He frowned, feeling guilty, but refusing to believe adultery in and of itself should be punishable by murder. Even if some individuals took this act upon themselves. In his book sex between consenting adults, married or not, didn't rise to such a level by a higher authority.

  "So what is it you want—a divorce?"

  Mele paused. "I think I do."

  Seymour hadn't wanted to hear those words. "We could try counseling."

  "It won't change what I saw."

  He winced. "What about Akela?"

  "She understands there are consequences when you do bad things."

  Seymour was beginning to realize there was no such thing as second chances.

  * * *

  Across Kahului on South Puunene Avenue, Rachel sat in a bar called Tides. She was nursing her second martini. It was how she often spent her evenings, alone and bitter, having little reason to go home. After all, with Greg dead, all she had was a cold bed instead of his muscular body to warm up to. If only they had been given more time to do the things couples did: make love till the wee hours of the morning, travel, and grow old together. Instead it had all been taken away from her.

  And for what? A war that had done more harm than good by taking lives that deserved to be lived rather than buried in some wooden box and forgotten by most of the world.

  Rachel's eyes watered. Maybe she should have been more supportive of Greg's commitment to serving his country. Instead she'd made clear her steadfast opposition to war and it had been a source of friction between them. She had hoped her love would be strong enough to get Greg to see things her way, but it had only put more distance between them. He had come from a military family and could no more extricate himself from it than Rachel could a family that had turned its back on her.

  Now she would give anything to take back the hurtful things she'd said to Greg. Even keep more of an open mind on his career path as he had hers. If only he were still alive so she could show him just how much she loved him. But he wasn't and she would never again feel the touch of Greg's lips on her face or his gentle hands on her body.

  "How are we doing here?" Rachel heard the bartender ask.

  "Don't ask."

  "That bad, huh?"

  "Yeah," she muttered.

  "I'm a good listener."

  Rachel looked up at the fifty-something man. "Not much in the mood to talk right now."

  "Maybe some other time."

  She doubted that, sure he wasn't really interested in what she had to say. Probably no one was, which made it all the more painful.

  She downed the rest of the drink, tempted to have another, but passed it up. There was more of where this came from at home.

  Rachel got up and headed to her empty house even as she dreaded it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  On Friday, Leila rode with Seymour to Honokowai to interview a physician assistant and member of the Medical Association of Maui who reportedly had spent time at the condo before she was fired six months ago for substance abuse. As with every case, they had to follow all roads in pursuit of a killer, even if it led nowhere.

  "Hope our killer isn't getting restless," Leila remarked. "At least not before we make an arrest."

  "I don't think you have to worry about that. It's only been a week, and my hunch is our killer is laying low, hoping this will all disappear."

  "But what if that isn't the case?"

  "Then we keep digging, waiting for the break that will crack the case."

  Leila would have preferred that to be yesterday instead of tomorrow. Patience was never her strongest suit, especially where it concerned murderers running free.

  Maybe the woman they were going to see would end her misery and Leila could turn her attention elsewhere. Like going to her friend's art show in two days with her partner.

  Adrianne Pompeo lived in an apartment on Lower Honoapiilani Road. Seymour knocked on the door twice and for a moment Leila thought she might not be home.

  Then the door was opened by a tall, slender woman in her thirties with curly brunette hair. A cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth.

  "Adrianne Pompeo?" Seymour asked.

  "Yeah, that's me."

  "We're detectives from the Maui P.D. Wonder if we could ask you a few questions?"

  "About what?"

  "The murder of Larry Nagasaka and Elizabeth Racine."

  Adrianne nodded. "I wondered what took you so long to come my way."

  "We're here now," Leila told her. "Mind if we come inside?"

  "Why not? I don't have anything to hide."

  They stepped into a small, sparsely furnished living room. There was what smelled like meth in the air, telling Leila she was still doing drugs. Had it escalated to murder?

  "Why were you expecting a visit from us?" Leila gazed at her.

  Adrianne drew coolly on the cigarette. "It's no secret I didn't get along well with Larry or Elizabeth. He was a control freak and she could be a real bitch. But I didn't kill them."

  "So you say." Seymour bristled. "You don't deny being given access to the condo where they were killed?"

  "Yeah, I bribed Larry to stay there for a few days when I was between residences. But I wasn't the only one in the association not amongst the privileged who got a freebie there every now and then. That doesn't make me a killer."

  "Tell us about being fired from your job for using drugs," Leila said.

  Adrianne stiffened. "What do you want me to say? I screwed up. It was just a recreational thing and never a problem. Probably half the doctors and nurses there take something to get through the day. I shouldn't have been made a scapegoat."

  "Maybe you figured you would make someone else pay," Seymour voiced sharply. "And why not two doctors who happened to make your life hell?"

  "Because it would only make my life worse. I don't even own a gun, in case you're wondering. Feel free to look around if you want."

  Leila was tempted to take her up on that, but didn't want to run into problems later should they find something incriminating.

  "We'd like to know what you were doing when Doctors Racine and Nagasaka were killed."

  "I was here all by myself." Adrianne took a last drag on the cigarette and squashed it in an ashtray. "If you're looking for someone who had it in for Larry, why don't you try Douglas Brennan? He divorced his wife after she was rumored to have had an affair with Larry. From what I understood, Mr. CEO didn't take it very well."

  Leila eyed Seymour thoughtfully.

  * * *

  "This Nagasaka was a real character," remarked Seymour behind the wheel.

  "Sure looks that way."

  "Brennan never bothered to mention that wrinkle involving his ex."

  "Maybe he didn't think it was relevant."

  "Or maybe he thought it was." Seymour slowed down as traffic had stopped at the light. "Could be an O.J. wannabe, only in reverse. That is, unable to deal with the jealousy and betrayal of a cheating wife, even though no longer married, Brennan decides to take his rage out on Nagasaka and the latest cheating spouse he's bedding."

  Leila rolled her eyes. "Don't you think that's a bit of a stretch?"

  "Probably. But he had motive and means for being at the scene of the crime. We'll see if it's got any legs."

  She waited a beat. "Didn't know you were a leg man, Seymour."

  He grinned. "You don't know me very well."

  "Whose fault is that?"

  "Point taken." He would like them to get to know each other better.

  Leila turned his way. "So tell me something else I don't know about you?"

  Seymour swallowed, deciding he might as well be up front about this. "My wife wants a divorce."

  "Oh. Sorry."

  "You don't have to be. I saw it coming." Even if he'd tried to block its path.

  "That doesn't make it any better for you."

  He winced. "You're right, it doesn't." Somehow she made him feel better. "I'll be fine. People break up all the time, right?"

  "Yeah, it seems like it." Leila looked out the window. "Sometimes they get back together."

  "I doubt that'll be the case this time." Seymour wondered if Mele had really thought this through. Had they truly reached the end of the line? Maybe it was time to let go and focus on someone who did seem to want to be with him.

  "Can't say my own love life has been all that great either," Leila said sourly. "I've made some mistakes and avoided others."

  Seymour recalled her last relationship. She hadn't spoken much about it, but seemed to have trouble finding someone who understood what she was all about. He hoped they would never end up each other's mistake, while fearing it may be unavoidable.

  "We're only human," he said as if she thought otherwise. "Better to fail than not try at all, as they say."

  "I agree."

  Another reason why Seymour liked her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leila felt like really getting dressed up for the art show. Or was it more to impress Seymour? Maybe a little of both. She slid into a black silk ruffle dress and matching slingbacks, adding some simple pearls around her neck for effect.

  She felt nervous. After all, this was their first date. And it was Seymour's first since his wife asked for a divorce.

  How would that affect their relationship? Would Seymour be on a guilt trip now, so why bother?

  Leila put those thoughts behind her, wanting only to get through this evening for starters.

  By the time Seymour came to pick her up, Leila had regained control of her nerves.

  "You look nice," she told him. He wore one of his better suits. "Especially the black tie."

  "I'm a man of my word." He smiled. "I like your dress."

  She blushed. "Gave me a good excuse to wear it."

  "Maybe your friend needs to have more showings."

  "I'll tell her." Leila looked up at him. For the first time, she noted the tiny mole on his cheek. "Are you ready?"

  "Let's do it."

  * * *

  The gallery was not far from Leila's house on Dickenson Street. Seymour grabbed them both a flute of champagne being offered and took a chocolate truffle for himself. This type of thing was normally outside of his league, but he was happy to attend.

  Especially with Leila looking as appealing as he'd ever seen her.

  "There you are," he heard the spirited voice. Looking to his right, Seymour saw the artist briskly approaching.

  Leila hugged her. "Hi, Jan."

  "Hi, back at you." She turned to Seymour. "Why you must be the partner I've heard so much about?"

  Seymour half grinned. "Yeah, that would be me. Blake Seymour. Hope she only told you the good things."

  Jan chuckled. "You mean there are bad things?"

  "My lips are sealed."

  "Then we won't go there." She smiled. "Thank you both for coming."

  "You think you could have stopped me?" Leila grinned.

  "Not if you valued our friendship."

  "I do."

  "In that case, let's show Blake around and see what he thinks of my artwork."

  "From what I've already seen, you clearly know what you're doing," Seymour told her.

  Jan crinkled her eyes at Leila. "Better hold onto this one. He's a real charmer."

  Leila colored. "We'll see about that."

  Seymour liked how she opened the door to whatever happened, while leaving them both some wiggle room. At the moment, he couldn't think of a better place to be than in her company.

  Except for maybe in her bed.

  * * *

  The showing was a success by any measure and Leila envied Jan for using her artistic talents in a way she could only dream about. Maybe in another lifetime when there were no more bad guys to go after.

  If only.

  When Seymour took her home, all Leila could think of was jumping his bones. He had been one of the nicest looking men at the show, even if in an unassuming way. They hit it off well together in a social setting that didn't involve the police department. Seymour seemed to enjoy her company as much as Leila enjoyed his.

  She believed the real test would come later. Was he ready to move beyond his failed marriage? Was the sour taste left in Leila's mouth after her last involvement with a man ready to turn sweet again on someone?

  "Do you want to come in for a nightcap?" she asked tentatively.

  Seymour met her eyes. "Yeah, that works for me."

  "Good."

  Just how good remained to be seen.

  * * *

  The moment Seymour stepped inside the house, he only wanted to kiss Leila and be inside her. Were they on the same wavelength? He needed to be sure. Once that line had been crossed there was no turning back.

  "I have beer, wine, cognac," she said. "Sorry, no champagne."

  "What I really want is you."

  "I want that, too."

  He put his arms around her slender waist. "Yeah?"

  Leila raised her face and kissed him. "Does that answer your question?"

  Seymour licked his lips, becoming instantly aroused. "Loud and clear."

  This time he kissed her. Then they went to the bedroom, where each undressed till they were naked.

  Seymour liked what he saw. Leila's breasts were high and small, stomach flat, and her legs nicely toned. She kissed him again, and then lay on the bed in wait.

  After putting on a condom, he joined her lustfully. Their mouths kissed some more and bodies touched. Seymour put his hand between Leila's legs. She was wet and wanting.

  So was he.

  Unable to hold back anymore, Seymour inserted himself inside Leila. It was a tight fit, stimulating him all the more.

  Now it was time to make this new sexual relationship everything it could be.

  * * *

  Leila clutched his buttocks, pulling Seymour deeper inside, needing the feel of his erection, the closeness of his hard frame.

  She climaxed almost instantly as expected. He followed shortly thereafter, both breathing heavily and bodies trembling till settling down.

  Leila gave a little chuckle, with Seymour slumped half atop her. "Looks like we both had no staying power whatsoever."

  He rolled off her. "Can we work on that the next time?"

  She gazed at him. "So there will be a next time?"

  "I hope so."

  "So do I." Leila touched his shoulder. "I don't want this to affect us on the job."

  "No reason it has to." Seymour kissed her chin. "What we do in our private lives stays here."

  Leila smiled, though unsure if it was possible to totally separate the two. But she was willing to try, as he was worth treading the line.

  She put her hand between his legs. He still had an erection. "Maybe we could make that next time right now?"

  He grinned, hungry for her and no one else, including his wife.

  "Maybe we could," he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  On Monday, Leila focused on the black and white photograph. The eight-year-old Polynesian girl in the picture had been missing for seven years now, abducted by her own father after a bitter custody battle with the girl's mother, Ingrid Mumea. It was thought that Jordan Mumea had fled from Oahu to Maui with his daughter, Iolana, hiding amongst relatives there.

  "Can you do an age progression sketch of the girl?" Lt. Tanji of the Kidnapping and Parental Abduction Unit asked.

  "I think so," Leila answered. "Do you have any other pictures of her?"

  "Afraid not. Apparently Jordan Mumea confiscated all the photos of the girl before he abducted her, except that one."

  "Then this will have to do." Leila looked at the picture again. "I'll get right to work on it."

  Tanji made a tiny smile. "Thanks. Whatever you come up with will be more than we have to go on now. We may never find the creep who stole his own daughter and broke her mother's heart, but you never know. With the sketch, we could get lucky and everyone ends up happy."

  "Everyone except the father," she said. "But that's his problem."

  Hers was giving the police another important tool to work with. Leila would have to rely largely on her own insight and imagination to draw the age progression sketch as to how the girl might look today.

  She left his office and went to get her supplies. Tony Fujimoto was at the end of the hall. He came toward her.

  "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

  "Have to do a sketch of a missing girl."

  He made a face. "As in presumed dead?"

  "As in taken by her father years ago. The mother wants her daughter back."

  "Better late than never."

  "You're preaching to the choir, Fujimoto."

  He laughed. "So you sing, too? What else am I missing?"

  "More than you'll ever know." Leila gave a teasing laugh and moved on lest he get any ideas.

  Her mind was still fresh on the sex with Seymour two days ago. She didn't know how long this would last, but planned to go along for the ride as long as he wanted the same thing.

  * * *

  Seymour took Akela to the mall for ice cream. He watched with joy and a bit of uneasiness as his soon to be nine-year-old little girl was growing up right before his very eyes. In less than a decade she would turn eighteen. Adulthood, and likely even sooner, meant everything from her own cell phone to a car, college, and boys. He didn't even want to think about Akela dating or getting married and having her own children. Not yet anyway.

  Seymour hated to think that Akela would one day no longer be as dependent on her parents and have to make her own choices in life, good or bad.

  One choice he figured she would one day make was to try and meet her birth mother. As far as Seymour was concerned, she had the only parents who mattered—even if no longer together. But who was he to say Akela shouldn't satisfy her curiosity, should it to come to that?

  They knew little about her birth mother. Only that she'd had a tough life and wanted to do right by Akela by giving her a chance for a better life. That was good enough for Seymour and Mele who loved Akela as much as any child they might have conceived on their own.