Pleasing the Dead (23 page)

Chapter Forty-two

The
Quest
took the swell abeam. An awkward and potentially dangerous maneuver, which made Lara wonder what Ken was doing, but she'd had her own trials over the last half hour or so. She sat with her back against the rise of the cabin, out of the view of anyone aft. Not even Ken could see her here, which was nice and private. She needed to think.

About an hour ago, after they were well out to sea, she'd heard a pounding sound and asked Ken, who was at the helm, what was going on. He acted like he hadn't heard her question, but that dildo friend of his started to laugh. Ken shot him a look, and Billy shut up. She liked that about Ken, his sense of leadership. She wished Ryan was more of a leader instead of the pushover he was around his father.

Wait, that wasn't entirely fair. Ryan's friends had a lot of respect for him. He was smart
and
kind. Her problem was his dad, who was an associate of the man who'd ruined her family.

She didn't know whom to trust anymore. Ken and Billy were up to something, and it wasn't good. Billy didn't have enough brain cells to generate a spark, let alone an original idea. Still, Ken brought him into the shop to help out. Ken said Billy had standuplitude. Billy had been in Desert Storm with Ken, and would do what Ken asked him. Ken had brains and some money; Billy had brawn, balls, and he was new in town. Easier for him to get around unnoticed.

Now she just didn't know. Storm, Stella, and Keiko were unwilling passengers on the
Quest
. Ken might be intelligent, but he'd teamed up with Billy, who was neither smart nor kind.

A confused groan escaped her, and Lara looked around, startled by her own anguished noise. Relax, no one could hear her; the drone of the engines and slapping of the sea against the
Quest
's hull would drown out all but the sharpest noises. Was she being betrayed again? By Ken, to whom she'd revealed confidences and allowed into her business?

She did not have good luck with men. Ken, another handsome bad boy, was a shameless flirt who made certain parts of her body feel all loose and liquid. He'd planted the seed of discontent when he asked her why she was marrying the guy who owned the real estate instead of getting it in her own name.

Lara's heart contracted. When Stella introduced her to Ryan, she thought her dreams had come true. In the early days, Ken's suggestions and innuendos bounced off her like rice on a drum.

It had been a black day when she discovered Paradise Consortium, on whose board Obake sat, was a partner with the Tagama's real estate company. They had part ownership in a handful of South Coast properties, among them the shopping center where her dive shop was located.

No wonder Ryan had been flustered when she'd suggested his dad give the land to them for a wedding present. Ryan knew Obake was in on it, despite her family history. The information had practically gutted her.

Stella was clueless, especially when it came to men. Always had been, always would be. Stella adored Ryan. So did Barb, for that matter. In her lucid moments, which were less and less frequent, Barb flirted as if she were the fiancée. Stella had been friends with the elder Tagama for years. Another Obake-corrupted relationship.

Lara's eyes swept the coastline. The
Quest
was miles from Kihei, and approaching the appointment she'd made. Her stomach clenched with nerves. They were about a half mile off shore, in deep water, and out of cell phone range, just as she and Ken had planned.

Three men were on the beach, small in the distance, but Lara could pick out Obake; he was the one in swim trunks and no shirt. He strutted back and forth as if stalking the
Quest
, his blocky, muscled torso the color of oiled teak. He knew she was watching, and he enjoyed the attention.

He'd contacted her, and told her she was lucky that he'd give her a minute or two, the respect due a business associate. She didn't buy that for a nanosecond. He didn't consider women business associates, especially if they were Farrell women. She was the only one who wasn't his whore. Or maybe she was, and she just didn't know it yet.

He told her he'd altered the sales contract that Mary Robbins had with her when her car went over the bridge. He was now the new owner of Michael Farrell's pretty little house on the private beach. Even if someone was suspicious about Mary's death, no one would dare confront him.

But there was something he wanted or needed, because he'd initiated the meet. The ball was still in her court.

Lara's eyes narrowed with hate. His fat feet tainted the sand. He contaminated the whole area: her family land, her nest egg, her place of special memories. The sight made her seethe; it sent her to pick through jagged rubble of her childhood. Memories with teeth.

When had it all fallen apart? Long before Angela started using cocaine and crystal meth. Before Angela decided, like their mother, that success was measured in the men she attracted and the trinkets they offered. Before she dropped out of school. But it wasn't Angela's fault. Barb had the illness, too. Like a nest of termites that ate from the inside until the structure collapsed, Obake had planted the rot.

She thought she'd escaped the shadow that hung over the Farrells. She'd had a chance to throw off the curse. But she'd made choices without knowing where they would lead, and some of them had come back to bite her.

Had she placed her trust in the wrong person again? Ken and Billy had kidnapped three women who were Lara's friends and colleagues. Billy was in Obake's pay, but Ken? She'd believed in Ken.

They'd either shamed or threatened Damon into going along with the kidnapping, but Damon had freaked when he overheard Billy tell Ken they were far enough out to sea to throw the women over. That's when he'd come to her and suggested sliding the blade to the box cutter under the door. Like Damon, she'd been stunned at the plan, and gone along with the idea to help the women.

She hadn't been there when Billy caught Damon at the door to the cabin. Though Damon had been successful at getting the blade to the women, he was now trussed up like a luau pig, ready for the oven. Lara wasn't sure where Storm was, but Stella and Keiko had escaped.

The women were not part of her plan to meet Obake. They weren't to be put in harm's way. No way.

Lara dragged her eyes back to her adversary, who pointed to his watch and shouted something at his two bodyguards. One shrugged, an I-don't-know gesture. Obake yelled something else, and the other guy pulled out a cell phone.

Obake loosened his shoulders by flexing and rolling them, then splashed into the water. He was actually going to swim to the boat. He'd boasted that he would, but she'd argued with Ken about this. When she told Obake she'd be arriving via boat, she was sure he'd have his henchmen find a bigger, faster yacht to intimidate her.

But Ken was adamant that Obake wouldn't pass up the chance to show off his strength, half-nude body, and athletic prowess in front of a female audience. Ken had been right about that part.

Ken, who had loaned her money for a share in the shop. He'd helped her buy all the scuba gear and organized the dive tours. The shark encounter was his idea, and it was a winner. Ken liked excitement, even in the tongue-in-cheek guise of BRA, the Beach Rescue Alliance. Unlike Ryan, who hid Paradise Consortium's involvement from her, and backed away from arguments. Even when she made him sleep on the sofa.

Ken's ties to Billy were strong. The men had a past, a situation from their service in the Middle East. Lara had overheard Billy allude to a village, which he called by a name she couldn't remember, but she wouldn't forget the insinuation in his voice. Ken had become very quiet.

Lara took a deep breath, and another. She had to keep thinking and stay on top of this. Some of her choices had led down unexpected paths and onto new decisions, then other problems cropped up. It was hard to remember everything. The people involved were pushing her scheme according to their own different agendum, in ways she couldn't have anticipated.

Lara squinted at the water. Obake was doing the crawl, breathing with each stroke. One arm flashed in the sun, then the other, and his legs churned behind him. Not a pretty stroke, too much splash. Lara knew this because of Angela, who was a beautiful swimmer, if only she'd stayed with it.

Look at that. Obake made pretty good time, despite his method. Lara looked at the deep blue and watched for shadows. The sharks should be coming any minute now. Her
‘aumakua
.

Chapter Forty-three

“What's wrong?” asked Stella. Three faces, even the belligerent Billy's, stared up at Storm. Anxiety tightened the skin around their lips and eyes.

“I saw something.” But it had disappeared, and the boat approached another turning point. She turned the wheel in a gentle sweep this time, unlike the erratic wrench she'd given it when she saw the shark's silhouette.

What else would look like that? Storm looked around. Though they were fairly close to land to see a creature as large as—well, what she thought she'd seen. Fifteen, twenty feet? More than half the length of the boat, but maybe the water magnified it. Lara's
‘aumakua
.

“Something in the water?” asked Keiko.

Billy smirked. “Probably a big bad turtle.”

Keiko gave him stink-eye and pulled on his ties like he was an unpredictable pit bull.

A thumping distracted all of them. Ken was still in the same position, and appeared to be unconscious. He'd have a hard time moving around with that awful fracture even if he did wake up.

“I don't see Damon,” Storm said. The prone form on the port deck was no longer visible. “You sure he was tied up?”

“Yes,” Stella said, “but I'll go check.” She held the knife blade as if she wouldn't hesitate to use it.

Keiko watched her with an anxious expression, then allowed a movement in the water to catch her eye. “Hey, someone's swimming toward us.”

“You're right.” Storm stood up. “He looked right at us.”

“Yeah, look at that.” Billy's voice was amused. “And I have a hunch he'll help some of us out.”

“We've got to warn that guy.” Storm began to turn the boat toward him. “I think I saw a shark.”

“He'll be fine,” said Billy. “He doesn't want a boatload of fuckin' women driving up to him.”

Storm ignored him.

“Okay, do it. You'll see,” Billy said.

Keiko gave him a yank that made him grunt.

“You guys are fucked,” he sneered.

Keiko jerked on him again, a surprising burst of strength that made the cords in his neck stand out like cables. He went to his knees, “Fuhhhh—,” and onto his face.

Half a second later, Storm's, Keiko's, and Billy's attention was diverted by the sight of Damon edging along the narrow deck between the ocean and the side of the cabin. His eyes, dark with terror, flitted back and forth from the water to Storm's face. Stella held onto his tied hands, but he was unable to hold on to the stanchions that allowed Stella to walk the gunwale with security.

He glanced again at the ocean; at one point, he teetered, and she steadied him. “MMMM. MMMM.” He tried to communicate through a gag of duct tape.

“You think he wants to talk to us?” Stella helped him make the big step down to the cabin, where he sat on the gunwale and leaned against a stanchion. She sat next to him. His face was so pale and sweaty he looked like he was made of plastic.

“Where's Lara?” Stella ripped the duct tape from his face.

Storm blinked. He wouldn't have to shave for a month.

The tape's sting had drawn tears. “I tried—”

“I've had enough of this.” Stella grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. He teetered on the seat cushion just as Billy drew the crew's attention by making a high, nervous sound that hinted at hysteria. His eyes bulged at a sight abaft.

Storm's first thought was that he was taunting Damon, and she gave him a disgusted and fleeting glance. Her eyes went back to the swimmer she'd seen. Where was that guy? Closer than she thought—he was within twenty yards, splashing toward the boat and looking up from time to time through his swim goggles.

She looked down at the throttle and carefully pushed it toward neutral. The last thing she wanted to do was run over him.

“Hey, there are a bunch of people on the beach—” Stella said, but a high-pitched screech from the water interrupted her.

At the same time, a dorsal fin sliced the sea's ripples into a smooth V-shaped stream, then disappeared into the cerulean depths. From her high position on the bridge, Storm watched the huge, dark shape circling the swimmer from below.

The man might not have been able to see it twenty feet below his scissoring feet, but he could certainly feel the vortex of its passing—just as if someone had pulled the plug on a drain.

His head pivoted from side to side. The racing goggles he wore magnified his terrified gaze to a pop-eyed caricature. Billy emitted a series of terrified squeaks. Everyone else gaped, struck dumb by the apparition that glided beneath the swimmer.

The sleek, muscular body flashed to the surface of the water without even a splash. Effortless in its liquid element. Huge. Grinning needles, flat black stones for eyes. Impassive, testing, taking stock. Barely a ripple in its wake.

Though Storm pushed the throttle into gear, twenty yards was too far. The shark moved like a torpedo. The man shrieked again, a guttural and blood-freezing sound. Vertical in the water, he levitated to his waist, while his arms reached for the impassive skies.

Storm opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. It was like a nightmare where she couldn't run, couldn't scream, and was paralyzed by terror. From her elevation, she was the first person to see the enormous creature rise to meet the swimmer.

The man shot into the air. A sheet of white water shielded the collision, though Storm reflected later that perhaps her brain simply blocked a horror she couldn't face. The last image she remembered was the swimmer as he windmilled his arms and flopped over. Then he disappeared.

The shark flashed back and forth, alternating gray and belly-white, a missile of death. The water roiled with activity, and it took the spectators a long moment to comprehend that the attacker wasn't alone. More sharks than anyone wanted to acknowledge thrashed through the pinkish foam.

Riveted by disbelief at what they'd witnessed in the water, no one in the cabin noticed Lara, who crept along the same narrow gunwale where Stella and Damon walked only a few minutes before. A faint smile played across her face.

Nor did any one see Ken make his move. On one leg, he struck like a cobra and shoved Storm from the helm.

Storm flew off the seat at the first blow. Though she landed hard enough to have the wind knocked out of her for the second time that day, she did not have her feet hooked under the footrest.

The
Quest
pitched violently to one side as Ken seized the wheel. He got her steadied just in time to grasp the result of his attack. When the
Quest
veered, Lara, Damon, and Stella, all in precarious positions and stunned by the scene they'd witnessed, were tossed overboard.

Ken shot away from the helm and half-scaled, half-slid down the ladder. The fracture was already bad; impact with the deck shoved the jagged bones through the tender and purple skin above one ankle.

He dashed, bleeding, across the deck. “Lara,” he screamed, and dived in.