foolish, caught off guard, appearing so damnably vulnerable.
“ You okay?” he asked, his voice banishing the shadows and demons that'd come so near.
“ No… yeah, I mean… yeah, for the moment. Bad dreams is all.” She knew her voice sounded a bit desperate and rocky.
“ About Matisak?” he asked, referring to her nightmare.
“ No… about Linda Kahala… about the way she died. Lau and I've measured the wounds the killer inflicted just to the one limb. He taunted her for hours if I'm any judge of the nature of the wounds, some striated in layers, as if he'd dug out goddamned…”-she searched for the word-”petroglyphs against her flesh like she was stone.” She'd mentioned the patterned nature of some of the cuts to him before, but she hadn't told him how it had affected her. “The… the bastard… likely placed such cuts all over her body before she mercifully gave into hemorrhagic shock, coma and death.” The slow death was filled with suffering, and the nightmare felt so real.
She shivered involuntarily.
He held her more firmly. “Nothing can harm you here with me,” he quietly promised, kissing her atop her head.
She tipped her head slightly upward, her mouth at his chin, and he moistened his lips and brought his mouth to hers. Their embrace was long, warm, honeyed and mellifluous; their bodies becoming fluid, each seemed to easily and wearily melt into the other, and now, for a time, they simply held firm to one another, Jim lying alongside her there on the bed. afraid to let go, a man who has reached too far, fearing a false move.
For a long time they remained quiet, but stroking his hair, she found herself exploring him, and in a moment each was exploring the other with renewed energy and needful hearts. Fingers and hands made swirls about her being, and each lover was now enraptured and wrapped in one another's longing. Each in great and passionate throes, each seeking comfort in the other… and suddenly there was no darkness or shadow living here, neither in the room nor inside her.
She reached around him and dug her nails into his back and wrapped her legs abouf him all in one flowing motion. He responded with ever more passion, his mouth cascading with a waterfall of warmth and saliva. Exploring her firm breasts, his fiery tongue stroked her like a welcomed hot poker. She raised and lowered with his rhythmic movement, their combined gasps and deep breathing their only music, enchanting and melodic.
This is what you came to Hawaii for, she thought.
“ Jess, Jess, Jess,” he chanted as a refrain, his unrestrained body bathing her in the oils of passion and play.
She awoke to his warmth beside her and the rich sounds of Hawaii greeting the sun. At the open floor-length balcony window here on the sixteenth floor, little island birds had come begging for morning crumbs, one of them inching into the room, cocking its head in her direction-a silent appeal for attention.
“ Will you look at those beggars?” she asked. “I'll call room service,” she suggested.
“ For the birds?”
“ For all of us!”
“ Sounds good.”
“ Any preferences?”
“ I trust you implicitly, but I'm not sure the 'elapaio do.”
“ 'Elapay-o'.'“
“ That's what your new guests are called. Honeycreepers who've been spoiled by tourists on balconies everywhere feeding 'em Cheerios and potato chips and pizza crumbs.”
“ You certainly know a lot about the islands.”
“ Can't live here as long as I have and not pick up a few things.”
“ It's really become home for you, hasn't it?”
He'd disappeared, nude, into the bathroom, and in a moment she heard him call back, “What? Oh, yeah… well, I read a lot, too.” His voice was replaced by the shower spray. She ordered scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee, and then she joined him in the shower.
After repeated raps on the door without answer, room service left the tray outside.
16
Life is the art of drawing sufficient conclusions from insufficient premises.
Outside the hotel, Jim Parry parted with Jessica, taking himself on a morning walk to the nearby hospital, where he'd look in on Sergeant Nathan Ivers. But just before they'd left the room, Parry had called into headquarters and been pleased with the news that a confession had been obtained from George Oniiwah's roommate, a story of betrayal which fully corroborated their deepest suspicions regarding Hal “Paniolo” Ewelo. Jim was ecstatic, hungry for Paniolo's head, and close enough to taste it as it was skewered over the pit. Somehow, the thought of avenging George Oniiwah made Jessica, too, feel there might be justice yet in the world, and that perhaps with the noose tightening around Ewelo's ugly neck, he might just have something to share with them about what he knew of the real Trade Winds Killer, for they'd both become convinced that Ewelo knew more than anyone had at first suspected, especially since the tenuous link between Terri Reno's john on the street and the cowboy-turned-pimp bar owner had been made.
Jessica had checked for any messages left her from the previous evening, and now she was alone outside the hotel, intending to return to the FBI crime lab via cab to see if there'd been any new developments there. Suddenly she was stopped by Joseph Kaniola.
“ What do you want, sir?” she asked coldly.
“ I want you to come with me.”
She shook her head. “I'm not going anywhere with you, Mr. Kaniola.”
“ I swear on my son's grave, I had nothing to do with the Oniiwah boy's death.”
“ I have no intention of going off with you, Mr. Kaniola. I have no reason to trust your motives, not since our last meeting.”
He dropped his gaze and said, “I'm sorry if you have felt used. Dr. Coran, but now you see that we are on the same side.”
She said nothing, flagging down a cab.
Kaniola persisted. “You have been long enough here now to know that everyone uses everyone in Hawaii, and that none of us are spared such… indignity.”
“ What do you want of me, Mr. Kaniola?”
“ My great-granduncle is a shaman and-”
“ Shaman?”
“ He is a priest among the traditionals and has sent word to me…”
“ And so?”
“ He has the gift, and he has seen this Trade Winds Killer, this man who killed my son. He tells me so, and he says he has seen you with him. He says it is not Ewelo.”
“ Has seen me? With the Trade Winds Killer? Just how?”
“ In a trance. Through here,” he replied, pointing to his temple. “My great-granduncle is what your culture calls a… a psychic.”
“ Really? Look, Mr. Kaniola-”
“ Will you come?”
“ No.”
“ But he can tell you facts not presently in evidence, facts you can use against this maniac you hunt.”
She shook her head. “This is still the U.S., and in a U.S. court the word of a prophet or seer isn't of any… use,
