Chapter 13
Zara let the Mercedes get a head start on her, then pulled into traffic.
She followed at a discreet distance. They were headed down the Queen Ka'ahumanu Highway, which led to Costco, the airport, and then up the coast to Kohala. She didn’t think they’d noticed her, but then again, she was driving a bright orange Beetle, so she couldn’t exactly blend in.
She put in her earbuds and pretended to be chatting up a storm. If they did finally take notice of the car following them, hopefully they’d think she was a flaky girl gabbing away on her cell phone.
The car had Hawaii plates, which she committed to memory.
It wasn’t a rental, which she knew because the number didn’t start with a Z.
Besides, only Turo and one rental car agency offered Mercedes S-Class cars—one of those random bits of knowledge she’d picked up as a concierge dealing with the wealthy.
The Mercedes turned east, up into the steep hills above Kona. Zara groaned as she followed suit. Her ancient Beetle didn’t care for those hills at all. If her engine started overheating, she’d have to pull over. Right now she didn’t have the funds for any car repairs.
She fumbled for her phone and called Jim’s number. Once again, it rang a few times, then went dead.
Fine. She’d follow these people as long as the Kumquat held up. If only she could drive her father’s car, which was a pretty nice Lincoln Navigator. But it had been repossessed soon after his arrest, and she couldn’t afford those payments anyway.
She needed to go see Dad soon, she thought, her heart sinking.
He wanted her to bring Mia and Eddie, but so far, they hadn’t wanted to see him, and she wasn’t going to force them to do it.
For a moment, anger bubbled up inside her.
Why should the children get left holding the bag when parents fucked up this much?
Why couldn’t Judy, their mother, tear herself away from that man she insisted was a living saint?
That woman had a fatal attraction to con men, in Zara’s opinion.
Ride that wave, she told herself as her heart twisted. That motto applied to anger as much as anything else. Let it pass through you, feel it, but don’t stay there. Living in anger was not the way.
Glancing up ahead, she realized she’d lost sight of the Mercedes.
It had a much more powerful engine than her Beetle, and she’d fallen too far behind.
Crap. She turned right at the next chance and executed a three-point turn using someone’s driveway.
Hopefully her brakes would hold up for the lengthy downhill run back to the highway.
And then—there it was, the Mercedes, pulling right in front of her. Blocking her.
A man swung out of the driver’s seat and strode toward her. She quickly locked her door, but rolled down the window a crack when he glared down at her. Between his short-cropped dark hair and hyper-muscularity, he looked like Buzz Lightyear come to life.
“Why are you following us,” he demanded.
“I…I…” she stammered, wilting under his stern glare. “Why would I? I don’t even know who you are. I’m just on my way home. Well, after I stop at Costco for some ramen noodles. There’s a storm coming. You’re getting wet, you should get back into your car.”
Babbling nonsense, basically. He knew he was getting wet. Raindrops darkened his gray cotton sweater.
“You don’t live up here, Zara Morrissey. You’re lying.”
Her mouth fell open. How did he know her name? Her gaze flickered to the blond woman in the passenger seat, who had twisted around and was watching her closely.
“I never said I lived up here. How do you know who I am? Did you look me up?”
How? From her license plate? Was that publicly available information? She didn’t think so.
“Who are you working for?” he demanded.
“No one! I mean, I have a job, but that’s none of your business.” A shocking thought struck her. “Is this about my father?”
Lucky Lou Morrissey had pissed off a lot of people. Occasionally she ran into one of them and had to suffer through a rant.
The man crossed his arms over his broad chest. A car door slammed and the woman came charging over, an umbrella shielding her from the rain.
“You tell that selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate asshole of a brother of mine that he’s not going to rattle me.
He made his bed and burned his bridges. Now he can lie in it. ”
“In the bridge or the bed? You’re mixing up your metaphors.” Zara had achieved a surreal sense of calm. None of this made any sense anyway, so maybe it wasn’t actually real. Disassociation, was that the word?
“What? Good lord. If you think that innocent act is going to fool my brother, dream on. He’s had gold-diggers after him his whole life.”
“You know the gold-digger trope is very sexist. It puts all the blame on women for trying to survive in a patriarchal society.”
“So you’re admitting you’re a gold-digger?”
Oops. Maybe she’d walked into that one. “Touché. But no, I admit nothing.”
The woman had gorgeous blond hair with honey undertones and a forehead that didn’t show a single wrinkle despite her obvious fury. She had a faint Southern accent, very lovely.
Zara considered herself a “girl’s girl.” Women ought to stick together and support each other, in her opinion. Also, she was a hopeless optimist, so her natural inclination was to give this woman the benefit of the doubt.
“I suppose you’re just looking out for your brother, whoever he is. I can assure you that I’m not after anyone’s hoard of gold. Ooh, unless…is your brother a dragon? I could use a dragon.”
The man snorted, and the woman looked at him incredulously. “Don’t laugh. This is absurd. This girl has been following us for a reason.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
Ah, so Buzz Lightyear worked for the blond woman. Zara spread open her hands. “Look, it’s raining, and I need to get home. If I promise to stay away from your brother, will you let me pass?” It was an easy thing to commit to, after all. She couldn’t possibly know anyone related to this woman.
To emphasize her point, she pressed the gas pedal, although she was still in neutral. The Kumquat coughed out a billow of exhaust, causing the woman to cover her mouth with her hand, showing off a diamond tennis bracelet.
“Let’s get moving,” she told Buzz Lightyear. “Link wouldn’t waste his time with someone like this, no matter how many bonehead decisions he’s made lately.”
She spun on her heel and stalked back to the Mercedes. The back of her elegant cream linen pantsuit was spattered with raindrops.
Buzz Lightyear gave Zara one last warning glance. “Stop following us, understand?”
When she nodded, he followed after the woman and a moment later the Mercedes roared away.
Link? She scoured her memory for anyone named Link and came up empty.
She knew a Bink from high school. He sold fresh coconuts to tourists now, along with a side hustle of weed.
Her father was a steady customer of the latter.
And then there was Tink, a surfer whose parents had unfortunately named her Tinkerbell.
Link? Nope. Nothing.
She tried Jim’s phone again. This time, he answered. “It’s Zara, I’ve been trying to reach you. Where have you been?”
“My phone died and I couldn’t find the charger.”
Or a place to charge, she imagined, since he probably didn’t have a secure place to stay.
“We have to talk,” she told him. “But I need to get home right away. Can you meet me there in ten? That’s ten minutes, island time,” she added. Which could mean anything from a little late to an hour from now.