Freefall (19 page)
“Lychee. Peel the skin off, eat the flesh, but watch out for the seed.”
As he pulled back onto the road, she peeled one and held it out to him. He took the slippery, grayish white fruit and popped it into his mouth, then chewed around the dark brown seed at its center. That, of course, presented him with the need to spit it out and hand it over or toss it out the window. His
aloha‘ā ina
would not allow the second, even if it was biodegradable, so he dropped the seed into his palm and pondered his next step. She held out the bag.
He dropped it in.
“Mahalo.”
A smile flickered on her lips. She couldn’t think he was hung up on her being Gentry Fox if he was spitting seeds into the bag she held. Just as he hadn’t been when they were waist deep in turbulent water, or clinging to a steep, slippery slope. Her fame was not the attraction.
Courage, loyalty, determination. Yeah, beauty. Those were the things that had grabbed him inside, caused the kiss in the waiting room and the repetitions he’d considered thereafter. He no longer claimed he wouldn’t repeat the mistake. He’d repeat it all right. Unless he got out of there. If Gentry was aware of or shared his struggle, she was a better actor than he’d ever be. Maybe she was so used to men dissolving in her presence, she thought nothing of it.
Kauai had its share of famous visitors. He’d lost count of the shows and movies filmed there, but none of the stars had been so recently in the news in such an attention-getting way. Now that her cover was blown, she would have no peace. He walked her, once again, through the press.
“How did you find your uncle?”
“Was the cave visible?”
“What part did Mr. Pierce play?” Gentry paused. “He found the cave.”
The cameras turned on him. Whether she was giving credit or deflecting he couldn’t say, but he hadn’t intended to be spotlighted. As the questions came at him, he got a little picture of what she went through. The smarmier characters seemed to be absent, though, so he did his best to answer until it turned personal.
“How long have you known Ms. Fox?”
“What’s your relationship?”
“Why didn’t
you
go to the police, Mr. Pierce? Were you protecting her?”
He found the speaker—Bette Walden. “No crime had been committed. The medical opinion Ms. Fox received indicated her memory would return. She was not avoiding anything but this kind of publicity and got help the moment she knew another person was involved.”
He pushed Gentry toward the door.
“Funny it’s always the other people who get hurt.” That got the attention Bette wanted, as the press turned to her.
He didn’t know whether he’d done more harm than good, but at least it was over.
As they entered the lobby, a tall redhead swooped in. Cameron started to ward her off, but Gentry moved past him.
“What is it, Darla?”
She shoved a tabloid into her hands. Cameron caught only the headline.
Fox’s Mind Lost to Aliens
. How inappropriate would it be to laugh?
By the woman’s face, very. “Three weeks without a headline was more than you could stand?”
Gentry half turned. “Darla, this is Cameron Pierce; my publicist, Darla Graves.”
Darla gave him a skewering glance, then turned back to Gentry. “We need to powwow. What have you said?”
Before Gentry could answer, a young man closed in with an armful of publications. Gentry murmured, “Hi, Jett,” as Darla hustled them toward the elevator, flipping through the papers. The woman stopped and glared back. “You’d better come too.”
Wasn’t a publicist supposed to be on Gentry’s side?
As they got into the elevator, Darla slipped a different publication from the stack and shoved it at him.
Fox and Lover Leave Uncle for Dead
. The picture was taken in the parking lot when they’d first arrived last evening at the hospital. How had they jumped on it so fast? But the press had known who she was long before he did. They had no doubt jumped on it as soon as TJ’s bulletin went out. No trouble for the snide creep in the parking lot to sell his photo to a tabloid rabidly awaiting a break.
The photo showed him and Gentry locked in a clutch, her face turned toward his chest. He knew it for the protective pose it was, but it left room for interpretation. People would take it and run.
“Congratulations.” Darla gave Gentry a thin sneer. “You’ve bumped their front pages—again.”
“I didn’t—”
“The important thing is what we’re going to do with it. I have—”
The doors opened. Publicist and assistant blazed into the hall, Darla yammering. Cameron reached over and held Gentry back. Darla turned, her glare a masterpiece of disdain.
He walked Gentry out of the elevator. “Excuse me, but Gentry has a sick uncle we’re here to see. This other crap can wait.” He slapped the paper back into her assistant’s torso.
As the woman stood, gape-mouthed, he walked Gentry to ICU. She was shaking under his arm. This was not some jaded movie queen. She was a person with feelings and fears like anyone else. Darla hadn’t even asked about her uncle’s, or Gentry’s, condition. She saw only a situation. Sensing Gentry’s need to see her uncle privately, he didn’t go into the unit, but he told her, “I’ll be right here.”
Her eyes teared. “I know you need to go. Handle your cases.”
“That can wait.” It was only income and security. He’d been called to the island for a reason, and while he didn’t look for God’s hand in everything, he paid attention when it slapped him in the face.
She touched his chest with her fingertips. “
Mahalo,
Kai.” Then she went inside, and he was left wondering, once again, how to get the air into his lungs.
Darla came up beside him with a barely disguised smirk. “You’re not the first. You won’t be the last. She can walk down the sidewalk and men imagine they’re part of her world. She’s got what’s known in the industry as ‘it.’ She also has the worst luck of anyone I’ve represented. And she’s made a lot of enemies.”
“How?”
“She didn’t pay her dues.”
“She can’t be blamed for that.”
“Oh, but she can.” Darla looked him over. “What do you do?”
“Investigate fraud.”
She drew her gaze over him like a cold shower. “Did you sleep together last night?”
His heart thumped. “You’re asking this because …”
“It’s my job to airbrush her mistakes.”
“Sleeping with me would be a mistake?”
“Under the circumstances.”
Under his circumstances too. “No.”
“So your power play in the elevator was anticipatory.”
He rarely had violent thoughts toward women. This one had potential. “Gentry’s faced enough antagonists. She could use a little support.”
Darla showed a scant softening. “She doesn’t realize how serious this is. She’s only just ridden the last wave. And believe me, we’ve not seen the end of it.” She thumped the papers in the young man’s arms. “Next week’s issues will be worse, tying this new love affair—”
“There’s no affair.”
“To the other. Which supposedly didn’t happen either. Do you think that matters?”
He frowned. “It should.”
“It doesn’t. Because that scandal had the legs of one of your centipedes. And they grow back.”
He looked at the door through which Gentry had gone to sit with her uncle. That should be all she had to worry about. Would it be better if he disappeared? Maybe. But he’d told her he’d be there. “So what now?”
“Now we discuss keeping your mouth shut. What will it cost?”
She’d just topped his list of repulsive people. “Cost?”
“You’ve spent two nights with a star. The rags will pay handsomely for details. True or not.”
He studied her fire red lips, burnt orange hair, and hard hazel eyes. “Did you offer a deal to the kid the last time?”
“That’s none of your business. Just tell me what it’ll take to make you go away.”
She matched Bette Walden’s ire. Had he missed something in the days he’d spent with Gentry? Something that turned these women into sharks? One supposedly for, and one stridently against; both trolling murky waters, ready to bite.
He squared his shoulders. “It won’t cost Gentry anything. I’m going as soon as I’ve finished here.”
“When will that be?”
“When I decide I’m through.”
At the direction of a hospital staff member, they moved into the small waiting area that served the ICU. No press hassled them there. The hospital must have made it clear harassment would not be allowed on the premises. Or else Darla had brought in the National Guard.
She would obviously like him keelhauled. He might have assigned her attitude to the star rather than the mouthpiece, but he relished the challenge. Bring it on. Anything to take his mind off Gentry’s husky voice calling him Kai.
After a room-service breakfast of soft-boiled
eggs, lox, and cottage cheese, Allegra stretched and ran her fingers through her tastefully highlighted hair. What she wanted was a dip in the pool, but Curt was on the phone. So much for getting away from the world. His business wouldn’t wait.
But he’d been right about the TV. Who cared, really, what problems the pundits were pummeling to death. If there was a terror attack on Oahu, she’d be of no consequence. And complying with Curt’s wish was a small price for joy, something so sorely lacking in her life that sometimes she wished a terror attack would simply take her away.
Maybe she should stop denying the depression that had seeped like fog into her mind and heart until nothing bright or beautiful penetrated deeply enough to make a difference. She pulled on her swimsuit, fully aware that she was not the supple beauty she’d been when—before. Envied by women her age for good genes and a good surgeon, she was nonetheless sliding into decline.
Did that bother Curt? Did she care? She pushed the doubt away. Not care? He’d been wonderful. He adored her. Would she rather go back to her lonely patio home? To shop and play Bunko and host dinner parties for her single friends whose husbands had the good sense to divorce them? A familiar ache resonated through her, reaching its tentacles around until it slithered into her heart with stabbing pains she wished were real.
Now, that was a cheery thought to take into the pool with her. Next she’d be picturing herself on the bottom, lying still and breathless. Drowning was said to be so peaceful. Why resist?
She tied a sheer wrap around her waist and motioned to Curt that she’d be swimming. He gave her a salacious appraisal that shot warmth through her like an infusion, then went back to his conversation. She closed the door and strode down the hall toward the elevator. A thin man and his emaciated wife, both reeking of suntan lotion, had already pressed the button, but the thing took forever.
She glanced away from them and noticed the newspaper on the table by the wall. Not a paper reader, she looked back at the down arrow above the elevator, lit but seemingly ineffective. Annoyed, she took a step and glanced over the front page of the
Honolulu Advertiser
, confused, then stunned to find Gentry staring back.
He knew the minute she stepped in that the gig was up. She tossed the paper on the table beside him, and he told the person on the phone, “I’ll call you back. Something’s come up.” He turned off the phone and stood. “Babe, what is it?”
“Gentry and Rob have had a terrible accident.”
He looked down at the paper, picked it up and read. Gentry, of course, was all right. He’d seen that much on TV. He read on.
The star’s partial amnesia has kept her from telling authorities how the accident occurred. Dr. Yamaguchi, who examined Gentry, says that is not unusual. An injury to the central part of the brain can result in the exact sort of memory loss Ms. Fox has experienced. He added that the partial block could be permanent
.
Curt shook his head and expelled a disbelieving breath, then flipped pages to the continuation.
After a hazardous rescue, Gentry Fox’s
uncle, Robert Fox, is in critical condition
. It then gave a brief synopsis of Rob’s successful career and segued into Gentry’s movie credits and one sentence regarding her appearance on
Oprah
following the sex scandal that was settled out of court.
He set the paper down and managed a soft exclamation of dismay.
Allegra, pale, obviously shaken, sank into a chair. She raised one delicate hand, then dropped it. “I … I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?” It was risky. He still didn’t have the certainty he’d expected by now. Even after last night. He’d hoped for more time.
She lowered her face and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Her hand was shaking. “I feel like I should be there.”
He went over and dropped to his knees beside her, taking her hand between his. “It’s your call, babe.”
Her face pinched. “But … it’s so wrong after …”
Good thing he’d followed his instinct. “You could go to the hospital, patch things up. Pray with him. If he’s a Christian, he’ll forgive this indiscretion.” Out on a major limb there. Indiscretion was not how he wanted her to view it. But he knew how she felt about the man’s conversion. A little salt in the wound might work in his favor.
