The Soul Stealer (2 page)

As she drove home, Malia watched the sidewalks from time to time, hoping to see her intriguing stranger. She had never seen him on the way home, but there was always the possibility he might be there. Just the thought of him brightened her mood. Then thoughts of her mother came back and that dark day took over, which made her want to get home and pull the quilt over her head.

When Malia pulled into the driveway of the home she’d lived in all her life, she sat in the car for a moment to calm her nerves. The light blue, two-story house was a classic Hawaii construction design from the 1960s. The walls were single, redwood panels and the roof was made from compressed sugar cane, so the entire house could be blown over in a severe storm, but inside she felt safe and comfortable. There was no insulation, heating, or air conditioning, but the ceiling fan in each room kept it cool with the tradewinds that blew through the house.

If she were honest with herself, the house was in need of some major renovation. The furniture was old and full of holes, and even smelled a little musty. Her only piece of furniture worth anything was the kitchen table her father had hand-crafted out of
koa
wood. The matching chairs were even better because he had carved Hawaiian petroglyphs into them and made the seats out of black leather. Malia spent more time at the kitchen table than anywhere else in the house, because it was made with his hands.

She loved living in her family home but missed the sounds of her parents’ laughter filling each room. She was lonely at times, especially now that her grandmother had died and the apartment downstairs was empty, but Malia couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. The only thing was, staying there kept her clinging to a family and a way of life that no longer existed.

She waved to one of her neighbors, who was trying to keep the wild vines from taking control of his yard—a weekly chore this close to the jungle. At the kitchen door, Max greeted her with a lick and wagging tail.

“Did you guard the house today?” she asked in the special voice reserved only for Max. Because of him, she never felt the need to lock the door. But then, no one locked their doors on this side of the island.

Malia stood in the kitchen and looked at the letter from her father, afraid to open it. She didn’t want his dark cloud of despair to hover over her, too, which was inevitable whenever they came in contact with each other.

She wondered if he’d heard the news about the murder, or if reporters were hounding him. She tossed the letter onto the tiled counter and decided to take Max for a run. Whatever her father wanted to tell her could wait until tomorrow, or thereafter. If it were really important, he would have called.

H
unter needed to find her but was stuck on one street, climbing a hill. It seemed to be just an hour or two, but he figured anyone in Honolulu might consider it days or even weeks that he had been walking up the same street. Adapting to this reality meant his biological rhythms had to speed up to be in time with the life around him. Things in his reality moved much slower, so what seemed to be a day to him was probably weeks to people here. He needed a quiet, secure place to purify and cleanse his body or he would be feverish soon, but he wasn’t sure where to go. He left a trail of glittery dust wherever he went and was afraid someone might see it sparkling in the sunlight. He was too sick to control it, so the dust now seeped out of his skin. Fortunately, most humans were too oblivious to notice it.

The taste of panic left an acidic trail down his throat. Hunter looked around, unable to see clearly. The dress shop was not close enough, and time was running out. His father had given him a short period to complete this task and return home to take his rightful place as the anointed heir. He hoped Malia wouldn’t put up too much of a struggle, because there would be grave consequences if she did. The thought of causing her pain added to his stress.

Recently his brother had accused him of being too soft, and perhaps Archer was right. Hunter should do what he had to and not worry if it caused anyone pain, not even his beautiful girl. He couldn’t wait to meet her. He wasn’t sure he’d recognize her, but they would be attracted to each other. They had to be; it just made more sense that way.

The first time he had come here, Malia had been a little girl and much too young to take. He’d met her mother, Andrea, who was sympathetic with his cause but vowed never to let him steal Malia. With tears in her eyes, Andrea had clutched her young daughter and begged him to go away and never return. Andrea still had her own dagger and threatened to use it on him if she ever saw him again. That dagger had not saved her, though.

He shuddered at the thought of Andrea’s fate, but she had broken the rules and should have expected it. A moment of guilt tore at his heart, but he knew what had to be done. He could not go against his father’s wishes. No one did that and lived to brag about it.

Hunter stopped for a moment and closed his eyes to try to connect to Malia, picturing her face in his mind. “Come and find me, beautiful girl,” he said softly. “I need you.”

There’s the guy, Malia thought with a smile as she stopped at the gridlocked intersection once again on her way to work the next day. The air was without a ripple even in the tops of the tallest coconut trees; it would be a stifling hot day in paradise.

She looked over to watch him start his ascent up the hill and was surprised to find him looking back at her. His large, luminous eyes locked onto hers possessively, but he seemed unsteady on his feet and sweat poured down his gorgeous face. Malia was transfixed for a moment, but then she gulped and snapped her head away, embarrassed to be caught staring at him. She tried to calm her rapid heartbeat with slow, deep breaths as she accelerated down the now clear path toward the dress shop. She wanted to slump down in her seat and die.

Malia parked the car across from the shop and looked around as she got out, wondering if he had somehow followed her. She shook her head and laughed, knowing that was ridiculous. She had imagined the intense longing in his eyes. It wasn’t real. No emotion that strong from a stranger could be real.

“What’s so funny?” Lani asked as Malia got to the front door of the shop. Eric leaned against the display window.

“Nothing,” Malia replied with a shrug as she unlocked the door. “I just had my usual distraction coming to work. That’s all.”

“Oh, him.” Lani rolled her eyes and followed Malia into the shop, with Eric trailing behind.

“Who?” Eric asked as he sat down in one of two wicker chairs in the room. As usual, he wore board shorts and a T-shirt, but his shoulder-length, shiny black hair was neatly combed, and he smelled of musky aftershave. He and Lani were matched in stature and looks, almost as if they were brother and sister.

“Let’s change the subject,” Malia said as she unlocked the cash register and started her morning dusting.

“Hey, did you guys hear about that woman who got her head cut off? They never found the head, just like your. . . .”

“Change the subject, Eric,” Lani ordered through gritted teeth.

“I did,” he muttered.

Malia stopped dusting and closed her eyes, wanting the image she remembered so vividly to go away: the headless body lying like stone in the middle of the empty lot at the end of the street. She swallowed hard. “How do you know they didn’t find the head?” she asked without looking over at Eric. “That wasn’t in any of the news coverage.”

Lani shot Eric a look that said not to answer.

But Eric answered anyway. “I have a cousin in the police department who was at the crime scene. We were talking story about it.”

Malia stood still, hoping her heart would slow down. She could feel the color drain from her face.

“Surf’s up on the south shore. Let’s close the shop early this afternoon and check it out,” Lani offered with a bright smile.

Malia tried to smile. She swallowed hard. “You know, I have some errands to do, but I’ll be back in a little while. Maybe we can go then.” She tried to sound cheerful but could hear the strain in her voice. Lani glanced at her curiously as she picked up her purse and keys and practically ran out the door. Malia had no intention of running errands.

She walked outside and got into her car, unsure whether she should go in that direction. The police station wasn’t far from downtown, and the drive took only a few minutes.

When she arrived, Malia wondered what she was thinking, but there was a parking spot right in front of the main building that enticed her to stay.

Malia hesitated before walking through the doors to the main desk. It had been a long time since she’d visited the Honolulu Police Department, and the experience didn’t carry pleasant memories. When she had been there before, the building was brand new—a shining example of HPD’s excellence with its glistening floors and unmarred white paint. Now after more than a decade, the walls and furniture showed their age, but the floors were still kept sparkling clean.

There were quite a few people in the reception area, so Malia took a number to mark her place in line and then sat down on a hard chair to observe the various comings and goings. She hoped the wait wouldn’t be too long. A part of her wanted to flee but something had pulled her there. She had to act on that impulse.

Maybe it was her white cotton dress or the gardenia behind her ear, but she felt out of place in the waiting room. A man sitting next to her smelled of stale beer and foul body odor. Not wanting to be rude by moving away, Malia put her hand to her nose to smell her perfume instead. Her number was soon called.

“May I help you?” asked a hefty policewoman as Malia got to the counter. She eyed Malia up and down with a curious smile. The woman’s body looked as if it had been stuffed into the police uniform, almost popping the buttons.

“Yes, I’d like to speak to the person in charge of the investigation of the woman who was murdered on the hiking trail yesterday.” Malia tried to sound uncaring, but her voice faltered.

The policewoman furrowed her brows. “You have some information about that case?”

“Well, no.” Malia cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “But my mother was murdered in the same way fourteen years ago, so I’m wondering if the two are related. The killer was never found, and neither was my mother’s head.” She looked around, hoping no one was listening.

The policewoman scrutinized Malia for a moment. “Wait a minute,” she said in a kind tone. The woman picked up the phone, dialed a number, and then spoke so softly into the receiver Malia couldn’t make out what she said. “What’s your name?” she asked as she turned around.

“Malia Smalls.”

The woman repeated Malia’s name into the phone and then nodded. “Okay, you can go see Detective Green on the third floor. Sign in here and take this visitor pass with you.”

Malia’s hands shook as she got her pass and took the elevator to the third floor. She wasn’t sure which way to go when the elevator opened, but a tall man with reddish-blond hair, a freckled nose, and blue eyes met her at the door to the squad room. He wasn’t the type of guy she usually found attractive, but there was something appealing about the confident way he carried himself that didn’t quite cross the border into arrogance.

“Malia Smalls?” he asked, holding out his hand. “I’m Detective Ryan Green. I’m in charge of this case.” He ushered Malia into the squad room and took her to a glass-enclosed small conference room. Some of the detectives eyed her out of the corner of their eyes as she passed. “Please sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

Malia shook her head.

The detective slapped a thick file folder down on the table and took a seat opposite her. “What can I do for you Miss Smalls?”

“Please call me Malia,” she started and then hesitated. “I’m sorry to bother you detective. I know you must be very busy, but I’m wondering if you’ve found the person who killed that woman? I heard her head is missing.”

“How did you hear that? We’ve kept it out of the news on purpose.”

“It’s a small island,” she said with a half-smile, which faded as soon as it came to her face. “The coconut wireless never fails.”

Detective Green opened the file folder and perused some of the information on the forms but covered a photo with his hand so she couldn’t see it. He sighed and looked up at Malia after a few minutes. “Your mother was killed in a similar manner, but there’s no evidence right now that can link the two murders, if that’s what you’re wondering. It appears to be two different killers and murder weapons.”

“Is that the file on my mother’s case?” she asked, trying to see through his hand to catch a glimpse of the photograph. But she already knew what it contained.

“Yeah. I dug it up yesterday, thinking the two murders could be committed by the same killer, too” he admitted with a nod. He ran his large hands through his thick reddish-blond hair. “However, once I went over all the evidence from both cases, it doesn’t appear they are linked.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you for now.”

Malia met his gaze without falter. She wanted more. It had been so long since she’d hoped for resolution, but this recent murder ignited a new fire to know what happened to her mother. Her father was still in a downward spiral, but Malia had managed to pull herself together and keep going. That didn’t mean, though, she didn’t want her mother’s murder resolved.

“I understand you were the one who found your mother’s body,” Detective Green said in a softer tone.

Malia continued to stare at him without emotion, but her pulse accelerated as she thought of that day when she’d walked by the empty lot and saw her mother’s feet sticking out of the long grass. She had recognized the bright pink polish her mother always wore on her toenails and thought her mother was playing a joke on her by hiding in the long grass. Malia laughed as she ran toward the feet, only to find a stump where her mother’s head had been. The rest of the day went black.

“Is there anything you’ve since remembered that you didn’t originally report to the police that could help us with this case?”

“Why would it help with this case if the two murders aren’t related?”

“At this point, it doesn’t look like they are related,” the detective said in a patient tone. “But things can change as we discover more pieces to the puzzle.”

Malia shook her head. “No, there’s nothing more.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any more information, either.”

She looked at the detective with a blank stare and tapped her fingers on the table, not wanting to accept his dismissal of her or her mother’s case.

“Please call me if you have any other questions or concerns,” Detective Green said with a smile as he stood up and handed her his business card. His hand lingered a bit longer than it should as she took the card.

She nodded and put the card in her wallet as she went to the door, disappointed there still was no closure to the darkest period of her life. Malia looked back at the detective and tried to smile but couldn’t, so she just turned and left.

She drove back to the shop in a daze, trying not to let any emotion overtake her. A total breakdown would not be allowed. She didn’t want to think of that day in the empty lot, but the image kept flashing through her mind. Malia shook her head and focused on getting back to the shop, knowing she could suppress her sorrow. She had been doing so for years.

At the shop, she insisted that Lani and Eric go surfing with the promise she would try to join them in an hour. After they left, she plopped down in a chair and put her head back to concentrate on steadying her breathing, not wanting to focus on anything else, hoping no customers came through the door.

She closed the shop before five o’clock, as she had promised Lani, but instead of heading for Diamond Head beach, Malia drove up the hill. She longed for the solitude and familiarity of her home and Max’s greeting with his tail wagging.

The red stoplight lasted an eternity, and then there were too many cars trying to turn left from the single lane. Malia wished there was a better way to the Pali Highway, but there wasn’t. She rolled down both front windows to let the slight breeze cool the hot interior of her car, but then a loud pounding on the passenger-side front door made her jump. The start of a scream escaped before she could squelch it.

“You recognize me, don’t you?” The way he said the words made them sound more formal than they actually were. The accent was odd, one Malia couldn’t quite place. His hands gripped the door with long, tapered fingers as sweat beaded on his forehead and around delirious violet blue eyes.

As she stared, Malia couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could possibly have eyes that color. Even though he was visibly ill, he was more gorgeous up close. His golden skin was luminous. Any woman would kill to have skin like that. And then his dark brows and thick eyelashes offset such incredible eyes. All the angles of his face came together in beautiful masculine lines. Malia was transfixed; she couldn’t look away. But then a car honked behind her, making her aware that the light had turned green and she could now move forward through the intersection. People didn’t often honk their horns because it went against the culture of driving with
aloha
, so she must have been stalling traffic way too long.