Karma by the Sea (8 page)

She scrunched her nose, mentally doing the math. “You’ll have twenty years in with the cops by 38?”

He nodded. “I started right out of high school. It’s why I’m hanging in.”

“I understand wanting security, but you have to survive to get it. You need to go someplace where people don’t want to kill you.” She blanched and pressed her fingers to her lips.

“This last bust with the XTC was pretty bad,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I’ve had a few threats since I’ve gotten out of the hospital.” He patted the scar that ran down his side in a jagged line. “But Jorge is in prison, and Juanito is dead. The ring itself is disbanded. There’s no saying who is after me.”

She traced his scar with the softest touch, as if afraid she might hurt him. “It looks like somebody sliced you open with a can opener.”

“Close enough. Broken bottle.” Slow, but steady, Juanito’s cousin had tried to get information from him. It hadn’t worked.

“I still think you should go to the police right away.”

“I’ll call it in,” he relented. “Report the black car. Want me to drop you off at home?”

“Okay. I don’t think my legs would hold me up to run. They’re still shaking.”  

He gave her credit for keeping it together even when she had to brush glass fragments off of her seat. She looked at the back open space and said, “I see now why you don’t get the good cars.”

He chuckled with surprise. “This is actually the first time anybody’s shot at one.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Not funny. Not funny at all. I guess I never realized the dangers involved in being a cop. I mean,” she tapped the side of her head, “I sort of did, but not
really
. Your life was very violent?” she asked, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear.

“At times.” He’d tried to steer clear of pissing matches but sometimes you had to claim your territory. Fist fights were not uncommon.
Not my job anymore.

She faced forward, her legs bouncing as if she’d just had an energy drink. “I’ve never been around violence. My past was chock full of passive aggressive neglect.” She brought her thumbnail to her lower lip, then turned back to him. “I’m sorry for you, Joe.”

Ah.
Her compassion was doubly sweet, since he’d worried he’d scared her away with his past. “I can’t change who I was, or what I did.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” She pointed to the scar at his side. “But I’m very glad that you’re seeking a way out. I grew up with the belief that a person is what they do. If they behave badly, they will get bad things. Cause and effect, in a continuous cycle.”

“You said your name was Karma...” he remembered in a flash her sitting on his lap at the bar last night.

“What?” She frowned, her brow creasing.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure if I heard right, but yeah. You don’t like your name?”

“I hate it. What do you expect from a woman named Buttercup?”

He turned the car on, checking in his side mirrors and rear view for anything out of the ordinary. Hard to pin down danger. At least now he could be on the lookout for a black Lincoln. Was it one person, or a gang?  He’d have to be on point all the time now that he knew they’d found him again.

“Karma is a pretty name,” he said, adept at keeping his feelings and actions separate. He pulled out of the parking lot, driving down Ocean to Rita Hartley’s condo. “A reminder to make good choices.” Once he dropped her off, he’d cruise the streets a while.

“It’s a lot of pressure, trust me.” She shook her head. “Don’t change the subject. Will you get transferred right away?”

Things became clear in that moment, as if a spotlight was put on his life. He, David Joseph Porter Canelli, running like a rabbit to ground. Scurrying at the sound of a hunter. Not anymore. Here was as good of a place as any to make a stand. He pounded his fist against the steering wheel as they stopped at the corner. “This is my third transfer.”

He turned to Kay, who watched him with uncertainty.

“I’m done running,” he said, his voice hard. “I’m ready to fight.”

K tensed at the harsh look of determination in Joe’s eyes. She’d caught a glimpse of his temper, but she couldn’t blame him for reacting to his life being in danger.

He could have been shot.

I could have been shot.

Unreal to think she was in more danger here, in paradise, than the dark streets of Chicago. “Please be careful, Joe.” She shouldn’t care, but somehow it was too late. What to do with those feelings? She’d already lost someone she cared for once; she wasn’t sure she could survive loss like that again. “What are you going to do now?”

He pulled in front of the condo building. “I’ll call the station,” he said, reaching out to touch her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “You’re pretty amazing. You handled yourself well in a crisis.”

“Good. Maybe that memory will stick with you, instead of the one where I sort of lose my mind.” She nipped the fleshy part of his thumb and pushed his hand away. Her tongue savored the saltiness of his flesh, her mouth wished he would kiss her again. She hadn’t been so scared in a long time.

“You had your reasons, K.” He shrugged, a beautiful sight, Joe without his shirt. “I’ve been giving it some thought, you know? And the ocean, Namaka, isn’t responsible for the bad shit that happened when you were young.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he held up his hand. “And it was bad, I understand that. I have this picture of you and a band of little kids living off of bananas and coconuts while running around in loincloths.”

K turned her head to hide her smile. He tickled her, knew just what to say to make her laugh. “That’s not too far off. We could fish. Catch rain from the tropical storms in leaves to drink.”

It was a childhood that had haunted her. Maybe it was time to let some of the dark memories into the light.

The car idled. Joe had calmed down some, his color back to normal instead of angry red along his cheeks and throat. It seemed neither of them were ready to say good-bye.

“So how long were you watching me run for?”

K buried her face, embarrassed. “A few minutes. You looked,” gorgeous, edible, delectable, “like you found your stride there toward the end with that sprint.”

“I think being barefoot among the elements helps with the nature/spirit connection. Just imagine if we could run naked.”

K burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t want to watch most people run naked.” Him? Oh, yeah.

He leaned over and caught her by the chin. “I’d watch you run naked any day of the week.” He put his hand on her leg, caressing the skin on her inner thigh just beneath her shorts. Her skin heated. “Just so I could catch you and have my wicked way with you. In the sand. In the water.”

She smoothed the tip of her ponytail. “As fantasies go, that’s probably not going to happen.” She hated the ocean, would never get naked in public, and sex in the sea chafed—she knew that one from experience. “Besides, aren’t you sworn off sex?”

“That’s why it’s a fantasy, I guess.” He traced the inside of her leg to her knee, then slowly took his hand back. “You make it hard to leave. Can I pick you up for lunch?”

“Don’t you work?”

“Yes, the night shift. 5 to 2.”

She wanted to see Rita, to get an idea of when the woman would be coming home. Maybe she could ask him to pick her up for lunch, but stop by the hospital first.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what this is between us.” He gestured from him to her and back again.

“It’s nothing,” she said, quickly denying her unjustifiable attraction. “That’s why I don’t want to talk about it.”

“People have long-distance relationships all the time.”

“It’s a recipe for disaster.” Cheating, galore. No boundaries.

“Chicago is a three hour flight from here,” he said. “I Googled it.”

She put her hand to her forehead. “Why?”

“Never mind. I have the best argument to give over sandwiches from LaSpadas. We can eat in the park. But right now I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

“And to call the police.” K peeked at his lean body, wishing he’d get over his idea that they couldn’t just have some fun. Sex was better than running for blowing off steam. “I’ll kick your ass in the argument department. I’m a professional.”

He lifted a finger. “I am no amateur, Ms. Aneko. Give me an hour or so. Before we eat we can stop at the hospital, just to save you a trip with a cab. I know you probably want to check on Rita.”

He still didn’t realize she had no money, and she wanted it to stay that way. It was important that he view her as a successful, independent woman. It was her persona to the world. She was just faking until she made it to the top. “What a great idea.” K got out of the car with a wave, jogging toward the building.

She felt his eyes on her and she turned around. Sure enough, he was leaning out the passenger side door window, watching her ass.

“Joe!” she said, slightly self-conscious.

“Naked.” He rolled up the window, put on his shades and drove down the road.

K looked around, realizing that a few people walking the sidewalk had heard his comment. She blushed and ran up the stairs. She’d been in such a rush to find Joe and give him water after drooling over his incredible self as he ran on the beach that she’d forgotten her phone in the apartment.

Two missed calls. One from New York, the same one as yesterday, but there was no message. The other one was from the hospital. The nurse left a perky message. “Rita is awake and asking that you visit her this morning. The doctor will be here at ten, so any time after that would be good.”

Princey greeted her as if she’d been gone for days rather than an hour. So much had changed in sixty minutes, including how she viewed Joe. A threat to someone’s life put things in perspective.

He’d put his life on the line—literally—and was now being hunted for his bravery. He’d survived and taken out drug lords to keep the school kids safe. He seemed to be searching for the balance of soul, mind and body.

In a karmic sense, if she went there, he was earning good fortune for the rest of his life, and possibly the next. Karma. The eternal cycle.

All through school, she’d resented her name. It wasn’t until college that she realized the true meaning wasn’t so heavy a handle. Once she got past the foo-foo part, she accepted that cause and effect were relatable things.

She loved her parents. Honored them for having her, and even forgave them (eventually) for her name. But they’d dropped the freaking ball, acting as if she’d somehow just sprout up without any care or boundaries at all.

Would Joe be careful with her heart? Trust wasn’t something she gave easily. She’d been let down
every
time.

Speaking of trust, she sent a text to Jamal, asking if he’d done his math. It wasn’t his favorite, but she ruthlessly bribed him with a cheese pizza on five dollar pizza Tuesday at the small joint on the corner of fifth.

Working on it. Coming home today?

Probably not. Maybe tomorrow.

He sent an icon of a pencil and an eraser getting in a fight.

That doesn’t look like math.

He didn’t text back.

She hopped in the shower, taking extra time to shave her legs and condition her hair. Joe was picking her up for lunch, and who knew where that might lead? Temptation wasn’t a bad thing, she thought, closing her eyes to whisper a wish for his safety.

Towel wrapped around her body, she got out of the shower and looked at her options. Pajamas, or jeans and the fancy top she wore yesterday. Nothing else to wear, no money to buy anything.

Rita’s closet beckoned.

She felt a little guilty, going through the older woman’s things. She wasn’t the type to open the medicine cabinet at a stranger’s house. Even a friend’s house.

K believed in privacy.

She
didn’t
believe in public nudity, which meant swiping something from Rita’s closet.

Just to borrow. She hoped Rita would understand.

Opening the closet doors, both at the same time, K breathed in the scent of money. Furs, silks, cashmere, linen. They lived harmoniously in wait. Someday my closet will be like this, she thought with a sigh.

K ran her fingers over the groupings by color. Sweaters, blouses, skirts, slacks, dresses, jackets. She finally settled on a simple navy blue sheath. Linen. But was she going to go barefoot, or wear her sneakers? Her Louboutins were still pouting after being in the sand, and Princey ate one of her vintage heels.

What size foot did Rita have?

She left the closet with the dress over her arm and wandered into the guest room closet. She opened the door and it was as if the heavenly choir of angels sang. Row upon row of gorgeous shoes…K closed her eyes, then checked the size.

She dropped to her knees in gratitude. 7. Thank all of the gods, Rita Hartley wore a size seven shoe.

It would take hours, maybe days, to appreciate each of the designer heels. Boots, flats, they were all represented in the guest closet.

“I knew we had something in common,” she muttered.

She chose a pair of Chinese Laundry navy blue flats and a cute white short sleeved sweater. The clothes were two sizes too big, but a dress and sweater could be pulled off. It was better than pajama pants, anyway.

K shook her phone, wondering if it was broken. Joe hadn’t called. She hoped he wasn’t out driving the streets looking for that Lincoln. She caught her breath then exhaled.
He’ll call.

She checked her emails, talked to the bird about self-esteem issues, and took Princey out back for a quick constitutional. Luis waved, as did Marge, but neither called her out on her borrowed wardrobe.

Kay went back upstairs and paced, waiting for Joe to call.

While she waited, she stared out of the window at the beautiful turquoise water. The ocean around Molokai was beautiful, but darker and with an undercurrent of cold. The Atlantic Ocean was warmer and more peaceful. Calmer. If she’d grown up here, she might not have been so mad all the time.

She ran downstairs, waiting for Joe even though he hadn’t called or texted. Yet he pulled up in front of the building as soon as she came down. “Perfect timing,” she said, so glad to see that he was in one piece.

He leaned across the console to open her door from the inside.

“Thanks,” she said, getting in. Joe, freshly showered and shave, smelled like citrus and sandalwood. He looked laid back in a black t-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops.

“Hey.” He looked over his shades at her. “You look awesome.”

“You think so?”

“I think you know how to pack,” Joe commented.

K kept her mouth shut about the clothes. “The nurse called. By the time we get there, Rita will have seen the doctor. We’ll know when she can come home.”

“Good.” He nodded and pulled out into the shaded street.

“Joe, what did they say at the department about the shooting?”

He clenched his jaw, but his hands on the steering wheel were relaxed. “I have to fill out a report when I go in. No plate, so no way to trace the Lincoln.”

She looked at his open back window. “How’s the air conditioning in this thing?’

“Superb.” He tapped his thumb against the wheel and slouched down in his seat. “It’s almost like having a convertible.”

That was one way to look at it, she supposed. His therapist must be a miracle worker.

“Hey, Kay. Are you K A Y, or K, the initial? I’ve been thinking KAY, but really, the one letter, in bold, suits you.”

“That’s it,” she said, absurdly pleased. “I decided after I graduated college to just go by my first initial. It was more professional that Karma.”

“I like it.” They stopped at a red light. He looked at her as she was looking at him, and the next thing she knew, he’d leaned across the console to kiss her. “I like you.”

K giggled, a sound she made with surprise. “I like you too, Joe.”

“I just want a chance to get to know you better.”

K looked out the window with a smile. “Before you get in my pants?”

“Yeah. The fact that you’re wearing a dress makes it that much easier.”

The light turned green and Joe continued driving. She noticed he was vigilant while appearing almost lackadaisical. Constant monitoring of the mirrors, of the traffic. She tensed as a black SUV passed by.

“We’re both adults,” K said, determined to be fearless, or at least act like it. “I find you very attractive, so it’s going to be pretty damn easy no matter what I’m wearing. So long as you don’t go talking about emotions, we’ll be fine. No grandiose plans for the future, besides you and me, in your bed.”

“
My
bed?”

“Yes. I realized when I came back to Rita’s last night that everyone would know. It isn’t the right thing to do.”

“Making love?”

“Sex. You. Me. No strings. Just not at Rita’s.” It would have been a mistake, so in retrospect she was glad he’d said no—so long as the no was temporary.