Читать книгу Relapse In Paradise - Roxanne Smith - Страница 9

The refrigerator harbored the usual suspects. Deli cuts, including turkey and roast beef, plus every type of condiment Emily might wish to slather them with. The fruit drawer weighed heavy with green mangoes and what were probably papayas.

Maybe guavas. Couldn’t really expect an apples and bananas kind of girl to know the difference. At least she recognized the avocados on the speckled granite countertop.

She guessed the fruit was supposed to pass for breakfast, since there were no boxes of cereal or instant oatmeal in the cupboards.

She put together a sandwich with some of everything and washed it down with a cold Sprite, another courtesy from the fridge. A far cry from the hot breakfast she’d expected to enjoy at the Hilton, but it’d take some nerve to complain about her accommodations.

A bamboo spiral staircase connected the first floor to the loft-style second floor, where a king-sized bed took up nearly every inch of available space. Then again, Emily decided so long as there was a path to the balcony, who even cared what was inside the house?

Emily stepped through the sliding glass door of the upper level. Unlike the downstairs porch, there was no cover. Only the green arms of the trees reaching for a dawn’s pink-tinged sky and a turquoise ocean stretching out forever in front of her. She settled into a bamboo chaise and reluctantly tugged her cell phone from the pocket of the lush robe she’d liberated from the bathroom.

A small part of her hated to disrupt the serenity of the morning with the blurp and beep of her phone. Maybe Boston was on to something with his aversion to technology.

Quinn answered in the flat tone, indicating she had her elbows resting on her desk and her face screwed up in concentration as she stared intently at her computer monitor. Her writing tone.

Sometimes it meant Emily would be lucky to get a full thirty seconds of her sister’s attention. Emily usually groaned and hung up without bothering, but not today. Today, she’d get answers. “I cannot believe you’d send me all the way to Hawaii to get your revenge.”

“Hm…no, that’s not it. I decided to call it Cornered. Remember? Revenge is more suited to the antagonist’s point of view, not so much the victim’s. Since it’s the victim’s story I’m telling.”

“Step away from the manuscript.”

“What?”

Emily went for broke. “I’m getting on a plane back home this very minute.”

“Huh? Emily, is that you? What, you’re coming home? You can’t come home. You just got there! You left yesterday, for crying out loud. You didn’t sleep at the airport, did you?”

Mission accomplished. Emily nestled down into her robe and studied the canopy overhead. The last of the morning’s pink color had morphed into a pale blue, not unlike Boston’s eyes.

Boston. Her sister’s response to a three-year-old wrong. “I’m calling you about the con artist you set me up with.”

“You mean Boston. He’s so great, Em. You’re gonna love him.”

“Am I, Quinn?” A moment of clarity rocked her. “Oh, I see. You went off to London after your divorce and found Jack, so I’m supposed to fall for the first hobo I meet and forget Blake’s and my failed marriage? You amaze me sometimes, you know? My life isn’t some story you can manipulate and bend to your will. Has anyone ever talked to you about your serious case of God complex? Because this would be the ideal time—”

“Slow down. What are you talking about? If you’re attracted to Boston, that’s…weird. I was going to say great, but I won’t lie, Em. It’s weird.”

“I am most certainly not attracted to that rogue.”

“It’s been my experience rogues are most attractive. Although, it’d be nice if you gave me some credit. You and Boston couldn’t be more different. Not in the ‘opposites attract’ way, either. I’m cringing on the inside at the thought.” She let out a small, breathy laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

Emily ran her hand across the smooth wooden arm of the chaise. “But you said—”

“That you’d love him? Because you will. First, let’s address your initial cause for concern. For the last time, Emily, I’m not out to get you. Neither is Jack. Once upon a very confusing time, you tried to break up our relationship.”

She flushed with shame at the memory.

Quinn didn’t give her time to respond. “Your motives were from the heart. We got it then, and we get it now. And Jack and I are together, aren’t we? You didn’t succeed. It worked out.”

Emily bit her lip but not in time to stop the words from spilling out. “Not entirely.”

“Oh, Em.” Her sister’s voice came across as sad but not pitying. “I was so happy for you when you and Blake married. It seemed like everyone’s prayers got answered at once. Blake… Well, Blake’s an idiot. What can you expect?”

Indeed, what should Emily have expected?

For her new husband to love her instead of hanging onto his feelings for his ex-wife, who happened to be Quinn? “I think I’m the idiot. Two degrees and a resume that shines like gold, yet dumb enough to fall for the old fix-a-guy trope.”

“You fell in love, honey. You weren’t trying to fix Blake. You only wanted him to love you back. It’s the human condition, not some overplayed story arc.”

Quinn had been a professional author for thirteen years. Emily had to yield to her authority on overplayed story arcs.

“Maybe you’re right.” She shook her head and allowed herself a wry smile. “We have the most convoluted family. At least my divorce from Blake is clearing the air somewhat.”

“I’ll admit we struggled with what Seth should call you.” By marrying Blake, Quinn’s ex-husband and Seth’s dad, Emily had gone from aunt to stepmother. “Also, Jack tortured me with a horrific southern accent for months, but I’m sure there’s worse out there.”

“Like marrying your stepbrother?”

Quinn groaned. “Oh, hell, you’re right. So convoluted.”

As if she could’ve guessed their dad would go to London to visit and end up falling for Madeline, Jack’s mother. Emily grinned. “You should write a book.”

“I’m cracking up. On the inside.” Quinn’s dry response was standard-issue. “Since we’ve addressed the main concern, why don’t we get back to the reason you called? What’s your beef with Boston?”

Emily’s lips moved, but words failed to emerge. What exactly was her problem with Boston? Besides, of course, his attire, unwashed hair, and overall smooth-talking attitude. “He’s a beach bum.”

“He surfs if that’s what you mean.”

No, but it made sense. “Why him, Quinn?” Since her first theory hadn’t panned out, maybe she ought to garner some enlightenment from the source. “What’s so great about this guy you’d hire him despite how obviously unsuited we are?”

“Sheesh, Em. How suited do you need to be? His job is to drive and point. When I was in London, Jack taught me great cities have secrets you won’t find without some insider know-how. Don’t ask me how he found Boston, but I know he’s worth every dime. We really hit it off with him. He personifies the island. Relax a little. Give in.”

“Are you paying him enough to buy a new pair of shorts? Either half of them were eaten during a surfing accident involving a shark, or he’s perpetrating the surfer-dude thing to put on a show for his clients.”

Quinn jumped to his defense. “You’re reading him wrong. He’s the genuine article. No gags or gimmicks.”

“Maybe not, but there was something…” Something shifty. Something not quite honest. “I might not know him like you do, but I’m pretty good at reading people, and something’s up.”

“Maybe he picked up on your dislike.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Quinn paused to sigh. “I realize he’s not your usual type of company, but you’ll be glad you gave him a chance.”

Your usual type of company. The words struck Emily right in the gut. Since when did she have a type of company, and how long had her sister thought of her as such a snob? She rose from the chaise, trying not to grunt from the effort, and shuffled to the edge of the balcony, where she gripped the ledge and let the thin silence stretch out while she pondered how to reply and still keep a firm grasp on her dignity.

She realized after the briefest moment of reflection it was impossible. Since she’d met Boston at the airport yesterday morning, she’d been a total snot. To make herself feel worse, she imagined how Jack and Quinn must’ve greeted him—happily and without a care for what he’d been wearing.

Oh, my God. I’m a stuck-up bitch. She swallowed, pride and all. “I think I might owe Boston a small apology.” She still believed he had a shady little secret, but it didn’t give her a free pass to treat him like a second-class human being.

“You’ve got plenty of time to make it up to him. I’m sure his one requirement is you be an appreciative tourist. Not exactly a chore.” Quinn stopped talking abruptly before continuing in a quiet, hefty tone. “Em, listen to me. I know divorce isn’t something you bounce back from like one of those little rubber balls. I would never send you off in the hopes that a little island nookie might solve your problems. In case you are attracted to Boston, I only want to you stop and recall I’d been apart from Blake for over a year when I fell for Jack. It took time. First, I had to come to terms with Blake not really being the one for me. It felt like a big mistake. For a long time, I clung to these images of our past together, instead of scrutinizing who we’d become. But we’re not talking about me, and this trip Jack and I forced on you isn’t about a man. In fact, I hereby ban you from men for the duration of your vacation. You do you, Em.”

Emily gazed down the mountainside she’d climbed yesterday. The dirt-packed parking spot where Boston had parked the van peeked through the web of branches. “And no one else?”

“Right. Thoroughly enjoy Boston, but only in his capacity as someone who can turn your time on Oahu into something magical and special.”

“He did seem well versed on an array of trivial facts.”

“The guy knows everything. It doesn’t surprise me, since he taught high school in a past life.”

The teacher thing again. Emily tried to imagine Boston with properly hemmed clothing and a respectable haircut. Nope. It didn’t jibe. She caught a glint of reflected sunlight through the trees from below. A black sedan sat parked in the drive. “I’m going to ask you more about that later, sis, but I better go. It seems my magic rental car has arrived to whisk me off for some island adventure.”

“Call me anytime. Jack and I are taking Seth back to California in a few weeks to visit Blake. I’m trying to get this rough draft done before we leave. I hate taking work on the road.”

Emily mumbled her good-byes and went back inside to find suitable clothes. Maybe if she rolled up her shirt sleeves and sprung for a pair of flip-flops she could get by with her stuffy wardrobe until she had time for a real shopping trip. Perhaps Boston wouldn’t mind taking her. Heck, he might like her better when she wasn’t trussed up like a corporate monkey. It’d make the impending apology she owed him easier to stomach. If not, she had jet lag and terrible airliner coffee to blame.

She yanked up the zipper on her mid-calf skirt and promised to henceforth value Boston for his expertise, instead of judging him by his shorts. Even as she thought it, she couldn’t help but shake her head. “God, but they’re some awful shorts.”

* * * *

“I don’t know, man. That kind of thing can backfire real easy. And if it does, you can kiss your golden reputation good-bye, brother. It ain’t stealing, but it’s damn close.”

Hani’s doubtful words lingered in Boston’s mind like onion breath, strong and clingy, as he drove through the small village of Haleiwa on his way to retrieve Emily.

Stealing seemed a tad strong for what Boston had done. More like he’d allocated funds and been stingy with the information regarding where they’d gone. Quinn had trusted him enough to let him keep the refund from Emily’s room at the Hilton. Why bother her with specifics of what he’d done with it?

Okay, so telling her he’d used it to rent Kumu Pili was a small white lie. The tree house belonged to his friend, Mongo, and hadn’t cost Boston a dime. But, knowing Quinn, she probably would’ve supported his humble act of goodwill, bailing Ryder out of jail this morning.

Leave it to Hani to get technical.

They needed the money. Boston had come through, as usual. In fact, he’d daresay Emily benefited righteously from his minor deception. No way the Hilton’s manufactured atmosphere came close to what she had to be experiencing at Kumu Pili. The tree house was the real deal.

Boston slowed to a cruise and turned onto the dirt and gravel road leading up to the house. As he reached where the path ended at the beginning of the stone steps, he hit the brakes harder than he’d meant to. The sudden stop and moment of panic sent twin jolts through his body.

A black sedan sat parked under an overhanging tree. Boston jumped from the van and walked around the car. It was a rental, given away by the barcode sticker on the front window. Either Emily had a knack for making friends, which didn’t strike him as the likeliest option, or Boston was in deep shit.

He hadn’t actually told Mongo he’d be bringing anyone to Kumu Pili. He’d made the decision on the fly after picking up Emily at the airport and idly doing the math on what an open-ended stay at one of the Hilton’s tower suites must’ve cost. They were high-end. As primo as primo got, literally feet from the world-famous Waikiki Beach. Boston wouldn’t have had the stones to try it during peak season, but in February, what were the odds Mongo had booked other clients for this particular guesthouse?

Boston’s heart skipped a beat. Please let me be wrong. I want to be wrong. Tell me I’m wrong, damn it. He bounded up the stone staircase, slowing once he came to where the wooden switchback steps took over.

Apparently, his good karma tank was on empty. Hani would say he’d used it up robbing Emily of her Hilton suite.

She stood on the veranda with a young, pastel-washed couple and their small child. The kid held a little basket of mangoes close to his chest and looked every bit as strained as Boston felt. Every pair of eyes locked on Boston when he reached the landing.

The man sported a pair of wrap-around sunglasses hanging around his neck and wore a pale orange polo shirt. Boston had a sudden longing for an orange-flavored Creamsicle. The man frowned at him. “You’ve booked Kumu Pili, too, huh?”

His wife in a lavender and yellow plaid eyesore of a shirt, huffed. “Who ever heard of such a thing? We’ve had our reservations for a month. You expect this sort of confusion in the summer—”

“Which is exactly why we came in February!” her husband finished with a flourish of his arms.

Boston refused to even look at Emily. The relief on her face at seeing him come up the stairs plunged him into a cocoon of guilt, and the worse part had yet to come.

He offered the family his best smile, the one normally reserved for police officers and his mother. “Folks, I apologize for the mix-up. I’ll help Mrs. Buzzly-Cobb get her luggage together, and we’ll be out of your hair in no time. A simple mistake, I assure you, and the fault is entirely mine.”

He couldn’t risk pissing off Mongo’s legitimate paying clients for the sake of one he put up for free. Forget burning a bridge—it’d be more like packing that sucker with C4 and filming the explosion over a soundtrack of gleeful laughter.

Friendships didn’t come back from that.

Emily’s face went round all over, from the perfect O of her mouth to her quarter-sized eyeballs.

He sucked in a breath and took her hand. “C’mon.”

She followed him as though dazed.

He lifted a finger to Mongo’s guests as if to ask for a moment while he pulled Emily behind him. They didn’t look happy, but they weren’t shouting or throwing mangoes.

Boston and Emily slipped inside the house, and Boston started snatching up items he assumed were Emily’s; a half-empty can of Sprite and a silk-lined black blazer tossed over the back of the couch, among other things.

Once out of earshot from the unexpected company, Emily rounded on him with gritted teeth. “What’s going on?”

Pretty damn obvious, wasn’t it? “I screwed up. Hurry. Get your stuff together.” He bounded for the spiral staircase. “If we’re quick, Mongo will never have to hear about this. More importantly, I’ll never have to hear it from Mongo.”

Emily didn’t budge. “Who is Mongo?”

Boston bit back an impatient retort. Finesse. Don’t piss off any more people today than is absolutely necessary. He breathed through his nostrils. “Help me pack your things, and I swear, I’ll explain everything on the way back to Honolulu.”

She took a few steps toward the stairs. Progress. “Honolulu? What happened to leaving this to my personal discovery?”

He didn’t appreciate how she slipped into an unflattering impression of his voice. “I don’t sound that dopey when I talk.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You’re upset right now, and that’s perfectly understandable. However, I can’t do anything to fix it until we get out of here.”

With her jaw clamped together like an angry vice, Emily finally ascended to the second floor and started tossing her scattered clothing into the open suitcase on the bed.

It was hard for Boston to imagine she had a hard time picking out what to wear this morning when all her clothing was practically identical. Was it so difficult to choose between black and dark gray? Maybe the pinstripes came in different colors, and he lacked the discerning eye to tell them apart.

What in the hell was he going to do? The deposit for the room at the Hilton was long gone. He couldn’t afford two weeks at a Motel 6, let alone any of the resort hotels. He ignored the bullets of sweat already forming on the nape of his neck.

C’mon, Boston. Don’t lose your shit now. Figure it out. It’s what you do. He had the one-hour drive back to Honolulu to come up with a plan.

* * * *

“I apologize, sir. We’re booked solid through the next week, I’m afraid.”

Boston glared at the young lady’s placid face behind the tall, gleaming black counter. “What about the tower suite reserved up until yesterday?”

“It appears one of the wedding guests had been on standby for a suite and was offered the upgrade once it became available. Again, sir, I do apologize.”

He wanted to scratch his eyes out. Emily’s steely gaze burned into his back. She could probably guess by his body language it wasn’t going well. “This is one of the biggest hotels on the beach. There are four massive towers, and you’re saying not a single bed is available?”

She offered him a pitying smile. “The wedding party. Without giving out personal details, it’s for a celebrity of some renown. Normally, this time of year we always have a room open, which is exactly why the wedding was scheduled this way. We could never accommodate an event like this in the summer.”

Boston rapped his knuckles on the counter and chewed his lip. He’d call Quinn and explain. He didn’t have any other choice in the matter. Emily would have to downgrade to one of the lesser resorts, perhaps farther from the beach.

Hell, maybe he should call Mongo. Usually, he had something to trade for using his friend’s properties, but he didn’t have a damn thing to offer, which is why he’d slipped Emily in at Kumu Pili under Mongo’s nose. Maybe he’d do it for one of Hani’s rice plates. Or a date with Akela—

A muffled ringing emanated from his shorts.

He turned around in time to catch another one of Emily’s wide-eyed expressions of surprise. Well, at least he was keeping her on her toes. He started for the hotel exit with Emily hot on his heels.

“No phone, huh?”

He ignored her angry growl and dug the most outdated camera phone in existence from the side pocket of his khaki cargo shorts, still moving. “It’s not mine, okay? It’s the business phone. Emergencies only.”

“Oh? And if I’d had an emergency last night whilst stranded in the middle of the jungle?”

“It’s for my other job, your highness.”

“As what? A drug dealer?” She mean-mugged him a final time, crossed her arms, and waited like she expected him to confirm or deny the accusation.

Boston breathed in through his nostrils and slowly un-gritted his teeth.

She’s not worth the worn enamel. Her uppity, demanding attitude was starting to wear pretty damn thin.

“Excuse me.” He barked a greeting into the cell phone. Only Hani had the number, and if he was using precious minutes, it meant something serious.

“Boston, I need you here. Ryder’s been processed. He’ll show up any minute.”

“That’s great, man, but why can’t this wait?” He lowered his voice and moved to the other side of the parked van, away from Emily, not without some measure of relief. Her fixed stare could crack granite. “I screwed up at the tree house. Mongo booked legit clients, and the Hilton doesn’t have a single vacancy. Once I get Emily settled, I’ll swing by.”

Hani became urgent. “Bos, you should come now. It’s about Kale.”

Boston waited until Emily had wrenched the van’s passenger door open and climbed inside. “I can’t bring Emily to The Canopy. You’re out of your mind. I told her I’d show her the underbelly of the island, but I damn sure didn’t mean that. Besides, this lady… I might strangle her, Hani. If they find her mangled body floating in one of the harbors, do me a favor and assume I offed myself shortly afterward. I wouldn’t do well in prison.”

“That’s not funny, man.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. Kale hasn’t been gone long. He’s probably hiding out or trying to find passage to the mainland.”

Hani’s voice grew heavier, into a tone Boston never ignored. “I told you, Kale hasn’t been around for a while. He has a room here, man. He’s not some in-and-out straggler. He lives here. You tell me, Bos, why a man on the run from the United States Army would leave a safe haven once he found one? There ain’t no sense in it. He was safe here. He’s missing, and I think he’s in trouble.”

Boston groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn it, Hani. I can’t believe I’m gonna do this. I swear, if I lose this client, we’re screwed. You understand me? There’s no way I can pay Quinn back her deposit or money for the hotel room.”

“That ain’t even the biggest problem you got, my friend.”

“Oh? You have something else for me? More broken kitchen equipment or missing residents? Have you checked on Thompson lately?”

“Worse. You had a visitor this morning. Jordan Stacey came by to see you. There’s a message, but I’ll give it to you in person. I prob’ly don’t need to tell you this, brother, but I ain’t too happy to see her showing up here. I thought it was done.”

“It is done.” Boston ended the call and slumped against the van. What the hell had he done in a previous life to deserve this? Robbed banks? Drowned pretentious corporate mules?

Jordan Stacey, the last person on the planet he wanted to ever see again, showing up at the one place Boston considered a refuge. The last time she’d cropped up at The Canopy, it had almost cost him everything. On the upside, with each passing minute he had less for her to take.