Line of Fire

CHAPTER FOUR

F AITH GROANED ALOUD . “Is this the part where I’m supposed to protest madly?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, where I insist that I can take care of myself, that I don’t need protection and I certainly don’t need a sexy guy in my house acting the bodyguard. That’s how it works in the movies.”

If Faith had meant her cinematic scenario to unnerve him, her plan had worked. He was trying to get past the “sexy guy” part when a pretty woman, obviously Hawaiian heritage, joined them.

“So who’s this hottie?” she asked.

Faith coughed to cover a giggle. Adam nearly blushed.

“Kalani Apalo, meet Detective Adam Guthrie. Detective, this is my sister, Kay.”

Kalani’s grin was nothing short of predatory. Adam ignored his sudden need to loosen his tie and instead shook her proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Apalo.”

“Call me Kay. Unless you want to call me ‘sweet thing.’ We could work that out, you know?”

From the corner of his eye, Adam watched Faith cover her mouth with her hand. Yeah, this was hilarious. Not that Kalani Apalo wasn’t a stunning, voluptuous woman—she was. But suddenly, Adam, who’d never had much of a preference for female “types” before, realized he had more of a hankering for a sharp attorney who wore puka beads with her business suits.

If Kalani was her sister, that at least explained why she preferred tropical jewelry to conservative pearls.

“Your offer is tempting, Ms. Apalo, but I’m afraid my interests this evening are focused on your sister.”

Faith turned toward him slowly, her gaze curious, but cautious. He could play this bowl-over-with-brashness game as well as she could—probably better.

Kalani nodded approvingly. “Hot damn, sis. You survive a shooting and catch yourself a man, both at the same time. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Faith smirked at her sister. “First of all, the shooter wasn’t aiming at me. Second, I doubt Detective Guthrie’s interests extend beyond the professional. Third, he’s just teasing about coming home with me.”

Adam jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re so wrong, Counselor, I don’t know where to start.”

She crossed her arms. Adam hadn’t forgotten the feel of those soft breasts crushed to his chest when they were outside against the brick wall. The moment had been too fraught with danger to acknowledge at the time, but now his flesh fairly tingled with the warm memory.

“Excuse me?”

“First,” he said, mimicking her tone, “you don’t know that you weren’t in danger or that you still aren’t. The assassination attempt might not have been aimed only at Yube.”

Faith shook her head. “How do you know that Yube was the target at all? I’m not saying that isn’t a logical assumption under the circumstances, but face it, Detective, you have no proof. The sniper might have been after random targets and George Yube was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Adam groaned, wondering how he had ever thought assigning protection to her would be easy, particularly when he intended to pick up the detail himself, at least until tomorrow morning.

“You’re entirely right,” he conceded. “I have no solid proof, but the circumstantial evidence is too disturbing to ignore. And until I know the nature of the attack, you will receive police protection. Max Zirinsky has approved the detail.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re taking it upon yourself to provide my protection, with your undoubtedly busy schedule?”

He glanced back to where he’d stood when he and Tim had sparred over this very topic. Adam had made the decision on an uncharacteristic whim; he couldn’t shake the instinct to make sure she was safe. He’d saved her life once, and if necessary, he wanted to be there to do it again.

“Like Detective Masters said,” Adam answered, “it’s a choice assignment.”

Faith wanted to smile. He could see the corners of her mouth quivering as she fought with her reaction to being flattered. Not that he was any great catch, but he also knew he didn’t send women screaming in the opposite direction.

Her sister slapped her on the arm. “He’s flirting, Faith. Flirt back.”

Faith tilted her head toward Kalani, her expression weary. “My sister, a bastion of subtlety.”

“She’s right,” he added.

“Great. You have interesting timing, Detective. Flirt with the woman who’s too tired to stand up, much less flirt back. Superlative plan.”

Adam conceded his timing could be a little off, but he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He could drive her home and make sure she was safely in her house with an officer posted outside, before he was missed at the crime scene, which so far wasn’t yielding one single clue as to the sniper’s identity.

“At least you’re thinking of flirting back,” he said. “That’s something, right?”

“Can we talk about this after I’ve eaten and had a shower?”

“No problem.” He gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Just then, Detective Masters called out to him. “Guthrie, we’ve pinpointed the shooter’s perch. Empty office on the fifth floor. Forensics needs you.”

Of course they do.

“There’s your reprieve, Counselor,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll send an officer to see you safely home.”

“I’m not going home,” she said quickly. “I’m going to my parents’ restaurant, Sunsets.”

“The luau place?”

“Best guava cake in town. My parents keep an apartment upstairs, so I can crash there tonight if I need to. Lots of people around. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Adam pursed his lips, considering. This was a good situation, under the circumstances. Anyone targeting her wouldn’t likely think to go after her in such a public place. Still, he’d send the uniform along just in case, and then he’d stop by later to return her belongings and make sure she was all right.

Maybe resume a little of the flirting.

“You’ll stay with her?” he asked Kalani.

She saluted. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I’ll see you later, then? For our slumber party?”

He turned and stalked off quickly after Masters, giving Faith no time to argue or gauge if he’d been kidding. Which he had been—sort of. He glanced over his shoulder and barely contained a chuckle. She stood there with her mouth open and her finger poised, as if she’d prepared an objection that he’d left her no time to make.

“F EELING REJUVENATED YET ?”

Swirling her fork, Faith scooped up every last sweet crumb left on her plate. With a flourish, she slid the fork into her mouth, relishing the exotic flavors gliding over her tongue. No one made guava cake like her foster mother. And no one could look both contented and concerned at the same time like Lu could, either.

“Doctors should prescribe this stuff instead of Prozac,” Faith said.

Lu wiggled her ample bottom into the rattan chair across from Faith. “I keep trying to convince the pharmaceutical companies, but they aren’t buying.”

“You could do takeout,” Faith suggested, for what was probably the thousandth time. The food at Sunsets was, thanks to Lu and her homegrown culinary skills, beyond compare. The restaurant was fiscally healthy, with a steady stream of regulars and bonus business from special celebrations such as birthdays, anniversaries and office parties. Faith appreciated that not once since the Apalos had taken her into their home had Faith had to worry about her family’s finances, the way she had with her mother. And since she’d gone out on her own, she could always come home for a hot, delicious meal and love-inspired pampering. When her career allowed, which wasn’t very often lately.

“If I did takeout, you’d never stay more than ten minutes. You’d go back to that little house of yours and work all night and never eat and, more importantly, never see your family.”

Faith winced, conceding that if left to her own devices, she’d be exactly the hermit Lu described. Even after more than twenty years of living with the Apalos, she still had to fight her instincts to remain indoors, buried beneath a blanket with a book, or now a case file. The neighborhood where she’d grown up in L.A. hadn’t exactly been conducive to outdoor play. Not unless you wanted to get shot, stabbed or mugged while you played hopscotch on the sidewalk.

“I guess I would’ve turned into a recluse if not for you guys.”

“A malnourished recluse,” Lu said, waving Paolo over. The waiter, bare-chested, tanned and wearing a colorful half sarong and lei, dashed over with a tray balanced on his hand. “Bring Faith another slice of cake,” Lu ordered.

“No, Lu, really. I have to go upstairs and—”

“What? Do more work? Do you have a court appearance tomorrow?”

Faith knew what was coming. “No, ma’am.”

“Briefs that need to be filed before the weekend?”

She shook her head. “I called Roma and cancelled all my appointments.”

Lu’s face broke into a wide smile. “That’s my girl.” Then with a scowl, she looked over her shoulder and caught Paolo just standing there, grinning, instead of fetching Faith more cake. He was a cutie, Faith thought. Might be good for taking her mind off what happened today, except that he was barely twenty-two and thought surfing was more religion than sport.

Not that Faith wasn’t inclined to agree, when the waves were just right. Good Lord, how long had it been since she’d hit the surf? She wasn’t even sure where she’d last stored her board. In the attic here at the restaurant? In storage at her office? She doubted that. She’d never bring the symbol of her secret indulgence anywhere near her law firm. Wouldn’t want to give clients the wrong idea.

Lu stood, her hands flat on the table as she leaned in and kissed Faith on the cheek. “You have another piece of cake, you hear? Or pork. Or fruit salad. I don’t care. Sample the whole buffet. I know you skipped breakfast, and you probably skipped lunch, too.”

Faith glanced away, caught. Paolo instantly disappeared, no doubt off to fetch the second helping of confectionery delight. Ah, well. Faith could go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe hit the pool. Or maybe she’d just lounge around for a day and enjoy three delicious square meals and a little more motherly spoiling.

Minutes later she was about to dig into her newly delivered second slice of cake, daydreaming of chucking all her responsibilities for twenty-four hours and enticing Kalani to run off with her to the beach, when a sultry male voice caressed her from behind.

“You look delicious.”

She put down her fork and glanced over her shoulder, not surprised to see Detective Guthrie standing there. He looked the way she’d felt two hours ago—exhausted and close to collapse—and he was carrying an accordion file as if it weighed a ton rather than a few pounds. He needed a strong dose of the treatment she’d received from Lu.

Upon her arrival at the restaurant, her foster mother had promptly thrown her into a hot, papaya-scented bath and ordered her to soak for no less than thirty minutes. Lu had remained in the bathroom long enough to give Faith’s hair a good washing, just like she used to when Faith was so much younger and having a particularly rough day. Lu had crooned old Hawaiian tunes for ten minutes, before leaving Faith alone to wash off the ugliness of her day. Now, wrapped in one of the spare sarongs the waitresses wore, and sporting two tiny lavender orchids tucked behind her ear into her naturally wavy, air-dried hair, she could smile with genuine warmth and sincerity.

“If it isn’t my Galahad,” she crooned, offering him a chair.

“Let’s not be melodramatic.”

“I’ll cease and desist on the melodrama if you take a rain check on the flirting.”

Not that she didn’t enjoy his attention. But during that bath, she’d convinced herself that messing with a man like Adam Guthrie, even if all in good fun, could hurt her credibility in the courtroom. Before today, she’d inspired a modicum of trepidation and fear in the officers of the court with whom she tangled. She wasn’t too proud to admit she enjoyed her cutthroat reputation. Then again, since Adam had saved her life, she was pretty sure his grandiose assumptions about her, if he’d had any in the first place, were not quite so larger-than-life anymore.

“No can do,” he said. “Comes too easy.”

She couldn’t argue, so sipped her coffee instead. A lawyer who couldn’t argue? What was the world coming to? Still, as a lawyer, she wasn’t one to ignore facts.

Adam Guthrie was a major heartthrob. And she hadn’t had an honest-to-goodness heartthrob in her life for too long.

“How’s Lorraine?”

“Stable, finally. They think she’ll be okay, but she’ll have to take that retirement she’s been avoiding.”

Faith smiled sadly. No one deserved a rest more than Lorraine, but she’d be a great loss to the system.

“Any clues about the shooter?” she asked, waving to Kalani and hoping a change of subject would take the edge off her charged response to him.

He folded himself wearily into the chair. “We found shell casings, so we know the make and model of his weapon. Remington M24.”

“Standard military issue,” she noted.

He lifted a brow.

She smiled. “I defended a former Army Ranger suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder back in Los Angeles,” she explained. Some of the knowledge she’d picked up since passing the bar wasn’t the kind she’d want to use more than once, but for the most part, her broadening knowledge base came in handy. Like when trying to impress police detectives.

“You practice in L.A., too?”

Clever devil, turning the conversation to something personal.

“Went there first after law school. I still take cases there all the time. Luckily for you, there’s more crime there than in Courage Bay.”

“But your main office is here now?”

Faith grinned, despite her attempt to contain her sentimentalism. “I’m a sucker for roasted pork and ukelele music, what can I say?”

Kalani scooted over, two tall turquoise drinks poised on her tray. “See, Detective? I’ve kept her in my line of sight all evening,” she said proudly.

“I should put you on the payroll,” he quipped.

Kalani snorted. “For my sister, it’s free. So are these.” With great flourish, she served the drinks, complete with fresh fruit and a tiny umbrella poised on the rim. “Compliments of the house. Order anything you’d like. Anyone who saves my sister’s life has earned a complimentary dinner.”

After laying a menu beside Adam’s drink, Kalani winked at Faith and moved gracefully away, her shoulders swaying to the twang and rhythmic whine of Maleko’s steel guitar. Faith’s foster father stood on the tiny stage in the opposite corner of the room, playing a traditional tune to an enraptured crowd. Though it was a Thursday night, the place was packed, but for the most part quiet. Maleko Apalo was a true master of Polynesian music, and the mournful strumming took only moments to seep under Faith’s skin.

She closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept since returning to the restaurant, but while her exhaustion had dissipated, she was now blissfully tired. Like a cat who’d just lapped a saucer full of cream, she wanted a nap.

Until she experienced the sensation of a man’s gaze roaming over her face. She opened her eyes and caught Adam staring at her intently, a tiny smile lingering on his lips. A sigh caught in her throat. Having him look at her with such contained hunger was a definite ego-booster, but she wasn’t the type to lead a guy on. She’d better tend to business soon so he could leave. The longer he hung around, the harder it was going to be to keep those melted caramel eyes of his—not to mention other choice parts of his delicious body—out of her dreams.

She sat up straighter and took a sip of the Blue Sunset her sister had delivered. The sugary flavors of pineapple and mango juices blended with the distinctive taste of dark rum and blue curaçao. Man, she missed these. The drink was a rare luxury, since she usually left the restaurant and drove straight home to do a few more hours of work.

Not tonight.

She took another long, indulgent sip.

Adam had flipped open the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“The buffet,” she said, nodding toward the sumptuous spread of food that took up the entire west wall of the restaurant. “Have a little bit of everything. You’ll like it all, I guarantee it. Except the poi. We serve it because it’s expected, but it tastes like paste.”

Adam glanced around, obviously impressed by the tropical festiveness of the decor. Colorful streamers, floral garlands and twinkling lights in rainbow hues decorated the ceiling, rustling lightly thanks to the lazily churning palm-frond-style fans. The walls sported a collection of antique ukeleles, most resembling mini-guitars, others more oval or pear-shaped with tropical fruits or hula girls painted on the base. The tables glimmered with votive candles crafted with a kaleidoscopic array of colored bits of glass, so that a rainbow danced on the table when the fans shimmied the flames. The air flowed with the sounds of hushed conversation at the tables, the music, and chatter from the kitchen behind them. Faith always chose a table in the back, where she could watch the action and yet remain relatively undisturbed.

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