A volunteer stuck his head into the nursery and said Greg wanted to see Lucky. She protested, reluctant to leave Abbie, who was dozing between feedings.
“I’ll get someone to take over,” Nomo told her as he picked up Abbie. “You’ve been at this too long anyway. I don’t wan
t
the pup to bond with you and refuse to let anyone else feed her. That happens if we’re not careful.”
Lucky ascended the stairs to Greg’s office, smelling like goat’s milk. She had a damp spot on the front of her skirt where Abbie had started to pee before Lucky could get a towel under her. She certainly didn’t look like anyone special, but she fell
…
well, almost important.
Since the accident she hadn’t a clue what to pray for, in which direction to focus. Each day a new, and usually ugly, revelation about herself came to light, knocking her down again and again. But when she’d set Rudy free, something inside her had gained strength. The future was still bleak, but now she had the courage to face it.
The minute she walked into Greg’s office, Lucky sensed something was different. It took a few seconds for it to register. The diplomas and awards hanging at Rachel’s workstation were gone, her desk clean. Oh, no, now what have I done? Lucky wondered as Dodger trotted up to greet her.
“I’m going to need some help up here,” Greg said, his gaze steady.
“Where’s Rachel?”
“She had a better job offer back on the mainland.”
“
She’s gone, just like that, without saying goodbye to Nomo or any of the volunteers?”
“I don’t think she was that close to anyone.”
Except you. And I drove her away when she was the one with the expertise to help you. The familiar heaviness, centered in her chest, returned. Just moments ago she’d been applauding her fortitude, feeling better about herself. Why did she have to cause Greg so much trouble?
* * * * *
G
reg could see that Rachel’s departure upset Lucky, but it
didn’t
bother him. Lately Rachel had become so prickly and
s
ullen. He had found her increasingly difficult to deal with. Lucky was entirely different. Despite all that had happened to
her,
Lucky was so full of life and warmth and genuine happiness
that
he couldn’t help responding, feeling more upbeat than he
had
in years.
“I need you to go through these requisition forms, log them in here.” Greg pointed to the black notebook.
“Why don’t you just enter it in the computer?”
“
I
haven’t had time to set up a program yet.”
Lucky smiled, that adorable, pleased-with-herself grin. “I’ll get one going.”
Greg started to protest that it would take too long, that things
had
backed up while he’d been on the mainland with Dodger, but he decided that they could wait. With a new system going, things would be much easier in the future. He had stopped being surprised at Lucky’s expertise with the computer. If she could wail on the Web, she could set up a simple program for the institute.
“Let me check something first,” she said, switching on the computer.
Her full lower lip was caught between her teeth, the way it always was when she concentrated. It was all he could do not to kiss her. Each time he was with her, the pull was stronger. She was more tempting than Eve in the Garden of Eden. It had taken days, but he’d become accustomed to it. He’d given up fighting, focusing instead on concealing his reaction.
His response to her was no longer merely sexual attraction—if it had ever been that simple—but an emotion much more powerful. What he’d seen with the shark she called Rudy reminded Greg of himself.
Greg had been thirteen when he’d come to the institute. A judge had ordered him to do community service rather than go
to the correctional facility that provided workers for the cane fields, which was nothing more than cheap labor. At the institute, he’d met Nomo and a group of sea creatures who had needed him, relied on him. Their plight had given him a sense of purpose.
He wanted to give Lucky what she deserved—a second chance at life. Carrying her up the face of the steep
pali
had been only the beginning, Greg realized now. What she needed was direction, purpose. And she’d found it on her own, with little guidance from him.
In a way he resented her independence, wanting her to rely more on him. It annoyed him when the male volunteers were too quick to help Lucky. Greg found Sarah’s helpfulness irritating as well, and he was ashamed to say that he even found Nomo’s paternal interest troubling. He needed to back off and he knew it.
So what did he do? The minute Rachel had announced her departure, he decided to move Lucky into the office.
“Okay, I’m ready to get started,” Lucky said, breaking into his thoughts.
He tried to concentrate on organizing the data on the humpback whale that Rachel had dumped on his desk shortly after announcing she was leaving. It took the better part of an hour to categorize the information so he could study it later. The phone on his desk rang and he answered it, noticing Lucky was hard at work, with Dodger snoozing at her feet.
“I found out something interesting.”
It was Cody, and the sound of his voice failed to bring the usual rush of anger. Since he’d discovered the scars on the soles of Lucky’s feet, Greg had remembered how close he’d been to his brother. It had become impossible to muster the hostility that had hovered over him like a dark shadow since the night of the accident.
“Okay, shoot,” Greg said, sounding ridiculously happy and liking the feel of it. Really liking it.
Two beats of silence. Greg wondered if he’d taken Cody by
surprise. When he’d mouthed
I
owe you one,
it had been obvious from Cody’s expression that he had been shocked. The two brothers hadn’t had a chance to talk since then.
“Dr. Carlton Summerville is a real doctor,” Cody told him, “but he’s not with the Wakefield Institute.”
19
H
ow could going out for dinner feel so much like a date? Greg asked himself as he helped Lucky out of the car at Carelli’s Restaurant. For Christ’s sake, Lucky had been living with him for almost two weeks. But when he’d asked her to come with him to meet old friends who were vacationing here, he’d felt strange. It had been years since he’d been out on a date. Picking up female tourists, then hopping in the sack, didn’t count. “You’re going to like it here,” he told Lucky as they walked into the seaside bistro.
“
Great Italian food. Fantastic view of the ocean at sunset.”
Lucky didn’t say anything, but her excitement showed in her eyes, which looked larger than ever. And greener. She wore a lavender dres
s
with a conservative scoop neckline, which Sarah had bought for Lucky’s court appearance. Concealing rather than exposing her soft curves, it made her appear even more alluring.
She wasn’t wearing any makeup or jewelry, which would have made most women look plain. Not Lucky. She’d spent enough time in the sun to have a healthy tan, which complemented her natural-looking hairdo. There was something graceful yet determined about the way she moved, reminding him of a woman who would be at home on the tennis court or on the back of a horse. His type of woman.
Carelli’s was an open-air restaurant shaped like a wedge, with a narrow entrance that fanned out, giving every table a spectacular view of the ocean. A languid tropical breeze filtered through the dining room, ruffling the ferns lining the walls, while soft music crooned from hidden speakers. Greg put his hand on Lucky’s arm and guided her through the crowded room.
It was early, but the place was already full of diners who wanted to watch the sunset. The steady hum of conversation dropped as they walked by. The women’s eyes narrowed, while the men tracked Lucky as she passed. She missed the sensation she was causing and gazed at Greg with an expectant, eager-to-please expression that touched him.
Alan Dunbar spotted them and stood up. A tall man with thinning coppery hair and intelligent eyes, he motioned them to a prime table at the front of the restaurant, just a few feet from the beach. Greg introduced Lucky to Alan and his wife, Carol, a chunky blonde with a sunburned nose. The Dunbars, already on their third Mai Tai, didn’t seem to notice that he hadn’t mentioned Lucky’s last name. Greg smoothed over the moment by ordering another round of drinks.
“
Look at that sunset,
”
Carol said.
“
There’s absolutely nothing like it in Texas.”
As far as the eye could see, there was an eternity of blue sky and even bluer sea. A red-footed booby, its wings tipped with gold by the setting sun, perched on a boulder at the edge of the sweeping white sand beach, preening its feathers. Even Greg, who hated sentimental BS, had to admit there was something romantic about being with a woman you cared about and watching the sun set.
In a flare of Aztec gold burnished with crimson, the sun disappeared into the indigo sea. Lucky stared, mesmerized,
sucking in her breath with a little sigh. Then she turned to Greg, gazing into his eyes with an intimacy he found exciting.
Unspoken feelings eddied between them, and he desperately wished they were alone.
“That’s why we vacation here every year,” Carol informed Lucky, breaking the spell of the moment. “You can’t beat the sunsets here.”
“Don’t let her kid you,” Alan said with a wink at Greg.
“We vacation here as a compromise. Carol likes to sit on the beach and read. I spend the day up in the rain forest.”
Greg watched Lucky as she list
ened intently while Alan told
her about his hobby. Hawaii had hundreds of plants and animals found nowhere else on earth. The remote archipelago was home to more than a third of the birds and
plants on the endangered
species list. And Alan could
tell you about every one. For
hours.
As the waiter was serving their drinks and the sky was deepening into a dark plum twilight, Greg looked across the room and noticed Tony Traylor. He was staring with blatant interest at Lucky. Greg despised the fat son of a bitch. As head of the joint council, Traylor pretended to be interested in the working man and the preservation of Hawaii for Hawaiians. What a crock!
Traylor’s real interest was in his pockets. Greg had gone head-to-head with him over the polluted runoff from the sugarcane field poisoning the offshore
reefs. Traylor had sided with…
the big-money sugar interests, so the pollution continued, worse than ever.
“Today we spotted an
apapane,”
Alan told them. “That’s a red honeycreeper with a curved beak. He used it to get nectar out of blossoms like a hummingbird.”
“Really?” Greg said, keeping Traylor in his peripheral
vision. “There are damn few of them around these days.” He
s
cooted his chair closer to Lucky. “Only a handful still exist.”
“Like the O’o,” Lucky said
.
“Right!” Alan replied obviously thrilled to find Lucky
shared his interest. Great. Now they were in for it. They wouldn’t be able to get Alan off the subject. “You saw an O’o?”
Lucky shook her head, jiggling the dark curls clustered around her face. “No. I wish I had. I heard one, though. Sarah told me about them.”
Carol rolled her eyeballs at Greg as if to say, “Here we go again.” Greg had known the Dunbars since his days at MIT. The high school sweethearts h
ad married the day after gradua
tion, and they were still in love all these years later, even though they shared few mutual interests. Their successful marriage had made him believe that he and Jessica could have the same type of relationship. How wrong he’d been.
Alan launched into a lecture on Hawaii’s vanishing species, and Greg shifted his position slightly to get a better look at Tony Traylor. The cocky little prick was at a table surrounded by
mokes
who lived to act tough. Beside him was a blonde with bleached hair that hung over her shoulders, emphasizing a bust that probably was featured in some plastic surgeon’s brochure. Personally, he preferred original equipment. He stole a quick peek at what little could be seen of Lucky’s cleavage.
When he looked up, he saw Traylor was eyeing Lucky again. He told himself most of the men were sneaking peeks at her, but Traylor was different. He made no attempt to hide his interest. People didn’t recognize Lucky as Pele’s ghost. With her hair short and dyed a warm brown, she looked like a different person. But Traylor was studying her intently, and Greg wondered if Cody had told him about Lucky’s new look.
Greg watched Traylor put both hands on the table and lever his considerable bulk into a standing position. He lumbered across the crowded restaurant with a bully’s attitude and a swagger to match, heading in their direction.
“I’ll be right back,” Greg said, slipping away from the group that was now listening to the fascinating details of the mating habits of ground nesting birds.
“Braxton, what the fuck are you doing?” Traylor asked when Greg blocked his way.
“Keeping you from bot
hering my guests.” He grabbed
Traylor’s beefy arm.
“Let go of me, asshole.
I
want to talk to the bitch wh
o stole
my car.”
Greg tightened his grip. “Go near her and I’ll beat the shit
out of you.”
“Who gives a flying hack!” Traylor sneered, his pocked face insolent in the afterglow of the setting sun. “My boys—”
Greg got right in his face, his nose an inch from Traylor’s. “I’ll have your jaw split in half and your nose planted behind your ears before either of those
mokes
looks up from their beer to see you need help.”
The color leached from Traylor’s face, then rushed back so quickly that his eyeballs bulged. The bully to end all bullies, Traylor wasn’t used to anyone challenging him. He yanked his arm away. “Fuck you, Braxton. You’re gonna regret pissing if me off.”
Greg had no doubt that he w
ould. Traylor was the vengeful
type all right, carrying a grudge like Khomeini. But at least he wouldn’t upset Lucky tonight.
Back at the table, Greg eased into his seat and took a sip of his drink while he listened to the conversation. They’d progressed to the devastation mongooses had caused by preying on ground nesting birds, almost wiping out entire species. Lucky looked so happy, so animated. Damn, she was sexy.
“You’re a—?
”
she asked Ala
n, searching for the right word.
“I’m an entomologist.”
Greg felt Lucky’s hand on his knee and knew she had no idea what that was. He opened his mouth to relieve the pressure, but Carol beat him to it.
“Bugs,” Carol said with a laugh. “Alan studies bugs. There are millions to be made in mosquitoes, you know. Billions in killer bees.”
“Mosquitoes?” Lucky was puzzled. “Killer bees?”
“Alan works for a research firm in Texas that’s producing environmentally safe products to keep mosquitoes and other pests under control.”
Lucky nodded at Greg’s information, her expressive eyes wide, and Alan was obviously pleased. Few people were impressed with his chosen profession; even Greg found insects boring, but then Alan probably found whale research a major snoozer.
Greg tried to link his fingers through Lucky’s but discovered she was clutching Rudy’s tooth. Why? he asked himself. Obviously, she had a psychic connection with that damn shark. He glanced up and caught Traylor staring at Lucky again.
“Alan’s dying, simply dying, to find his
very
own bug,” Carol said, and it was obvious she was getting a little tipsy, so Greg signaled to the waiter that they were ready to order. “That’s what he’s really doing tromping around the bush, not just ogling birds and going gaga over ferns.”
“I don’t quite understand,” Lucky said tentatively. He could tell she didn’t like not knowing things, even something like this that was more of an in-joke.
“If Alan discovers an insect that has never before been cataloged, then it’ll be named after him,” Greg explained. “Diseases are often named in just the same way.” He looked into Lucky’s eyes, trying to send a silent message. “If two people find something new, then i
t’s named after both of them.”
He could see by the shadow flickering across her eyes that Lucky understood he meant Hoyt-Mellenberger syndrome.
“Dunbar’s Cockroach. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?” Carol giggled and Alan laughed, obviously accustomed to his wife’s teasing.
“Greg, what about those two bugs they found in the hiker’s hair? Maybe Alan could look at them.”
“What bugs? What hiker?”
“Over a year ago, a hiker fell from a trail near the Iao Needle. There were two odd-looking bugs in her hair,” Greg told Alan. “The coroner is with the Society to Preserve the
Hawaiian Wildlife Habitat, so he kept them, thinking they were from the rain forest.”
“Nobody recorded them?
Where are they? How were they preserved?”
Alan fired one question after another at Greg.
“Nobody recorded them because a few scientists swore
they’d already been recorded, but others disagreed.”
“Were the insects sent to the FBI lab along with the hiker’s body?” Lucky asked.
Greg was glad Cody had taken so much time to fill him in on all the details of the case
, and he’d discussed them with
Lucky. “No. They’re at the so
ciety headquarters in Lahaina.
Why don’t you go over there tomorrow
and check them out?”
Carol rolled her eyes, but Alan ignored her. “Good idea.”
The waiter gave them menus, and silence fell over the group.
Greg saw Traylor and his ento
urage leaving. The beefy bully
caught Greg’s eye and paused. Behind Lucky’s back, Greg raised his hand and gave Traylor the Italian salute
.
“What’s
opakapaka?”
Lucky asked him.
“It’s really good. A light pink snapper.” He guessed by the
look on her face she didn’t remember what a snapper tasted like. If she’d ever had it.
“I’ll try some. If it’s good enough for Rudy, I’m sure I’ll like it,” she said, laughter kindling in her eyes.
T
hey said good night to the Dunbars and decided to walk along the beach in front of the restaurant. A familiar shiver of awareness rippled through L
ucky, a feeling she’d had most
of the evening. She was enjoying Greg’s closeness and the occasional jolt of his thigh as it brushed her hip, checking his stride to match hers, his arm aroun
d her waist. They’d left their
shoes on the restaurant’s steps and were walking barefoot along the surf.
Lucky inhaled deeply, thankful yet again that her sense of smell hadn’t been destroyed along with her memory. There was nothing like a balmy tropical night, its air fragrant with
the scent of the sea and the heavier, sweeter smell of plumeria. A lover’s moon had risen slowly during dinner and was now at its zenith, casting light like a handful of silver coins on the water. Bright, scattered stars studded the dark sky doming overhead.