Twisted Vine (11 page)

Sophie had decided to just stay at work until she got tired. Not having her network at home had removed all interest in even going there. She’d gone earlier to the workout room, done an hour running on the treadmill, skipping rope, and doing free weights, then showered and changed into her “home” clothes, a racer-back tank and a pair of yoga pants. She sat upright on the large exercise ball and logged back in to DyingFriends.

The e-mail link to the “deeper level” on DyingFriends had finally arrived in her in-box and she clicked it, a smile of anticipation tugging up one side of her mouth.

The next level opened to a portal where she had to read and agree to a nondisclosure clause and a “leave-no-footprint” policy in which she deleted her cookies nightly off her computer. She hit “agree” even as she kept a tracker program open in a window in the corner of her monitor.

After clicking the box, the next level of the site opened. A blog post greeted her, a treatise on right to death written by someone with the handle “KevorkianFan.” It was the first open reference she’d come across to assisted suicide and the famous “Dr. Death” who’d battled hard for rights to death in the 1990s.

Tabbed down the side of the page were different forums, and she popped onto “Suicidal Thoughts.” Browsing among the threads, she was glad that she hadn’t had to go out with Lei and Ken to the canvassing—it would have been very hard to put a face to the names and stories she was already finding heartrending.

ShastaM contributed some comments here about how bad her pain was and that she wanted to spare her children visits to the hospital as she died. The deeper level seemed to have shucked off trolls like CancerCurmudgeon with their antideath rhetoric. After an hour or two of exploring, she still had no way to track down the site admin.

She started a thread: “Whose brilliant idea is this? My dying wish: to meet the visionary behind the site! E-mail me!” She provided ShastaM’s fake e-mail.

Almost immediately she was replied to by someone calling themself Lightbody: “It’s dangerous for him to reveal himself. He doesn’t contact you or anybody.”

ShastaM: “I just want to thank him personally. What’s the danger? I’m a dying single mom all by myself in
Honolulu!” Sophie felt a little adrenaline boost at this bite from someone close to the fish she was after.

Lightbody: “There are close-minded people who would love to shut us down, and the greater good is served by having DyingFriends available to all who need its support.”

ShastaM: “I don’t get it. I just want to thank the site administrator. Surely someone is in charge here.”

Lightbody: “Take no for an answer or I’ll report you.”

Sophie paused, gazing into the bluish glow of the screen as she considered how her “character” would respond and what bait might work.

ShastaM: “Go ahead and report me. I want him (or her!) to know I’m dying, and I just want to thank him.”

Sophie waited minutes, her long fingers poised—and nothing happened. Lightbody had disappeared.

Sophie found herself irritated. Impatient. Annoyed. She rolled the ball away from the desk and did her push-ups and sit-ups. Checked the computer again. Still nothing.

She did stretches now: rolled backward off the ball into a bridge. Did hamstrings, splits. She was bent over, her face between her knees, pulling hard behind her calves to get herself completely jackknifed, when she heard a delicate throat-clearing behind her.

She straightened up immediately. Waxman was standing there, looking uncomfortable. “That is nonregulation attire,” he said.

“Sorry, sir. Now that DAVID is disabled, I saw no point in going home. I worked out at the gym downstairs and ended up changing into my after-work clothes. No one’s here, so I thought it would be okay. I’m phishing for the site admin of DyingFriends, and he’s ignoring me.”

“You can’t live here, Sophie.” There was a chiding note in Waxman’s voice. “I came down to give you a sit rep on the DAVID software.”

Sophie waited, hands on her hips. She saw her boss’s eyes on her well-developed biceps and triceps, and she crossed her arms self-consciously. He made a half turn and addressed a spot over her shoulder.

“The national tech department is very excited about DAVID’s potential, but the legal and privacy ramifications are a real tar baby. So while the techies are looking at it, our defense counsel is getting involved. This is going to take a while.”

Even after many years in the United States, Sophie still came across phrases she wasn’t familiar with. “Tar baby?”

“It’s from an old folk tale. Brer Rabbit. Google it when you get home. It’ll give you something to do. Did the site admin respond?”

Sophie leaned in, looked at her in-box. “No, sir.”

“Well, go home. It’s Friday night. Find another interest besides computers and working out, Agent Ang. Life is short; you’re young. Don’t let it go by before you know it.”

Sophie cocked her head. There was a harsh note in her boss’s voice, but he’d spun on his heel and walked away before she could be sure.

“Go home, Sophie. That’s an order!” he said over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir.”

The pneumatic door of the lab slid shut behind him. She frowned, checked the e-mail in-box again. Still empty. She sighed and shut down her most faithful friends. Amara, Janjai, and Ying whirred into silence, and as Sophie padded across the felted carpet, she wondered what the hell she could do besides work out and her computers.

There was only one other place she wanted to be—Fight Club.

Sophie managed to ignore the flatness that Alika’s absence had brought to sparring at Fight Club later that evening. She and Marcella finished their bout, bumping fists in padded gloves. She’d trounced her friend fairly well, as usual. “Want to get something to eat?” she asked.

“Let me check something first,” Marcella said, swiping escaped strands of chocolate-brown hair out of her eyes with her forearm. Sophie felt the simmering irritation she’d been battling all afternoon rise to the fore. She poked Marcella’s shoulder, not lightly.

“Checking with the boyfriend?”

Marcella looked up, narrowed her eyes. “Hey. We already sort of had plans.”

“Whatever.” Sophie turned away, ripped her gloves off, and stuffed them in her bag. “Let me know when my friend Marcella gets back.”

“Geez,” Marcella said. “Touchy, aren’t we? Okay, I’ll cancel.” She worked her phone with her thumbs. “There. You happy?”

Sophie turned back. “I don’t need your pity date. Seriously. Go bang your boyfriend already.”

Marcella poked Sophie’s shoulder back hard. “That was bitchy. What’s gotten into you?”

Sophie picked up her bag and walked away. She could hear Marcella following, and she blinked tears out of her eyes. She was jealous, and it hurt to know it. She kept walking across the parking lot, Marcella following. She heard the other woman’s phone ring and a one-sided conversation. She was too intent on getting to her car, getting inside, and escaping to listen to it.

Sophie beeped the Lexus open, and Marcella jumped in, throwing her gym bag into the well between their bucket seats. “God, you’re so high maintenance.”

Sophie set her jaw, turned the key. “You aren’t going to get out of my car, are you?”

“No. I know I’ve been blowing you off since Marcus and I went public, and I feel bad about it. Let’s go out and have girl time with pool cues and beer. I’ll give Lei a call, see if she can join us.”

Sophie glanced over at Marcella’s dimpled white grin and felt a tug of gratitude—she’d canceled plans with her man to spend time with a friend. 

“Since you insist,” Sophie said. She wasn’t about to show how much it meant to her.

Lei ran home post-sunset—that time between day and night, which, in
Honolulu, was warm, flower-scented, and filled with tourists on foot in the downtown areas and commuter traffic everywhere else. She had to concentrate on getting herself and the dogs home safely, distracted as she was from the meet with Kamuela. She played an endless feedback loop of the conversation between herself and the detective, wondering if she should have tried to lie, should have asked for legal counsel—anything but what she’d done.

Told all and trusted him.

Turning into her own quiet side street at the edge of town was a relief until she saw the black Ford Explorer parked outside her gate. Her heart lurched—another detective here to interview her? Had Kamuela turned her in already?

She drew abreast of the car and the door opened. “Lei.”

A familiar voice.  The one voice that could bring joy surging through her body. 

Lei threw herself into Stevens’s arms as he got out, squashing Angel in the baby carrier between them. Those long arms embraced her, hard and gentle. Her head fit into the space measured for it, just beneath his jawbone. She breathed in the smell and heat of his body, and her world tipped to where it wanted to stay.

Now and forever.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” She burst into tears, letting go of the stress of the day.

“Wow.” He hugged her again, set her away from him so the wriggling
Chihuahua could get some air. “I guess you’re glad to see me?”

“Yes.” Lei sniffled, letting Angel out as Stevens greeted Keiki, giving the big dog ear rubs. Angel, freed from her carrier, bounced around yipping. “Let’s get out of the street.”

In the yard, the rapturous greetings between Stevens and the dogs continued as Lei took the little dog’s carrier off, hung it on a hook, and unlocked the front door. She grinned, watching them, brushing the tears off her cheeks with her hands, combing hair out of her face, self-conscious about her sweaty workout wear.

Finally, he advanced toward her. “A proper greeting,” he whispered, looking down into her eyes.

Her lashes fluttered shut as his mouth descended to touch hers, gentle as a night moth. She reached up to encircle his head with her arms, stroking his hair as they deepened the kiss, exchanging all the promises that could be shared between lovers sworn and long-parted.

She remembered their first kiss in that moment. Her fear a cloud around her, so easily triggered by the past. That kiss so tender, so careful—yet full of hope and possibility even then.

The passion she felt now was so full and ripe it seemed her skin would split with the juicy power of it, that he could make her burst with the tip of a finger or the touch of his tongue.

She broke away with a little gasp. “I have to get these clothes off, get in the shower. I’m gross.”

“I like you sweaty. This mesh shirt—you were running through Honolulu in this? And no one got in a car accident?” He managed to sound genuinely scandalized, and she laughed.

Lei ran her hands up and down his arms, savoring their dense texture, the light springy hair beneath her fingertips. “You’re here. Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Got the papers in my back pocket. I’m free. And so is she.”

She. Anchara. Stevens’s ex-wife. Lei could never think of the other woman’s lovely face without a potent cocktail of regret and jealousy. How Lei wished she’d been able to deal with her shit and make a commitment to Stevens before she left for the Academy two years ago—but she hadn’t, and the three of them had suffered for it.

But he was here now. And he was free.

She looked up into Stevens’s blue eyes, shadowed under dark brows. “Thank God.”

He reached down to hook up the pendant at her throat with a finger, and he brushed the skin of her neck. It ignited at his touch, heat spreading across her chest. Her nipples tightened painfully, and she sucked in a breath.

“You’re wearing my ring.” His voice was rough as he looked at the humble medallion and cross dangling from his finger, her pulse fluttering beneath it. His grandmother’s antique ring, given to her long ago on their first engagement.

Burned. Melted. Beaten. Shaped and polished. Beautiful because of its history.

“Yes.”

The kiss then was fierce, and claiming, and it carried them stumbling through the house, shedding clothes and frantic. They ended up in the shower with hot water washing away darkness, tears, loneliness, and deprivation.

Lei sat curled against Stevens on the couch in her yellow terrycloth robe. Slack-key guitar music filled the little cottage along with Keiki’s snores. The big Rottweiler was curled on the rag rug at the back door, Angel tucked into her flank while they waited for pizza delivery.

She sipped her Corona. “This reminds me of when we first got together on the Big Island. Pizza and beer, sitting on the couch.”

His hand wandered into the neck of her robe, leaving a trail of sensation like phosphorescence on the tide. “Not quite. I remember a lot of awkwardness back then. Not to mention worrying about a stalker.”

Lei sighed. “Oh yeah.” She put her head back against him. “How long can you stay?”

“Got to go back Sunday. But I had to see you now that . . .” He pulled one of her damp curls out straight, watched it spring back as he let go.

“The divorce is over.”

“Right.”

“Should we talk about it?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Agree.”

They each took a sip of beer. The pizza delivery van drove up, and the dogs leapt to their feet, barking. Lei and Stevens untangled from the couch, and Stevens, clad in his jeans, went out onto the porch and across the yard to pay.

Lei savored the sight of him returning, the overhead light of the porch gilding dark hair, his wide shoulders and chest as he carried the box. The jeans rode perilously low on his hips. She enjoyed the shape of him—a graceful build, lean and well developed.

“What?” he asked.

“Just looking at you. I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Keep that up and I won’t be able to eat.”

“I’m already not hungry.”

He pounced on her with a growl, and this time they ended up in the bedroom.

Morning wasn’t kind to her hair, and she looked at the storm of frizz as she entered the bathroom.

She’d been in a storm all night.

A grin pulled up one side of her mouth, and it hurt. She touched lips chapped by kissing, chest pink from razor burn. Aches from various other places reminded her they were happy to have been touched, and she smiled some more. Good problems to have, in the scheme of things. She got into the shower, and the sensual fog lasted until she remembered Kamuela and that he’d said he’d be in touch.

She finished her shower quickly. She had to talk with Stevens about the situation.

Stevens was still sleeping, and wrapped in her towel, she looked at the great sprawl of him filling her bed. White linens contrasted with the tan of his skin. One long foot was exposed, the mountain peak of his shoulder, ruffled brown hair stark on the pillow. Big as a work truck parked in the pristine garden of her bedding, and just as perfect there.

Her chest tightened as she reveled in the sight of him. She hadn’t known that love could be so intense, so complicated. Feeling this way about a man was a triumph over everything that had been done to her, and still it was heady and terrifying. Knowing he’d be gone soon distilled each moment, intensifying its sweetness.

They’d have the weekend together at least. 

She decided to let him sleep and surprise him by fixing breakfast—but in the kitchen, her refrigerator was empty as usual. She threw on sweats, scrunched some CurlTamer into her hair to prevent last night’s unfortunate ’do, and walked to the little grocery store on the corner.

She had eggs and toast going, the dogs a rapt and hopeful audience, when Stevens came out of the bedroom in his jeans. He brushed his teeth and filled a mug with coffee, came to stand behind her. He distracted her, trying to bite her neck as she worked the spatula.

“Now I know you love me,” he murmured in her ear. “Texeira going domestic. What is the world coming to?” His breath stirring the hair over her ear sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hey, I can scramble an egg,” she said, elbowing him.

He turned, looked back at the bedroom, at the rumpled, pretty white bed. Sipped his coffee. “I never stopped thinking about that bed after I spotted it last year. I like it.”

She leaned up to kiss him before she served them. “Let’s spend some more time in there, making sure the mattress is up to speed.”

Digging into the eggs and taking a bite of toast, Stevens gestured to the pizza box, still on the table unopened. “No wonder I’m hungry.”

She refilled her coffee mug, joined him, opened the pizza box, and sniffed. “It’s still good. I have an instinct for how long it takes for pizza to go off—we ate a lot of it when I was a kid.”

Keiki, looking on, gave a great sigh—nothing had fallen to the ground. The Rottweiler lay down with her big square head on her paws, soulful eyes tracking them. Angel remained upright, ears pricked. “We have an audience. Ignore them.”

“I’m the noncustodial parent.” He dropped a bit of egg and Angel nabbed it. “Oops.”

“Hey.” She smacked his shoulder, got distracted by the feel of it, reached over to stroke it, massaging the hard muscle.

“Stop that. I’m an old man, I have to fuel the machine.” He picked up his mug of coffee and reached for a slice of the pizza.

Lei sighed, addressed her breakfast. “We have to talk.”

“Same as last night. If it’s about the divorce, I’d rather not.”

“This is something different.” Stevens was the only other person who knew about her visit to Kwon. She described the discovery of the number in her grandmother’s box, how she’d called it with no answer—and then how Kamuela had called her back from the phone of a homicide victim. Stevens set the slice of cold pizza down, eyes narrowing as he frowned.

“So that was why I cried when I saw you. I’d just met with him, and I told him everything,” she finished. Took a bite of her tasteless eggs and made herself chew.

“I knew that Kwon business would bite you on the ass.” He stood with that coiled grace and set the dishes in the sink. “God, Lei.”

His words were an ironic echo of Kamuela’s. Stevens turned back, ran hands through his hair in that way he did when he was upset. “I’d almost forgotten about that whole thing—I guess I hoped it would just blow over. Kamuela’s got to do something about your number on the hitter’s phone. It’s a strong lead, and if I were him, I’d be all over you. Talk about means, motive, and opportunity!”

“I know. It looks bad.” Misery and terror roared back worse than before, and she pushed her plate away, covered her face with her hands. He took her half-eaten breakfast and threw the eggs outside, causing a mad scramble by the dogs. Put the plate in the sink. Returned to sit beside her, drawing her into his arms.

“We’ll get through it together.”

“How? You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“We could go talk to Kamuela today.”

“That won’t do anything, just put pressure on him, remind him what a tough spot he’s in.” Lei sighed, straightened up out of his arms. “I can’t help seeing it from his perspective. Here’s this Federal cop, his girlfriend’s buddy, and she looks guilty as hell of hiring the hitter. She’s called and left evidence on a victim’s phone. He has to document and act on it, even if he wants to believe me. I mean, I feel bad for him. Let’s not make it worse.”

Stevens tipped her chin up. She couldn’t look into those sky eyes a minute longer, and her lashes fluttered shut. She could feel him looking at her mouth, then the tender brush of his lips on hers.

“I love you,” he said. “You’ve really grown up.”

She smiled, pulled her chin out of his hand. “Lotta good that does me.”

“So if we aren’t going to go talk to him, we need to get our minds off this.”

“I can think of one or two things we can do.” It wasn’t far from her chair to his lap, her favorite place in the world.

Lei didn’t check her phone until much later as they were taking the dogs to the beach with a couple of longboards she’d borrowed from the landlord. Marcella had left a message last night inviting her to come shoot pool with her and Ang.

Her chest tightened with anxiety. Lei knew Kamuela wouldn’t say anything to Marcella, but she felt trapped. Telling her friend would deepen the conflict of interest; not telling her was a betrayal by omission. A breach of trust. These sobering thoughts dampened her mood as she navigated the downtown traffic in the truck, Stevens beside her, headed for the beginner waves in Waikiki.

“I’m wondering if I should tell Marcella about what’s going on.”

Stevens just looked at her, his eyes hidden behind Ray-Ban Aviators. “Shitty situation. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

Lei squeezed the wheel, turning onto the small side road weaving between skyscrapers that ended at the marina. “That’s it exactly.”