“I might have known you’d figure it out.” Danson shrugged. “If we knew, I wouldn’t be here.”
Honolulu
Three months later.
CHAD LANGSTON pulled a chair up beside Eddie Kukana’s desk. “Any luck replacing Lori?”
“Aole.” No. Eddie shook his dark head. “Every woman thinks she would make a good wedding coordinator. I’ve interviewed dozens. None have enough experience.”
“Shelby can’t handle it?”
“No way.”
They were in Eddie’s office in the Crockett Building overlooking the Ala Wai Boat Harbor. Chad had his office just across from Eddie’s. A stately banyan tree in the center of the courtyard blocked their view of each other’s offices. They were in the habit of dropping in to chat at least once a day, when Chad was in town.
They had grown up together in Turtle Bay on the North Shore of Oahu where they’d surfed the Banzai Pipeline every chance they had. Best friends since the third grade, they were what islanders called calabash cousins. They were so close they should have been related. Each had chosen very unusual professions, but both of their careers evolved from their love of the water.
After Chad left the military, he bought a scuba diving company whose main base was in Honolulu but had locations on the other islands, as well. His managers were so good that Chad devoted much of his time to his real passion, underwater forensics.
Eddie had begun his business by taking tourists on sunset catamaran cruises. He’d saved his money and bought “party” boats that were usually rented for conventions held on the island. Several years ago, he’d branched out and began having weddings onboard his boats.
It quickly became the most lucrative part of his business. Thanks to a flashy Web site, many mainlanders contacted him. They expected him to coordinate everything. Knowing little about wedding planning, Eddie had hired Lori, but she’d recently moved to Kauai. Apparently her assistant Shelby didn’t have enough skills to take over.
Eddie glanced at his watch. “I have another gal coming for an interview in a few minutes. A haole from Chicago. She has experience.”
“Sounds good.”
Eddie arched one dark busy eyebrow the way he often did when he was upset. His almond eyes narrowed. “You know malihini. They always think they want to live in paradise. Mainlanders head home in six months.”
Chad nodded. His managers were all from the islands. He encouraged them to hire divers who had been raised in Hawaii. Too many mainlanders came to the islands and took jobs away from the locals. No sooner were the malihinis trained than they went home.
“Look at it this way,” Chad told his friend. “If this woman stays a few months, maybe Shelby will be able to take over.”
Eddie snorted and slapped his thigh. “Yeah, right.”
Shelby was Eddie’s niece. To say the girl was a flake would be a gross understatement, but the woman who’d previously held Shelby’s position had managed to embezzle a ton of money before an auditor caught her. At least Shelby was family. While she was a few beans shy of a full burrito, she could be trusted.
Trust was a real issue with Eddie, Chad realized and not for the first time. His friend trusted everyone and kept sloppy records. Anyone could take advantage of him without half trying. Aloha Yachts and Weddings would be a lot more profitable if everyone from the vendors to the deckhands didn’t exploit Eddie’s generosity.
Chad had offered to take care of Eddie’s books in his office, but Eddie’s pride wouldn’t permit him to admit he needed help. In time, Eddie’s son, Andy would come into the business. The kid seemed to have a knack for finance even though right now Andy was obsessed with computers and was responsible for the Web site.
BEFORE DEVON ARRIVED for her interview, she’d already checked out Aloha Yachts and Weddings. The offices were on the ground floor and had a back exit—just in case. The rear door led to two different streets, depending on which way you turned. She’d been offered dozens of jobs, but none of them suited her requirements.
The setup was as near perfect as she was going to find. The firm was small and low-profile, the type of place her new handler, Warren Martin, had told her to work. It was in the part of town that saw only a few tourists—not that WITSEC expected anyone to recognize her.
She’d escaped Santa Fe by taking the cash out of Romero’s wallet and the keys to his SUV. She drove the back roads north until she and Zach were in Denver. Once there, she contacted the FBI field office.
Within the hour WITSEC had her on Con Air, the private federal airline that usually shuttled prisoners. They flew her back to the WITSEC safe site and orientation center in a secret Washington suburb. She’d arrived there with Zach in an armored vehicle with blackout windows.
This time she had been prepared for what was going to happen. Movement within the center was as controlled as it is in prison. Doors automatically bolted and could only be opened by the Federal Marshals on duty. Hallways were monitored by motion detectors and video cameras.
The compound, she’d been informed the first time she was there, could hold six families without any of them seeing each other. The typical orientation lasted two weeks, including a formal risk assessment of each witness. Her cover blown meant her risk assessment this time was sky high.
They’d spent an entire day debriefing her and trying to find out how she’d been compromised. Even Curt Masterson, head of WITSEC couldn’t decide what had happened. They had wiretaps on Rutherford’s and Ames’s telephones, and they were under surveillance. As far as the FBI could tell neither of the men had contacted a hit team.
She suspected there was an internal leak within WITSEC. After all, Derek had warned her that someone had tried to access her file. Federal Marshals had their price, and no doubt, the ruthless executives would pay any amount of money to have her killed rather than to allow her to testify.
She had a dislocated shoulder and cracked ribs, but she had managed to outsmart the hit team. Masterson decided she needed some minor cosmetic surgery to change her appearance and green contacts to conceal her blue eyes before he was willing to relocate her.
Curt Masterson had listened to how the WITSEC 800 number and the Santa Fe FBI Field office both had busy signals. He decided whoever Rutherford and Ames had hired wasn’t an ordinary hit team. They could be checking various states’ DMV databanks. With sophisticated high definition computer imaging, they could compare recent drivers’ license photographs to pictures of Devon when she’d been Samantha Robbins.
Armed with a new face, another name, a new birth certificate and a Social Security card, she was flown to Honolulu. Witnesses were rarely relocated in paradise, Masterson reasoned. This would be the last place her enemies would think to look for her.
It had taken a lot to convince Masterson to allow her to keep Zach. Her new handler, Warren Martin, certainly hadn’t wanted to help her find accommodations that would accept a dog.
CHAD AND EDDIE were discussing how to set up an Exel spreadsheet. Chad couldn’t help think that part of the reason his friend had been bilked by an employee was that Eddie didn’t have a good grasp of his income and expenses. Spreadsheets were easy enough, but Eddie was resisting the change.
“Hello,” called a willowy blonde from the door to the office, her figure silhouetted by the sunlight from the courtyard. She stepped forward into the office, and they could see her better. “I’m looking for Eddie Kukana.”
Chad’s eyes roved over her slowly. Her high full breasts flared above a narrow waist and long showgirl legs. She turned her head slightly and shoulder-length blond hair rippled seductively across her shoulders. He clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t be staring at her slack-jawed.
Devon gazed at both men, but it was the taller, powerfully-built man who caught her attention. Glossy chestnut hair hung