Double Cross. Terri Reed

walls and formidable hedges. “These are some big homes.”

      “Most are second homes for mainlanders with money to burn,” she said with just the slightest trace of bitterness.

      Did most islanders feel as though they’d been invaded by the wealthy mainlanders?

      “You know, if you sell the land, you and Tutu could afford a house like one of these, right on the beach,” he stated, not sure Kiki would be the type to want to live in such an opulent place. She seemed quite content in the little run-down home of her ancestors.

      “What will it hurt for you and your grandmother to at least see the newest offer?” And accept it, he hoped.

      Her shoulders tensed. “Nothing, I guess. But don’t get your hopes up.”

      “Why is the farm so important to you?”

      She glanced at him, her eyes imploring him to understand. “It’s home for me.”

      “I thought you grew up in Pennsylvania?”

      “I did. But the mainland has never felt like home.”

      “There are more…comfortable places to live on the island.”

      The dark sunglasses obscured her eyes, but the quirk of her mouth showed her disdain. “You don’t get it. You’re a mainlander. The islands are more than just pretty beaches.”

      “But business is business whether in Boston, Philadelphia or Hawaii. Progress can’t be stopped. And quality of life has to be a factor in the decision process.”

      She blew out a frustrated breath. “I can turn the farm around. I just need time.”

      “Time isn’t your friend here, Kiki. The investors are getting anxious. If they can’t get what they want here, they’ll move on and the offer will be rescinded.”

      Her chin jutted out in a stubborn gesture that reminded him of his sister when she’d set her mind to something. “Then that’s just too bad.”

      There was no point in arguing with her at this point. Lana Kaapa would be the deciding factor. He’d have to wait until she looked at the proposal before he really got down to the business of convincing the women of Kaapa Flower Farm to sell.

      And, yes, he would convince them to sell. He was known for closing the deal—that was why Horatio Lewis had hired him. Ryan would do what it took to make the sale go through; his reputation was on the line.

      “Will you at least look at the offer?”

      For a moment he didn’t think she’d answer. Finally she said, “Yes.”

      “Thank you.”

      Her only response was a tightening of her lips. Ryan decided not to push right now. He had to gain her trust before he pressed her to give in to his way of thinking.

      The road narrowed even more and then Kiki turned on to a dirt road. The convertible bounced along until Ryan thought his teeth would rattle out of his mouth. Kiki brought the car to a halt next to Pano’s yellow Jeep. After the cloud of dust cleared, Ryan noted there were several he-man type vehicles parked in the makeshift parking lot.

      He and Kiki made their way through tall grass and swaying palms to a wide expanse of white sandy beach and blue-green waves. Overhead, white puffy clouds formed interesting shapes in the stunning blue sky.

      Kiki kicked off her shoes and left them where they landed, heading toward a group of six people clustered on the beach. Ryan left his sandals on, the soft sand sinking with each step as he followed Kiki.

      “Hey, cousin, thanks for picking up the Haole,” Pano called as they approached. He wore a short-sleeved, knee-length body-hugging yellow wet suit. It made a statement, like his Jeep.

      Two of the men and one of the women wore the same sort of neoprene gear, only in more subdued black or blue. Ryan shook hands with Pano, his girlfriend, Carol, and the others as Pano introduced his coworkers and their girlfriends.

      Ryan was careful to keep his eye contact, which could be mistaken as a sign of aggression, to a minimum so as not to breach the cultural barrier. He didn’t want any trouble with these men or the women, who giggled as they were introduced.

      Pano picked up a black wet suit from a pile of towels resting on a boulder. “Here.” He held it out to Ryan. “You’ll need to wear this.”

      “Okay.” Ryan set his belongings down and took the suit. Conscious of all eyes watching him, he stepped into the clinging, stiff material.

      Pano clapped him on the back as some of the others, ready to surf, headed to the water. “Come on, haumana. Let’s rock and roll.”

      “I’m ready. What’s haumana?” He hoped it didn’t mean shark bait.

      Pano grinned, his white, even teeth gleaming in the warm sunlight. “Student.”

      Ryan saluted Kiki before she turned away to talk with the two women who’d not gone in the water. Ryan jogged down to the water’s edge where the surf turned over with a tremendous amount of force.

      He hoped he didn’t drown, or worse yet, make a fool of himself in front of Kiki. She already had held him in enough disdain without adding some embarrassing mishap to his credit.

      He was going to drown.

      It was all Kiki could do not to run into the water and grab Ryan by the back of his wet suit and drag his sorry hide out of the water.

      Why hadn’t he said he wasn’t a strong swimmer?

      She winced as the surf rolled him over and pounded him into the sand. He gamely wobbled back to his feet, listened intently to Pano’s instructions and headed back out.

      The man really had a determined spirit about him that Kiki admired. And feared. If he put this much energy and tenacity into trying to convince her and Tutu to sell, Kiki wasn’t sure he wouldn’t wear her down.

      But she had to stay strong. Her future depended on it.

      On the blanket next to Kiki, Ginger Tao yelled as she posed her bikini-clad body to advantage, “Good job, Ryan. Keep at it, you’ll get it.”

      Kiki shot Ginger a sidelong glance and resisted the urge to clamp a hand over Ginger’s mouth to stop her encouragement. Ryan needed to get out of the water before he got hurt, not be egged on to keep beating himself up in the waves.

      Ginger shielded her eyes with a hand over her brow. “He’s single, right?”

      “I don’t know,” Kiki answered, willing the spurt of…of something…that she didn’t want to feel to die a quick death.

      “I hope he is,” remarked Carol Gagtan as she lifted her thick brown hair off her neck.

      Kiki snorted. “What about Pano?”

      Carol shrugged, clearly not as committed to Kiki’s cousin as Pano thought. “Do either of you have a scrunchie?”

      “In my car,” Kiki said, and rose. “I’ll go grab one for you.”

      It beat watching Ryan torture himself in the surf. She personally had never understood the allure of bodysurfing. Board surfing, yeah. It was a rush. That she liked. “Be back in a second.”

      When she reached her car, she went to the passenger side to open the glove box where she kept extra hair bands. A white envelope lay on the driver’s seat. What was this?

      There was no writing on the outside. She flipped the envelope over. It hadn’t been sealed. Curious, she lifted the flap. A folded sheet of paper was inside. Using her fingernails, she pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

      She blinked in surprise. In letters cut from what looked like a newspaper or magazine was a message.

      You sell farm or you regret.

      Kiki sucked in a sharp breath and jerked her gaze up to scan