Jake trailed Ando Bautista, the coverall-clad site manager, through the Edith Kanaka`ole Tennis Stadium where the Merrie Monarch Festival was scheduled to be held. Kim had brought him to the multipurpose convex building after their initial meeting and had taken him straight to the property manager’s office. They’d run into several people associated with the Festival there, including the event manager, Ilima Cruz, a majestic Hawaiian woman with considerable presence. Kim had introduced Jake as a “security expert hired by the Tourism Authority Board to make sure the auditorium met safety standards.”

So far, that cover was working. Bautista, a grizzled Filipino of unknown age, had whisked him off to tour the building. Enjoying a chance to talk about his passion, Bautista waxed expansive about his years at the building and the various challenges to setting up events. His pidgin was so thick Jake had to strain to understand.

“Back in the day when the Merrie Monarch first came heah, was small kine. We built a stage with volunteers. Now, the event so big, we gotta build plenty seating to hold ’em all, and it sell out right away. If we had one bigger place in Hilo, we would fill that too.”

Jake paused, hands on hips, surveying the dim, cavernous area, its interior floodlights off. He perused the well-marked tennis court in the center. “I’ve seen video. This place gets packed. I’m not concerned just with the structural safety aspects; in fact, I’m less worried about that. I’m here mostly for personal safety and crime prevention. Can you tell me about any incidents that might have happened over the years?”

“Oh, we get plenny support from the Hilo PD. Off-duty officers direct traffic, provide security. No worries there.” Bautista gestured. “Only place get small kine pilikia was the bat’rooms. Come see.”

“Pilikia. I keep hearing that word.”

“Trouble,” Bautista said. “Some folks, they like fo’ drink or use drugs in the bat’rooms. We get one camera over the door for the event in case we need fo’ see who went in or out. If we get funding for it, one police officer stands outside, too.”

Jake leaped on this opportunity to explore the situation that had triggered the case. “Funding? I heard things are tight this year.” He touched Bautista’s arm, deciding to take a chance on the voluble little man. “Don’t say anything, but part of why I was hired was to check into what’s been happening with this year’s Festival money.”

“You know, I’m just the building manager. I nevah know notting,” Bautista said loudly. He glanced back and forth theatrically, then gestured for Jake to follow. Over near a row of closed garbage receptacles, the building manager leaned close. “I been hearing those guys running the marketing and ads been helping themselves to some of the budget supposed to go to the Festival. My cuz, she one cleaner at the office. She wen’ tell me she think something smell funny cuz never been no ads this year like in the past. Usually the trash cans, they full of all the lists and sketches. This year, hardly notting. Only one big sign near the airport, where everyone going see ’em.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bautista.” Jake noted the agency’s name and took another chance and slipped a rolled fifty-dollar bill into the man’s hand, along with his card. “You are helping the Festival by helping me. Anything else you come across, give me a call.”

“I do dat.” Bautista nodded, slipping his hand into the pocket of his coveralls.

Jake returned to the building’s main office and glanced at the wall clock over the property manager’s desk. Almost five p.m., and the place would soon close. He glanced around. “Is Ms. Cruz still available?”

“No, she had just stopped by to check in on some Festival business,” the clerk manning the phones said. “But she leaves a number with us in case of need.” The girl provided that to Jake.

Jake was already dialing as he headed through the building toward the white Security Solutions SUV, currently in ‘stealth mode,’ the magnetic signage touting their services that could be put up on the doors stowed in the vehicle’s storage area. “Ms. Cruz? This is Jake Dunn with Security Solutions. We met briefly at the stadium. Can I get a meeting with you to discuss the security planning for the event?”

“Sure. I was just leaving. Are you still here at the Stadium?”

“I’m in the parking lot.”

“Me too.” Cruz got out of a maroon minivan parked at the other end of the lot and waved, and Jake grinned as he walked toward her.

“Thanks for taking the time to talk right now. Saves me another trip.”

“Sure. Why don’t you get into the van? We can chat in comfort.” Cruz clicked her door unlocked and cleared a stuffed toy off the front seat. “Sorry about the mess.”

Jake hopped in. “Sorry for invading your personal vehicle with company business.”

“Speaking of. What is this security planning you’re doing, and why is the Tourism Authority involved?” Cruz had large, intelligent dark eyes, and a frown line that seemed chiseled between her brows, as if she were used to being skeptical.

Sophie had run a preliminary background check on the woman before Jake left the office, and she was squeaky clean—not even a parking ticket, and Kim had sworn Cruz was on the up and up. “Our firm has been hired to look into possible misuse of Tourism Authority funds.”

“Oh no!” Cruz clapped a hand over her mouth. “This can’t get out. It would ruin our reputation!”

Jake made a settling gesture with his hand. “It’s early days yet. We’re just getting started looking into things, and we have no intention of ruining anything. The interested parties just want to make sure that all funds designated for different areas of the Festival are accounted for.”

“Absolutely. I understand.” Cruz nodded. “But please keep this investigation confidential.”

“I probably shouldn’t even have told you.” Jake smiled as boyishly as he could, hoping to disarm the woman. “We hope we’re wrong, that we can find the funds. But if not, we’ll handle everything discreetly. We do Security Solutions no favors incurring the wrath of our clients and any organizations we’re working for, directly or indirectly.”

Cruz seemed to relax a little. She picked up an insulated water bottle from a nearby cup holder and took a sip. “Can you tell me who your client is?”

“I’m afraid not. But it would help us greatly if you, as the program director, could tell us if you have any concerns.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m a little out of touch with the nuts and bolts, to be honest.” Sun pouring in through the windshield had begun to heat the interior; Jake lowered his window as Cruz slid on a pair of sunglasses and turned on the car to get the air conditioning going. “There’s a committee in charge of PR and budget. I attend their meetings, but my focus has been on the competition aspect—making sure that everyone has a fair chance to qualify for the competition, and that the judging is unbiased.”

“I’m sure you’ve got your work cut out for you. Do you rely on Esther Ka`awai to help advise you?” Jake was curious about Alika’s grandmother and her involvement.

“Esther is a treasure, but she’s more for making sure the overall cultural integrity of the Festival is preserved, and that we observe Hawaiian best practices in how we put everything together.” Cruz’s arched brows drew together. “I think our main spend, other than the rental of the actual facility and staff, is on the media and PR for the event.”

Jake nodded. “Thanks. I just wanted to get your take on things. Please keep this probe confidential.”

She inclined her head. “Of course. I appreciate your keeping it confidential, as well. Last thing we need is negative talk in the community.”

Jake opened his door and got out. “I’m all for staying out of trouble!”

Cruz tilted her head with a smile. “You might be in the wrong business for that, Mr. Dunn. Good luck and good hunting.”

Mission accomplished so far, Jake headed for the Banyan Tree Motel, a run-down local establishment nestled in the curve of Hilo Bay where he and Sophie had been staying until they located something more permanent.

Sophie still insisted on separate rooms in spite of spending nights together, but he didn’t argue. The lady needed her psychological space, and it behooved him to give it to her.

Jake’s pulse picked up as he anticipated being alone with Sophie at the end of the day. She had sent him off with Kim to tour the stadium, telling him she had computer work to do and an appointment to go to outside the office.

That appointment had to be with Dr. Wilson, and he was glad she was going. Sophie wasn’t sleeping well in spite of the number of orgasms he made sure she achieved nightly. She’d drop off to sleep, but later spend hours tossing and turning, caught in dark dreams. Sometimes she woke with a cry, or lay still, weeping silently—and he could always tell when she did, though she tried to hide it from him.

And no matter how many times he asked what was bothering her, she wouldn’t tell him.

But Jake was no idiot.

Sophie was torturing herself over a recent attempt on her life and its aftermath. A small explosive device in a package rigged to blow had damaged her ribs and given her a concussion—but her former boyfriend Alika, who’d met Sophie in her father’s lobby and picked up the bomb, had been the one to take real damage. The real estate developer had lost his arm and been in ICU for the better part of a week. He was finally out of the hospital and had been transported back to his home on Kaua`i.

Jake had been monitoring the situation via Marcella, Sophie’s best friend, and it seemed like Alika was recovering as best as could be expected. Sophie had refused to see or communicate with the man, though, and Jake guessed that she was eaten up with guilt for indirectly causing Alika’s mutilation. It was as if, in cutting Alika off, she’d increased her attachment to him.

Jake scowled, navigating the busy downtown Hilo traffic. He’d thought he won the lottery the day Sophie asked him to be her lover. He’d been crazy for her—emotionally, physically, in every way possible. He’d been sure there was no wall she could put up against him that he couldn’t break down, at least physically.

And at first, that part of their relationship had been amazing. Sophie sought him out every night. She initiated the sex, and it was hot as hell. She was aggressive, responsive, as hungry as he was. They made love until exhaustion took them both over.

But then, the dreams. The insomnia and crying. Sophie had stopped looking him in the eye when they made love. Jake felt a distance widening between them no matter their physical pleasure, and even that had begun to feel empty as she withdrew deeper into herself.

He hated the secrets. The lies. The others that lay between them, unspoken and unacknowledged.

He pulled up at the motel. Maybe they’d have a breakthrough tonight. Sophie had told him she’d meet him at seven at a seafood place they both liked, the first time they hadn’t just called for some kind of takeout and proceeded to the sex part of the evening.

Since he’d arrived first, Jake unlocked Sophie’s room and let Ginger and Tank out. The friendly, affectionate Lab and his rescue pit bull got walked in the morning before they left for work, once at noon by whomever was free, and in the evening when either of them arrived back at the motel.

Seeing Jake, Ginger woofed in joy as if she’d been abandoned forever. The Lab flung herself on her back at his feet, begging with her whole body for a tummy rub, while Tank looked on, tongue lolling.

If only Sophie was half as in love with Jake as her dog was.