COURAGE BAY SENTINEL

Courthouse sniper leaves one dead, two injured

Gunfire turned the courtyard of the Courage Bay Courthouse into a scene of terror yesterday afternoon.

Only minutes prior to the shootings, attempted murder charges against Dr. George Yube, a well-respected former physician at Courage Bay Hospital, were dropped after it was revealed that police had mishandled evidence. The controversial case created a media frenzy in recent weeks, and as Yube walked into the plaza a free man, he was felled by a hail of gunfire from the courthouse roof.

Courage Bay’s SWAT team was on the scene in minutes, but before they could rescue a court reporter injured in the attack, the sniper opened fire once again, wounding a paramedic.

Also in the plaza were Yube’s defense attorney, Faith Lawton, and chief of detectives Adam Guthrie.

Highly regarded in their professions, Lawton and Guthrie often find themselves doing battle in the courtroom, and George Yube’s case was no exception. But any professional animosity was sidelined yesterday as Detective Guthrie shielded the defense attorney from the rain of bullets before he joined the search for the sniper.

At this point, the shooter has not been found or identified, and suggested motives range from a vengeance killing to a random act of violence. Although Yube was killed, police have not ruled out either Lawton or Guthrie as possible targets.

About the Author

JULIE LETO

With twenty-six novels under her belt, New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Julie Leto has established a reputation for writing ultrasexy, edgy stories. Julie writes primarily for the Harlequin Blaze line and was part of the series launch in 2001, as well as the fifth anniversary in 2006. A 2005 RITA® Award nominee, Julie lives in her hometown of Tampa with her husband, daughter and a very spoiled dachshund. For more information, check out Julie’s Web site at www.julieleto.com.

Line of Fire
Julie Leto

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Exciting times are ahead! I hope you’re as thrilled as I’ve been with visiting Courage Bay, California. Okay, so the place seems ripe for fires, shootings, earthquakes and the like, but the residents, armed with determination and guts, are more than ready to face whatever challenges them—especially when the hazard is something as dangerous as falling in love.

Line of Fire is my first foray into romantic suspense, though I’ve tried to inject a dose of action and adventure into my Temptation and Blaze novels. Conversely, if you’ve never read one of my books before, be prepared for a little heat. Well, a lot of heat! Brilliant attorney Faith Lawton and intrepid police detective Adam Guthrie generated quite a bit of steam while they dodged bullets. I’ll admit, I stoked them a little. It’s what I do. I hope you enjoy the fiery results!

You can drop me an e-mail through my Web site at www.julieleto.com. You can also enter my contest to win free books and learn about my upcoming titles. I have articles for aspiring writers, so if you’re a reader or a writer, please stop by and say hi!

Happy reading,

Julie

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

P UKA BEADS . Even close up, Adam Guthrie had trouble believing that the necklace the prim defense attorney wore was not pearls, as he had assumed. When she’d approached the bench to question him during the farce of a hearing he’d just left, he’d fallen hook, line and sinker for her ultraprofessional, “never a hair out of place” persona. Same for every other time they’d crossed paths, he as the chief of detectives for the Courage Bay police department and she as the defense attorney from hell. But after her first two questions, he’d been too enraged by her legal wrangling to evaluate her jewelry.

She’d torn him apart.

More specifically, she’d ripped his department’s case to shreds and maneuvered the release of a dangerous criminal—George Yube. But out here in the hallway of the Courage Bay County Courthouse, waiting for reporters to disperse so he could speak his mind without having his words quoted in the newspaper, he took the time to notice everything about her.

Trying to ignore Faith Lawton had become a hobby for him, particularly after she’d shown up at the police station a few years ago as attorney of record for a perp he’d personally collared. With honey-blond hair that fell in long, soft wisps to her straight, level shoulders, Faith Lawton had arrested his interest at first glance—and he wasn’t wrangling for a reprieve anytime soon. Her steel-gray eyes spoke to him, but usually the message ran along the lines of don’t mess with me or I’ll eat you for lunch.

Luckily for him, Adam brimmed with gristle and bone. She’d have a hard time sinking her teeth through his hide the second time around.

“Ms. Lawton, may I have a word?” He touched her shoulder. Big mistake. Even though her pale yellow suit looked sturdy enough, the delicate rustle of the material against his fingers brought sensual thoughts to mind that Chief of Detectives Adam Guthrie had no business entertaining about intrepid defense attorney Faith Lawton.

She finished her polished answer to a reporter’s question, then spared him a glance over her shoulder. “I have no interest in enduring another dressing-down by you outside the courtroom, Detective Guthrie,” she answered.

Okay, so he’d lost his temper during her questioning. She’d let him rant for a full minute or so before she’d objected to Judge Craven, who, with a powerless shrug, had sustained the motion. Adam should have known she’d make him look a tad too anxious to do his job—like a vigilante, even. She had a knack for using a person’s strengths against them.

“I have no interest in dressing you down, Ms. Lawton. I simply want a word.”

With a small grin to the crowd and a whisper to her assistant—who scurried toward the processing area, no doubt to ensure that Yube didn’t walk one step into freedom without his legal representative at his side—she motioned toward an unused courtroom on the other side of the hall.

The minute Adam shut the door, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned cockily against the back of a chair, her weight on one hip. “If you’re not going to yell at me for freeing yet another of the alleged criminals your department has arrested, what do you want?”

Her skin gleamed, and not only from anticipation of the pending confrontation, Adam figured. It was obvious that underneath her perfect makeup, the attorney sported a healthy tan. He couldn’t resist speculation about her recreational activities. Her sharp mind and devotion to the art of legal defense sent many of his law enforcement colleagues running to cut a deal the minute she took on a case. And worse, when she did go to trial, she won nearly every time.

This particularly didn’t sit well with Courage Bay’s new chief of detectives. All citizens of the county deserved competent legal defense, but when Faith got someone off, she usually did so by exposing a flaw within the very system Adam had devoted his life to.

Just as she had today. Thanks to Faith Lawton, Dr. George Yube was currently in another part of the building, being processed for release. Never mind that he’d tried to kill Lauren Conway by setting her workplace on fire, tampering with her brakes and, when all else failed, shooting her in the shoulder. Never mind that thirty-two years ago, the former chief of staff at Courage Bay Hospital had drunk too much as a resident moonlighting in the emergency room, botched a difficult delivery that resulted in the death of a baby, then switched several children in their cribs to avoid exposure, not to mention ugly, career-ending lawsuits. The man had spit in the face of his Hippocratic oath, and yet in less than ten minutes, he’d walk out of this courthouse and most likely never face prosecution for his crimes. All thanks to Faith Lawton.

Adam shoved his hands into his pockets. He should be furious with her. He should give her a rerun delivery of his mantra on the importance of maintaining justice in a civilized society. He should tell her the latest “lawyers are carcass eating vultures” joke.

But instead, he captured her I-dare-you glare with a steady stare of his own.

“You should be a cop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Internal affairs. Maybe you could teach a course at the Academy. You have a knack for spotting weaknesses in the chain of evidence.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Only because your department mishandles evidence on too many cases. Not to mention search warrants, Miranda rights and—what was it that one time? Oh yeah, a coerced confession.”

He nodded, unable to disagree. A police department was only as by-the-book as the people who ran the show. Except for this botched arrest with Yube, all of the other breakdowns in procedure had occurred before Adam had taken over as chief. Not that the timing mattered to the courts. Faith had argued two cases recently where the Courage Bay police department had bungled its job. First, with convicted murderer Felix Moody’s appeal three months ago, and now with Yube.

God, they’d been good to go! An ironclad case. Two eyewitnesses. A gun. A receipt for the purchase of gasoline used in the arson attempt. Even photographs of a burn Yube had suffered while cutting the brake line on Lauren Conway’s car.

Then Faith had discovered a fatal flaw in the chain of evidence—one that Adam, much to his consternation, hadn’t known existed. On the same night George Yube had attacked and shot Lauren Conway, Detective Paul Jerado had lost his son to suicide. The boy’s body hadn’t been found until after Jerado had gathered all the evidence from the crime scene; he’d been en route to deliver the proof to the department when he received the call about his son.

He’d immediately rerouted, as any father would. The entire department had been shocked and grieved by the boy’s death. Josh Jerado had been a fixture at the police station, sometimes doing his homework at his father’s desk while Paul worked overtime on a case. After the suicide, there had been a thorough investigation to rule out foul play, a vigil, a memorial, a mass, a funeral. At one point or another, every member of the department had spent time with the Jerado family. And without anyone realizing, the evidence had sat in the back of Jerado’s car for two days.

Two days. Forty-eight hours of opportunity for the evidence to be tampered with or otherwise compromised. Under Faith’s questioning, Jerado admitted that he had logged the evidence in quietly after his son’s funeral, and not until today’s hearing had anyone, including Adam, known about the mishandling.

Adam couldn’t harbor anger toward Paul Jerado, not after the horrible loss he’d suffered—still suffered from, in Adam’s opinion. When Adam returned to the precinct, he’d order an immediate leave of absence and counseling for his friend and colleague. But despite his pleas to Judge Craven to give him and prosecutor Henry Lalane more time to reconstruct the case before he ruled on the motion for dismissal, Adam had realized Yube would walk. Without the evidence, the most they had him on was assault, a far cry from attempted first-degree murder. Faith’s discrediting of the physical evidence destroyed Adam’s chance to see justice served. A very bad man, a baby-murdering liar, was about to walk free, and Adam didn’t much care if the letter of the law had been on Faith’s side. The spirit of the law had, with one ruling, flown the coop.

And though Adam hadn’t overseen the investigation, the failure chapped his ass like wearing shorts in the summertime for a weekend ride on his brother’s hog. First, Moody. Now, Yube. And in both cases, Faith had been right.

“New procedures are in place since I took over, Counselor. Mistakes you’ve taken advantage of in the past will not be a problem in the future. If I have my way, I’m going to put you out of a job, at least in this county.”

She narrowed her eyes, but the slits of silver didn’t brim with the anger and resentment he had expected. In fact, the quirk of her generous lips hinted at humor.

“I’ll be the first person to buy you a beer if you do.”

She uncrossed her arms and dropped her hands to her sides, forcing Adam to note that she wore her skirts pretty damn short. Her fingertips, painted a subdued tone in that popular pink-and-white nail-polish style, barely reached the hem. He might have taken an extra minute to admire the smooth length of her legs, but the sweep of her gaze down his body distracted him.

Wait. She was checking him out?

He sucked the side of his cheek into his mouth to keep from grinning like a puffed-up fool. “See something interesting?”

She cleared her throat, then met his stare with that steely coolness that won her the respect of judges, juries and prosecutors alike. Particularly the male ones. “Every time I run into you, Guthrie.”

With a laugh he figured she was aiming at herself, she took a step back.

“Look, you’re a good cop. And contrary to popular belief, I do appreciate men in blue.”

Her gaze swept from his face to his shoulders to his legs. His suit was indeed a dark shade of navy—one of the dozen more expensive outfits he’d been forced to buy after his promotion. He hadn’t thought much about how he actually looked in the getup, but when Faith released a nearly inaudible sigh, he decided to send the store’s tailor a six-pack.

“Lawyers in yellow aren’t bad, either.”

She sashayed toward him and gave him a friendly punch in the arm as if they’d been friends since childhood. Actually, he’d known of her since high school. They’d never run in the same circles, but Courage Bay, California, was not a metropolis. She’d moved to a neighborhood not far from his in the midsize coastal community just before Adam graduated, and if he remembered correctly, she was nearly the same age as his younger brother, Casey.

“That you can dole out a compliment after I mopped the floor with your investigation in the courtroom says a lot about you, Guthrie.”

He chuckled. “I hope it says you’re ready for another fight. I’m not done with Yube.”

She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Have at him. If he’s guilty, gather the evidence and prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt. But let’s be clear—” she leaned in close, so that the delicate scent of her perfume teased his nostrils “—harassment won’t be tolerated. So long as Yube is my client, I’ll be watching how the police treat him.”

Adam inhaled, trying to identify the slight fruity scent that emanated from her skin. “I will see to it personally that all his rights are observed, Counselor. Until I can take his rights away, that is.”

“Legally, of course.”

“Of course.”

She backed up. “So, is that all? Because my client has probably been processed by now, and I need to make sure he gets to his car without being accosted by a mob. People don’t like him much.”

Adam rolled his eyes. There wasn’t much to like about the lying, cheating, murderous creep, even if the soft-spoken old man did remind Adam of his grandfather. Looks could be damn deceiving.

Still, with Faith Lawton playing watchdog, Adam would have to remind his men to act professionally. The prosecutor, District Attorney Henry Lalane, hadn’t yet committed to refiling charges against Yube, perhaps for simple assault, but Adam wasn’t giving up hope.

“People don’t like your client? Imagine that.”

She shook her head and gave a frustrated sigh, letting him know that his lame attempt at humor had likely been heard a million times before. Defense attorneys, for the most part, got a bad rap. Some deserved the jokes and loathing, and others, like Faith, took full advantage when cops like him didn’t do their jobs right. She was the balance that checked the system of U.S. justice. She wasn’t right all the time, but then, neither was he.

The minute he opened the door, he heard the surge of excitement thrill through the crowd. Without hesitation, Faith burrowed into the tide of people rushing toward another door down the hall. Yube was likely on his way out. Adam hung back, turning his head when the burst of camera flashes and the glare of lights blocked his view. Damn circus. Where was security? Probably lost in the shuffle, just like everything else today.

“Win some, lose some” came a voice at his side, but Adam didn’t have to turn to identify the speaker.

“You’re awfully complacent, Lalane. I thought you didn’t like losing.”

“I hate it. That’s why I usually don’t take cases I can’t win. You really didn’t know about the evidence?”

Stomach acid churned in Adam’s gut, sending a hot shot of frustration up his throat. “Of course not.”

“How did Faith Lawton find out about Jerado?”

Adam shook his head, confident an internal investigation would expose the source. At the moment, he concentrated on the fact that the skin on the back of his neck prickled. The energy in the crowd intensified. Adam watched a line of additional security guards and uniformed police make their way toward Yube and Faith, but he still crossed his arms over his chest and slipped one hand beneath his lapel, his piece close at hand.

“We could have won this one. We had solid evidence.” Adam kept his voice low, though the power of containing his frustration made his teeth hurt. But he stopped his rant before he got started. Again. He’d tried to explain in the courtroom, tried to make the judge understand that Detective Jerado’s mishandling of the evidence hadn’t changed the results—the evidence was still ironclad, even if it had sat unattended for two days. No one could prove if it had or hadn’t been tampered with. In the rational part of his brain, Adam knew the facts didn’t matter. The evidence hadn’t been handled correctly. But his gut still ached from the injustice.

“Like I said, ‘win some, lose some.’” Henry adjusted the belt that secured his pants below a slightly protruding gut. He hand-combed his thinning gray hair and winked a sharp eye that matched his devilish grin. “Buy you a beer?”

Adam snorted. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Hell, Adam, it’s seven-thirty in New York City, Washington D.C., and Miami. Pick a metropolis. We’ll pretend we’re there and cut loose for an afternoon. We deserve it.”

Bit by bit, courthouse security thinned the crowd. Then Adam noted more people pouring in from outside, barely clearing security before they dashed toward Faith and Yube. Through the sea of dark-colored clothing, Adam caught a golden flash of Faith. She had a hand on Yube’s arm and was maneuvering him toward a reporter with a feed from CNN.

“Damn, she killed us,” Henry said, his voice sounding appropriately miffed for the first time since the judge had dismissed the charges.

Adam shook his head emphatically. “No, the only killer around here is Yube. She just added another section to our manual on processing evidence in an emergency situation.”

The crowd swelled again, and when Faith pressed through with Yube on one side and her assistant on the other, Adam had had enough. Heading toward them, he pulled out his cell phone and used the walkie-talkie feature to call for backup, then made his way through the swarm of lookers-on, reporters and various other courtroom clingers, and tugged at Faith’s jacket.

He jerked his head and she seemed to understand that their attempt to leave wasn’t going as it should. She pulled Yube toward her, but lost her assistant temporarily in the melee.

“The crowd’s just as bad behind us!” she shouted. “What’s going on? Where’s Security?”

“Overwhelmed, more than likely. Word must have traveled fast.” To retain a better hold on her, he slipped his hand around her waist. The intimate move made her eyes flash in warning.

“Just give me a second,” Adam insisted. “I’ll get you out.”

In ten minutes, the uniforms had the hallway cleared. The reporters had been ordered off the premises, relegated to the bottom of the limestone steps just below the expansive courtyard and plaza. The neck-craning citizens had been told to get on with their business or move along—and most had dispersed without argument. The hall still wasn’t quiet, as county employees milled toward the exits at the end of the workday, but at least they could talk without yelling.

“We can escort you out the back, then send someone for your vehicles later,” Adam suggested, noting how the hectic quality of the moment had brought a slight sheen to Faith’s skin.

She seemed to consider the suggestion, but Yube, who’d remained judiciously quiet until now, spoke up. “I’d rather go out the front doors, Faith. I’ve been exonerated.” He pointed his gaze directly at Adam and Henry. “I want everyone to see I’m a free man.”

Henry slipped his hands into his pockets and turned his head away. Adam could taste the prosecutor’s anger as bitterly as he could taste his own, but he swallowed his rancor and focused on the matter at hand.

“Your choice, Mr. Yube.”

“Dr. Yube,” the man corrected, his eyes staring daggers.

As if he had any right to still call himself a physician! Adam opened his mouth, but Faith silenced him before he had a chance to give the murderous son of a bitch a piece of his mind.

“Just let’s get out of here, George,” Faith insisted to her client. “Roma?”

Faith’s assistant disconnected her ear from her cell phone. Pretty, young and Hispanic, she glowed, apparently feeding off Faith’s approval. “I checked your messages. Nothing that can’t wait until morning. I also cancelled your five-thirty and rescheduled for tomorrow at nine. Ready to go?”

Roma’s wide brown eyes darted among the party, seemingly oblivious in her youthfulness to the tension crackling around her. Adam figured the girl was fresh out of law school, no more than twenty-four, and likely hadn’t even taken the bar exam, much less passed it.

“Yes,” Faith answered, then nodded toward Henry and Adam. “Mr. Lalane, Detective Guthrie. It’s been a pleasure.”

She marched toward the doors, her assistant struggling to keep up on her pointy high-heeled shoes, and Yube strutting with an arrogant confidence that made Adam’s blood boil.

“So, you in for the brewski or what?” Henry asked.

Adam was severely tempted. When he’d woken up this morning and gone for his run, he’d jogged an extra mile, thanks to the added energy of knowing Yube’s hearing would go their way. He’d never imagined that a distraught detective’s actions would blow this case to shreds. Faith might have been right to question the chain of evidence, and the law might have supported her contention that the lack of control over the evidence made its veracity suspect, but damn, didn’t she realize she’d just helped a baby-killer go free?

“Faith!” he shouted, before he knew why he’d called her by her first name or what he would say to her if she stopped. He jogged toward her.

Yube and Roma continued toward the wide glass doors while Faith paused, turning on her spiked high heel. “Yes, Detective?”

He didn’t stop until her face was inches from his. “This is wrong. You know that, right?”

She let out an exasperated breath and turned away, continuing toward her client, who’d stopped to allow an elderly woman to pass through the door in front of him.

“Thought you weren’t going to berate me, Detective,” she reminded him, her tone curt. She caught up to her client, but declined his gestured invitation for her to exit first. Typical. The woman probably didn’t like guys opening car doors for her, either.

“I’m not berating,” Adam said, much more insistent than Yube when it was her time to walk outside. He followed her through the glass doors. Okay, he’d lost this case. He might not have the chance to contribute to making Yube really pay for his heinous crimes against this community and the families his lies and schemes had ripped apart, but maybe he could convince Faith to work for him, rather than against him. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it wasn’t bad. “I’m appealing to your sense of justice.”

That stopped her dead. She rounded on him slowly, her eyes squinting against the reflection of the sun on the limestone plaza outside the courthouse. “My sense of—”

The last word of her protest vanished under a loud crack, a sound Adam reacted to without thought, reason or logic—just instinct. He grabbed Faith by the arms and shoved her toward the nearest wall, glancing over his shoulder long enough to witness people on the plaza screaming, running haphazardly, standing still as statues in shock, or dropping to the ground for cover.

Someone had fired into the crowd. Adam didn’t know who had been the target, but his stomach tightened. If he didn’t act fast, someone would end up very, very dead.

CHAPTER TWO

F AITH GRUNTED . Adam’s full weight forced her against the brick wall so that the mortar bit through her jacket into her shoulder blades. A bullet sliced the air, then exploded on the limestone just a few feet away. Oh God! If he hadn’t pushed her out of the way, her head might have exploded instead of the stone.

Adam had drawn his gun, a large revolver that gleamed black and dangerous despite the muted sunlight from the shade of the U-shaped courthouse. Except for two people lying on the ground, the plaza had quickly cleared—so far as she could see, with Adam’s massive body curled protectively over hers.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Sniper,” he answered curtly, turning to scan the windows across and above. “From the top of this side of the building.” He stretched his left arm out, as if bracing an invisible shield across her.

Faith’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she smelled it—

Blood. Lots of blood.

“Stay back,” he ordered.

“I’m not moving. You shouldn’t, either. Let the cops on duty handle this. Someone called for backup, right?”

With a slight shake of his head, Adam continued to peer upward. “Don’t know. Don’t move, Counselor, do you understand?”

She growled in frustration. What did he think she’d do, run into the courtyard like a big yellow target?

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

He wasn’t facing her, so he likely didn’t know that she was scared spitless and couldn’t move her legs even if she wanted to. She forced dry gulps of air into her lungs, fighting the instinct to grab Adam when he started to inch away. She fisted her hands at her sides, then flattened against the wall as much as her 36-C breasts would allow, and tried to ignore the ringing in her ears. She had to let him do his job. He was the chief of detectives, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t need her help. Besides, she loved her life and didn’t much fancy losing it to a faceless coward with a rifle, a scope and a deadly vendetta.

Adam extracted his cell phone from his pocket and instantly connected with the dispatcher. “Yube is down. So is…looks like Lorraine Nelson. Shots seemed to come from the top of the south annex.” He requested an ambulance, then paused before speaking again with calm precision. “No, the area is not secure, but the back entrance is likely clear. Can’t tell from here. Have EMT on standby just inside the doors. Evacuate the building. Alert SWAT. Inform Zirinsky that we need an Incident Command System. We’re sitting ducks!”

Adam crouched, moving slowly toward the two bodies. When she saw the blood pooling reddish black against the stark white stone, oozing from the back of George Yube’s head, Faith’s stomach roiled. A gasp lodged in her throat, blocking her airway. She pressed hard against her stomach, forcing her diaphragm to work.

“Is he—?”

“Yes,” Adam answered. “Can’t tell about Lorraine. I don’t see a wound.”

Faith covered her mouth with her hand. Lorraine Nelson was a court stenographer who probably should have retired ten years ago except that she was the best recorder in the entire county system. Faith knew her, had worked with her, had relied on her perfect court records to file at least a half dozen appeals.

Adam inched his foot out ahead of him, but the action was met with the crack of another gunshot.

Faith screamed, but caught the sound in her hand. Her heart slammed against her chest and her ears rattled with the pounding beat so that she didn’t hear what Adam said next.

“What?”

He crab-walked back to her, and once flush to the wall, stood up. “Get back into the building.”

“Isn’t the sniper in the building?” she asked.

The courthouse was in the middle of downtown, shaped like a U, with the main entrance at the inner curve and two annexed wings jutting out from either side. No other buildings in close enough range were taller than the five-story complex, which housed offices for several county services, not all of them related to the court system. The only places from which someone could shoot down into the plaza were the upper floors or roof of one of the two wings, since the main building was topped with a dome. And if the sniper were in the north annex, across from them, they’d be dead by now.

“Probably, but there’s Security just inside the doors. If we can make it back to the lobby, you’ll be safe. You can evacuate with the others.”

“Aren’t we safer right here?” she asked, not certain she wanted to leave Lorraine alone, or abandon Yube’s body. She suddenly remembered that Roma, her assistant, had been walking with them, too. Where was she? “Oh God. Where’s Roma?”

Adam grabbed her arm and met her stare with clear intent. “Roma must have gotten away. Don’t worry about her. Worry about you. But I can’t stop the sniper from here,” he added through clenched teeth.

Lorraine moaned but didn’t move. Had she been shot? What if she woke fully and panicked? If she thrashed or tried to flee, the sniper might shoot again to finish the job.

Faith leaned around Adam. “Lorraine, it’s Faith Lawton. Help is on the way. Please, just stay still.” Then to Adam she said, “I’m out of range here, right? I’ll stay with Lorraine.”

Another shot fired, this one cracking limestone at the other end of the plaza. Two people Faith couldn’t identify had attempted to make a break for the door. Adam blocked Faith with his body again and shouted for the people to remain where they were.

“Damn it! I want you inside!”

Faith could see the rage building on Adam’s face.

“If I can arrange a diversion, you can make a break inside,” he told her.

“I’m not going,” Faith said.

He met her gaze with wide eyes, apparently shocked that she wanted to stay out in the open. “You can’t do anything for Lorraine,” Adam argued. “The paramedics and SWAT are on the way.”

“I’ll stay where I am until they arrive,” she answered calmly. She watched Adam’s expression change from irritation to single-minded determination.

“Stubborn even outside the courtroom, Counselor?”

She smirked at the humor in his voice. “Absolutely.”

A strong vibration pulsed against her hip, right where Adam’s leg was pressing against her waist. She nearly cracked a totally inappropriate joke when he dug into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone.

“Guthrie.”

Faith took the time to pull deep breaths into her lungs in an attempt to achieve a little balance. One minute she wanted to laugh hysterically, the next she wanted to scream. Good God. George was dead! She’d known he was accused of some horrible things, but to be murdered by a sniper on the courthouse plaza? What kind of justice was that?

Vigilante justice. Faith seethed, unable to comprehend the logic of matching evil with more evil. What if, somehow, even the slightest possibility existed that Yube had been innocent of the baby switch thirty-two years ago? No one had any physical proof. Or what if his state of mind had precluded him from discerning right from wrong when he’d attacked Lauren Conway? His appointment with the court-recommended psychiatrist had been scheduled for next week. Faith hadn’t thought too much about that aspect of her defense once she’d discovered the mishandling of the evidence, but she suspected the one-time hospital administrator had recently taken a jump off the deep end.

Faith believed in right and wrong. She’d lived by the tenets of accountability and lawfulness for as long as she could remember. It was hard not to develop a strong set of morals after her father was murdered right in front of her by a man who ended up serving no time for the crime. Unbidden, the coppery smell of death seeped into her nostrils. Willing the memories away, she shook her head and took in deep breaths through her mouth. She’d been so young. Still, her vigilance about living on the straight and narrow had intensified after she’d learned how a drug deal had led to her father’s death. Then, two years later, her mother was sent to prison, leaving Faith alone in a world that didn’t want her.

She had lived in the midst of crime and poverty for her entire childhood, until the state interceded after her mother’s conviction and placed her with the Apalo family, who’d moved to Los Angeles from Hawaii. Shortly after taking Faith in, they’d moved to Courage Bay. The family’s luau-style restaurant was only a few blocks away. Her sister, Kalani, knew about Faith’s emergency hearing today. Had she heard the news of the shooting? Her foster family was probably worried out of their skulls!

Adam disconnected his call, snapping Faith’s thoughts back to the present. Lorraine still hadn’t moved, but Faith thought she saw the woman’s chest rise and fall. She shouted a few more words of encouragement, yelping when two more shots rent the air. This time, the sniper didn’t seem to be aiming at anyone in particular. Again, Adam used his body to shield hers.

The scent of pine trees teased her nostrils. Not the antiseptic odor she associated with household cleaners, but the crisp, green smell of a forest bathed in sunshine and dew. She inhaled, surprised to recognize the hint of sage, the tang of citrus, until she realized she’d rather focus on anything than breathe in the sickly sweet stink of fresh blood.

“He’s shooting from the other end of the plaza, probably from the roof of the north annex. He’s lost his aim. The cops must have tried to move in.”

“Can’t they get him from the inside?”

“That was Max Zirinsky on the phone. He’s setting up an emergency command center at the back entrance. Apparently, the elevators aren’t working. Cut power line. The south annex has been evacuated, but the north annex stairwell from the second to the third floor is blocked.”

“Blocked? By what?”

Sirens whined, loud and harsh. Fire trucks. The firehouse was behind the courthouse and just a block down at Jefferson and Fifth. Suddenly, Faith realized the whistling sound she’d heard earlier wasn’t just ringing in her ears. It was a fire alarm inside the building.

“There’s a fire? And you want to go inside?”

“Max thinks the sniper has a fairly good chance at reaching the front doors if he’s so inclined, but I’ve got to get in. Stay here with Lorraine, but keep out of the line of fire. You could be his target—”

“Me?” she protested, unable to tear her eyes away from Yube’s body. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Adam asked. “The sniper got Yube. I haven’t noticed him stop shooting, have you? That means maybe he’s not done yet.”

Faith bit her lip and crossed her arms, hugging herself tightly. Okay, defense attorneys weren’t exactly popular. Maybe some psycho had decided to take out the city’s latest high-profile criminal—and his attorney. The thought made her spine freeze with terror. Panic gurgled like acid in her stomach, but she closed her eyes tightly and said a silent prayer. She was strong, smart and resourceful. She had Adam and, soon, the entire Courage Bay emergency response team looking out for her. For the moment, her location flat against the wall kept her out of the sniper’s sight. She’d be okay.

When she nodded, Adam smiled, his hand gripping her shoulder as if he meant to inject her with his strength.

“Zirinsky is suiting someone up to retrieve you. But I have to go in. They’re having trouble evacuating those above the second floor.”

“It’s late. Who’s still up there?”

“Don’t know. A few judges in chambers. The office of Child Services is on four. The day-care center for county employees on three.”

She nodded, understanding. Adam didn’t have it in him to sit and wait for his colleagues to do all the work, just as she couldn’t leave Lorraine alone with no one to comfort her, no one to remind her to keep still.

“I know CPR,” she told him. “As soon as it’s clear, I can help her.”

He glared at her. “Don’t be a hero, Faith.”

“I could say the same to you, but it’d be too late.”

He rolled his eyes humbly, then flattened himself on the wall and moved as quickly as he could toward the glass doors they’d just exited moments before. She held her breath, knowing that when he rolled away from the wall, the sniper might have a clear shot. Beyond the glass, Faith saw two men in black prepare to open the doors. The moment they did, one tossed a canister into the middle of the plaza and shouted for the bystanders to look away. Faith complied, then heard a loud pop and caught a bright flash in her peripheral vision. By the time she turned back, Adam had dashed inside.

Surprisingly, the sniper didn’t fire, but Faith knew they weren’t out of danger yet. She turned her attention to Lorraine. Tears sprang from her eyes when she heard the older woman moan, this time with anguish.

“Don’t move, Lorraine!” Faith shouted. “I’m near you. Just try to stay still a few minutes longer. Help is on the way.”

Faith closed her eyes for a moment and repeated that last bit of information to herself, hoping beyond hope that she was telling the truth.

A DAM DASHED INTO THE LOBBY of the courthouse, sparing one last glance at Faith through the glass doors before rushing toward Police Chief Max Zirinsky and his assembled emergency team.

He hadn’t expected hysterics from a cool customer like Faith Lawton, and she hadn’t disappointed him. The woman could think on her feet, and he had to trust that she’d be safe until they could catch the maniac who’d popped George Yube. Yeah, Adam thought the guy should have paid for his decades of crime, but vigilantes pissed him off nearly as much as criminals. The cops might not be perfect, but nine times out of ten, they did their jobs and they did them well.

The lobby echoed from the sound of combat boots on the terrazzo floor. Adam glanced around, not surprised to see the large space free of civilians. The SWAT team, headed by Flint Mauro, swarmed into the space, dressed in black and wearing intense expressions. Courage Bay had one of the best SWAT teams in California. They were in good hands.

“How’s the attorney?” Max asked the minute he spotted Adam coming toward him. Though only five years from turning fifty, Max Zirinsky could bench-press his weight with ease. Dark haired with cool green eyes, he was the kind of cop who belonged at the top. Quick with a joke, but deadly serious when it came to fighting crime, Max had the respect of everyone in law enforcement, with the exception, perhaps, of the many criminals he’d locked away.

“She’s cool. Staying put until one of your guys can reach her.”

“What about Mrs. Nelson?”

Adam shook his head. “Not good. Faith’s trained in CPR, but she can’t get near her until we stop the shooter.”

He had noticed Lorraine Nelson’s chest rising and falling, but otherwise had seen very little movement. She wasn’t young. She needed medical attention and she needed it now.

Max clapped Adam on the shoulder. “Ms. Lawton won’t have to put herself in danger. I’m suiting up one of the paramedics in SWAT gear and sending her out with Flint. He’s pulling out a bulletproof shield from the riot gear. Thinks he can angle it and keep them safe until they can determine Mrs. Nelson’s condition.”

Adam nodded, not the least bit surprised that in minutes, Zirinsky had the situation as near to under control as possible. He wondered if the chief was going to send him out of the building while the rest of the team worked this operation. Courage Bay had a crack Incident Command System. With the city on the ocean, surrounded by mountains and sitting on a fault line, the Courage Bay community had to be ready for emergencies. As chief of detectives, Adam wasn’t usually involved unless the emergency was crime-related. Like this one. But snipers were SWAT’s business, not his. At least until the danger passed.

Still, he had a personal interest in not only bringing Faith back inside safely, but also catching the sniper alive and making sure he paid for his crimes. He’d had enough of slippery criminals today. He wanted to make sure this arrest went down by the book—and that was a job for a top cop.

Max engaged his walkie-talkie. “Johnson, where are the blueprints?”

“Prints?” Adam asked.

The voice on the other end of the walkie-talkie answered. “We’re still looking, Chief. Someone misfiled them.”

Max let out a stream of curses from between clenched teeth. “I need the prints, Johnson. There’s got to be another way onto the third floor!”

The walkie-talkie crackled again. This time, the voice belonged to Dan Egan, the fire chief.

“Fire’s out, Max. Smoke is thick, but the fans are working wonders. Send your men up.”

Max grinned, his gaze sharpening at the prospect of catching the shooter. “Two teams are on the way. One for the shooter, the other for evacuation.”

At his signal, the teams stormed the stairwell. Adam’s adrenaline surged through his veins, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. Damn, the SWAT guys couldn’t screw this up. He wanted this sicko caught, not killed, though he’d accept killed if that would keep Lorraine and Faith and anyone else trapped on the ground safe. Still, if Adam were up there, he could try to control the situation.

“Max—” Adam began, but knew the minute he caught the twinkle in his chief’s eyes that he wouldn’t have to finish his question.

“Grab a Kevlar and take the rear position. You supervise the arrest only, got it, Guthrie? I don’t need you down, too.”

Adam dashed to the neat pile of supplies by the door and snatched a bulletproof vest. He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped into the protection, checking his weapon and extra clip before saluting the chief on his way to the action.

Once out of sight, he fisted his hands and let out a low-key “Yes!”

He’d wanted to snare a bad guy today. And he might still get his chance.

F AITH NEARLY JUMPED FOR JOY the minute she saw the SWAT team easing toward her. One held a large black shield with a clear slot to see through. The other carried a medical kit. Thank God! Lorraine, who’d just started coming around, was going to be treated.

“They’re coming, Lorraine,” she said, sounding as encouraging as she felt. “Just hold on. Don’t move. The SWAT guy has a shield. He’ll block you, keep you safe. Can you hear me, Lorraine?”

A low groan was the only response, but that was good enough for Faith. She folded her hands together and repeated another litany of prayers for Lorraine. She’d never felt half so spiritual as she did today. And though she couldn’t do anything for George, if Lorraine lived, she might sleep when night finally fell.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion. Days seemed to elapse before the SWAT team reached Lorraine, months before the paramedic had a diagnosis: heart attack. Lorraine needed immediate medical help, but the paramedic couldn’t administer treatment out in the open.

“Base, this is Mauro,” the man with the shield said into the radio strapped to his shoulder. “We need a gurney. Now!”

No response. Faith’s stomach dropped to her knees.

“Base, this is Mauro!”

His radio wasn’t working. He gestured toward the doors, and in a split second, two more SWAT guys burst out—two shields in front of them, a gurney pulled behind. They didn’t know the precise angle the shooter was aiming from—for all they knew he could still shoot them in the head. Faith held her breath, willing Lorraine’s rescuers to succeed.

As soon as the gurney was secure, the two new SWAT members formed a wall with the shields, two on the ground and one angled to protect from shots from above. The paramedic worked furiously, with the second SWAT guy assisting her in lifting Lorraine onto the cart.

Suddenly, a succession of gunshots rang out from above. Faith screamed and ducked, folding herself into a tiny ball, watching from beneath her arm as bullets slammed into the limestone, random, unfocused, splintering the plaza so that fragments bit at her cheek and hands. The SWAT team scrambled toward the exit, the bulkiest man barking orders in rapid succession. The paramedic seemed completely focused on Lorraine, not realizing that she had stepped out from behind the barricades. A bullet broke through their moving shield and struck the paramedic in the arm. Blood spurted as she yelped in pain, but the leader dragged her over Lorraine’s legs and, pushing the wheeled gurney quickly, managed their escape.

Then all went silent. Deadly silent. The kind of silent that creeps beneath the skin and chills to the bone. No sirens. No gunshots. No voices. Nothing but her own ragged gasps for breath. Faith fought the hyperventilation that would occur if she didn’t pull herself together. She held her breath, counted to ten, blew the air out slowly and then began again until she achieved a halfway decent calm.

George Yube was dead. Lorraine was critical. Now the paramedic had suffered a gunshot wound to the arm, if not worse. Faith blinked tears out of her eyes, trusting that the same police department she’d crucified in the courtroom would find a way to end this nightmare.

CHAPTER THREE

A S SOON AS THE SWAT detail cleared the smoke from the fire that had raged through the stairwell, Adam tore off his oxygen mask. His shoes squeaked as he walked across the hall, the soles sucking up the moisture from the fire sprinklers. Dan Egan had disengaged the automatic waterworks, but the damage was done. As the SWAT team moved stealthily in front of him, he stopped and kicked off his loafers. He wouldn’t have much traction, but he’d have the element of surprise—if the shooter was still on the loose.

They’d exited the stairwell on the fourth floor. A second SWAT team had scaled the roof and reported that the sniper was not there, nor was there any evidence he’d ever been this high up. The stairwell from the roof into the building had been blocked by a rusted-out panel from a colossal air-conditioning unit, leaving the teams sent up from the lobby to find the sniper. They split up, the first team proceeding to the fifth floor, the second filtering onto the third, with Adam bringing up the rear of the final group, which exited on the fourth. Max reported civilians here and ordered Adam to see to Judge Craven, whose hysterical court clerk had kept them from evacuating.

Despite Adam’s raging need to stick with the team as they moved down the hall to search for the sniper, he obeyed the order to protect Craven. If the shots weren’t random, anyone associated with Yube’s release could be in danger. That included the judge—and Faith. Adam swore under his breath, trying not to replay the scene again, as he had all the way up the stairwell. He’d hated leaving her. No matter how logical the decision had been at the time, no matter how safe he’d considered her to be, shoved up against the wall and out of the sniper’s sights, Adam had still abandoned her in the courtyard with only a dying woman and Yube’s bloody body for company.

He’d heard Max’s update to the team. SWAT had rescued Lorraine Nelson, but what about Faith? Was she still out there? Was she terrified or was she still clinging to that steely attitude she’d exhibited before he left?

From the other side of Judge Craven’s door, he heard sobs, as well as a man’s voice attempting to soothe. He knocked, quietly announced who he was, then turned the knob. Locked. Good for Craven.

A second later, the judge opened the door, looking nothing like the cool-headed, wise vanguard of law and justice he appeared to be on the bench. His tie was nearly unknotted and his sleeves and hands were darkened by soot. His usually slicked-back hair now hung across his eyes.

“Detective, we need a paramedic team. She’s inconsolable.” He gestured toward a young woman sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth. Tears ran in beige rivulets down her cheeks, tinged with black from her eye makeup. In a white sweater and pink dress, she hugged herself tightly, wailing loudly and resembling a miserable child rather than the twenty-something Adam guessed her to be.

He nodded at the judge. “They’ll be up as soon as the area is secure. May I?”

The judge nodded. Adam holstered his gun, relocked the door behind them and crouched next to the weeping woman. He saw no signs of physical trauma.

“What happened?” he asked.

Judge Craven smoothed his hair back and seemed, with Adam’s presence, to gain control of his normally refined and dignified manner. “Her brother died in the Oklahoma City bombing, and she lost a good friend in the World Trade Center. She’s petrified of terrorists. I’d guess post-traumatic stress disorder, though I’m no expert,” he said sadly.

When Judge Craven disappeared into his private bathroom, Adam leaned back on his heels for a second, hoping to hear something from the hallway to indicate that it was safe to move them out of the office. He heard nothing. Aside from the communications between the command center and the teams swarming the buildings, there’d been no activity from the sniper since that last random volley of shots, which had occurred only moments after the SWAT teams entered the smoky stairwell.

He touched the young woman’s arm. A quick glance up at her desk and the engraved nameplate told him who she was. “Mindy? I’m Detective Adam Guthrie. You’ll be okay. You’re completely safe in here. The SWAT team is in control. As soon as we secure the area, we’ll get you medical attention. Whatever you need.”

If she heard him, she gave no indication, just continued to rock and whimper. Adam glanced around the office, noticing a spilled can of diet soda dripping across the clerk’s desk. She’d probably dropped the drink when she heard the shots and screams. The sirens and sprinklers outside the office must have added to her terror. Yet her clothes were dry, indicating that she hadn’t ventured into the hallway. She must have dropped to the floor, where she’d been ever since.

Again, Adam thought about Faith, still outside, safe from the gunfire but not from the terror. Everyone had a breaking point, even sassy attorneys who looked as smooth and sweet as butter in a soft yellow suit. What would make her go over the edge? Seemed to him that a dead body with Yube’s injuries—gunshot between the eyes, the back of his skull likely blown out—might do the trick. Right now, Faith’s only view was that horrid violence, and for that most of all, he cursed himself again for leaving her alone. Knowing that Max had just ordered Flint to go back out and provide cover for Faith calmed Adam somewhat. But not much.

He didn’t know why he felt so responsible. Maybe his brother, Casey, a fellow cop, was right when he claimed Adam took the whole “protect and serve” thing too seriously. Still, a man was dead. Two women, Lorraine and the paramedic, were injured, and countless others terrorized—all in what amounted to a few moments of deadly fury.

Judge Craven emerged from the bathroom, his shirt changed and his hands clean. He held out a fresh but damp towel to Adam, apparently for Mindy, then crouched beside the woman, a small cup of water cradled in his hands.

“Mindy, have a sip, won’t you? We’re perfectly safe now, with Detective Guthrie here.”

For the first time, Mindy acknowledged their presence. She met Craven’s caring gaze, then, with violently shaking hands, reached for the cup. Craven smiled at her kindly and held the glass to her lips.

The usually stoic judge then took the towel from Adam and wiped the woman’s face clean, turning the terry cloth so that he never used the same spot twice. When he was done, he held up the towel, now streaked in beige, pink, black and red.

“I hate to tell you, Min, but you’ll have to redo the war paint before you go on your big date tonight,” Craven joked.

Mindy snuffled, and for the first time since Adam entered the room, spoke. “I’m so sorry, Judge Craven. I don’t know what happened. If you hadn’t come back when you did…”

Adam narrowed his gaze at the judge. “Where were you, Judge Craven? You weren’t out trying to play hero, were you?”

The judge leveled Adam with an indignant look. “I leave the heroics to the professionals such as yourself, Detective Guthrie. I checked the stairwell, but the fire and smoke were impassable. Mindy and I were stuck up here—until you arrived. Can we leave now?”

Adam pulled out his cell and dialed into the command system. He got Max on the line.

“Are we clear?” he asked.

“The attorney is back inside and paramedics are tending to Yube, though there isn’t a damn thing they can do except pick up the pieces. Mrs. Nelson is en route to the hospital, as is the paramedic I sent out.”

Adam couldn’t miss the self-recrimination in Max’s voice, but he didn’t comment.

“Third floor is empty. SWAT is sweeping the fourth and fifth floor offices. Stay put until all’s clear,” the chief added.

“No shooter?” Adam asked, disbelieving. If the SWAT teams had so much trouble making their way to the top floors, how could the shooter have escaped so easily? The fact that the sniper hadn’t been on the roof concerned Adam greatly. Metal detectors and X-ray machines greeted each and every courthouse visitor. How was the weapon brought in? He thought back to the craziness that had ensued immediately after Craven released Yube. Could someone have slipped through Security in the chaos, undetected?

“If the sniper is still in the building, we can’t find him,” Max answered. “We’re sending up two more teams and we’re guarding the stairwell. I have teams on the outside watching all the windows. Unless there’s another escape route that we don’t know about, we’ll get him.”

Adam frowned. “Maybe it was an inside job.”

Max didn’t sound any happier about that prospect than Adam was. “Maybe. We’ll check out everyone still in the building. You still with Craven?”

“Yes. The situation is under control.”

A knock sounded. Judge Craven moved to answer the door, but Adam shouted ahead. “Who is it?” he called out, holding the phone to his chest.

“Randolph, sir. I’m with SWAT. Checking in.”

With Adam’s permission, the rookie entered and did a quick sweep of Craven’s office—coming up empty, as Adam had expected. Despite the growing suspicion that the incident was over with no perp in custody, Max ordered Adam to remain with Judge Craven and his assistant until the floor was clear. Max shared Adam’s instinct that the hit wasn’t random. Until they knew more, they had to assume that anyone associated with Yube’s release was in danger. For all they knew, Faith had been a target as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a great stretch to think the vigilante who’d pulled the trigger on Yube and Faith could have it in for the judge who released Yube.

Adam also acknowledged that the whole tragedy might have been haphazard, a fortuitous accident perpetrated by a lunatic with a gun, but no agenda. They had no idea—and wouldn’t, until Adam and his team of detectives broke the case.

F OR WHAT SEEMED LIKE the tenth time, Faith shook her head at the paramedic stationed a few feet away from her and declined treatment. While she appreciated the fact that the emergency medical technician simply wanted to help, she preferred to sit here, sip her bottled water, ignore her scraped knee and hope the police would interview her soon. She’d already borrowed a cell phone—hers was in her briefcase on the other side of the yellow tape—and checked on Roma, who’d been evacuated after running back into the building. Next, she’d called her foster parents to assure them that she was okay. Once someone took her statement, she’d go show them in person. Besides, what she wanted most of all in the world right now was a slice of her foster mother’s guava chiffon cake. Faith could already taste the silky texture of the baked confection, the sweet lightness of the whipped cream icing, the distinct tropical flavor of the glaze.

Her stomach growled.

Great, now she’d made herself hungry. A wonderful addition to feeling traumatized and exhausted.

To take her mind off her appetite, she glanced through the crowd milling through the lobby of the courthouse building and wondered where Detective Guthrie had disappeared to. She owed him, at the very least, a sincere thank-you. When he’d pinned her to the wall, he’d likely saved her life. Even if she hadn’t been the target, she could have been hit.

But before Faith could decide exactly how to word her gratitude, Adam emerged from the stairwell behind Judge Craven, who had his arm wrapped around a distraught young woman in a pink dress. Chief Zirinsky approached the judge and, if Faith remembered correctly, his law clerk, Mindy, and directed them to a bank of chairs near his makeshift command center. Two uniforms hurried to stand watch, not unlike the one who’d been trying to stand discreetly behind her; she could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck.

Adam made a beeline for her.

“You okay?”

Though Adam was likely the hundredth person to ask her that question in the last thirty minutes, this time, the sentiment spawned a lump in her throat. She coughed into her hand, then took another sip of water.

“Thanks to you.”

He chuckled. “For God’s sake, I left you out there with Yube’s body for company. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Hey, you had to do your job.”

“Just like you had to do yours this afternoon,” he commented, but there was no condemnation in his voice. More like resolve, as if he’d forced himself to understand.

“Lot of good it’s done now. Someone decided to be judge, jury and executioner without the benefit of the legal system we both love. Was the vigilante caught?”

Adam eased into the chair beside her. “No, but we’ll catch him.”

She smiled, but the effort cost her. Damn, she was tired. Bone weary. She attempted to sit up straighter, until a sharp pain between her shoulder blades caused her to wince. “I believe you. I don’t know why my statement is important. I didn’t see anything.”

Adam motioned the uniform over, then borrowed a pen and paper. He nodded for the guy to step away, and the cop immediately complied. Once they were alone, he poised the ballpoint over the pad, then hesitated.

“You up for an interview?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Adam quirked an eyebrow. For the first time, she noticed how incredibly warm his eyes were—a rich caramel brown with flecks of gold that would likely catch the light on a sunny day.

His voice was deep, but gentle. Like a wave meant for floating rather than surfing. She wondered if Adam ever caught the waves, if he ever experienced the rush of riding the ocean on a mad dash toward land.

“We could postpone this until later,” he said. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“Nah, just a little sore. That’s the price of skipping my workouts for the past three weeks.”

“No pain, no gain,” he commented.

“So they say,” Faith acknowledged, though right at this minute she’d like to slap the idiot who came up with that stupid phrase. “Go ahead with your questions, Detective. The sooner you do your thing, the sooner you can catch the sniper—and do it by the book, okay? I won’t be defending this creep, but someone will be.”

He frowned, cleared his throat and then proceeded. “Had your client received any specific threats?”

She snorted. “You’re kidding, right? About a gazillion of them at last count.”

“Any to your office?”

“Half there, half to his home, which he immediately forwarded to me. Roma kept records.”

“Any of them specific?”

“What, like ‘I’m going to shoot your head off in the courthouse plaza if you walk in this case’?”

He met her sarcasm with another frown.

“Sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. “I tend to get snippy when I’m tired and hungry.”

“Not to mention traumatized.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was one nasty crime scene, Faith. It’s okay to lose it a little.”

“Are you the department shrink, too?”

“Am I crossing the line?”

Faith took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She had a habit of turning into a real toad when she hadn’t had a meal and felt as if she hadn’t slept in two weeks. But she had to admit, the prospect of climbing beneath the sheets of her bed, in the dark, didn’t appeal to her at the moment. Not when the image of George Yube’s dead body seemed imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

“No, Detective, you’re not. I’ll deal. I’ve seen worse.”

“Like when?”

“I’m a defense attorney. Crime scene photos cross my desk every day.”

“It’s a little different when the blood is real and might drip onto the tip of your shoe.”

She couldn’t help but look down. Her shoes were gone. The SWAT team member who’d facilitated her removal from the plaza had instructed her to leave her heels behind so she could run faster. At the time, they weren’t sure the sniper had been neutralized. Apparently, he hadn’t, though they’d made it into the building without any more gunfire.

“I’ll be okay. I always am.”

“Survivor, huh?” he asked.

She realized she’d known Adam Guthrie for years, yet they were practically strangers. He had absolutely no idea how the term survivor had practically been invented for people like her. But hers wasn’t a physical survival so much as an emotional and spiritual one. Not that she’d escaped the backlash of isolation and mistrust entirely, but every day, she made progress.

“You could say that. So…” She was suddenly anxious to cut to the chase. “I’ll have Roma prepare the records she kept of the threats, for whatever good they’ll do.”

“And if you receive any other information—”

“You’ll be the first person I’ll call.”

He nodded, but the movement was just short of agreement. He stood and waved at Max, who gestured him over.

“Excuse me a second?”

Faith motioned in Zirinsky’s direction, too tired to argue about how she wanted to go home—now. “Be my guest.”

Adam patted her shoulder before he dashed off toward his superior. His silent acknowledgment of Faith’s exhaustion taunted her frazzled emotions. Great, where did she finally meet a guy who was actually in tune with her feelings? At a courthouse after a shooting. And though he’d rescued her and was one hot hunk of man, could she pursue him? Not unless she had an appetite for conflict, not to mention irony. On a daily basis, she represented the criminals he was determined to put in jail. Not exactly the strongest foundation for a long-lasting relationship.

But a fling?

Hmm.

Faith leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. She must be more tired than she had thought. She did skip lunch preparing for Yube’s hearing. Maybe she was delirious or, at least, near to it. To even consider a no-strings-attached affair with a man like Adam Guthrie, she had to be losing her mind. Sure, he was handsome in a rugged, tough sort of way. Mel Gibson-ish, without the accent. And he had a strong code of moral ethics. Even though his department had screwed up on more than one occasion, not once had he tried to cover up the mistakes. He owned up to the flaws, and from what she’d read in the papers, put procedures in place to ensure the cops didn’t make the same mistake twice.

Worst of all for her, he had a sweet sense of humor. Sexy, ethical and compassionate. If he told her a good joke—preferably one that didn’t rely on skewering a lawyer for the punch line—she’d be a goner. How could she resist him?

She couldn’t. Not in her current emotional and physical state. She needed to get out of here before she did something really stupid. Like ask him over to her place.

A commotion from the outer doors drew Faith’s attention. Standing with her fists on her ample hips, her foster sister, Kalani, was telling a poor uniformed officer exactly how things were going to be.

“Listen, Officer, I appreciate that you don’t want the public at large stomping through your crime scene. But if you don’t move aside and let me see my sister, this woman at large is going to stomp all over your butt.”

She punctuated her very real threat by clomping her foot on the floor and shimmying her neck and shoulders in that soul-sister way that sent most men running for cover. The young officer glanced around, possibly hoping for backup, but not moving out of the way. Faith chuckled. She figured she’d better lend him a hand or she might find herself spending the rest of the evening defending her own sister on assault charges.

Shoeless and aching, Faith stood and crossed the lobby. “Officer, please let her through. You can check with Detective Guthrie. He just took my statement.”

He spared an impotent scowl at Kalani, then marched off in the direction Faith had seen Adam disappear with the chief. Instantly, Kalani ran toward her, her dark hair secured in a swinging ponytail, a lei of lilies peeking out from the oversize Tommy Hilfiger shirt she’d thrown over her sarong. Her shift at the restaurant wasn’t over until midnight, so apparently she’d taken off during the dinnertime rush.

Faith half expected to be bowled over, but as usual, her sister managed more control than anyone expected from her and folded Faith into a gentle hug. Kalani nurtured the reputation that she was a tough-talking, street-smart, piss-and-vinegar Hawaiian woman with an attitude. And in truth, she was all those things. Unless she liked you. Then she was a pussycat.

“Faith! God, I couldn’t believe when I heard on the news. That’s what you get for defending scumbags like Yube, and I don’t care if that hurts your feelings.”

Faith rested her cheek on her sister’s shoulder and inhaled the warm sweet scent of coconut oil. Faith didn’t know if the scent came from the kitchens of their parents’ Hawaiian restaurant, Sunsets, or if Kalani had eschewed kitchen prep work today in favor of hitting the beach.

“It only hurt my feelings the first time you said it. Yube is dead, Kay.”

“I know. Don’t expect me to grieve.”

Faith shook her head and broke the hug. No one in her family made any secret of the fact that they hated her chosen profession, even if they loved her unconditionally. Her foster father, Maleko, would have preferred she’d specialized in corporate law, so she could take over the business end of the restaurant’s operations. Her foster mother, Melelu—called Lu by everyone who knew her—didn’t much care what field of law she practiced, so long as she wasn’t in danger. Unfortunately, criminal lawyers tended to hang out with an unsafe element.

What they didn’t understand was that the risk didn’t appeal to her any more than it did to them. She had no love for people who knowingly and willfully broke the law. But thanks to her own experiences with her mother, the woman who’d given birth to her in poverty, who had worked her fingers to the bone to put a roof over Faith’s head and food in her belly, Faith knew that the innocent sometimes got caught up in the manipulations of the guilty.

She was nine when her father died, and barely eleven when the police barged into their tiny apartment in Los Angeles, yanking her, kicking and screaming, out of her mother’s arms. The rage, confusion and resentment still lingered, closer to the surface than Faith would ever admit. She’d been damn lucky to be placed with the Apalo family just a few days later. Melelu had somehow known how to deal with Faith. She’d told her the truth, with no sugar-coating. Her real mother had been arrested for dealing drugs.

Sylvia Lawton had had no money for bail or a decent lawyer, so very soon after her arrest, she’d gone to prison. And not long afterward, she’d died.

While in college, Faith had finally found the courage to request all the documentation on her mother’s case. What she’d read had horrified her, and that was long before she’d entered law school and fully comprehended the incompetence of her mother’s defense, who’d urged her to plead guilty. The state’s case against her mother had been shaky—based almost entirely on the testimony of jailhouse snitches—but even Faith’s untrained eye could see her mother’s innocence. Faith had decided that no other child should have to lose a parent, even for one night, because the police or the prosecutor didn’t have their ducks in a row. In fact, no one deserved to serve a moment in jail if there was a reasonable doubt that they had committed the crime.

Unlike Faith, Kalani had never gone one night her entire life without her parents to take care of her, even during college, since Kay had chosen to live at home. Mal and Lu Apalo never left Kay or Faith, not for business trips or vacations or even stays in the hospital. Sure, George Yube’s children were grown, but his grandchildren worshiped him. For them, Faith had decided to at least take a look at the case against the once-respected doctor.

Now he was dead. Oh God—had someone called his kids?

“Contrary to popular belief, Kay, George Yube will be missed,” Faith muttered.

“By you?”

Faith shrugged, then realized that if she didn’t change the subject soon, she’d have nightmares for weeks. “I hardly knew the man, but murder is a horrible crime, no matter who the victim is. Look, I had to give a statement to the police and I think they’ll let me go now. Please tell me Lu made her guava cake for tonight’s luau.”

Kalani’s tanned face brightened with her wide, toothy smile. “You kidding? If Mama doesn’t make her guava cake every night, we lose business. I promised I’d call her as soon as I found you and made sure you were okay.” She glanced around and spotted a bank of phones by the security station. “I’ll be right over there.”

Faith nodded, then looked around for Adam. He wasn’t hard to find, when likely he should have been. With the exception of the SWAT team, every other male in the place was wearing a suit or a police uniform. Since more than half of the men in the lobby were cops, the majority of the guys milling around were also tall and well-built. Still, Faith’s gaze zeroed in on Adam as if she’d developed handsome-hunk radar in her irises. Or maybe she’d formed a connection to the chief of detectives that she wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge.

When she started toward him, he waved, but continued to issue orders to the man standing beside him.

“Tim, check in with Sam Prophet immediately. I want to know about the incendiary device in the stairwell. Anything he’s got.”

The detective made a note in a PDA. “He promises an initial report by morning. His first guess was that it was a small explosive, remote controlled, specifically placed to start a very smoky fire.”

Adam swore mildly, but enough for Faith to catch his intensity. She already knew he took his cases personally, but seeing him in action added a layer of understanding she wasn’t sure she wanted to possess.

“There goes the random-shooting theory,” Adam said. “I also need the visitor list from courthouse Security before you leave. Call me on the cell when you’ve got it. And contact Ms. Lawton’s assistant. She had a collection of threats Faith and Yube received. They kept records—for a brief time, anyway—and I want them. I’ll handle everything else.”

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Faith and frowned.

“You sure, boss? I mean, taking the choice assignments for yourself could hurt department morale.”

Despite Tim’s obviously teasing tone, Adam’s jaw twitched, and Faith could almost feel a wave of cold emanating from his frosty response. Apparently, Adam Guthrie had his limits.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’ll buy pizza for everyone on Friday. Will that do?”

Tim grinned, gave Faith a polite salute and then left.

Adam crossed over to her and, with a soft chuckle, banished any seriousness from his face.

“So, you ready to get out of here?”

Faith sighed. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been ready for hours. What about my briefcase and purse? They’re still outside.”

“I have a uniform standing by. As soon as Forensics releases the scene, he’ll bring your things directly to your home. I’ve already ordered someone to check out your car, just in case.”

Faith was suddenly very glad Kalani had come to the courthouse. Without her keys and driver’s license, she wouldn’t have any way home or, even if someone gave her a ride, any way to get into her house. Kalani had an extra set of keys on her key ring.

“Do you need me to come by the precinct tomorrow and sign my statement?” she asked.

“We can decide in the morning.”

He gestured toward the glass doors. The sun had set, and television camera lights glared on the other side. She groaned. The last thing she wanted was her sorry-looking image broadcast on the eleven-o’clock news. She patted her hair, looked down helplessly at her grubby hands and filthy suit.

Then his words hit her.

“What do you mean, we? ”

Adam increased his pace, seemingly ignoring the fact that she’d stopped walking.

“I’m going home with you, Ms. Lawton. And I’m staying the night.”

CHAPTER FOUR

F AITH GROANED ALOUD . “Is this the part where I’m supposed to protest madly?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, where I insist that I can take care of myself, that I don’t need protection and I certainly don’t need a sexy guy in my house acting the bodyguard. That’s how it works in the movies.”

If Faith had meant her cinematic scenario to unnerve him, her plan had worked. He was trying to get past the “sexy guy” part when a pretty woman, obviously Hawaiian heritage, joined them.

“So who’s this hottie?” she asked.

Faith coughed to cover a giggle. Adam nearly blushed.

“Kalani Apalo, meet Detective Adam Guthrie. Detective, this is my sister, Kay.”

Kalani’s grin was nothing short of predatory. Adam ignored his sudden need to loosen his tie and instead shook her proffered hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Apalo.”

“Call me Kay. Unless you want to call me ‘sweet thing.’ We could work that out, you know?”

From the corner of his eye, Adam watched Faith cover her mouth with her hand. Yeah, this was hilarious. Not that Kalani Apalo wasn’t a stunning, voluptuous woman—she was. But suddenly, Adam, who’d never had much of a preference for female “types” before, realized he had more of a hankering for a sharp attorney who wore puka beads with her business suits.

If Kalani was her sister, that at least explained why she preferred tropical jewelry to conservative pearls.

“Your offer is tempting, Ms. Apalo, but I’m afraid my interests this evening are focused on your sister.”

Faith turned toward him slowly, her gaze curious, but cautious. He could play this bowl-over-with-brashness game as well as she could—probably better.

Kalani nodded approvingly. “Hot damn, sis. You survive a shooting and catch yourself a man, both at the same time. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Faith smirked at her sister. “First of all, the shooter wasn’t aiming at me. Second, I doubt Detective Guthrie’s interests extend beyond the professional. Third, he’s just teasing about coming home with me.”

Adam jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re so wrong, Counselor, I don’t know where to start.”

She crossed her arms. Adam hadn’t forgotten the feel of those soft breasts crushed to his chest when they were outside against the brick wall. The moment had been too fraught with danger to acknowledge at the time, but now his flesh fairly tingled with the warm memory.

“Excuse me?”

“First,” he said, mimicking her tone, “you don’t know that you weren’t in danger or that you still aren’t. The assassination attempt might not have been aimed only at Yube.”

Faith shook her head. “How do you know that Yube was the target at all? I’m not saying that isn’t a logical assumption under the circumstances, but face it, Detective, you have no proof. The sniper might have been after random targets and George Yube was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Adam groaned, wondering how he had ever thought assigning protection to her would be easy, particularly when he intended to pick up the detail himself, at least until tomorrow morning.

“You’re entirely right,” he conceded. “I have no solid proof, but the circumstantial evidence is too disturbing to ignore. And until I know the nature of the attack, you will receive police protection. Max Zirinsky has approved the detail.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re taking it upon yourself to provide my protection, with your undoubtedly busy schedule?”

He glanced back to where he’d stood when he and Tim had sparred over this very topic. Adam had made the decision on an uncharacteristic whim; he couldn’t shake the instinct to make sure she was safe. He’d saved her life once, and if necessary, he wanted to be there to do it again.

“Like Detective Masters said,” Adam answered, “it’s a choice assignment.”

Faith wanted to smile. He could see the corners of her mouth quivering as she fought with her reaction to being flattered. Not that he was any great catch, but he also knew he didn’t send women screaming in the opposite direction.

Her sister slapped her on the arm. “He’s flirting, Faith. Flirt back.”

Faith tilted her head toward Kalani, her expression weary. “My sister, a bastion of subtlety.”

“She’s right,” he added.

“Great. You have interesting timing, Detective. Flirt with the woman who’s too tired to stand up, much less flirt back. Superlative plan.”

Adam conceded his timing could be a little off, but he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity. He could drive her home and make sure she was safely in her house with an officer posted outside, before he was missed at the crime scene, which so far wasn’t yielding one single clue as to the sniper’s identity.

“At least you’re thinking of flirting back,” he said. “That’s something, right?”

“Can we talk about this after I’ve eaten and had a shower?”

“No problem.” He gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

Just then, Detective Masters called out to him. “Guthrie, we’ve pinpointed the shooter’s perch. Empty office on the fifth floor. Forensics needs you.”

Of course they do.

“There’s your reprieve, Counselor,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll send an officer to see you safely home.”

“I’m not going home,” she said quickly. “I’m going to my parents’ restaurant, Sunsets.”

“The luau place?”

“Best guava cake in town. My parents keep an apartment upstairs, so I can crash there tonight if I need to. Lots of people around. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Adam pursed his lips, considering. This was a good situation, under the circumstances. Anyone targeting her wouldn’t likely think to go after her in such a public place. Still, he’d send the uniform along just in case, and then he’d stop by later to return her belongings and make sure she was all right.

Maybe resume a little of the flirting.

“You’ll stay with her?” he asked Kalani.

She saluted. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I’ll see you later, then? For our slumber party?”

He turned and stalked off quickly after Masters, giving Faith no time to argue or gauge if he’d been kidding. Which he had been—sort of. He glanced over his shoulder and barely contained a chuckle. She stood there with her mouth open and her finger poised, as if she’d prepared an objection that he’d left her no time to make.

“F EELING REJUVENATED YET ?”

Swirling her fork, Faith scooped up every last sweet crumb left on her plate. With a flourish, she slid the fork into her mouth, relishing the exotic flavors gliding over her tongue. No one made guava cake like her foster mother. And no one could look both contented and concerned at the same time like Lu could, either.

“Doctors should prescribe this stuff instead of Prozac,” Faith said.

Lu wiggled her ample bottom into the rattan chair across from Faith. “I keep trying to convince the pharmaceutical companies, but they aren’t buying.”

“You could do takeout,” Faith suggested, for what was probably the thousandth time. The food at Sunsets was, thanks to Lu and her homegrown culinary skills, beyond compare. The restaurant was fiscally healthy, with a steady stream of regulars and bonus business from special celebrations such as birthdays, anniversaries and office parties. Faith appreciated that not once since the Apalos had taken her into their home had Faith had to worry about her family’s finances, the way she had with her mother. And since she’d gone out on her own, she could always come home for a hot, delicious meal and love-inspired pampering. When her career allowed, which wasn’t very often lately.

“If I did takeout, you’d never stay more than ten minutes. You’d go back to that little house of yours and work all night and never eat and, more importantly, never see your family.”

Faith winced, conceding that if left to her own devices, she’d be exactly the hermit Lu described. Even after more than twenty years of living with the Apalos, she still had to fight her instincts to remain indoors, buried beneath a blanket with a book, or now a case file. The neighborhood where she’d grown up in L.A. hadn’t exactly been conducive to outdoor play. Not unless you wanted to get shot, stabbed or mugged while you played hopscotch on the sidewalk.

“I guess I would’ve turned into a recluse if not for you guys.”

“A malnourished recluse,” Lu said, waving Paolo over. The waiter, bare-chested, tanned and wearing a colorful half sarong and lei, dashed over with a tray balanced on his hand. “Bring Faith another slice of cake,” Lu ordered.

“No, Lu, really. I have to go upstairs and—”

“What? Do more work? Do you have a court appearance tomorrow?”

Faith knew what was coming. “No, ma’am.”

“Briefs that need to be filed before the weekend?”

She shook her head. “I called Roma and cancelled all my appointments.”

Lu’s face broke into a wide smile. “That’s my girl.” Then with a scowl, she looked over her shoulder and caught Paolo just standing there, grinning, instead of fetching Faith more cake. He was a cutie, Faith thought. Might be good for taking her mind off what happened today, except that he was barely twenty-two and thought surfing was more religion than sport.

Not that Faith wasn’t inclined to agree, when the waves were just right. Good Lord, how long had it been since she’d hit the surf? She wasn’t even sure where she’d last stored her board. In the attic here at the restaurant? In storage at her office? She doubted that. She’d never bring the symbol of her secret indulgence anywhere near her law firm. Wouldn’t want to give clients the wrong idea.

Lu stood, her hands flat on the table as she leaned in and kissed Faith on the cheek. “You have another piece of cake, you hear? Or pork. Or fruit salad. I don’t care. Sample the whole buffet. I know you skipped breakfast, and you probably skipped lunch, too.”

Faith glanced away, caught. Paolo instantly disappeared, no doubt off to fetch the second helping of confectionery delight. Ah, well. Faith could go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe hit the pool. Or maybe she’d just lounge around for a day and enjoy three delicious square meals and a little more motherly spoiling.

Minutes later she was about to dig into her newly delivered second slice of cake, daydreaming of chucking all her responsibilities for twenty-four hours and enticing Kalani to run off with her to the beach, when a sultry male voice caressed her from behind.

“You look delicious.”

She put down her fork and glanced over her shoulder, not surprised to see Detective Guthrie standing there. He looked the way she’d felt two hours ago—exhausted and close to collapse—and he was carrying an accordion file as if it weighed a ton rather than a few pounds. He needed a strong dose of the treatment she’d received from Lu.

Upon her arrival at the restaurant, her foster mother had promptly thrown her into a hot, papaya-scented bath and ordered her to soak for no less than thirty minutes. Lu had remained in the bathroom long enough to give Faith’s hair a good washing, just like she used to when Faith was so much younger and having a particularly rough day. Lu had crooned old Hawaiian tunes for ten minutes, before leaving Faith alone to wash off the ugliness of her day. Now, wrapped in one of the spare sarongs the waitresses wore, and sporting two tiny lavender orchids tucked behind her ear into her naturally wavy, air-dried hair, she could smile with genuine warmth and sincerity.

“If it isn’t my Galahad,” she crooned, offering him a chair.

“Let’s not be melodramatic.”

“I’ll cease and desist on the melodrama if you take a rain check on the flirting.”

Not that she didn’t enjoy his attention. But during that bath, she’d convinced herself that messing with a man like Adam Guthrie, even if all in good fun, could hurt her credibility in the courtroom. Before today, she’d inspired a modicum of trepidation and fear in the officers of the court with whom she tangled. She wasn’t too proud to admit she enjoyed her cutthroat reputation. Then again, since Adam had saved her life, she was pretty sure his grandiose assumptions about her, if he’d had any in the first place, were not quite so larger-than-life anymore.

“No can do,” he said. “Comes too easy.”

She couldn’t argue, so sipped her coffee instead. A lawyer who couldn’t argue? What was the world coming to? Still, as a lawyer, she wasn’t one to ignore facts.

Adam Guthrie was a major heartthrob. And she hadn’t had an honest-to-goodness heartthrob in her life for too long.

“How’s Lorraine?”

“Stable, finally. They think she’ll be okay, but she’ll have to take that retirement she’s been avoiding.”

Faith smiled sadly. No one deserved a rest more than Lorraine, but she’d be a great loss to the system.

“Any clues about the shooter?” she asked, waving to Kalani and hoping a change of subject would take the edge off her charged response to him.

He folded himself wearily into the chair. “We found shell casings, so we know the make and model of his weapon. Remington M24.”

“Standard military issue,” she noted.

He lifted a brow.

She smiled. “I defended a former Army Ranger suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder back in Los Angeles,” she explained. Some of the knowledge she’d picked up since passing the bar wasn’t the kind she’d want to use more than once, but for the most part, her broadening knowledge base came in handy. Like when trying to impress police detectives.

“You practice in L.A., too?”

Clever devil, turning the conversation to something personal.

“Went there first after law school. I still take cases there all the time. Luckily for you, there’s more crime there than in Courage Bay.”

“But your main office is here now?”

Faith grinned, despite her attempt to contain her sentimentalism. “I’m a sucker for roasted pork and ukelele music, what can I say?”

Kalani scooted over, two tall turquoise drinks poised on her tray. “See, Detective? I’ve kept her in my line of sight all evening,” she said proudly.

“I should put you on the payroll,” he quipped.

Kalani snorted. “For my sister, it’s free. So are these.” With great flourish, she served the drinks, complete with fresh fruit and a tiny umbrella poised on the rim. “Compliments of the house. Order anything you’d like. Anyone who saves my sister’s life has earned a complimentary dinner.”

After laying a menu beside Adam’s drink, Kalani winked at Faith and moved gracefully away, her shoulders swaying to the twang and rhythmic whine of Maleko’s steel guitar. Faith’s foster father stood on the tiny stage in the opposite corner of the room, playing a traditional tune to an enraptured crowd. Though it was a Thursday night, the place was packed, but for the most part quiet. Maleko Apalo was a true master of Polynesian music, and the mournful strumming took only moments to seep under Faith’s skin.

She closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept since returning to the restaurant, but while her exhaustion had dissipated, she was now blissfully tired. Like a cat who’d just lapped a saucer full of cream, she wanted a nap.

Until she experienced the sensation of a man’s gaze roaming over her face. She opened her eyes and caught Adam staring at her intently, a tiny smile lingering on his lips. A sigh caught in her throat. Having him look at her with such contained hunger was a definite ego-booster, but she wasn’t the type to lead a guy on. She’d better tend to business soon so he could leave. The longer he hung around, the harder it was going to be to keep those melted caramel eyes of his—not to mention other choice parts of his delicious body—out of her dreams.

She sat up straighter and took a sip of the Blue Sunset her sister had delivered. The sugary flavors of pineapple and mango juices blended with the distinctive taste of dark rum and blue curaçao. Man, she missed these. The drink was a rare luxury, since she usually left the restaurant and drove straight home to do a few more hours of work.

Not tonight.

She took another long, indulgent sip.

Adam had flipped open the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“The buffet,” she said, nodding toward the sumptuous spread of food that took up the entire west wall of the restaurant. “Have a little bit of everything. You’ll like it all, I guarantee it. Except the poi. We serve it because it’s expected, but it tastes like paste.”

Adam glanced around, obviously impressed by the tropical festiveness of the decor. Colorful streamers, floral garlands and twinkling lights in rainbow hues decorated the ceiling, rustling lightly thanks to the lazily churning palm-frond-style fans. The walls sported a collection of antique ukeleles, most resembling mini-guitars, others more oval or pear-shaped with tropical fruits or hula girls painted on the base. The tables glimmered with votive candles crafted with a kaleidoscopic array of colored bits of glass, so that a rainbow danced on the table when the fans shimmied the flames. The air flowed with the sounds of hushed conversation at the tables, the music, and chatter from the kitchen behind them. Faith always chose a table in the back, where she could watch the action and yet remain relatively undisturbed.

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