LITMIR.BIZ

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against her. He didn’t say the exact words, but he didn’t have to. His actions spoke for him. He hated her.

      Gone was the laid-back surfer-dude laziness that hovered around him making the business suit seem all the more out of place. Blond, blue-eyed, with a scruff around his mouth and chin, he could play the lead role in any woman’s bad-boy fantasies. But behind those rough good looks lurked a man serious and in charge, tense and ready for battle.

      Well, he wasn’t the only one in the room fighting off a deep case of dislike. He needed to know she was not one of his frequent empty-headed bedmates. She could match his intellect and anger anytime, anywhere.

      “Most of the information I need about you and your current predicament is in the newspaper,” she said.

      “Most?”

      She shrugged, letting him know he wasn’t the only one who could tweak a temper.

      “More snooping, Ms. Armstrong?”

      “I call it investigating.”

      “Well, just so you know.” His back came off the wall, slow and in command. “Sneaking around in my personnel file isn’t the way to make me listen to you.”

      “Then let’s try this.” She reached into her purse and grabbed her checkbook. “I want to hire you.”

      “Don’t.”

      She clicked the end of her pen. “Some money should get us started.”

      His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist before she could start writing. “Trying to buy me off isn’t going to get you where you want to be.”

      When she dropped her hand, he let go as if touching her one more second repulsed him.

      “That’s not what I was doing.” It was, but she figured pointing that out would only make him less receptive to her plan to help Ryan.

      “Sure felt like it.”

      She skipped the crap and went right to her point. “Ryan didn’t do it.”

      “Look, Ms. Armstrong. I get that this is a family issue.”

      She refused to blubber or beg. She’d cried enough for ten lifetimes since the whole mess started. “Call me Deana.”

      “We’re not friends or colleagues, so Ms. Armstrong is fine.” Josh took his pen out of his pocket and tapped it against his open palm. “And you may as well know I don’t really care what happens to Ryan from here on.”

      She refused to believe Josh would be satisfied to let an innocent kid rot in prison. “You can’t really mean that.”

      “I do. Trust me on this.”

      “You think it’s okay to lock him away?”

      “He had a trial.”

      “Well, I don’t have the luxury of forgetting Ryan, since I’m all he has at the moment.”

      “I’m sorry about your brother and his wife.” Josh’s voice softened along with his bright aqua eyes.

      She could not let her mind go there. Not now. She had to keep her focus directly on Ryan. It was either that or lose her control, and that was the one thing she could not afford to do in front of Josh. “Then help me.”

      “I can’t.”

      “You mean ‘won’t.’” Despite her attempts to stay calm her voice increased in volume as his decreased.

      “We can use whichever word you prefer.”

      “Why not?”

      “Simple.”

      “I have to tell you that I’ve found nothing simple in dealing with you so far.” And she wasn’t kidding about that.

      “Then try this: I’m out of the rescuing business.”

      “That’s ridiculous.”

      “It’s a fact.”

      This was one brick wall she might not be able to work around. “I hardly believe you can turn it on and off like that.”

      “I didn’t think so, either.” He shrugged. “What a surprise.”

      “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “Basically? Find another hero, because I’m done playing the role.”

      Chapter Three

      Two days later, Josh officially retired from the DEA. Sure, he hadn’t actually told anyone that little fact yet, but leaving today’s administrative hearing during the middle of testimony probably sent a message of sorts. He figured someone would get the idea when he failed to show up for the afternoon session.

      “You know you’re welcome here anytime.” Derek Travers walked out onto the porch of his one-story fixer-upper wearing swim trunks and holding a beer in each hand.

      Josh reached for a bottle without taking his eyes off the ocean in front of him. Settling back into the lounge chair, he surveyed the rocky coastline of Waimanalo. The few newer houses right on the water came with huge price tags, but the rest of this part of Oahu consisted mostly of hardworking locals who had lived there forever. Solid folks without fancy jobs, living tucked away in a quiet piece of paradise.

      Most families bought long before the prices bounced past reasonable or they’d be forced to live in shacks. The downside for many was that the area lacked the tourist trade, hotels, and shopping that made Honolulu and the other side of Oahu so popular. That also qualified as Waimanalo’s greatest asset in Josh’s eyes.

      The open land and vast quiet reminded him more of Kauai, the Hawaiian island where he lived in a condo a couple miles away from Kane Travers, Derek’s uncle and Josh’s best friend. Kane also happened to be the chief of police on Kauai and a character witness of sorts at Josh’s hearing today. That meant Kane would pop up sooner or later, likely pissed off about the early departure from the rigged hearing.

      “So”—Derek took a long drink—“why are you here again?”

      “Now that I’m out of that suit my goal is to steal your liquor.”

      “As long as you replenish the supply, that’s fine.”

      “Understood.”

      “My real question had to do with you being here instead of downtown.” Derek put his bare feet up on a white paint-chipped railing in front of him and rocked back on two chair legs.

      “You trying to ruin my beer?” Josh took another swig, letting the ice-cold liquid rush down the back of his throat.

      “You’re at my house in the middle of the day, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Since you actually live and work elsewhere, and generally wear a suit Monday through Friday, which makes the reality of you being a government agent pretty obvious, by the way—”

      “Is this a geography lesson or a fashion critique?”

      Derek leaned his head back against the chair. “My only point—”

      “You have one?”

      “—is that you’re supposed to be somewhere else right now.”

      “You’re not making me feel welcome.”

      Now there was a lie. Derek was twenty-three and a graduate-school research assistant working at a place called the Oceanic Institute, which was right down the road. Josh didn’t understand the finer points of this kid’s job, but he knew that despite Derek’s outward calm he possessed a genius-level IQ.

      They’d known each other for years. Kane raised Derek. Since Josh spent most of his free time with Kane, or did until Kane got married, that meant spending a lot of time getting to know the kid.

      Josh glanced over at Derek. Some time over the past nine years

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