Chief Distraction (12 page)

“Sit still,” he instructed.

Thinking quickly, Mak knelt beside her and
unbuttoned his white shirt, pulling it off in haste to reveal a tight white tee
shirt underneath. He tore the back of the shirt into long wide shreds
effortlessly. He noticed she didn’t shy away, but rather moved her arm up to
accommodate the makeshift bandage. Flinching, she sucked in her breath as he
wound the fabric around the gash a few times before tucking the end up under
itself.
 

“That should stop the bleeding.” Shoving some
extra shreds of fabric into a cargo pocket, he noticed how she stared at his
biceps and then his chest. She was overt, but he didn’t mind. She probably
thought the darkness disguised her curious glances. Little did she know how her
stare burned right through him, how it turned him on to no end. And there it
was again, even after all the walking, the smell of mango and spices. This
haole
had his
mind reeling with the possibilities.

“Again, thank you,” she whispered. She looked on
the verge of tears as she watched him, but she managed to hold it in, probably
wanting to be strong and fearless. Mak knew she was putting on a proud act for
his benefit and he admired her newfound strength. The city girl was finding her
backbone whether she wanted to or not.

Blythe put a hand across the tight bandage and
pressed down firmly. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s nothing, just a uniform. I’ve got dozens.”

Mak looked down into her beautiful waiting face.
He was struck by how open and trusting she’d become in his presence. When
they’d first met, she’d run away faster than a tailspin. But now, she seemed
willing to tolerate him. Probably because she knew she needed him to survive
and was willing to tolerate him out of self-preservation. Mak realized he
didn’t mind the reason behind her change of attitude. He’d take what he could get.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

She shook her head, holding his gaze. The pause
between them was charged. Her supple lips were so close he could easily tilt
her head back and claim them. The need was making him dizzy, the feeling almost
urgent. It would be so easy, but she was in pain. Still, a good long kiss might
erase her worries.

The moment evaporated as Blythe looked away,
breaking the spell. “I’m better now,” she said, seeming suddenly distracted.
“Do you mind helping me up?”

Mak got to his feet highly aware of the wounds
he’d suffered trying to rescue her. His knees were burning and his ribs ached
from the rocks digging into them. He hadn’t noticed just how severe they were
in the moments of adrenaline. Now his knees and ribs smarted with every slight
motion, but he hid his pain. Blythe had enough on her mind without having to
worry about him.

“Can you walk?” he asked with concern.

“I’ll be fine. And thanks again.”

                 
<><><>

Their
injuries slowed the pace a little as they walked on. The narrow path accommodated
single-file travel, so Blythe stayed as close to Mak as possible, practically
on his heels. Emerging from a cloud of shock and disbelief, her gratitude
soared to new heights for the Fire Chief. He’d rescued her…again. Sure, the
first rescue hadn’t been a big deal at the time, but thinking back on it now,
perhaps she would have been in grave danger at the cane field had Mak not
‘swept her off her feet’ as he’d teased earlier. And come to think of it, maybe
she wouldn’t have been able to douse her own kitchen fire had Mak not arrived
with his team when he did. He always seemed to be there, coming to her rescue.
If the curse was supposed to drive women away from Makaio Kalani, why then was
she constantly being driven toward him?

Blythe ran a hand over her wound as she trudged
onward. The blisters on her feet seemed like small potato injuries now, hardly
worth a complaint. As she touched the bandage, she was reminded of Mak’s image
as he pulled off his shirt, his physique every girl’s fantasy. Could her
thoughts be yearnings? Yes. Definitely. She knew he’d wanted to kiss her back
there. After all, she was an experienced woman and had seen that look before.
It usually led to extremely pleasant things, intimate things. Crossing that
line with the Fire Chief would bring nothing but trouble…and a loose tongue.
Pillow talk would lead to truths she wasn’t willing to reveal yet – if
ever. She would rather die with her secret than spill the beans and have Mak
want to push her off a cliff anyway. Her shame ran as deep as the now jet-black
ocean that surrounded them on this island of doom.

The gash in her arm felt like a hot poker
searing all the way to the bone. As if in consolation, the pain lessoned to a
dull throb the longer they walked...which seemed like an eternity. Would they
ever reach this damn military camp? The farther they traveled from their
arrival point, the more Blythe was consumed with an overwhelming feeling of
guilt for abandoning Lou. It was as if a tether bound her to him but she
couldn’t cut the cord. She was responsible for bringing him to Kahoolawe and
the reasons had more to do with him acting as a buffer between herself and Mak
than necessity. Ultimately, she was responsible for his murder simply because
of her cowardly obsession with staying anonymous. She tried to distract her
thoughts from the image of Lou’s body dropping like a heavy stone onto the dry
dusty path. Whenever that heartbreaking moment came flooding back, she looked
at Mak, her hopes renewed that the same fate wouldn’t befall her as long as he
was near. Maybe it was a false sense of security, but one she clung to.

As a coping mechanism, she thought of the future
possibilities. Could she make it work with someone like Makaio Kalani? A man so
steeped in island culture and tradition that he was willing to stay despite a
curse that shunned him in everyone’s eyes? Why stay? Was this guy a glutton for
punishment or just true to his convictions? One thing was certain – she
wanted to find out. Blythe drew a deep steadying breath and then let it out
slowly. Having nerves in front of the camera was one thing, she could manage
that, but the buzzing of nerves in her belly while in Mak’s presence was too
much to bear. She would need a release. Either get as far away from him as
possible, preferably off this island, or indulge in her ramping desire and be
done with it. For now, she’d walk.

Chapter
Twelve

“Okay, we’re getting close. Can you see the
rooftops there?” Mak pointed toward the distance. Blythe was able to make out the
structures looming up ahead in the moonlight. They sauntered down an incline,
leaving the raw wilds of the island behind as they entered the distinctly
ordered and urbanized space of the base camp. Drawing closer, a ripple of fear
washed over her. The place stood eerily quiet, the lapping of distant waves on
the shoreline the only sound. “This place is totally creepy,” she muttered.

Cautiously, Blythe kept in step with Mak as they
passed the first building. The area consisted of several structures, many
having seen better days. It reminded Blythe of old news footage of Chernobyl,
either that or some vague zombie movie that never ends well. The entire area
was shroud in an eerie stillness and she couldn’t dismiss the notion that they
were being watched. Her eyes began playing tricks on her as she scanned the
vacant grounds, convinced she saw movement here and there, but it was only the
wind moving the brush that surrounded the barren buildings. Blythe read a
weathered sign that stood askew on a metal pole.

WARNING!

Kahoolawe
and its surrounding waters contain unexploded ordnance, which are hazardous to
public health and safety. Unauthorized entry onto the island of Kahoolawe and
into the waters surrounding Kahoolawe is prohibited.

A shiver traced up her spine as she read it. The
words screamed out a silent warning. How she would love to heed the dangers and
stay away. It was the best advice she’d heard in a long time…and a little too
late.

The buildings were cinderblock shells with grey
peeling paint from decades of unforgiving weather. They were all uniform in
shape and size, aside from one that stood out from the others. Stripped bare
and made of wood, the building looked completely out of place, like some
hillbilly shack about to blow down in the next strong gust.

Mak pulled her down beside a pile of rusty steal
barrels. “The CB’s located in there. See the metal tower beside it?” Mak
pointed toward the lone wooden shack.

Blythe nodded, another shiver creeping through
her involuntarily. There was no telling what, or who, was in there. But again,
she fought her flight or fight responses.
 

“Lets go.”

They ran full out for the frail wooden
structure. Out of breath, they flattened themselves against its side, crouching
low as they scanned the area for signs of life. Nothing. Blythe leaned away as
Mak squared himself with the rickety door before ramming his shoulder against
it. The lock gave way as if it was barely attached to begin with and the door
split as if made of rice paper. She followed him into the darkness of the
cramped space. One grimy window filtered in the bright moonlight, offering just
enough light to see. Mak closed the door behind them, though it didn’t quite
fit the frame anymore.

Blythe’s eyes were as wide as could be, her
heart pounding a drum-like rhythm she was sure Mak could hear. The internal
space was dark with an overpowering smell of kerosene, the wind whistling
through the cracks of the planked rudimentary walls. At one point in time, the
entire building had been covered in sheets of metal that had fallen off or
blown away in the stiff island breeze, with a few still clinging to the side
and clanging violently against the frame. Each clang jarred Blythe senseless,
spooking her out of her skin. She was convinced each noise was an approaching
murderer here to finish what he’d started.

As their eyes adjusted, they could see a simple
wooden table sitting dead center and one wooden chair leaning against an old
rickety cabinet.

Mak strode with purpose toward the CB. “Damn.”

“What?” Blythe asked, but deep down she already
knew the answer.

“It’s been cut.”

“Can you tell when?”

“It’s fresh. The wire shavings are here on the
floor. It was cut recently.”

Panic overrode her senses as an anxiety attack
crept into the equation. “Now what’ll we do?” Blythe ran both hands through her
hair, clutching fistfuls while holding Mak’s stern expression. They’d walked
for hours only to be left for dead. And whoever had cut the CB was probably
very close. A sinking desperation took root, and in that moment Blythe
understood their fate. Resolved to the fact that this would be her last day
alive, she wanted nothing more than to survive.

                 
<><><>

Using
the dim moonlight streaming in through the one window, Mak assessed the situation.
The one-room structure was bare-bone essentials. No electricity, no running
water, no bathroom…and now no chance in hell of being rescued.

He rummaged through the cupboard, finding a
stash of emergency crackers and leathery fruit bars, vacuum-packed and as close
to cardboard as cardboard itself. “Better than air,” Mak passed Blythe a
couple, and in doing so noticed her blank face. “Blythe, it’s not over yet.
We’re still alive, still staying one step ahead.”

“I’m just so tired, Mak,” she leaned an arm on
the table and slumped. “And how can you say we’re one step ahead when someone
has clearly been here. Someone who wants to kill us!”

Mak noticed the defeat in her words, along with
just a hint of hysteria. He needed her strong, fearless. If she was going to
fight and win this race they now found themselves in, she had to want it bad.
Walking quickly around the table, he pulled her into a spontaneous hug before
she could protest. He noticed her body stayed ridged for a moment before
melting into his embrace. She held on tight, prolonging the hug even when he
was about to release her. It surprised him. In that moment, he sensed her need
for comfort and reassurance and was more than willing to give it freely,
whenever needed.

“Listen, the person who cut that CB probably did
it as a precaution to someone calling in suspicious activity on the island. It
may have been done days ago. It’s you and me here, Blythe. I’m sure they still
don’t know we exist.”

“Hmm, maybe. I feel so helpless and the unknown
is killing me. I don’t know if we’ll get off the island, I don’t know if
they’re after us, everything. I don’t want to give up, but…”

Mak squeezed her shoulders caressingly. “You
have so much to live for, Blythe. You’ll be a famous reporter someday, maybe
even a star on the evening news. Is that what you want?” He brought her tighter
into another embrace.

Blythe sighed into his chest. “No. I want more
than that. I want…I want to live. I want to try new things and be brave. Brave
in a way that doesn’t involve fighting for my life. If only someone would come
and rescue us.” He felt her let go and sob gently against him. He gripped her
tighter, shouldering the brunt of her sorrow.