Julie Leto – Line of Fire (страница 10)

Lu stood, her hands flat on the table as she leaned in and kissed Faith on the cheek. “You have another piece of cake, you hear? Or pork. Or fruit salad. I don’t care. Sample the whole buffet. I know you skipped breakfast, and you probably skipped lunch, too.”

Faith glanced away, caught. Paolo instantly disappeared, no doubt off to fetch the second helping of confectionery delight. Ah, well. Faith could go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe hit the pool. Or maybe she’d just lounge around for a day and enjoy three delicious square meals and a little more motherly spoiling.

Minutes later she was about to dig into her newly delivered second slice of cake, daydreaming of chucking all her responsibilities for twenty-four hours and enticing Kalani to run off with her to the beach, when a sultry male voice caressed her from behind.

“You look delicious.”

She put down her fork and glanced over her shoulder, not surprised to see Detective Guthrie standing there. He looked the way she’d felt two hours ago—exhausted and close to collapse—and he was carrying an accordion file as if it weighed a ton rather than a few pounds. He needed a strong dose of the treatment she’d received from Lu.

Upon her arrival at the restaurant, her foster mother had promptly thrown her into a hot, papaya-scented bath and ordered her to soak for no less than thirty minutes. Lu had remained in the bathroom long enough to give Faith’s hair a good washing, just like she used to when Faith was so much younger and having a particularly rough day. Lu had crooned old Hawaiian tunes for ten minutes, before leaving Faith alone to wash off the ugliness of her day. Now, wrapped in one of the spare sarongs the waitresses wore, and sporting two tiny lavender orchids tucked behind her ear into her naturally wavy, air-dried hair, she could smile with genuine warmth and sincerity.

“If it isn’t my Galahad,” she crooned, offering him a chair.

“Let’s not be melodramatic.”

“I’ll cease and desist on the melodrama if you take a rain check on the flirting.”

Not that she didn’t enjoy his attention. But during that bath, she’d convinced herself that messing with a man like Adam Guthrie, even if all in good fun, could hurt her credibility in the courtroom. Before today, she’d inspired a modicum of trepidation and fear in the officers of the court with whom she tangled. She wasn’t too proud to admit she enjoyed her cutthroat reputation. Then again, since Adam had saved her life, she was pretty sure his grandiose assumptions about her, if he’d had any in the first place, were not quite so larger-than-life anymore.

“No can do,” he said. “Comes too easy.”

She couldn’t argue, so sipped her coffee instead. A lawyer who couldn’t argue? What was the world coming to? Still, as a lawyer, she wasn’t one to ignore facts.

Adam Guthrie was a major heartthrob. And she hadn’t had an honest-to-goodness heartthrob in her life for too long.

“How’s Lorraine?”

“Stable, finally. They think she’ll be okay, but she’ll have to take that retirement she’s been avoiding.”

Faith smiled sadly. No one deserved a rest more than Lorraine, but she’d be a great loss to the system.

“Any clues about the shooter?” she asked, waving to Kalani and hoping a change of subject would take the edge off her charged response to him.

He folded himself wearily into the chair. “We found shell casings, so we know the make and model of his weapon. Remington M24.”

“Standard military issue,” she noted.

He lifted a brow.

She smiled. “I defended a former Army Ranger suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder back in Los Angeles,” she explained. Some of the knowledge she’d picked up since passing the bar wasn’t the kind she’d want to use more than once, but for the most part, her broadening knowledge base came in handy. Like when trying to impress police detectives.

“You practice in L.A., too?”

Clever devil, turning the conversation to something personal.

“Went there first after law school. I still take cases there all the time. Luckily for you, there’s more crime there than in Courage Bay.”

“But your main office is here now?”

Faith grinned, despite her attempt to contain her sentimentalism. “I’m a sucker for roasted pork and ukelele music, what can I say?”

Kalani scooted over, two tall turquoise drinks poised on her tray. “See, Detective? I’ve kept her in my line of sight all evening,” she said proudly.

“I should put you on the payroll,” he quipped.

Kalani snorted. “For my sister, it’s free. So are these.” With great flourish, she served the drinks, complete with fresh fruit and a tiny umbrella poised on the rim. “Compliments of the house. Order anything you’d like. Anyone who saves my sister’s life has earned a complimentary dinner.”

After laying a menu beside Adam’s drink, Kalani winked at Faith and moved gracefully away, her shoulders swaying to the twang and rhythmic whine of Maleko’s steel guitar. Faith’s foster father stood on the tiny stage in the opposite corner of the room, playing a traditional tune to an enraptured crowd. Though it was a Thursday night, the place was packed, but for the most part quiet. Maleko Apalo was a true master of Polynesian music, and the mournful strumming took only moments to seep under Faith’s skin.

She closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept since returning to the restaurant, but while her exhaustion had dissipated, she was now blissfully tired. Like a cat who’d just lapped a saucer full of cream, she wanted a nap.

Until she experienced the sensation of a man’s gaze roaming over her face. She opened her eyes and caught Adam staring at her intently, a tiny smile lingering on his lips. A sigh caught in her throat. Having him look at her with such contained hunger was a definite ego-booster, but she wasn’t the type to lead a guy on. She’d better tend to business soon so he could leave. The longer he hung around, the harder it was going to be to keep those melted caramel eyes of his—not to mention other choice parts of his delicious body—out of her dreams.

She sat up straighter and took a sip of the Blue Sunset her sister had delivered. The sugary flavors of pineapple and mango juices blended with the distinctive taste of dark rum and blue curaçao. Man, she missed these. The drink was a rare luxury, since she usually left the restaurant and drove straight home to do a few more hours of work.

Not tonight.

She took another long, indulgent sip.

Adam had flipped open the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“The buffet,” she said, nodding toward the sumptuous spread of food that took up the entire west wall of the restaurant. “Have a little bit of everything. You’ll like it all, I guarantee it. Except the poi. We serve it because it’s expected, but it tastes like paste.”

Adam glanced around, obviously impressed by the tropical festiveness of the decor. Colorful streamers, floral garlands and twinkling lights in rainbow hues decorated the ceiling, rustling lightly thanks to the lazily churning palm-frond-style fans. The walls sported a collection of antique ukeleles, most resembling mini-guitars, others more oval or pear-shaped with tropical fruits or hula girls painted on the base. The tables glimmered with votive candles crafted with a kaleidoscopic array of colored bits of glass, so that a rainbow danced on the table when the fans shimmied the flames. The air flowed with the sounds of hushed conversation at the tables, the music, and chatter from the kitchen behind them. Faith always chose a table in the back, where she could watch the action and yet remain relatively undisturbed.

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