Chapter Two
How could so few people go through so many towels?
Sara shoved the door to the restroom lounge area open with her hip and stacked the fresh pile of crisp white hand towels on the marble counter.
One by one, she carefully folded each one and stacked them into what, appropriately for the season, reminded her of a Christmas Tree.
The season was the key reason why she accepted working the late shift attendant’s slot.
Working the day shift in housekeeping had been steady work for years, and every so often, one of the guests would leave her a nice fat tip for making their beds and straightening their rooms. Sometimes she thought the people who stayed at the Kings Resort had more money than Croesus.
But it was the restroom attendants that got the plum tips.
Always working alone, there was no pooling and sharing of tips.
Whatever a patron gave her was all hers.
The first time a hulking pro ball player had given her a hundred-dollar tip for simply handing him a small towel after he’d washed his hands, had sold her on taking the extra duty any time offered.
The moonlighting had done wonders to help pad her bank account the last few years.
Especially since what little she’d saved before moving home had been spent on that deadbeat boyfriend she’d supported until she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Even if it had meant moving home under her mother’s watchful eye.
Now she was saving for her own home, no more renting, something that couldn’t be taken away from her.
Unfortunately, Hawaii wasn’t known for bargain real estate, so she might be saving for a lot longer than she’d like.
Taking a seat in the corner by the long wall of sinks, she stared at the furnishings in the foyer.
The idea of a foyer to the men’s and ladies room was something she hadn’t even considered before coming to work here.
Though the sinks were along one wall, a door to the left led to the ladies room and across the way, a door to the men’s room.
But in between, in true five star luxury, the lounge had plush chairs and sofas, low coffee and side tables, fresh floral arrangements that would knock the socks off the florist for Buckingham Palace, as well as vanity areas for women to touch up their faces or hair.
It was also her responsibility to offer them perfume, hand lotion, or any other personal care item the hotel provided.
Same for the men, but few cared how they looked when they came out from taking a leak as long as their zipper was up.
The rooftop lounge, which had been buzzing with life an hour ago, was now down to a handful of stragglers.
Checking her watch, at close to midnight, it would only be a little longer until her shift would be over.
All she could think of for the last hour was getting a late snack and crawling under the covers and sleeping until the party at Maile Everrett’s tomorrow afternoon, but an uneven clicking sound from inside the ladies room side of the restrooms caught her attention.
The bathrooms had been empty when she’d gone to retrieve more towels and she hadn’t heard anything before now.
That was odd. Most women didn’t spend that much time on the toilet. Not that it was any of her business.
The sound returned. The clicking louder.
Not the even paces of a woman in heels, but an awkward arrangement of heavy and soft taps on the tile floor.
Could the woman be dancing? Warring with the need to see what was going on and the responsibility of staying at her post, a loud thud followed by a squeal had Sara rushing into the ladies room to find a blonde woman with a sparkly dress and a very expensive-looking handbag on the marble floor, her back against the stall door.
Her mascara smudged, her legs sprawled out from under her, she giggled happily at nothing in particular.
Carefully kneeling beside the woman, the overwhelming scent of tequila and coconut smacked Sara in the face. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” The woman tried to wave dismissively but nearly toppled sideways. “Just resting.”
“Let me help you up.” Sara slipped an arm around the woman’s waist and tried to lift her. The blonde was sheer dead weight, and the moment Sara got her halfway vertical, her knees buckled.
“Whee!” The blonde giggled as she slid back down.
Where were those pro ball players when you needed them?
Heaving a deep sigh, Sara studied the woman still giggling at nothing in particular, and a strappy stiletto heel swinging like a pendulum from her finger.
Sara glanced at the woman’s feet—only one shoe.
That would explain the odd tapping sound.
“Come on, let’s try again to get you standing.” Sara debated taking off the other shoe, but opted to just get the woman off the floor first, out of the toilets, and in the lounge they could deal with her footwear.
“You’re so nice.” The woman patted Sara’s cheek with a clammy hand. “I like you. You smell good.”
“Thank you.” Steeling herself for another try, Sara looped her arms around the woman’s waist, turned her face sideways to avoid the overpowering smell of tequila…
and maybe rum? No wonder the woman couldn’t walk.
Squatting and then tugging with all her might, Sara was sure this time she’d get the woman to her feet when the blonde lurched forward and Sara’s feet scrambled out from under her.
The wiggly woman squealed with the delight of a kid on a roller coaster and Sara flipped backward, the hundred pounds of blonde landing splat on top of her, knocking her breath out. Oh, this was so not good.
Kenny drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the polished bar top.
After months of debriefings and paperwork, his mind still whirred with the ingrained routines of twenty years of military life.
The rooftop had been exactly what he needed—the peaceful Kona night, the ocean breeze, a decent drink, and the distant sound of the waves went a long way to quiet the noise in his mind.
A few more days of this and he’d be ready to take on his new world.
The bartender was wiping down glasses and putting them one by one in the rack below, clearly ready to close up shop.
Only two tables remained occupied. One with a couple who wouldn’t have noticed if a bomb landed beside them.
He didn’t doubt they’d be off to their room soon enough.
At the other table, a single man with a glass in front of him and an empty one across the table told Kenny the guy hadn’t been alone all night.
Taking out his wallet, he left a generous tip on the bar, and grinned to himself, thinking about the massive plate of Maile’s shortbread cookies waiting for him in his room. The one thing that hadn’t changed about coming to Kona was the warm, loving embrace of the Everrett family.
Tired from the long flight, and the single bourbon he’d drunk, he craved a walk on the beach followed by a good and long night’s sleep, but first a quick detour to the men’s room.
As he got closer to the restrooms, an odd noise drew his attention.
It wasn’t a scream or a cry for help, nothing that would set off an alarm in his gut, but it was…
off. Hand on the men’s room door, he waited another minute.
A soft “oomph” followed by a low “humph,” like someone struggling could easily be heard.
Cocking his head, he debated if the noises could be someone in need, or someone trying to join the mile high club without an airplane.
After a long few beats of silence, he pushed on the men’s room door when a loud, startled shriek followed by a definitive thud had him freezing in place again.
That was a noise he recognized. It was the sound of a human body hitting the ground hard, and a feminine squeal that could mean anything from playful to terrified.
He had no business going into the women’s restroom, and his civilian brain was already telling him to turn back and mind his own business, but his instincts—the part of him that was still a SEAL, still a protector—overruled the logical part of his brain. Something was wrong.
Shoving the door open he took one hurried step, not surprised to find a huddle of human flesh on the floor. A flash of red hair splayed across the floor caught his eye first, followed by a blur of sparkles, and then arms and legs moving with groans and grunts. A cat fight or… “Excuse me.”
The pair of tanned arms pressed from underneath against the sparkly dress stilled. A face covered by strands of long blonde hair that seemed to belong to the woman in the sparkling dress turned part way to see him. “Don’t just stand there. Help get her off of me.”
Now the picture was beginning to make more sense to him. “Sorry,” he rushed the few steps and carefully grasped the blonde woman under her arms. “I’m going to lift her. Just lie still.”
“Oh, hello there, handsome,” the blonde slurred, her head lolling toward Kenny as he lifted her. “Are you my knight in shining armor?”
“Something like that.” Kenny got her upright, though she immediately started to sway. “Easy there.”
The blonde unexpectedly flung herself forward, and the next thing he knew, she stood on spaghetti legs with her arms wrapped around him. Inches away from his face, the smell of rum, and tequila, and who knew what else, almost overwhelmed him. Struggling to focus, the woman smiled wildly. “Hi.”
“Careful.” The woman from the floor now stood, glancing down as she straightened her uniform and brushed off any signs of struggle. “That one’s like Velcro.”
At least the redhead, that he now realized was a hotel employee, had a sense of humor. Only problem, now the blonde was indeed stuck to him like Velcro.
“Allie. What the hell is taking so long?” a deep male voice, probably the lone guy at the table for two, called from the lounge area.
“Hiiiii, Bradley.” The blonde’s breath could knock a man over. Her weight shifted and Kenny had to wrap an arm around her to stop her from falling on the floor—again.
The door squeaked and a man’s head peered through the slight opening, his gaze landing on the three people before widening like a drunk owl. “What the hell.”
Before Kenny could say a word, the man lunged forward, arm swinging and any other man would have been cold cocked. Despite the dead weight in his arms, Kenny managed to shift left, dip his torso and avoid the blow without dropping the woman.
The man wasn’t so lucky. Momentum had him stumbling forward before finding his balance.
“Hey,” the redhead yelled, turned so her back was to Kenny, her arm straight out pointing to the door, she stood between him and the drunk. “No men in the ladies room.”
So the woman had a sense of humor and guts. She was actually trying to protect him. When was the last time someone—other than his teammates—tried to protect him?
“I suggest instead of starting trouble, the two of you get out of here and go home.”
“We live in Jersey.” The woman hiccupped, her hand flying to her mouth. “It’s our,” hiccup, “honeymoon.”
“Fine.” The redhead hadn’t moved an inch. “Congratulations. Now leave.”
“Come on, baby.” The man moved toward his wife, slipping his arm around her waist until she leaned against him instead of Kenny.
“You may want to take off the other shoe.” The redhead pointed at the heel still on the woman’s foot and the other one still hooked on her finger.
The husband nodded, holding onto his wife as she fumbled with sliding the shoe off, and then the two wobbled out the door together.
Watching their backs until the bathroom door eased shut behind them, Kenny just shook his head. “Wonder what the odds are that they’ll make it all the way to their room.” He spun around to face the feisty redhead. “Sara?”