Rolling in the Deep: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 2 (7 page)

Relief from his introspection and his family’s meddling arrived in the form of two more large males. “Here are Jack and Gabe.”

David rose, a huge smile splitting his face as he hugged first the big blond man and then the short, stocky Hawaiian. Jack Nord was a successful realtor in California, and Gabe Paalani managed a thriving sporting-goods store on Maui. Both had played football with Daniel and David for the Rainbow Warriors. The two had flown in for the wedding and to spend some time at Nawea Bay. Gabe’s wife would fly over in the morning.

When they were settled, Homu raised his glass. “We’re here to celebrate, kanakas. To my son David and his beautiful bride.”

With a chorus of agreement, the others raised their glasses to David and drank. He smiled around at all of them.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, brah,” said Daniel in mock disapproval. “With a keiki on da way, yeah?”

“Yeah, gimme that beer,” said a new voice. A young Hawaiian, tall but much slighter than David and Daniel, reached over David’s shoulder and snagged his nearly full glass.

“Zane, you fool,” David protested as his younger cousin drained the glass and then banged it on the table before David, empty. “Buy me another one!”

Zane grinned at him as he dodged David’s long arm to slide into the last empty chair, beside Daniel. “Nah, Daniel’s buying tonight. He’s the best man, yeah?” He gave Daniel a teasing look edged with admiration, lifting his fist. Daniel tapped it with his own. His younger cousin had been following him around since he was old enough to toddle, wanting to do everything Daniel did, related to the sea, anyway.

“That I am.” Daniel signaled the waitress. She handed David a new glass, then raised her eyebrows questioningly at Daniel. He nodded, and she hurried off.

In a few moments, the sound of a ukulele and a drum could be heard, approaching along the lanai.

David was talking, but as the other men all looked past him, he turned and then groaned good-naturedly.

Two lovely Hawaiian girls in bikini tops, leis and little sarongs approached through the crowded tables, doing a slow hula shimmy to the beat of the drum. All the other patrons watched with delight as they danced their way through the tables. One held an arm out before her, laden with leis. When she reached their table, she ceremoniously paused before David. The other girl took a fragrant lei and draped it around his neck. Then she repeated the process with each of the other men.

With a nod, the ukulele music changed, speeding up, as did the drumbeat. With sharp yips, the two girls began a fast, rollicking hula that sent their slender, sarong-clad hips shimmying, while the graceful motions of their hands told a story.

When the song ended, the two bowed to David. The other patrons broke into spontaneous applause, along with the Ho’omalu party.

“Mahalo,” David said.

Daniel signaled to the musicians that they should circulate around the lanai, and the little troupe moved on, to the delight and applause of the other brewery patrons.

“Any more surprises?” David asked Daniel dryly.

“You mean besides the extra hot peppers on your side of the pizza?”

“That’s it—I’m having the
kalua
pork.”

“I’ll eat his share of the pizza,” Zane said. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always hungry, surfer boy.” Daniel looked at his cousin’s slender frame and shook his head. “Got nothing to show for it either.”

Zane grinned. “You’re jealous ’cause you’d sink da board, you tried to catch a wave.”

“Don’t need a board. Anyway, sandwiches, pizza and salad are coming. I told them right after the hula.” The meal at the Royal K had been delicious but light. He could eat some more, and his father and David no doubt would too.

“We must all eat, keep up our strength,” Hilo said. “Tomorrow’s our turn to make hula, yeah?”

“’Ae!” They raised their glasses high. Tomorrow night was luau. Melia’s family would be here from the mainland, and the other guests as well.

“We start the
imu
tonight,” Homu said. “Nice big pig from da Yee farm.”

The party broke up early. The Ho’omalu men were proud of their kalua pig roasts. Hilo and Homu would both be up in the wee hours to help stash the pig in its bed of hot coals and banana leaves, where it would roast slowly half the night and the following day until the meat was tender, smoky and falling off the bones. The caterers would serve it with a huge spread of local favorites and some of Melia’s new recipes that she’d created using local ingredients.

But after he said good night to the men of his family in the parking lot, Daniel headed off in a different direction. He wanted to know what the locals were talking about.

The Kolohe was tucked in behind a tattoo shop on the main road across the side of Mauna Loa. Set on the uphill side where real estate was cheaper, there was no ocean view and no umbrellas in the drinks. The food menu was limited to whatever patrons brought in from one of the local cafes. The tattoo shop was closed, a crooked sign hung on the doorknob, but light spilled across the gravel parking lot from the open doors and windows of the bar.

Daniel sauntered in and glanced around. The woven grass blinds were all rolled up to let in the soft night air. The Sons of Ni’ihau sang of their white, sandy beaches from speakers mounted high on the wall, over a glassy-eyed swordfish wearing a dirty captain’s hat.

And behind the bar stood Kahni, with bold eyes and long, streaked hair, her impressive breasts stuffed into a low-cut dress. Without asking, she produced a bottle of Kona Red and set it on the bar. Daniel smiled at her, handed her a twenty and slid onto a barstool.

“How you doin’?”

She smiled back, deposited the bill in her till and made change. “Okay, how you?”

She set his change on the bar and leaned forward. He let the money lie, enjoyed the view because she expected it, and took a pull on his beer. Didn’t taste as good as the tap brew he’d been drinking, but he wasn’t here for the beer. And her breasts weren’t as pretty as another pair he’d seen today, but he wasn’t here to compare.

“You busy later?” he asked.

She tossed her long hair, preening. “Yeah, sorry. Already got plans.”

He nodded, realizing with an inward groan that he felt no disappointment. Damn, Claire Hunter had thrust her pretty fingers into every cranny of his life. Sand in his shorts, hell—she was more like chunks of lava rubble.

Before he’d met Melia, David had had a series of flings with haole tourists. Daniel’s one try had been a spectacular fail. After convincing him and herself she was ready and willing for rough play, the little fool
realized too late she was in over her head. Although he’d stopped as soon as she asked him to, driven her home, even tried to see her the next day to make sure she was all right, she’d accused him of rape, and he’d narrowly escaped the charges. For a man as private as he, through nature and necessity, it had been an exercise in public humiliation.

Now he had to live with the knowledge that his size and strength, and his sexual tastes, were too much for most wahines. Yeah, Claire Hunter might want him, but he couldn’t trust that she knew what she was getting into. Like his beloved sea, she thought he’d be all sunlight and calm. But he was the stormy waves, pounding away at a hole in the rock until the water broke through and the rock fell into the ocean, enveloped by the waves.

He couldn’t bear to see the sexy light in those blue eyes dim to fear. And she was Melia’s best friend besides. No way in hell was he going to try her on. 

Kahni was busy tonight, but there’d be other nights.

He turned his cold beer bottle idly in his hands as she sauntered out from behind the bar to wipe down a table and pile the empties on her tray.

Behind him, a group of men, three Hawaiians and two haoles, were talking fishing. Daniel watched them in the mirror as they discussed the record marlin that had been taken just off the coast, the chances of a tropical storm to the south turning toward Hawaii, and the navy maneuvers that had prevented two of them from getting to their favorite fishing spot the week before. One of the Hawaiians, heavyset and muscular, watched Kahni walk by on her way back to the bar.

“Fuckin’ navy,” one of the others said without heat.

One of the haoles laughed, the rough sound of a habitual smoker. “Saw a couple of my old navy buddies last week. One of ’em told the damnedest story. They got all these newfangled electronics now. Even got cameras that can take pictures underwater—on some kine motion sensor. So, one of their young techs swears to his officer he sees a guy on this camera, swimming clear out, fathoms deep. With no scuba equipment.

“This officer says, ‘Damn college boys been smokin’ Kona Gold before they come on shift. I catch ’em at it, I’m gonna bust their asses back to ensign.’”

The other men laughed. Daniel sat rigid on his stool, only his thumbs moving as he rotated his bottle in the condensation puddled on the bar. Wasn’t hard to figure out who the camera had caught—him. Despite the warm air, a chill snaked down his spine. Kahni passed him, carrying drinks to a young couple sitting outside at one of the small plastic tables. He scarcely noticed her.

“They see da picture?” asked another, right on cue.

“Nah, just a shadow. Prob’ly just da nai’a.”

Daniel blew out a gusty breath and took another swig of beer. He’d have to be more careful on his undersea swims in the future. A lot more careful.

“Tommy here seen a mermaid once, when he was smokin’,” said a stocky Hawaiian with earrings and bushy sun-bleached hair.

“Hey, Kimo, she ka nani,” his smaller friend shot back in a hoarse voice. “I asked her to come wit me, but she say, ‘Just gimme your fish, kanaka.’ I say, ‘You don’t wanna
hana ai
, go find your own fish.’”

The men all laughed uproariously.

Daniel turned on his barstool, chuckling at the story, and one of the fishermen caught his eye and nodded. Daniel nodded back. Kimo turned and scooted his chair back, eyeing Daniel with dawning recognition.

“Hey, man, you da one who was wit Apana when he died, yeah?” he asked.

Daniel nodded somberly. The man shook his head. “Bad luck Apana had.”

Tommy snorted in disgust. “Bad luck, hell. Dat buggah never took care his boat. Surprised he ain’t come dead sooner.” He pointed the neck of his beer bottle at Daniel. “You one lucky kanaka.”

Daniel jerked his chin in acknowledgment. “Good to be alive.” He looked at the array of empty bottles on their table. “Buy you another round?”

The group shifted in their chairs. Kimo and Tommy grinned. “Oh, hell yeah, bruddah.”

Daniel slipped Kahni another larger bill and took a pull on his beer as one of the men rose to accept freshly opened bottles from Kahni and distribute them at the table.

One of the Hawaiians, heavyset with traditional tattoos down one side of his torso and leg, his hair shaved close to his skull as if he’d watched one too many videos with The Rock, eyed Daniel from under his brows. “Heard Apana was into some cash lately,” he said to no one in particular.

The two other Hawaiians looked at Daniel and then away. Kimo scratched his head; Tommy jigged his leg nervously. “Hey, Wayne, go easy,” he mumbled.

“I heard that,” Daniel said. “I dunno. Maybe some local-grown stuff, yeah?”

Wayne shook his bald head. “Nah. No locals trust Apana to keep his mouth shut.” He looked Daniel over. “Whatchu doin’ hangin’ wit him? You a Ho’omalu, yeah?”

As the other men’s gazes sharpened, Daniel shrugged again. So much for blending in—this island wasn’t that big. “Our mothers went to school together. My ma says to me, ‘You look after Nellie’s boy.’ So I check on him once in a while, help him work on his boat. But you can’t keep a kanaka outta trouble if he’s lookin’ for it, yeah? I ain’t no fuckin’ nanny.”

The other men eyed him, and Kimo laughed. “Chee, whassup wit dat? Bet all dem haoles would hire you to watch dere keikis, you so sweet lookin’.”

Daniel bared his teeth obligingly.

“How ’bout me?” Tommy demanded. “I’m sweet as a pineapple.”

Wayne ignored him, staring broodingly into his beer.

Daniel exchanged a few more pleasantries and then slid from his barstool. “Night, fellas. See you around.”

He sauntered out into the warm dusk and around the back of his truck, taking his time. He didn’t have long to wait. Wayne strode out of the bar and looked around, his head swiveling on his thick neck until he saw Daniel standing by his truck. He walked over, his footsteps crunching on the lava rubble of the parking lot. He was puffing himself up, trying to look badass.

“Dat Apana, he wasn’t so tough,” he said. “I am.”

Daniel regarded him. The palm fronds overhead swayed in the night breeze, flicking shadows over Wayne’s glistening face. Hostility poured off the other man in waves, from his bull-like stance to the way he flexed his big hands into fists. He looked like he worked with those hands and spent time pumping iron too, but Daniel knew he could take the moke. He was bigger, more powerful, and had his ho’omalu power as well. But he wasn’t fighting for no reason.

“You a friend of Apana’s?” he asked.

“Maybe I just don’t want you coming round here.”

Daniel eyed him across his truck bed. “That’d be your problem. I don’t wanna beef, but I go where I want.”

Wayne glared at him. “Well, you stay away from Kahni, or you get a beef, wit me.” Then he turned and swaggered into the bar.

Daniel swung into his truck and started the engine. He shook his head. So that was it—Wayne was after Kahni, probably her date tonight. Well, he and Kahni had never been exclusive. And Daniel was both relieved and pissed off. He wouldn’t have minded pounding Wayne into the gravel, blowing off some of his tension. On the other hand, he was glad to know the guy wasn’t involved in Apana’s mess.

But he still didn’t know if any more locals were involved with the people who’d hired Apana. Kimo and Tommy had acted nervous when Wayne mentioned Apana. Was it because they knew what Apana had been up to or because they were also involved?

That night, as Claire got ready for bed in the hotel room, she thought of all the things she’d learned about the Ho’omalus. They were true natives, steeped in the tradition of this beautiful place.