Morgan's Son (21 page)

Just as she was about to get back into the car, she spotted Craig walking purposefully toward her, their camera equipment in a huge canvas bag over his shoulder. His hair was dark and sleek from its recent washing, and his face was scraped free of the dark shadow of beard. He wore the same clothes as before, but with a light blue jacket to conceal his shoulder holster. To her surprise, he held a lei in one hand.

Sabra reopened the trunk. Craig met her there and stowed their equipment.

"Here," Craig said gruffly, "this is for you," and he lowered the lei over her head, settling it against her neck. "It's plumaria. I liked the smell of it and thought of you…." He saw the pleasure in her eyes as he gently pulled her hair away from the flowers. Just as he'd thought, her hair was not only thick but fine, like strong silk. Though he ached to thrust his fingers through the mass of it, glinting with reddish highlights in the sun, he resisted.

"Thank you," Sabra murmured, touching the waxy petals of the fragrant white blooms.

Craig stood for a moment, watching a blush spread across her cheeks. Her eyes shone with such beauty that he forced himself to turn and slam the trunk closed. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

Once they were in the car, heading down the long, palm tree-lined lane that would eventually take them to the highway, Craig asked, "Did you find anything?"

Sabra shook her head. "No…nothing."

Quirking his mouth, he braked at the stop sign. The only highway that traversed
Maui
was busy this afternoon. He wasn't surprised. Making a right turn, he accelerated until they were moving with the rest of the traffic, heading east toward what was commonly known as up-country
Maui
.

Craig knew that although Sabra had no doubt gone over the car with a fine-tooth comb, there still could be a bug present, so they couldn't risk talking about anything that might make them suspect. His gaze ranged from the cars ahead of them to the ones behind, particularly alert for any that might seem to be following them.

"What do you feel like doing today, sweetheart?"

Sabra smiled a little, realizing Craig was pretending for the benefit of a possible bug. "Oh, I don't know. Part of me would love to go shopping, but the other part says we should drive around and look for photographic sights for our book." She deliberately stretched her arm across his seat and touched his shoulder. The contact was pleasurable, and she watched his mouth part slightly at her unexpected contact. Well, they were married, and such touching was expected, Sabra told herself. Only Craig reacted far differently from Terry, when they'd had to play such a role. She wondered if Craig's response was real or feigned.

"Lahaina isn't far from here," he suggested.

"Mmm, let's just sort of be whimsical today. Go where our spirits take us."

He smiled a little. "Okay." Sabra's soft touch against his shoulder again set his skin to tingling. But it was all an act, he realized, chastising himself unhappily. She wouldn't be touching him otherwise. Despite the pleasure of her company, he concentrated on the traffic around him. At the last moment, he turned off onto a side street that would lead them to Lahaina, one of the huge shopping areas on
Maui
. No cars followed. He went down a few blocks, made a left turn and headed back out to the highway. Again on the main thoroughfare, he continued to keep watch.

Sabra couldn't relax despite the excellent job Craig was doing driving and watching. She shifted her arm off the back of the seat and clasped her hands together in her lap. The beauty of
Maui
was evident everywhere. Once they'd gone beyond the main business area, the four-lane highway narrowed to two lanes. On the left rose volcanic hills of reddish black lava. On the right stretched the turquoise waters of the Pacific. As they climbed in elevation, Sabra could see a good portion of eastern
Maui
ahead of them.

Craig remained silent on their forty-five-minute drive to Kula, a small farming community roughly four thousand feet above sea level on the slopes of the magnificent
Haleakala crater
. Besides the local farmers, tiny Kula boasted its share of million-dollar estates for the rich and famous. In addition, the rare flower known as protea grew in the rich volcanic soil around Kula. The foliage was thick, and the many silver-barked eucalyptus trees that lined the narrow highway leading to Kula reminded him of
Australia
.

Proteas poked their huge, pincushion-shaped heads up here and there in people's front lawns bordering the highway. Craig glanced at Sabra, who had pulled out a map and spread it across her lap. Without a word, she held up one finger, meaning it was one mile to Garcia's estate. He nodded and slowed down a little more. Traffic through Kula was mainly tourists, coming from or going to Haleakala, which rose above them.

Garcia's estate sat about fifty feet off the highway on their right. Craig noted that the surrounding black, wrought-iron fence was at least ten feet tall, covered with red, pink and orange bougainvillea. Palm and eucalyptus trees grew near the iron fence, both inside and out. He didn't dare slow down too much and draw attention. Sabra had raised her camera and was clicking away as they passed the huge estate. Up ahead, he saw a small road and turned left, following it. The road was dirt and very rutted. Slowing to a crawl, they climbed its dusty expanse. Slopes of knee-high green grass bracketed them, interspersed with numerous eucalyptus trees, which dominated the rolling landscape.

Finally, after nearly a mile, Craig pulled the car to the side of the road. The slopes rose around them, all part of Haleakala's lower skirts, which flared outward to encompass most of eastern
Maui
. Climbing out, he opened the trunk, pulled out the canvas bag and slung it across his shoulder. He saw Sabra locking the car. Their eyes met, and he signaled her to follow him up the grassy knoll, thickly covered with eucalyptus.

The day was warm and breezy, the dark green leaves of the eucalyptus swaying in the wind. The grass was tall and thick and tangled easily around Craig's feet as he carefully made his way up the slope. The rich, black soil was composed of volcanic matter ground away over millions of years. He felt Sabra move up beside him. The climb was steeper than he'd realized.

"Did you see how secluded Garcia's estate was?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah."

"Still," she said, continuing to look around and study their position, "it's accessible."

"Maybe." Craig halted at the top of the knoll and grinned at her. "We've got a good view."

Sabra pushed strands of hair away from her face as the breeze swirled around her. Her heart was pounding from the climb as well as the elevation, but a smile tugged at her own mouth as she stood there. A thousand feet below, the road ran like a narrow ribbon, and directly across from it lay Garcia's elaborate, multimillion-dollar estate. From here they could see not only the iron fence that completely enclosed the grounds, but a huge Olympic-size pool to the left of his sumptuous house, the helicopter landing pad to the right.

"Whew," she said, wiping her brow, "that's quite a climb."

"We'll adjust to the altitude in a couple of days," Craig said, kneeling down and opening the canvas bag. "Come on, help me get this equipment up and running."

For the next half hour, they worked together in silence. The photographic equipment was state-of-the-art. When it was assembled, Sabra could see every movement on the estate as if it were mere feet away, through the lens of the high-powered camera she'd secured to a sturdy tripod. Craig anchored the tripod to prevent the gusting wind from knocking it over. They'd placed it next to a huge eucalyptus tree that provided partial cover for them and the camera. There was no doubt in Sabra's mind that the sentries would constantly check the surrounding hills for eavesdroppers such as themselves.

Finally, everything was done. Dancing sunlight slanted across the thick green grass. Craig sat down near Sabra's feet, his back against the tree, as she peered through the lens at the estate.

"We're going to have to pull half-hour watches," he said, opening his notebook and resting it against his drawn-up legs.

Sabra slowly panned the camera. "I know."

"Give me a verbal on the exterior layout."

Pleased at his efficiency, she said, "An Olympic swimming pool, regulation size, lies to the left of the house, completely enclosed by a white, wrought-iron fence. A number of lounge chairs and some tables with red-and-white-striped umbrellas surround the pool, but no people are visible."

"Good," Craig exclaimed, writing down the information and beginning to make a detailed map. "What else?"

Sabra moved the camera gently, panning to the right. "Wait…I see a man, probably a guard. Yes…he's carrying an assault rifle…no, it's a Beretta 12 submachine gun."

"I'm not surprised," Craig muttered, writing down the information.

She followed the progress of the guard, who walked slowly around the entire pool area. "I'm not, either. I was just hoping otherwise."

"That Beretta submachine gun can do a lot of damage in a hurry."

Sabra's heart pumped a little harder as she watched the guard. "This guy is about six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds. He's got black hair, brown eyes and a swarthy complexion."

Craig looked up. Sabra's mouth was compressed. The breeze tugged at her silk blouse and pants, outlining one side of her lithe form. She was beautiful no matter what she was doing or wearing, he decided. Tearing his mind off such things, he said, "Do you see any other guards?"

"Not yet. I want to time this guy."

"I'll do it." Craig set his watch.

"He's circled the pool, and now he's heading toward the rear of the estate, toward the fence."

"He's got a circuit he's walking. Let's find out how long it is. If we get lucky, Garcia won't have too many goons on the perimeter fence."

"Maybe," Sabra murmured. "This guy is good. He walks a few feet, then waits and listens, looks around and then moves on. He's trained well."

"See any dogs?"

She sighed. "Not yet. I hope he doesn't have any, if you want the truth." Dogs made it much tougher to enter an area undetected.

"Jake said Garcia had them at his Caribbean-island estate. Why wouldn't he have them here?"

"He probably does. I just haven't seen them yet."

For the the rest of her half-hour shift, Sabra watched, giving verbal reports to Craig. To their relief, there appeared to be only two guards on duty, each walking one side of the estate. Both were heavily armed. She'd spotted no dogs, but that meant nothing at this stage of the game.

Craig closed the notepad and reached into the canvas bag. "Hungry?"

Sabra came and sat down opposite him, the huge trunk of the eucalyptus hiding them completely from any prying eyes at the Garcia estate. "A little."

He pulled out two sandwiches wrapped in plastic. "I got these at the deli at the hotel. They're both chicken."

Her fingers touched his as she took one sandwich. Sabra found herself wanting excuses to touch him. "Thanks," she murmured, unwrapping the whole-grain bread. Crossing her legs, she began munching and looked upward.

"This tree is so beautiful."

"Like you." Craig frowned. Now where the hell had that come from? He saw Sabra's eyes widen over the compliment. Just as quickly, he saw her avert her gaze. "You've always reminded me of a willow," he said gruffly, trying to cover his faux pax. "You're graceful, like this tree."

Sabra chewed on the sandwich, no longer tasting it. "I've never been compared to a willow before, but it's a nice compliment," she said softly.

"When I first saw you, I wondered if you'd taken ballet lessons or something." Craig couldn't help himself. He wanted to know more about Sabra on a personal level. He had no right—no business asking, but it didn't matter. For the moment, they were safe, and they had gotten useful information.