our having slept together. If we were going to move forward as friends, we needed to talk about it...but not now. Not yet.

Not ever.

“I didn’t want to lie to you about what I was doing, Pete. But I couldn’t see any other way.”

“You could have come to me.”

“And you would have done what? Told me to mind my own business? Told me to forget about those poor missing girls?”

“Saving the world isn’t your job,” he grumbled.

“That may be so, though I wish it were my job. Then perhaps someone would be paying me a steady salary for what I’ve been doing. Obviously I’ve been poking in the right places. I wouldn’t have been stabbed otherwise.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’m not going to change who I am just because of a little danger. I can’t, not even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t understand you, Kyra.”

“I know.” And that hurt worst than the knife wound. “I’m not going to stop looking, Pete. I need to get to the bottom of this mystery. I need to stop whatever is happening to those women.”

“We don’t yet know that their disappearances are connected,” Blakely said as he slipped back into the room. He had two cups of coffee. He handed one to Pete. He then poured a cup of water for me from a plastic pitcher that had been sitting on a tray near the window. I’d never known him to be so thoughtful. “There’s no evidence to connect one missing girl to another. You’ve lived their life, Kyra. You know how it is. People come and go like the tide.”

“Not this time,” I said after taking a sip of the water. “Tina, Anna’s sister, wouldn’t have left without a word. I’ve been following up on all four women, questioning their friends. None of them would have run off in the night, leaving their belongings, their money, their lives behind.”

I glanced at Pete to see if he’d back me up on this theory.

“It’s not my case,” he said after a long silence. “I work homicide, not vice.”

Liar. I could see it in his eyes. He was keeping a close watch on this case. I bet he’d been poking around, asking just as many questions as I had, which made me anxious to compare notes.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Blakely in the room. And not as long as Pete thought of me as someone who didn’t have enough sense to keep from getting stabbed...or shot. Besides, that wasn’t how our relationship worked. He never talked about his cases. The last time I found myself investigating the same crime as him—the murder of a city council member—I had to follow him through the ginger-scented streets of Chinatown in order to find out what he knew.

If I’d thought it would help find the missing women, I would follow Pete to hell and back...as soon...as soon...as I got some energy again...

...I must have...lost...more blood...than I realized...

* * *

“Are you sure you didn’t recognize the man who attacked you?” Blakey asked me three days later. I was still in the hospital, despite my protests. And feeling groggy again. I wasn’t going to be able to pay for this kind of top-notch medical care, but Pete wouldn’t let me leave. Casey visited daily to read me verses from the Bible, whether I wanted to hear them or not, and to pray over my “poor broken state”. Every morning she appeared in my room, with a cat-like smile that made me wonder if she didn’t enjoy torturing her captive audience. Blakely seemed to like having me under his thumb, too. He popped up every day to grill me about the man who had attacked me. I’m not sure why, I never changed my story.

He pressed his knuckles against the mattress and leaned in so close I could smell poi on his breath.

“I can’t believe you can’t give me a description,” he said, his hot, stinky breath swirling across my face.

“It was dark. And it happened so fast,” I lied and gave his chest a push. “Give me some air.”

He backed up...just a little. “So, you’re saying that you were strolling in the park at—” he checked his notebook “—three in the morning and a man—cloaked in shadows, mind you—stabs you for absolutely no reason and runs off.”

“I don’t know what he did afterwards. There was a knife sticking in my gut at the time, so I wasn’t exactly paying that close attention to anything else.”

“But you claim he didn’t rob you.”

“I didn’t have any money on me.” I’d handed it over to Sally. Blakely didn’t know about Sally, and I wasn’t about to tell him...or anyone. So what if she’d ran off...with my money...and without telling me much of anything.

I probably would have run away, too.

Self-preservation isn’t always pretty. It can sometimes be downright immoral.

“I don’t believe you,” Blakely said. “I have a witness who says he saw you talking with another woman.” He checked his notebook again. “A brunette in her early twenties. Did she stab you?”

That was new information. He must have been doing his homework. I was impressed, but not impressed enough to spill my guts.

Oh...bad analogy.

I fought off a wave of dizziness at the thought of my insides spilling out all over the park. My face felt suddenly clammy and it hurt to swallow. But I wasn’t going to throw up. Not in front of Blakely. It would be a show of vulnerability Blakely might one day use against me.

“If your witness knows so much about that night, why don’t you ask him to describe my attacker?” The room started spinning. I grabbed the edge of the bed.

“Dammit, Kyra. You might be able twist Pete around your little finger by batting your eyelashes and looking hopeless, but it won’t work with me. I know you. I know what you are.”

I struggled to sit up in bed. The movement pulled at the stitches, setting off a firestorm of sharp pains through my middle. “And what am I?” I managed to get out from behind my clenched teeth.

“You’re street trash. A piece of chewed up gum that gets stuck to the bottom of an expensive pair of shoes. A stain on paradise. Get a job. Get a life. Or better yet, get the hell off my island.”

“That’s enough, Kevin,” Pete said as he entered the room. He was carrying a small travel bag that he dropped on the bed. “I’m taking you home, Kyra. Get dressed.”

Despite my heavy eyelids, I greedily reached for the bag, but Blakely snatched it up and cruelly held it out of reach. “I’m not done with her.”

“She’s already given you her statement. It hasn’t changed. Why do you insist on grilling her day after day?”

“I keep hoping she’ll tell me the truth.”

“You should trust her.”

“Why? Because she’s your lover?”

“She’s given you her statement, Officer. You should leave.” The threat of violence hung heavily in the hospital’s sterile air. The two men squared off chest-to-chest. My goodness, Pete’s chest was much better defined than Blakely’s. When had Blakely gotten so fat? He used to be skinny as a pole.

Things change... People change... I took another sip of the water Blakely had poured for me. I felt as dry as a salty beach. I couldn’t seem to get enough water. The room was spinning again. And my head was feeling muzzy...again...

...Pete was taking...me home. And yet...I couldn’t...remember...why...I...shouldn’t...

“Pete...”

* * *

“Drugged? Are you sure?”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Pete demanded. “It’s been five days since they pumped out your stomach.”

Five days of sweat-inducing stomach pains. He didn’t have to sound so cheery about it. Apparently, pumping out a stomach causes muscles to contract. Add a stab wound into the mix. Well...I don’t really want to think about it.

As a result, I wasn’t at my best. Pete had taken advantage of my weakened state and not in the good way. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t even bullied. He’d simply checked me out of the hospital as soon as I was strong enough to sit up and, suddenly, we were driving toward the beach—toward Pete’s home. And I was finding it hard to breathe. Over the past few days I’d become convinced that if I stepped foot in his home that I’d become a pathetic shell of myself...hopelessly pining after a man who didn’t want or need my love.

“Once again, you’re lucky to be alive, Kyra. Not many people survive drinking water laced with arsenic.”

“But who would do that to me?”

“I think the more important question is why does someone want you dead? You need to start being honest with me. You need to trust me to protect you.” He turned the car down a palm-lined boulevard. The houses on this street were set far from the road and reeked of money. “We’re almost home,” he said.

My heart thundered in my chest. Every breath was a battle. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t live under the same roof as Pete and pretend I didn’t love him.

“Wait!” We still had a pile of issues as high as Diamond’s Headcrater to sort through.

Pete glanced in my direction but kept driving.

“It...it...was Mr. Fu. The man who stabbed had said that I needed to keep out of Mr. Fu’s business.”

Pete eased the car onto the side of the road and turned in his seat toward me. “Are you sure?”

Words poured out of my mouth like rain rushing down from the mountains after a monsoon. I told him all about the mysterious shadow man, dressed all in white, and how I’d tried to lose him, but somehow he’d found me, and had stabbed me and had left me with a message to keep out of Mr. Fu’s business.

“Why didn’t you tell me this days ago?”

“Because...because I wanted to talk to Mr. Fu first. He’s not a criminal.” I could tell by the way Pete had raised one dark sexy eyebrow that he was surprised as I was about this turn of events. Mr. Fu had helped us out several times. And we’d helped him. Didn’t that make him a friend...of sorts? “I don’t know what to think anymore. Maybe I’m wrong about him. But if I am, I want to hear from his own ungrateful mouth why is he so anxious for me to die.”

“I don’t know, Kyra. It sounds too risky. I don’t think it’s a good idea to expose you—”

“But we’re talking about the same man who said we were the best things to ever happen to him. He’d called us his guardian angels, his children.”

“Situations change. People change.”

“I can’t believe Mr. Fu is behind any of this.” Pete was nodding in agreement, so I pushed my luck. “Will you take me there...now?” Facing the devil would be better than going to Pete’s house and immersing myself in those unresolved issues I had with him. Besides, I didn’t think Mr. Fu was the devil. He was simply a kindly old man with a tough reputation.

I was certain of it.

Sure, I was.

I was staking my life on it, so I must have been pretty confident that Mr. Fu wasn’t going to kill me onsite, right?

Well, facing Mr. Fu was better than going to Pete’s.

* * *

Pete grumbled. And swore. And flipped open his cell phone and called Blakely. Guys, I’ll never understand them. They can be snarling at each other one minute and best buds the next. Though, as I listened in on the conversation, I could hear a lingering tension between them. Pete disconnected the call and then turned his car around and headed back toward the city. I bit the inside of my cheek in order to hold back the triumphant smile gurgling inside me. He might have changed his mind if he’d seen me smirking like that.

“I’m not going to take you to Mr. Fu and not have anyone know where we are. Unlike you, I don’t enjoy taking needless risks,” he explained. He was frowning so hard I would have leaned over and kissed him if not for the stitches in my stomach that had made leaning nearly impossible.

Thank goodness for those stitches.

* * *

Blakely and another uniformed officer were waiting for us outside Mr. Fu’s house.

“Told you she was lying to us,” Blakely hissed as I passed by him toward the front door.

“Can they wait outside?” I asked Pete, purposefully ignoring Blakely and his sour-faced buddy, Officer Grant.

“No,” Pete and Blakely answered in unison.

“If Fu is dangerous, we’ll need the backup,” Pete said, though he didn’t sound as if he believed a word of it. His brows were still knitted, a telling sign that he was just as puzzled about things as I was. The evidence so far added up all wrong. Mr. Fu was behind both the women’s disappearances and the attempts on my life? True, he was the one who’d been interviewing new prostitutes. He was the one who had suddenly changed his behavior, refusing to see me. And he apparently had sent the man in the white hat to stab me.

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to think of Mr. Fu as a killer...or a kidnapper. Though, if his reputation was to be believed, he could very well be both.

By the time we reached the front door, Mr. Fu’s stoop was crowded with testosterone and police-styled grandstanding. I had to physically push my way past Blakely and Grant in order to stand next to Pete when he rapped his fist on the red and gold painted wooden door. When Fu’s ancient housekeeper opened the door Pete had his badge out.

“He not here,” the housekeeper rasped before anyone had a chance to demand anything.

“Are you sure he isn’t dead?” I asked her for a second time, feeling slightly alarmed.

“Not dead. Just not here,” she said, a sly smile pulling tight her wrinkled lips.

“Please don’t make me go through the trouble of getting a warrant, grandmother,” Pete said, his voice deceptively pleasant. His white teeth flashed in sharp contrast to his dark skin. And he suddenly looked like a beautiful savage, the idealized kind that might have fallen out of some fifty-year-old Hollywood movie set on the islands.

“A warrant, huh? Might as well come inside,” the housekeeper said. Her yellowed, watery eyes shifted to me. “She stay put out here.”

“No,” Pete said, his voice growing even softer, “she stays with me.”

The housekeeper mumbled something under her breath and moved away from the door. Pete took hold of my arm as we followed the old woman into the house’s dark interior. All the shades had been drawn, and the overhead lights were turned off. The housekeeper moved quickly down a narrow hallway. It was a good thing that we could hear the clapping of her sandals on the bamboo floor or she might have gotten away from us.

We followed her into a cramped room that was nearly as dark as the hallway. A dim light burned on a bedside table. It shed a little light on the crumpled lump of skin and red silk pajamas in the middle of a large hand-turned teak bed.

“We need to see Mr. Fu,” I told his housekeeper, thinking that this was another game she was playing.

“That him,” she said with a dismissive wave in the direction of the bed. She then plopped down in a chair beside the bed, practically disappearing into the shadows.

“Mr. Fu?” I couldn’t make sense of what my eyes were showing me. Sure, he was an old man. For all I knew, he’d lived in this house in the middle of what was now a bustling industrial area for as long as there had been an island. But old—heck, even ancient didn’t describe the man who was currently sinking into the mattress of the large bed. Wasting away, fading from life might be more appropriate for what I saw, but only if imagined in the most extreme condition.

Ashy gray skin hung loose on his bones. His healthy cheeks had completely disappeared into the deep shadows under his eyes. And his long, narrow Fu Manchu mustache was grizzled and tangled.

“Mr. Fu?” Could this be the same man who had hugged me so hard after I’d saved him that I had thought my ribs would snap?

“My angel.” He reached out a gnarly hand toward me. “You shouldn’t be seeing me like this.”

“I need to talk to you about the missing prostitutes,” I told him, trying to pretend that his appearance hadn’t shaken me. It was difficult, considering how my legs weren’t too steady to begin with. I had just checked out of the hospital a few hours earlier...and had been told by the doctor to spend the rest of the day in bed. And at that moment, I was on the verge of collapse.

It wasn’t just my weakened state. The air felt smoky and moist within the closed up room, thanks to a humidifier and several incense pots. The room started to spin as I struggled to breathe in the thick atmosphere. Luckily Pete grabbed my arm before I fell on my face. He led me to a second chair near the bed and deposited me there. I fought the urge to put my head between my legs as my vision swam in and out of focus. Gradually, my body adjusted to the dim light and heavy incense clogging the air.

“I don’t know how much help I can be,” Mr. Fu said, his thready voice a weak echo of his former self. “In light of how you’ve helped me out in the past, I will talk to you and, I suppose, to your detective boyfriend.” The bed sheets rustled as he shifted in the bed. His housekeeper jumped to her feet and stuffed several pillows behind his thin back so he presented the illusion of sitting up.

“I will talk to you,” he said again, “and to Aloha Pete, but your dirty cops will have to wait outside.”

“Now see here—!” Blakely shouted.

“I assure you, they are as clean as I am,” Pete said, his jaw tightening. He’d stepped between Blakely and the bed. “I would like them to stay in the room with us. They are here for Kyra’s protection.”

“Believe what you will,” Mr. Fu said. “But I will not talk with those dirty cops around. Nothing good comes from letting dirty cops hang around. Send them away, Kyra.” Mr. Fu closed his eyes and fell silent, which was a very good thing. It was becoming clear that if he’d said “dirty cop” one more time, Blakely would have pulled out his gun and shot him.

Pete grimaced in the tense silence. There was nothing he could do but to send Blakely and Grant out of the room...and let me take the lead.

“There’s nothing wrong with Blakely and Grant,” Pete grumbled under his breath soon after the two men had left the room.

“Clean cops don’t wear thousand dollar shoes,” Mr. Fu said, his eyes still closed.

Pete glanced down at his own shoes and frowned. I knew they had to be expensive—he only wore the best—but a thousand dollars a pair? Sheesh.

“Those missing women,” Mr. Fu said, shaking his head, “a shame, really.”

“Do you know what might have happened to them?” I asked, while wondering if he’d been the one who was scooping the young prostitutes off the street.

“I’m dying,” Mr. Fu said, ignoring my question.

“Open a window,” I suggested. “It’s so stuffy in here, I feel like I’m dying, too.”

He chuckled and ended up coughing. “I wish it were that simple, my angel. I’m an old man. And there is no stopping this somber march to the grave.”

“Some light and fresh air wouldn’t hurt.”

“For you”—his eyes brightened as he lifted his head and turned toward me—“I will give the outside air a try.” With a wave of his hand, his housekeeper was in action, pulling back the heavy drapes and fighting with a window that looked as if it had never been pried from its sash. “I understand that someone tried to kill you,” he said.

The housekeeper swore as she continued to fight the window that remained firmly shut. Pete crossed the room to help her.

“I hope you haven’t suffered any permanent damage from your recent...um...mishaps,” Mr. Fu said.

“That’s why we’re here,” Pete said. He was now fighting with the window. There was a loud crack that made me jump, and then the window swung open.

“You don’t think that I—?” Mr. Fu’s voice grew strong with indignation.

“I was stabbed in the stomach. And poisoned,” I told him, though I was sure he already knew every detail. Admitting aloud how I’d suffered smothered all the warm feelings I was having toward Mr. Fu. “The man who stabbed me said—and I quote—‘keep out of Mr. Fu’s business.’ You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Mr. Fu started coughing, choking really. “I was—I was—hoping—that—my—”

“That your...what?” I asked, pushing up to my feet.

The housekeeper rushed to his side and handed him a cup. His hands were shaking as he took a long sip.

“I really am dying,” he said finally. He cleared his throa