Freefall (34 page)

“And pictures.”

She dropped her hands and turned. “Grover Malakua?”

“He’s first on my list.” Cameron raised her to her feet. “You’re sure it’s not in a pocket or something?”

She shook her head. “I was charging it after Nica called, but I forgot to take it with me.”

Cameron moved from one window to the other, looking out.

The implication clenched her stomach. “He was watching?”

He fingered the louvers. “Were these open when you left?”

“I haven’t changed them. With the foliage so thick over there …” She gripped her hair. Stupid. She knew better. She knew. Her throat swelled. It was only clothes and a phone, but she felt violated. “It’s like I’m some carnival target. Knock me down, I’ll flip back up.”

“I’m sorry, Gentry.”

“It’s not your problem. You shouldn’t even be here.” She swiped at the angry tears, stooped and picked up a skirt and blouse and—

He caught her hand. “Leave it. The police need to see.”

“You know what? I’m tired of people seeing. People thinking they have rights to me. Thinking they know me.” It wasn’t fair to dump it on him, but he was part of it, kissing the fantasy who couldn’t hurt him as his wife had. “Would you mind leaving me alone?”

He let go of her hand. “Come downstairs; I’ll wait outside.”

A tear streaked down her cheek. She wished she was made of steel. Or that she really was the character she’d played. That was who people thought she was. Undaunted. Unbreakable. She went past him, out the door, down the stairs, into the living room, and closed herself into her arms.

Cameron passed behind her and went outside. A frisson of panic tightened her spine. Where could she go and not be seen? What could she do if someone wanted her dead? In Uncle Rob’s words,
“Who knows what whacko you’ve picked up with all the publicity?”

And now there’d be more, a cycle of publicity and repercussions repeating itself until she was afraid to show herself and, like Nica, just wanted it over with. She rubbed her arms and told herself it was only a break-in. An inexperienced thief who couldn’t crack the safe and didn’t realize her wardrobe was worth more than the cell phone he stole—without taking the charger. She covered her face.
Don’t be stupid
.

The dragon man had it, because she’d taken his picture. He’d torn and tossed her clothes as a warning, or a threat. He didn’t know her, had no reason to hate her. But he did. And Bette Walden did. And the people who’d sent nasty letters. And the callers who believed she’d had an affair with a minor. And the nasty reporter who said she and her lover had left her uncle to die.

She sucked hard breaths through her nose. No one wondered, no one cared what it did to her. She went to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. She wrung the plastic cap off and yanked the stopper top with her teeth. She sucked the cold water down a throat swollen with fury.

A knock came at the door, and she admitted the police officers—one young and ruddy, the other older than her uncle, with sharp, gray hair that stood out from his neck beneath his cap like a hedgehog. He lumbered in and introduced himself, but she missed the name. His partner stood silently. Cameron lingered outside, unsure, she guessed, where she wanted him. She left the door open and led the officers up the stairs.

He understood her feelings better than she could imagine, the sense of trespass and desecration. He understood how it felt to be used, and chastised himself as he climbed the stairs behind the cops. He’d been more than presumptuous. Cavalier. Thoughtless.

Gentry motioned them into her room. She had control of herself, but it was a hard control. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, while the officers surveyed the mess. A minor burglary didn’t warrant a major investigation, even with the malicious nature of the mess. Only connected with other events could this seem portentous.

The officers surveyed her private space, her garments and undergarments with thinly veiled curiosity, breathed the cloying essence of her spilled perfumes. Gentry took a drink from the water bottle in one hand and tapped the fingers of the other against her ribs. He wanted to hold her, and not because she was safe, but because she was hurting. And because she was brave. And he was falling in love with her.

He and Nica had been so close growing up that he’d left the island so she could find herself without him. Months later, he’d met and married Myra, and maybe he’d been the one who couldn’t find himself. He’d wanted too much. Or else he’d chosen poorly, a woman unable to think outside herself.

Nica had found her balance, even if things still rocked her. He hadn’t. The loneliness of the last few years was a monster gnawing inside, eating away his confidence, his faith. He took personally the lies, the deceptions, the plots he uncovered, found satisfaction in the convictions, but that was a vindictive sort of caring.

He rubbed a hand over the beard he wore as a front. Confident, intimidating, bold. People seldom looked past it to the hurt inside. He knew how it was to play a role and have people believe it was real.

The younger officer named Severt, whom Cameron knew slightly, had a hard time keeping his mind on business. Cameron wanted to shield Gentry from the fantasies in the man’s mind. But he’d been just as invasive—worse, because she’d trusted him.

After a thorough inspection of the room, the older cop, Bender, asked the standard paperwork questions. Cameron prompted Gentry to tell them everything, including her encounter with Malakua at Choy’s, the picture she’d taken with the now-stolen camera phone, her reasons for doing so. She answered robotically, then said, “I don’t know why I took it. It was stupid.”

“You were afraid,” Cameron said.

She looked up, but neither acknowledged nor denied his assessment.

“Do you feel threatened, Ms. Fox?”

Her arms closed tighter. “I don’t feel anything at all.”

Not knowing where else to take it, Bender closed his notebook. “When you clean up, let us know if you find anything that’s not yours.”

She nodded. Fatigue hollowed her eyes, but she looked her best in extreme situations. That was why they’d cast her for a movie like
Steel
, why she’d shone in the forest, sweaty and flushed. Why Severt had responded to her aura.

Cameron walked the officers to the door and underscored the situation with Malakua. “I can’t say he’s responsible for what happened to Gentry and her uncle, but there’s some connection. Who else would take her phone and nothing else?”

“We’ll ask around, look for anyone who might have seen someone around the place,” Officer Bender assured him. “And we’ll question Grover Malakua.”

No cop liked coincidence, and this had the feel of cause and effect. The trouble was it pivoted on Gentry’s spotty memory, and she would not say that Malakua had threatened or harmed her. He understood her refusal to blame someone without certainty after her own agony of false accusation. Understood, but didn’t like it. If she’d thrown her weight, even a little, they’d have notched up the investigation.

“The thing is …” Severt hesitated at the door. “There’s no sign of forced entry.”

That hit between the eyes. He’d checked the place out when they came in, and the cops were right. No broken windows; no jimmied doors. They weren’t close enough to this thing to be drawing the same conclusions.

Bender tucked his notebook under his arm. “Now, I’m not saying she likes the attention—”

“What?” Cameron planted his hands on his hips.

“You’ve got to wonder when someone keeps ending up in the news.”

“In radical ways,” Severt added.

Cameron expelled his breath. “Gentry did not—”

“I’m not saying she did. But it wouldn’t be the first celebrity high jinks we’ve seen.”

Cameron spread his hands. “She’s desperate to keep out of the spotlight, didn’t even want you called.”

They both nodded. Neither believed him.

“We will check it out.” Officer Bender scratched up under his hat. “Just … looks more like a tantrum in there than a burglary.”

Severt barely squelched a grin. “And she’s not awfully clear on the rest. To be honest, it felt … evasive.”

Evasive? Was he the only one giving Gentry a break? But it had felt evasive. And how could he explain no forced entry? Maybe he had lost his objectivity.

As he closed and locked up behind them, his gaze caught on the alarm box beside it. Gentry had touched in the code when they arrived, as she had each time since they’d met the manager at the door. But how had …? Heart hammering, he took the stairs two at a time. Gentry stood shipwrecked in silky designer labels.

“Gentry.”

As though he’d touched her in freeze tag, she tossed the water bottle into the trash and snatched up a pair of shorts. “You can use Uncle Rob’s room tonight. I need to check—”

“Did you lock up when you went out today?”

“Of course.”

“Set the alarm?”

She drew a jagged breath. “I … probably.”

“Talk to me about the code.”

“The manager gave us a card. I memorized it; Uncle Rob put the card in his wallet.”

“Your uncle had a key?”

She dropped her arms. “Yes.”

“Does he have it now?”

She shook her head. “He left it in the Jeep. The glove compartment.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me. He had the Jeep keys in his pocket but lost them in the water. He was worried about his … wallet.”

Cameron picked up the business card Bender had left on the dresser for Gentry. He called the number and identified himself, then asked, “Has the Jeep Robert Fox rented been recovered?”

Officer Bender seemed reluctant to share that information.

“It pertains to your concerns here.” He would not name their doubts with Gentry standing there.

Bender said, “The Jeep was recovered this afternoon.”

“And the wallet in the glove compartment?”

The two officers conferred briefly, then he said, “The glove compartment was broken open and emptied.”

Hearing the answer for herself, Gentry held his stare as he hung up the phone. “You think he has the key?”

“And the code, if that card was in Rob’s wallet.” They could change the code on the alarm, call in a locksmith. But the place was too isolated and unfamiliar. “We need to go.”

He expected a fight, but she drew her mouth into a hard line and dragged a suitcase onto the bed. “Give me a minute to pack.”

He went into the other room and packed her uncle’s things, then found Gentry in her bathroom. Her cosmetics had been tossed and stepped on, lipsticks crushed and creams smeared. He wanted to hurt Malakua. More than that he wanted to know who’d put him up to it. The man didn’t fit the “whacko” mold, and he didn’t seem to have any personal connection to Gentry. But he’d been the hired heavy more than once.

She picked up a lotion bottle and tossed it in the trash. “I don’t want the maids to have to deal with this.”

He went down to the kitchen for paper towels and helped her swab the floor. When they’d done the best they could, he hefted her luggage into the hall, then went into her uncle’s room and fetched the others. He loaded the bags into the bed of his truck and let her into the cab. Before getting in himself, he called Monica.

“Nice surprise today, Kai. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I can’t talk, Nica. I’m bringing Gentry over, and you need to go to Okelani’s.”

Silence.

He blew out his breath. “I’d stay here at Hale Kahili if I planned to ravage her.”

“I didn’t—”

“And don’t think I missed all the Cheshire grins at the luau. This isn’t personal. Someone broke in and trashed Gentry’s place.”

Nica gasped. “Oh no.”

“I need somewhere to keep her safe.” He should have told her uncle he had no idea how to do that. The plots he uncovered for a living were seldom life-threatening.

“Kai …”

“I’ll be fine.” He rounded the back of the truck. “But can you stay with Okelani a few days?”

“Yes, but—”

“Thanks.” He hung up and drove to Hanalei through a drizzle that felt just about right.

TJ Kanakanui stood inside the carport at Monica’s when they pulled up. Gentry started for the lower room she’d used before, but he didn’t want her on ground level. “Upstairs, Gentry. Use the big room in the back.”

His parents’ room, that neither he nor Nica had taken over after their deaths. They’d lived with Okelani and rented out the cottage for income until Nica turned eighteen and moved back in. He went off to college but came back often enough to call it home until he relocated on the mainland. There’d never been a question of selling it. A modest enough home, it was still their heritage.

He waited until Gentry was inside, then said, “Why you nevah stick it to Grover Malakua?” He didn’t usually talk stink, but if TJ had confronted the man on the spot, there’d at least have been a record of the incident.

TJ crossed his brawny arms and gave him back the stink eye.

“Okay, look.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I need a gun.”

“What for?”

“To protect Gentry while Kauai PD sticks its head in da surf.”

“You can’t get one gun, brah.”

“I’m licensed.”

TJ shook his head. “Not here.”

Cameron rubbed his face. That was true. Applying for a gun license in Hawaii was only slightly less offensive than infesting the islands with snakes. And his weapon was at home in Pismo Beach. Airports frowned on his carrying it along.

TJ rolled back on his heels. “Dey broke up her place?”

“Not they. He. Malakua stole her cell. The one with his picture in it. You should have grabbed him.”

TJ looked pained. He was in over his head and had the sense to know it. They both were.

Cameron stuck his keys in his pocket. “Did Nica get to Okelani’s?”

“I got her dere.”

“You were here when I called?”

TJ nodded.

“I interrupt something?”

“Nevah your business.”

Cameron forked his fingers into his hair, then groaned.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Troubled, Nica stood beside Okelani
as the last of the day’s light gave way to the shy moon. A soft brush against her ankles heralded a new arrival, as Okelani laid the pie pan of milk on the porch. Seven scrawny kitties pressed in and lapped.