Chapter 6

I neededto cleanse myself of both my bloody encounter with the hermit and the nagging sense that I should've done more for the child.

I kept a bathing suit in the shack, so I grabbed it out of the drawer and took it into the bathroom. I changed out of view of the prying eyes of my "pets," and then slipped into the terry cloth robe I kept in the closet and headed across the parking lot toward the beach.

Noticing Artie sitting out on the front porch of the Ohia Store with his ukulele in hand, I made a wide arc to avoid catching his attention or engaging with him. I'd promised to check in with the Pahinuis when I had more information, but I didn't want to worry them further when I didn't know where things were going with the situation.

I tiptoed across the two-lane road as if trying to avoid waking a sleeping baby.

The water of Ohia Bay was now dark navy blue, and though this was Hawaii, the wind had gone chilly with the exit of the sun behind clouds. In the evening gloom I picked my way down the beach, mindful of the ever-present possibility of a wayward Portuguese man-o'-war who'd washed ashore and might be waiting to sting anyone reckless enough to run into it.

I shimmied out of my robe and waded into the water up to my chest, skimming my hands along the surface. Once I got used to it, the silky salt water was warm for a winter afternoon. I dove forward, exhaling bubbles. As I swam laps parallel to the shoreline, exerting myself and releasing my cares to the sea, my stress settled back into the normal range.

Lei's offer to report the situation to Child Welfare Services was frustrating, and there was no great assurance that the Hana PD would send out an officer, either.

I'm not a patient person. Loathing inactivity had worked for me as a Secret Service agent. No one who's any good at the job embraces "wait and see" as an option. We had a saying that I'd lived by until recently: "To delay is to invite defeat."

This situation, so far, felt like defeat.

I got out and made my way back to where my terry robe "towel" lay folded up on the sand. The sun had set when suddenly, the sky shimmered with the apricot-hued golden afterglow unique to Maui. "Ah, just what I needed," I said aloud. "Thanks, universe."

I dabbed seawater off my body and was about to slip into the welcome softness of the robe when my phone began chiming in its pocket. Who could be calling me this late in the day?

I checked the ID window before I answered for Lei. "Hey lady," I said. "Tell me something good."

"I wasn't expecting you to pick up," Lei said. "I've contacted CWS. They verified they have no reports of children missing, but they're going to send someone out that way. My cop contact wants to wait until they do."

"When?"

"I didn't get a solid ‘when.' As you probably know, they're understaffed. But the social worker I spoke to seemed to take it seriously, even though I had little to give her."

"Okay. Thanks for the update."

"You didn't get a photo of the slippers, but did you take any other photos while you were out there?" Lei asked.

"I did. But I don't know how much help they'll be. I just got a few shots of the house and surroundings. I couldn't get a photo of the rubber slippers with the guy waving his machete at me like a Benihana chef."

"Send the pics to me anyway," she said. "It will give CWS a positive ID on the dwelling. There's no address to reference and they don't want to show up at the wrong place."

"Yeah, the sign for Halepua‘a Road is down. I got directions from Opal at the store." I promised to send Lei the photos as soon as we hung up.

"The Child Welfare folks will keep me in the loop," she said. "And I'll let you know how it goes. I'm uneasy too, Kat. Hopefully this will just turn out to be a misunderstanding, so we need to stand down for the moment. It's in other hands now."

Anyone who knows me knows that along with being impatient, I'm not a big fan of handing things off. I'm a control freak. "I hear you, Lei. Loud and clear. Thanks for the call."

I made my way back, crossing the road to the K K office, and was delighted to see Keone's green Toyota truck parked out front. I flipped my head down and shook out my hair, hoping for a sexy windblown—rather than drowned rat—look. I flung the long, tangled brown length back over my shoulders, tightened the belt of the robe, and opened the door quietly.

I peeked inside.

Mr. K was sitting at the table, his back to me, and he was on the phone. He was still in his uniform, and I enjoyed the way his back and rear view looked in it. Catching Keone unawares was a treat; it gave me a chance to ogle him without having to admit that's what I was up to.

". . . we can. Kat's out right now, but I'll run it by her," he said. "Talk soon." The person on the other end of the call said something, then he punched the button and put the phone in its cradle.

"What are you going to run by me?" I said.

Keone started. "Oh good. I figured you'd gone for a swim." He got up and came over to me, sweeping me from wet hair to sandy toes with an appreciative once-over. "Good to see you, Trouble. How about a hug?"

We have a close relationship emotionally, but I'm skittish physically, dealing with my leftover childhood touchphobia. Sometimes I unwittingly lash out if someone touches me, even affectionately, when I'm not ready for it. Keone learned that the hard way. Once, he crept in to wake me with a kiss, and I laid him out. And by "laid," I'm not talking the fun kind.

"Yes, please. I could use one." I opened my arms and accepted his warm embrace, twining my hands around his shoulders to play with the jet-black curls at his nape. His solid warm body felt especially good after the chilly walk back from the beach.

"Do I dare tempt fate with a kiss?"

I said nothing to that, instead wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders and pressing my lips to his. We're almost exactly the same height, so kissing is an eye-to-eye, well-choreographed maneuver. In fact it's so easy, it was tough to stop. Being in his arms was as satisfying and fulfilling as falling into a soft bed after a grueling hike. All my cares slipped away.

After a few minutes our need for oxygen superseded passion. Keone raised his head, his eyes a little glazed as they met mine. "You taste like the ocean. Yum."

"Thanks. I guess. Who were you talking to?"

Keone shook his head as if clearing away a cobweb I'd spun with our kiss. "That was your friend, Sophie Smithson. She's got a little surveillance job for us. You up for it?"

It really wasn't my call whether I wanted to do it or not. My ride, the Ford Explorer SUV I'd nicknamed "Sharkey," belonged to Security Solutions, Sophie's company based in Honolulu. She'd offered me a stipend and use of the company car in return for being on call to help out whenever she had a situation that needed to be handled on Maui.

Keone described the job: a few hours watching a wealthy client's house while contractors did some work on it for the absentee owner.

"What's the concern?" I asked.

"I guess the last time the guy had work done, he claims items went missing. He's on the continent right now and wants this work finished before he gets back, but he doesn't want to deal with sticky fingers."

The folks who live out on the East Side of Maui generally fall into two groups: local people who want to "live aloha" without the constant incursion of a tourist-driven economy, and rich non-residents who own second (or third or fourth) homes out here. Those "snowbirds" showed up every now and then to brag to the people back home about how much they adored "roughing it" in the wilds of Hawaii.

Meanwhile, the locals resented the off-islanders for flashing cash and paying exorbitant prices for a piece of paradise, pushing up prices of homes in the area until they were out of reach for the next generation.

In the months I'd lived in Ohia, I'd witnessed the friction between the two sides. Generally everyone kept to their corners, but occasionally some incident sparked a fire.

"What's this guy got that he feels requires our attention?"

"Sophie says he's got a few mil in artwork. Matisse, de Kooning, even a Picasso pencil sketch that he's especially fond of."

"That's legit," I said, revising initial skepticism. "What's the timeframe?"

"She'll get back to us on the exact dates once the guy's firmed up the construction contract."

"Okay." I sat down in the chair I'd used before. "You want to hear how it went out at the hermit's place?"

"I'm all ears, Trouble." That was Keone's pet name for me. I didn't like or dislike it. Truth was, if he'd called me "Baby," or "Snookums" or anything of that ilk, I'd have pushed back. No one over six feet tall can seriously accept being called, "Cutie Pie" or "Doll."

But "Trouble?" It kinda fit.

I gave Keone my full report: leaving my weapon in the car and sneaking around. Seeing all the blood and attempting to extract information from Dragoon. His threats and demands that I leave his property, and, finally, a fleeting glimpse of pink rubber slippers.

"You never saw the girl?"

"No. But I know she's there."

"What happens now?"

"Lei called Child Welfare Services. They've promised to get out there when they can. Currently, there's no missing child report."

"Huh. Seems there's not much more we can do."

"I know," I said. "But I have a bad feeling about this. Why is there no report? Someone must know who this kid is. They don't just appear out of thin air."

"True," he said. "But maybe the UPS driver imagined it. It's pretty thick jungle out that way. Maybe what he saw was just his eyes playing tricks on him."

"I talked to him. Doug Beachum seemed pretty certain."

Mr. K frowned and pushed out his plump lower lip thoughtfully. He looked so adorable that I was distracted. "Speaking of playing tricks . . ." I reached over to stroke a sensitive spot behind his ear. Our eyes wandered to the Murphy bed strapped to the side of the wall, and then back to each other.

Mr. K quirked a brow in inquiry, a suggestive smile curving his lips. My touchphobia had limited our physical relationship to what I could handle on any given day.

The adrenaline crash I'd pushed through with my swim had left me more mellow than usual, and after today's traumatic events, I craved more of how it felt to be close, held, caressed.

Keone sauntered over and pulled down the little bed. He sat on it, bouncing a little, then lifted one foot to rest on the bed and reclined, striking a pose with a wink. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his tight polyester uniform shirt, revealing a widening triangle of muscular golden chest.

I watched this, mesmerized. "Keep going, Mr. K. I'm enjoying the show."

"Nope. You're going to have to help me with the rest." He patted the mattress, covered in a sheet I had washed not long ago. "Come here, Kitty Kat."

"Don't mind if I do," I purred, and shed the terry cloth robe on my way.