Relapse in Paradise Page 5

  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 y
ou’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.

  Chapter 4

  Boston slowed the van as he traveled along a narrow side street sandwiched between the Alo Moana district and the outskirts of downtown. He stopped across the street from The Canopy and prepared for the shit storm when he explained to Emily where they were and what they were doing.

  “We’re in Alo Moana. It’s a hodgepodge area on the fringes of both the beach and downtown, home to a fabulous outdoor mall and some not-so fabulous areas as well. Normally, I’d never dream of bringing a client to the shelter, but if it’s important enough for Hani—that’s my partner—to use the emergency cell phone, I owe it to him to find out why.”

  A bloated pause filled the air.

  Ice-cold words stabbed the humid air in the van cabin. “Did you say shelter?”

  People like Emily were part of the problem. Boston bit back a sigh. If more people offered a helping hand, instead of an upturned nose, places like The Canopy wouldn’t be so damn common and necessary in the first place. How easy to look down on someone from the glass-encased high-rise office Boston imagined she inhabited.

  “It’s called The Canopy. Pretty simple set-up.”

  She stared at him with perfect blankness. “You’re serious. We’re visiting a homeless shelter.”

  The hint of awe in her voice incensed him. He whipped off his sunglasses and fixed her with some naked judgment of his own. “That’s right. Though, technically, it’s more like a soup kitchen. This is the other job I mentioned. This might sound nuts to someone like you but, of the two, it’s the one I actually enjoy. The people I work for here might not be able to pay for my services, but they damn sure appreciate them more. You’re welcome to stay in the van and douse yourself with hand sanitizer if you’re afraid the condition is contagious.”

  He abruptly shut his mouth. The last thing he needed was for Emily to fire him. Somehow, he had to get her to stick around another two weeks. That, or immediately find another client.

  Her gaze narrowed. “You run a guide service and a shelter. Why both? Why not commit to one or the other?”

  At least she didn’t rail or sound disgusted. Only curious.

  “One of them pays.” He slid his sunglasses back on. “Usually enough for me to afford the other.” He yanked the keys from the ignition. “You want to come in or wait in the van?”

  Emily lowered her head for a glimpse through the driver-side window. She wrinkled her nose. “This is it?”

  The two-story, condo-style building sat squished between a Japanese restaurant that donated their leftover rice every day and a consignment jewelry shop, which had a perpetual “For Rent” sign in the second-story window. A small eave sagged over The Canopy’s entrance, and three crumbling concrete steps complimented the scarred front door. Some long ago occupant had painted the whole thing a hideous eggplant hue with forest green trim.

  The outside wasn’t even the worst of it. The toilet leaked. Hani’s industrial cooking equipment took over both the kitchen and formal dining area, so they’d converted the living room into a dining hall, thanks to major donations of picnic tables and plastic lawn furniture. Boston’s office was a broom closet off the kitchen, hardly big enough to hold a desk. The two bedrooms upstairs barely held three twin-sized beds between them. The living room-come-dining hall had a hole in one corner of the old wood floor
from a suspected termite problem and yellowed wallpaper from a bygone era.

  From roof to foundation, it was a mess. But it had been a damn cheap mess.

  Boston scratched his ear. No need to tell Emily all that. “The location is ideal, even if the color scheme sucks.”

  Normally, he went out of his way to treat his clients to a piece of Paradise they could call their own. Not often did he find himself intent on bursting their illusions with a heap of reality. But if anyone deserved a strong dose of realism, it was the lady sitting next to him. “In the last five years, homelessness has surged thirty-two percent. I mentioned Alo Moana’s mall, the largest outdoor mall in the country, but what you won’t hear anyone tell you is how the beach park across the street is littered with tarps serving as homes for dozens of people. Those lucky enough to own a tarp, at any rate.”

  Emily chewed her lip. “I didn’t realize it was such a problem here.”

  “Our number one civil issue. It’s a crisis. Anyone who says otherwise has an agenda, is ill-informed, or plain has blinders on.”

  She nodded toward The Canopy. “Tell me about this place. What exactly do you provide?”

  Why did the answer always seem so small and lacking? “Food. That’s it.” Did he imagine the disappointment flitting across Emily’s face? “There are a hundred places around the city for these guys to go, and yes, they are overwhelmingly male. Some shelters offer housing, meals, jobs, even rehab. For many, it’s a lot of pressure. They won’t go looking for help where there are strings attached. Hani and I, we only feed people. No sermons, no judgment. If someone is ready for more, we send them to one of the bigger outfits with more resources.”

  “You feed people and send them back out to the streets?”

  “I don’t send anyone anywhere. They leave.” He stopped and tried to dial back his defensiveness. “We have beds upstairs and take on a couple semi-permanent residents who’re interested in working. One of those residents, a guy named Kale, might be in some trouble, which is why we’re here.”