Sun Kissed (15 page)

And your point is
? that reckless heart and needy body asked.

Lani couldn’t come up with a single answer.

He cupped her chin in the manly hand she was aching to feel everywhere on her body. “Don’t think this little reprieve gets you off the hook,” he warned. “A sexy, intelligent woman once suggested that I learn to follow my instincts. To act on my impulses. So, after giving the matter a great deal of study and consideration, I’ve decided to take her up on it.”

This time her foolish heart didn’t just hitch. It began turning somersaults as he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers. “Do you have any idea how much I’m going to miss you while I’m off island?”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” Which had to be the understatement not just of the century, but the millennium.

“What would you say to forgetting about Taylor and Ford and spending the night making crazy mad love in your brother’s passion pit?” When, apparently forgetting that they were on the street where anyone could see them, he plucked at her lower lip with his teeth, Lani’s body spiked to to DEFCON Two.

“Don’t tempt me,” she managed on a weak moan as he pressed her against the driver’s door of the Jeep.

“Why not? That’s what you’ve been doing since you practically attacked me at the lighthouse.”

“Me? Attack you?” She escaped that way-too-seductive touch and climbed into the Jeep. “You certainly have a selective memory, Detective,” she said as she fastened her seat belt.

“Okay, perhaps it was mutual,” he said as he got in and fastened his own passenger seat belt. “But I certainly don’t remember either one of us complaining.”

She should know better than to try to argue with a man skilled in interrogation. “You’re going to drive me crazy, Detective Quinn.”

Donovan leaned across the console and planted a firm, noisy kiss on her tilted lips. “Count on it.”

“So what’s the story with the hot buns detective?” Taylor asked over takeout ham and pineapple pizza and wine.

“And here I thought you were going out of your mind with worry over Ford,” Lani countered.

“I am. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about my best friend’s love life.”

“Donovan’s only here on vacation. He’ll be going back to the mainland after New Year’s.”

“That’s what he says now. I’ve known more than one mainland type to get hooked on the islands. Look at Ford.” With that, Taylor’s eyes grew misty. “I’m so worried about him, Lani.” Her expression was more earnest than Lani had ever seen it. “Your Donovan will be able to find him, won’t he? He is as good as you say he is?”

“He’s not
my
Donovan.” As hard as she’d tried, Lani had not been able to get Donovan’s allegations about Taylor out of her mind. “But Nate says he’s the best. And he wouldn’t be being considered by the FBI if he wasn’t very good at his work.”

She put her glass down on the table and leaned forward. “Taylor,” Lani prompted gently, “have you told Donovan everything you know about Ford’s disappearance?”

Something like desperation flashed in her friend’s eyes but was gone before she could fully grasp its meaning. “Of course I did.”

“Are you certain that you didn’t leave something out? Something that perhaps slipped your mind at the time?”

“Really, Lani, I think you’ve been spending too much time with that detective. Since when do you cross-examine your best friend?”

“Maybe when she neglects to tell me she slept with another man. After asking me to be maid of honor at her wedding.”

“I know it was wrong.” Taylor’s hands were shaking as she refilled her glass. “But Ford was spending more and more time away, which left me feeling lonely, ignored, and resentful. I was actually rethinking the whole marriage idea when Bob showed up out of the blue. And, well, like I said, things just got out of control.” She took a long gulp of wine. “I swear, I’m staying away from rum from now on.”

“There’s another thing that occurred to me on the drive over here,” Lani said, deciding not to point out that Taylor might have forsaken rum, but she was certainly making inroads on the wine. Another thing that was out of character. She’d always been a one-or-two glass drinker.

“What?”

“I was telling Donovan how the island has never really gotten into the tourism thing—”

“Ford wouldn’t make a living without tourists from the other islands.”

“True. But he’s the exception.”

“But not the only one who’d like to see more tourists,” Taylor said. “Not everyone has relatives to leave them inheritances.”

There was an edge to her friend’s voice that Lani hadn’t heard since she’d been packing to move away from the island. Looking back, she’d been going on too much about the new, exciting life opening up for her in California. It would have been only natural for Taylor to have felt resentful, and even abandoned, but she’d never said a negative word, had watched and texted about every episode
of Beauty Tames the Beast
, then welcomed Lani back with open arms and had even thrown a party for the occasion.

“I’m sorry if you have a problem with my family,” she said, a bit stiffly. It wasn’t as if the Breslins had done anything to become island royalty.

It had all begun when Lani’s great-great-grandmother on her mother’s side married a man who’d descended from the Kalākaua dynasty. Kalākaua was from Kauai and had ruled all of Hawaii for a time. It had been his sister, Queen Liliuokalani, who’d been deposed by a pro-U.S. group who overthrew the kingdom.

Lani’s great-great-grandfather had only been a distant cousin to the deposed queen, but being the only member left of the dynastic family on Orchid Island, he’d reluctantly accepted the crown after his father’s death.

Previous generations had tried to get rid of the royalty, but islanders revered their past kings and queens nearly as much as they did their ancient gods and goddesses, and each time the referendum came up for a vote, the majority would vote to keep the status quo.

“I don’t, really.” Taylor sighed. “Especially since you floated me that loan to get the Sugar Shack going in the first place.”

“We’re BFFs,” Lani said simply. “And it isn’t like I did anything to earn the money.” The inheritance, which admittedly allowed the family to indulge their interests without having to worry about paying the bills, had come from her great-grandmother. There would be more when Margaret passed. Which would be years and years from now, Lani assured herself.

“I know. And I sounded petty.”

“No, you didn’t. But would it make you feel better to know that I’ve been envious of you and Ford?”

“Seriously?” Far more interested in this conversational topic than Bob, the supposed FBI guy, Taylor topped off her glass. “Why? I didn’t think you even liked Ford.”

“All that matters is that you love him,” Lani said, hedging her belief that the diver was a little too laid-back even for island standards. She’d known when she’d made the loan that part of it, maybe even all, would be going into his business, but wanting her friend’s happiness, Lani had been happy to do whatever she could to help.

“Which is why I’m envious. My clock’s ticking, my eggs are getting older by the minute, and you know I’ve always wanted a large family.”

“I believe you settled on eight kids when we were in the fourth grade,” Taylor remembered. “Then adjusted downward to five in high school.”

“I’d settle for three now,” Lani said. Then refilled her own glass for the first time. “Hell, who am I kidding? I’d take one. But it’s hard to find a candidate on an island where I’ve known everyone all my life.”

“Which is why I jumped on Ford when he sailed into the harbor,” Taylor said. “He never knew me when I was chubby.”

“You weren’t chubby.”

“Either your memory’s shot, or you’re just being extra kind because I’m fragile right now. That’s only one of the words Madison Andrande and her clique of hangers-on called me in high school.”

“They were mean girls,” Lani reminded her. And still were from what she’d seen since returning home. Taking in Taylor’s wet eyes, she hoped a crying jag wasn’t on the horizon. “And how can you take anyone named for a New York City street seriously?”

“Good point.” Taylor leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on Lani’s cheek. “So,” she returned to the original topic, “it’s your turn to dish about your detective. Because personally, I believe the guy would make an amazing addition to your mutineer/royal family gene pool.”

“Not happening,” Lani insisted. “And once again, he’s not
my
detective.”

But that didn’t stop her mutinous mind, which seemed to have conspired with her reckless heart, to picture a Sunday morning walking on the beach, her holding hands with a bossy elder daughter in a flowered sundress and pink slippahs, who’d inherited Lani’s own Irish-setter-red hair, while Donovan carried their dark-haired toddler son with eyes the color of a deep blue sea on his back.

The sun was shining, sea foam was kissing the soft coral sand beneath swaying palm trees, and it was just another perfect family morning in paradise.

And she was in so much trouble.

The Honolulu FBI office was located in an enormous four-story concrete and glass building with U.S., Hawaiian, and FBI flags in front. Donovan paused at the interactive lobby display honoring agents who’d died in the line of duty. None, he noted, were from Hawaii.

He was met by Mike Dempsey, the assistant special agent in charge, who, rather than the aloha shirt he’d been wearing when they’d met at the conference, was dressed in a dark blue suit, lighter blue shirt, and red tie. Which had Donovan grateful he’d gone with his gut and worn his own suit.

That Dempsey was proud of the building was obvious. He gave Donovan the grand tour, including the gun vault, which not only housed the weapons that SWAT and special agents would use but had a display of guns used by agents over the years, going back to the Thompson (Tommy) machine gun dating back to those days when special agents were known as G-Men.

The interrogation rooms were much like the ones Donovan, along with anyone who’d ever watched a television cop show, was used to, except for the handcuff bars that had been installed in the walls and a state-of-the-art computer with a touch screen that could immediately send fingerprints to be compared to those in the crime bureau archives.

“Okay. I have serious tech envy,” Donovan admitted.

“Play your cards right and all this could be yours,” Dempsey said. “We even have an MRAP in our vehicle annex,” he added, referring to the military mine resistant ambush protection vehicle. “We used it on a multi-agency raid against a cockfighting and gambling ring.”

After the tour, they got down to business over coffee, which, while not as good as what Lani had made him, was a lot better than the stuff he was used to at PPB. “So,” Dempsey said, leaning back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

Donovan gave him a condensed, but succinct version of the missing fiancé, the vandalism, and the supposed affair with an agent named Bob.

“We have two hundred agents here,” Dempsey said. “Which is a far cry from when we opened a Hawaii office in 1931 with one agent, only to close it three years later due to lack of crime. Which means, given the odds, we have at least one Bob. Probably more. But even if we do, and one of them happened to be on Orchid Island during that time period, you do realize I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you. Unless you’re operating in an official capacity.”

“No, this is personal,” Donovan said. “At the moment. But I get the sense that it’s more than it seems. I don’t suppose you can tell me if you’ve ever heard the names Taylor Young or Ford Britton.”

Something passed across the agent’s eyes. So quickly that had Donovan not been focused on them, he might have missed it. “I can neither confirm nor deny,” he said.

“Let’s try another way. If, speaking hypothetically, I find a reason for the FBI to become involved, are you guys available?”

“Our mission is to protect and defend the United States. Which would, naturally, include its citizens,” Special Agent Michael Dempsey answered.

“That’s what I needed to know,” Donovan said, standing up and holding out his hand. “Thanks.”

“Always happy to meet a fellow officer. Even if he is off-duty,” the agent said. “And that was one helluva speech the other day. I learned a lot and hope you’ll decide to join our ranks.”

“I’m working on it.”

“You’re a shoo-in,” Dempsey assured him. “If the powers-that-be weren’t impressed, you wouldn’t have been invited down here in the first place.”

They shook hands again, the agent showed him out, and as he returned to the airport, Donovan put all thoughts of the agency and the missing fiancé out of his mind. As he focused instead on the night ahead with Lani, something that felt both good and dangerous at the same time moved in his heart.

Lani was on her knees, applying mastic to the back of a piece of horizontal glass tile when she felt someone watching her. Already knowing who it would be, she made an attempt to stay calm but wasn’t able to, and lifted her eyes. The hand she had lifted to rub the back of her weary neck dropped to her side.

“You’re back,” she managed, resisting the urge to leap on him, wrap her legs around his waist, and ride him into the paradise passion pit bedroom.

“I am. I like the tile.” But his warm blue eyes weren’t looking at it. They were looking at her, and his slow smile assured her that even though she was hot and sweaty, he liked what he saw.

“I’m glad.”

“Where did you learn to do all this?”

Seriously? They were going to talk about construction? Now? When her eager ovaries were on the verge of exploding like Christmas luau fireworks? “Makaio Kuala taught me.”

The tension in the air as he continued to look at her was beginning to make Lani’s head throb. “He lives next door to my parents. I sort of grew up over there,” she explained. “The members of my family were always locked away in their various studios, being ultra-creative—Daddy with his horrible paintings, Mother with her sculptures, Nate with his stories—so, feeling like a fifth wheel a lot, I used to go visit Makaio.”