Birds in Paradise

Part 1

I rubbed my eyes not quite believing what I was seeing. What in the world was Aloha Pete doing up there? Up on the stage? With the hula dancers? And under a starry sky in the palm-tree lounge of a touristy hotel at that?

Not that I minded seeing him dressed in a scanty leather loincloth and swinging around a wooden spear. Because I didn't. In fact, after seeing Pete's darkly tanned chest I forgot all about the man with the white hat who had followed me into the hotel bar. Transfixed, I sank into the closest wicker chair, my gaze locked on the small wooden stage where three men—counting Pete—and four women were dancing.

I'd never seen Pete with his shoulder length silky black hair loose from the leather strap he wore. But oh, it was loose and beautiful now. And my heart couldn't help but pound in concert with the primitive moves of the dance. The bounce-thrust-bounce of his hips in time to the deep thrumming of the drums.

A passing waiter placed a mai tai on the table in front of me. I gave him a grateful smile and then took a long sip of the sweet drink.

Okay, okay. I know what you're thinking. But only if backed into a corner would I admit it out loud. I've had an elephant-sized crush on Pete from the first moment we met. He was a uniformed cop back then, and I was a fledgling pickpocket. Luckily for me, he had a soft spot for young women down on their luck. Instead of arresting me—like the honest cop he was—he gave me a handful of cash and put me in contact with his aunt, a dark leathery-faced woman everyone calls Mamma Jo. She manages one of the original low-rise hotels in Waikiki. In lieu of rent, she lets me clean the rooms.

Through her and the company she keeps, I fell into my current career. Private investigations. Who knew an ivy-league-dropout, beach-bum-failure would have a knack for solving crimes? I certainly didn't.

Five years later, Pete has graduated from officer pounding the beat to respected detective for the Honolulu PD, and I've built a reputation as an effective private detective. Sometimes we find ourselves working the same cases.

It makes Pete grumble and swear in his native Hawaiian.

And still, I have that elephant-sized crush on him.

But nothing is going to happen.

It isn't as if he even likes me.

Heck, I saved his life. Took a bullet in the shoulder to keep it from landing square in his chest just a few months ago. And what thanks did I get? A scowl. Oh, and he threatened to toss my butt in jail.

With that in mind, I knew I was wasting my time when the drums stopped beating. But my heart didn't listen. It continued to pound. The lights came up and a line of tourists rushed the stage to have their pictures taken with the dancers. A hotel photographer with an instant camera was selling copies for ten dollars. It was an investment I was only too willing to make.

I hurried over to the stage and jumped into the line. I knew Pete wouldn't recognize me right away. Thanks to my disguise I looked like any other tourist. A silky flower-print dress that didn't quite reach my knees and a large straw hat with a matching band hid my blond hair and most of my face.

At the hotel, I blended quite well.

He gave me an empty smile, tossed his arm over my shoulder, and posed for the camera.

"A-lo-ha—" I tipped up the rim of my floppy hat so he could see my smiling face. "—Pete."

His arm stiffened. "Kyra? What the hell are you doing here?"

Though I'm a firm believer in the truth—I swear, I am—I couldn't help but remember Pete's dire warning that if he found out I was back in the private detective business, and working without a license, he'd haul me down to the station and lock me away. Forever.

"Having a girl's night out with some friends." The lie came easily enough. I gave a nod toward a group of women who were giggling and a little more than halfway toward being plastered. "And you?" I lowered my voice. "Don't tell me that you're working undercover."

His arm stiffened a bit more. "I'm doing a favor for my cousin. He has the flu and couldn't find anyone to fill in for him."

"I'm impressed." I stepped aside so he could pose for a picture with a giggling teenage girl. I couldn't seem to take my eyes off Pete's invitingly naked chest or wipe the goofy grin from my lips. "Really impressed."

"Go home, Kyra." He turned toward me and away from his flock of adoring fans. His scowl was back. "And forget that you saw any of this, okay?"

Out the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the man who'd been following me. He was heading across the bar and toward the beach.

"Sure," I said, and gave into the urge to lay my hand flat on Pete's smooth chest. "No problem."

After a breathless moment I jumped off the stage, paid the cameraman for the picture of the all-too-serious Detective Pete in his native garb, and hurried after the other mystery man in my life. This was no time to play games, not with my heart, anyhow. Whether I had a license or not, I still had a job to do and a mountain of bills to pay.