“Box her in!” Ruby shouts, positioning herself between Savannah and the parking lot.
“I’m on it!” Lani responds, blocking the path to the beach access road while brandishing her wooden spoon like a weapon. I knew it’d come in handy for something.
Savannah manages to dislodge Spam, who lands in the sand with offended dignity before darting past me. But watching that cute fat cat has given me ideas about unconventional takedown methods, and I launch myself onto Savannah’s back.
“This looked a lot more fun when the cat did it,” I shout.
It does not look fun when I do it. And speaking of backs, mine is about to go out.
I wrap my arms and legs around the woman as she shrieks and spins like a demonic carnival ride.
We go down in a tangle of limbs and flying sand, rolling across the beach like the world’s least graceful wrestling match. Savannah is stronger than she looks, and I’m discovering thatmy amateur detective skills don’t include any actual combat training.
“EVERYBODY FREEZE!”
A voice cuts through the chaos with the authority of a police officer who’s trained to be heard over gunfire and natural disasters.
Detective Koa Hale stands at the edge of our luau disaster zone, weapon drawn, trying to process whether he’s witnessing a crime scene or the world’s most dangerous beach party.
“She confessed,” I shout from my position half-buried in sand with Savannah’s elbow in my ribs. “She admitted to killing Nolan Nakamura!”
Loco and Shaka appear beside their brother, looking as if they’ve helped wrangle a suspect or two before. And within three seconds flat, they hoist me off the woman and haul Savannah to her feet while she mutters something about protecting the community that sounds a lot less noble when you’re covered in sand and cinnamon roll debris.
Koa cuffs the woman while reading her rights in a husky voice that carries across the beach. He hands her off to the uniformed officers before marching over to where I’m dusting myself off under a full moon, surrounded by twinkle lights and the scattered remains of our dessert buffet.
And cats. Lots of cats. And chickens pecking at fallen pastries. But still, it’s surprisingly romantic in a completely chaotic way.
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling me close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with ocean air and the faint aroma of malasada. “What were you thinking, confronting a killer like that? You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse.”
I scoff, trying to brush sand out of my hair. “What’s worse than getting killed?”
His features sharpen as he takes me in. “You are infuriating,” he growls, before pressing his lips to mine and kissing me hard and senseless under the starlit sky.
WOW.
JustWOW.
The world narrows to just this—his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, the taste of him mixed with salt air and adrenaline and enough chemistry to qualify as a controlled substance.
Soft lips, hard body, have I mentioned that this man is the total package?
It doesn’t hurt that he’s packing heat.
And boy, are these kisses ever packing some serious heat.
We pull apart, and his expression is somewhere between exasperated and apologetic. “I don’t know what came over me,” he says.
I bite back a smile, still feeling the warmth of his lips on mine. “You mean you don’t smooch all your infuriating amateur detectives under starlit skies?”
He shoots me a wry look that’s half-amusement, half-promise. “We’ll talk. I need to get down to the station.”
“Wait,” I say, catching his arm before he can leave. “What about May? Are you going to arrest her for the fake identity? The hit-and-run? All those felonious sins Savannah told us about?”
Koa’s mouth quirks into something that might be amusement. “Turns out, those rumors weren’t true.”
“What? But Savannah said?—”
“Savannah spread a lot of convenient stories to keep suspicionoff herself. May Leilani is her real name. She’s from Orange County, and she did flee to Hawaii to escape her past, but not because of vehicular manslaughter.”
