She rolled onto her knees and hugged him from behind, her breasts warming his back. “I wanted you.”
Jake Lassiter was silent.
“And I still do,” she said. “I care for you. You’re like an overgrown puppy that needs protection.”
Sure I need protection, Jake Lassiter thought. Who wouldn’t after hanging out with a woman who strangles, slices, and buries them, one after another? He thought about it some more. The violence hadn’t bothered her at all. Should have figured that, the way she’d dispatched Keaka and Lomio in the past two days. A man dies and her missing orgasm roars into town like a runaway train. Another man dead, her engine heats to the red line. Keeping her satisfied could decimate the male gender. And what did she see in him, Lassiter wondered, a dreamer in wing tips and button-down shirts who thinks he can take this strong, beautiful, violent woman and wrap her up in a pink ribbon.
“Do you still care for me, Jake?”
He wasn’t proud of the answer, but there it was just the same. “Does the sun still rise in the east?” he asked quietly.
Lila Summers arose before dawn and silently gathered her belongings. She looked down at Jake Lassiter, lying on his side, clutching the pillow where she had been. She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a dive knife, felt the jagged edge, cool to the touch. Kneeling by the bed, she placed the sharp point within an inch of Lassiter’s jugular and held it there. Seconds passed. She held the knife steady, studying him, listening to his breathing. She moved the knife to his temple, then brushed back his shaggy hair over an ear. She leaned close, grazed his ear with a soft kiss, and whispered, “I love you, Jake, as much as I can love.”
Lila carefully placed the knife on the nightstand, making no sound, pulled on a pair of shorts and a halter top and quietly left the room. Over one shoulder she carried a duffel bag with her clothing. Over the other shoulder, just as it had been in the race to Bimini, was a waterproof yellow pack crammed with treasure.
Jake Lassiter thought he was dreaming. He heard Lila’s voice saying she loved him. Must be wishful thinking or wishful dreaming, his mind was saying, shaking off the sleep. He stretched out a leg to find her.
Nothing. He reached with a hand.
The bed too cool.
His eyes opened.
Nothing.
He got up. No Lila in the bathroom. A quick look around, no yellow pack.
It was happening again, Lila gone, the emptiness spreading. He jumped into his pants. Barefoot, he ran outside and stopped. The dock was only two hundred yards away. It was not quite dark and not quite light, a slice of the sun behind him rising over the peak of Haleakala in the distance. Puffy clouds dappled the calm bay with pale silver shadows.
Barely twelve hours since he’d saved her life, and she chooses the money instead of him. His mind racing, the image from the top of the Iao Needle flashed back. How strange that the great athlete would stumble. How unlike her to show such fear.
Then he saw it all for the first time. Her eyes were pleading with him not to let go.
He’d had a good grip on her and the leverage to haul her up. And he was strong. No way he would drop her. Unless he meant to. Which is what she feared. Keaka Kealia would have dropped her, she said. And she would have pushed Keaka off the cliff, too. Or anyone who happened to be in the way at the time. Including Jake Lassiter. Because there wasn’t much difference between Keaka and Lila, and Jake Lassiter had known that for longer than he cared to admit.
And now he knew it all. She had killed Berto and tried to kill him. She had tried to push him off the cliff and, dangling there, thought he knew. But he hadn’t known until now. He never figured she would kill him for slips of paper that could be exchanged for more paper that could be exchanged for cars and furs and jewels. Now he stood paralyzed in the ashen morning light.
Seconds passed.
Then he ran after her. Or after the bonds. He didn’t know which.
He ran toward the end of the dock, his feet picking up splinters from the wooden planks. He heard the engines turn over before he saw the Crooked Rainbow. It began to pull away, Lila on the flying bridge, guiding the big boat into open water, leaning a little on the throttle. He neared the end of the dock and had to slow down to keep from falling in.
He yelled her name.
She didn’t turn around.
Jake Lassiter would remember many things about the next few moments of his life. One was that Lila Summers didn’t turn around. She must have been able to hear him, even over the rumble of the twin engines. She wasn’t that far away and he had good pipes. But she didn’t turn, she just watched the water in front of her and kept heading toward the open bay. Later, remembering the scene, he decided she had heard him but wouldn’t turn, because tears were running down those granite cheekbones. He wanted to believe it, but he would never know.
The rest was frozen. Slowly, so slowly, like a dream. Jake Lassiter stood there yelling, but no words came out.
First he saw the flash.
Next he heard the roar.
Then he felt the concussion.
The flash was orange, the smoke black, a fireball from within the Hatteras, reaching to the sky, scattering a dozen gulls, drowning out their cries. A splintering of wood, fiberglass, canvas, plastic, and metal.
The huge gas tanks exploded, one after another, launching a thousand missiles of shrapnel, the boat tearing itself apart, leaving nothing above the water, and what was left floating was disintegrated or burning, tiny pieces of indistinguishable matter disappearing into the tomb of a black sea.
CHAPTER 36
Jake Lassiter was standing at the end of the dock, staring at the burning wreckage when the first police car pulled up. Captain Mikala Kalehauwehe got out and walked slowly toward him. The cop could have been checking parking meters the way he took his time. Behind him was Lee Hu. Found herself another beau, Lassiter figured later, her mourning taking its usual twenty-four hours.
The captain stopped when he was four feet away. His eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses, and when he spoke, his voice was detached and calm. “Looks like you missed your boat, lucky for you.”
Lassiter was silent and the captain continued, “Damn shame how some people forget to hit the blowers and clean out the exhaust fumes before turning the ignition. Those fumes ignite, they blow the fuel tank to kingdom come. A real shame, to die like that, but at least it’s quick, lot better than having your guts ripped open or being cooked to death.”
Jake Lassiter moved a step toward him. He could take the cop right there, could crush his skull against the wooden piling. The cop spread his legs and rested his right hand on the butt of his revolver. He returned Lassiter’s stare.
“Still investigating those two homicides. Seems the hotel’s entertainment guy spotted someone suspicious hanging around the imu that day. A malihini, a tourist, tall guy with an acre of shoulders, dirty blond hair. Hey, somebody puts out a BOLO, you could get picked up.”
Lassiter kept an eye on the cop’s right hand and said, “Or maybe somebody talks to the FBI and DEA, they drag the bay, come up with evidence of plastiques and a timer. Wonder how many people on this island know how to rig something like that?”
The cop’s voice hardened. “I could bust you right now if I wanted. Accessory to two first-degree murders, no
