Hot-Blooded (18 page)

Manō resumed his usual detached affect. “Then, what’s your option?”

She pressed her lips together and shivered.
Blake.
Curling her arms around herself, she said, “I don’t have one.”

His slow nod sealed their fate. “If the meeting goes off, he’ll want to meet Pele and the Enforcers right away, so keep Wednesday open. He has a thing for Hawaiian mythology. This ought to be fun.” Manō’s mischievous grin triggered a memory from long ago, before Bane was born: she and Kai stuffing a pack of cigarettes down the back of young Manō’s shorts and the three of them running like hell for the beach before Mahina caught them. Sand flew everywhere, maniacal laughter sweetened the air, and a combination of sun and delinquent delight warmed her skin.

Keahilani closed her lids for a moment, holding on to one of her few remaining fragments of pseudo-innocence while standing in the eye of a hurricane of guilt. “You remember that time we stole Mahina’s cigarettes?”

He barked an uncharacteristic laugh and nodded. “She was so pissed. When we got hungry and went home, she made the three of us sit with her in the kitchen and smoke the entire pack.”

“Yeah, and you puked all over the table.” Keahilani scrunched up her nose.

“And she made you clean it up.” His face transformed when he smiled. Manō the tatted-up, scarred killer was once again the sweet baby brother she used to cuddle on her lap. As a child, he rarely cried, often laughed, and always hugged her back. Such tiny, delicate fingers he had. He used to curl them around her hair and coo up at her when she sang “E O Mai” to him at bedtime.

Shaking out of her reverie, she dropped her gaze to his hands, rough with wear, creased with time, aged with the blood of who knew how many souls. How things had changed in twenty years.

The beginnings of tears formed. She blinked them away. “What happened to us?”

When she looked up, his expression hardened. “We grew up.”

She shook her head. “I mean, what happened to the good times we used to have as a family? Surfing and hulas and chasing each other down the beach? Street parties and
lū‘au
with the neighbors … Singing with Mahina in the car, windows rolled down, poor as shit, but wild and free …” She searched the sky for answers but found only darkness.

Manō stepped closer. “We grew up,” he said more slowly this time. He squeezed the top of her arm and turned away.

“She’d have done anything for us,” she called after him.

He stopped, his back to her. “Yeah. But there’s a lot of things you don’t know about her, Keahilani.” He turned around, and his shadow inched across the sand, devouring the sun’s dying rays like the incoming tide behind her ate up the beach. Must’ve been a trick of the fading light. “Secrets she hid to protect you. To protect
us
.”

A shiver raced up her spine. No doubt. “Only because she loved us more than herself.” Keahilani brushed away the droplet that snuck down her cheek and stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her shorts.

Manō paused. “Yeah. And we’ll always carry that love here.” He placed the boulder of his fist over his heart. His shadow receded to its usual man-sized shape.

“Always,” Keahilani agreed. She pressed a fist to her chest too.

Head lowered, he shuffled toward his motorcycle.

“I love you,
kaikunāne
.”

He mounted his bike, kicked up the stand, and said, “I love you too,
kaikuahine
.” The engine growled to life with a couple of quick roars. Manō peeled out, leaving her alone with aching memories from the past, worries about the present, and fear of the future she’d give anything to avoid.

Chapter Sixteen

“Jezzy, it’s Blake. How you doin’, honey?” Blake bit the plastic tip of his cigarillo and switched ears. Cradling the phone on his shoulder, he shuffled through the mess of receipts and shit he’d drudged from his pocket.

“Blakey-poo. Long time, no talk. How’s your asshole ghost-boss?” Jezzy’s raspy voice had always gotten his motor humming, but in his experience, sexy voices didn’t equate to sexy faces. Not even close. Since he’d never met Jezzy, he was perfectly content to stick to his fantasy of a sultry Dominatrix dressed in black rubber on the other end of the line. It made doing business with the wanton tech beast so much more pleasant.

“Scott’s doing great. Making loads of money with … whatever he does at that hotel … et cetera, et cetera … Listen, baby, I need you to look up some license plates for me. Names the vehicles are registered to, addresses, and any other glitter that lights up your hot little screen. Put it on Scott’s tab.”

Finger taps across a keyboard clicked through the line. “Hit me,” she said.

He rattled off the makes, models, and plate numbers he’d copied down earlier at Mahina Surf and Dive.

“Okay, I’ll get back to you. I got some other shit higher up in the queue, but I should have it tomorrow.”

“All right. No rush.” He paused. “So, uh, what are you wearing?” He couldn’t resist.

Her laughter seared his senses. Reminded him of that hot, condescending tone Kea got when she assumed control in bed. God, she’d only been gone a couple hours, and already, he wanted his cock wrangled again. If he’d been anything less than a professional, he might actually consider taking Kea out for a real date. Not that she’d agree after the way she stormed out.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jezzy’s sensuous whisper almost charmed his cobra back to life. Almost.

The line went dead, and Blake shook his head. Crazy fuckin’ broads. He stood and surveyed the damage he and Kea had done to the hotel room. Another $250 in smoking fees he’d have to eat, but an exhausting couple of hours with Pele was more than worth it.

The phone went off in his hand. Unknown number. “Hello?”

“Blaaaaaake,” a nasally voice dragged out in his ear. “
C’est moi
, Lui.”

Blake sat on the edge of the bed. “Didn’t know you spoke French.” Lui was a big, gay Hawaiian dude who always wore pink aloha shirts, neatly pressed black pants, and designer wingtip shoes. He was one of the strangest humans Blake had ever encountered.

“That’s French? Who knew?” He chortled. “I’m calling in regards to that
thing
we talked about last week.”

Blake’s request to contact him if he heard anything about a new cartel on Maui. “Yeah?”

“The eagle has landed. Or it
will
land Wednesday night. I gotta say, I’m very excited about meeting Pele. The guy I talked to had one of those sexy distortion thingies that makes your voice go down a couple octaves and just scatters that shit in raging, dirty sound waves all over the fucking place … You know what I’m talking about? Luke, I’m your father…” Lui breathed heavily into the speaker.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it. What else did he say?”

“I’m supposed to be on standby, ready to jump at their beck and call. They’ll phone thirty minutes before the meeting and tell me where to go. Oh, I just
loved
it when he tried to boss me around. When we meet, I might cut his balls off and eat ’em like grapes before his eyes. Oh, little roly-poly testicle, what a treat!” More maniacal laughter.

God, of all the dealers Kea could have met with, she chose Lui. Great business move, but a really bad survival move. “Lui, do me a favor and act totally disinterested in whatever they offer.”

“But, what if I like their offer? What if they like my offer?” He drew out the “my” with a suggestive drawl.

“These people are desperate. They’ll bargain. If you give ’em the impression you don’t want to work with them, the deal will go much better for you, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Blakey-snakey. Completely.” A current of warning wove through the baby talk. “And if you fuck me, I’ll fuck you a hundred times harder. You ever had a dick up your ass, Blake? If you’re not prepared for it, you probably won’t care much for it.”

Blake swallowed hard. No doubt Lui would do a lot worse than stick a dick up his ass if things went south. “Scott wants to know where the farm is. That’s it. You give him that info, and I’ll bet he can make those pictures he has of you and the senator go away.” God, he hoped he hadn’t played that card too soon.

Silence on the other end of the line confirmed Lui knew he was referring to the images of Lui humping the late state senator’s naked body with the gun muzzle stuffed into the bullet hole where the dear civil servant had bled out. Scott also had the murder weapon, but no need to tell Lui that. Yet.

“I sense the beginning of a wonderful partnership.” Lui’s voice tightened and thinned.

“Pleasure doing business with you. Buzz me when you get the call on Wednesday, will you?”

“I shall keep you apprised of the situation. Ta ta for now, lover.” He hung up.

Shit. Blake threw the phone onto the bed beside him and lay back, wrestling his unruly hair from his face.

She’s just a job,
he reminded himself. And given the opportunity, she’d screw him over as hard, if not harder, than Lui to get what she wanted.

Yeah, well, if she was just a job, how come his thoughts kept wandering back to the raw, open expression on her face as she came with him inside her? Or the uncertainty that slipped out when she let down her guard for a few precious seconds as they accused each other of killing Scott’s dealer? Or the silent admission in her eyes when he outed her as Pele?

Not to mention the kiss she’d pressed into his cheek. Out of all the havoc she’d wreaked on him, that tiny gesture had almost done him in.

Balls, Blake. Grow a pair.
He was turning into Scott.

A vibration on the bed announced another incoming call. Speak of the devil …

“What’s up, brah?”

“I’m going to text you a picture in a minute.” Tension threatened to break Scott’s voice.

Blake hesitated. “Okay.”

“This is the guy. Find him for me. Collect payment in full.”

He didn’t want to ask. “Lori?”

“Yes. This is your new priority. Drop everything else.”

“I’m right in the middle of—”

“I said drop it.” The words were so sharp, they cut. “Whatever it takes, Blake, make it happen. And I want evidence if you can get it, understand?”

“Understood.” He sighed. They’d been through this twice before. Both times, they had the wrong person. Blake wasn’t so sure the real killer was even alive. “Send it over.”

Scott paused. “I know how you feel about this. False hopes, dead ends, desperate measures. I get it. But you’ve seen what I went through. You’ve been here every step of the way. I can’t rest until she rests. I can’t let her go.” His voice faltered and cracked. Familiar sobs followed.

“It’s okay, man.” It wasn’t okay. “I got it covered. Just take your pills and go to bed. I’ll jump on this first thing tomorrow.”

Scott choked over a “Right” and hung up.

Blake hated that he couldn’t be there as he’d been before for Scott. It wasn’t like he actually did anything—he wasn’t a hugger or ass-kisser—but his presence seemed to calm his friend when he fell into these cyclic spirals. Blake was one of the few people he trusted enough to share his darkest fears with, to lay himself bare with. He accepted Scott for the wounded, desperate animal he’d become in the wake of Lori’s loss.

Lori had been his rock. Now that she was gone, Blake was.

His phone vibrated again with Scott’s incoming text. Blake looked down at the picture, and his jaw dropped.

Holy fuck.

He knew Lori’s murderer. Finding him shouldn’t be much of a problem. But killing him might.

Chapter Seventeen

Keahilani didn’t need prompting from any butterflies to pick up Mahina’s journal when she got home from her meeting with Manō. The memories bubbling at the surface of her consciousness were enough.

She took the book to bed and flipped through the remaining pages. Only one entry left. Surely there were more journals stashed away in an unpacked box somewhere. The story couldn’t end yet. There were too many unanswered questions. She’d check the safe house—a secluded little two-bedroom place Manō recently bought and maintained in case anyone ever needed to disappear for a while—as soon as she had a few minutes to spare. Maybe next week, after the Pāhoehoe “ribbon cutting.”