Better Off Dead. Meryl Sawyer

did his best not to notice the soft swell of her breasts just visible at the top of the scoop-neck red sundress or the provocative sway of her slim, graceful body. She looked straight ahead and listened while Chad ran his mouth to relieve the tension.

      Her eyes shifted slowly, seemingly casually, taking in each person’s face as they passed. His curiosity as well as his interest was aroused. He put on his shades so she couldn’t see him watching her. By the time they’d reached the harbor, he’d caught her checking over her shoulder twice. What was going on here?

      At the harbor side café Chad held the door for her, saying, “They have the best hulihuli chicken around. It’s slow-roast on spit over wood.”

      When the hostess led them to a table, Chad didn’t pull out a chair for Devon until she put her hand on one. He slid out a seat, and she slipped into it. She’d selected a seat with its back against the view windows overlooking the harbor and the boats, but from this position, Devon could watch everyone coming into the café.

      “What’s saimin?” Devon asked. “I’ve seen it on a lot of menus. Even McDonald’s.”

      I’ll be jiggered, he thought. Devon didn’t seem like the McDonald’s type. But this woman was something else.

      “It’s an island staple. Noodles. Try ’em.”

      Eddie was starving so they quickly ordered. Devon seemed adventurous enough and took his suggestion to have the hulihuli chicken and saimin even though she’d never tried, either. An interesting person, he decided.

      Now that he knew what to look for, Chad couldn’t help noticing Devon checking out customers coming through the door. She wasn’t blatant about it. Most people wouldn’t notice, but Chad did. His Delta Force training had taught him to do the same thing.

      Watch your back.

      The trick was to effectively use your peripheral vision, something most people didn’t do. It was necessary to train yourself not to focus on a certain object. Keep your field of vision wide-open, always aware of what was off to the side. To do this took special training. Most people’s vision was snared by a single object and held for a number of seconds or longer. Chad had learned to use his peripheral vision during training for covert operations.

      The only way to become an expert at this was practice. Devon was so good that he decided she must have been doing this for some time. Why?

      “Okay, so outline the main problem,” Chad told them. “Then we think outside the box.”

      “Main problems,” Eddie corrected with a heartfelt sigh. “Big problems.”

      “We can’t get the furniture out of your house and onto a van that will keep it for four days without unloading it,” Devon said.

      “The two companies available are midnight movers,” Eddie added. “They’ll wreck your stuff big time or they’ll steal something.”

      Chad nodded, thinking there were only a few reputable movers on Oahu. Most of the locals moved themselves. Chad needed to get what amounted to a house full of furniture out of his living room and into storage for just a few days. Last time, they’d arranged to have it packed into a long van and stored in the moving company’s yard until it was time to return the furniture.

      The waiter delivered two Primo beers and a glass of Pinot Grigio for Devon. Chad raised his glass, and they lifted theirs. As they clicked, Devon’s eyes shifted to watch the couple coming through the door.

      He was sitting close enough to her to get a whiff of the citrus cologne she used. It was hard to fight the thrill of anticipation he felt every time he was around her. Be a hyena, he reminded himself. Be a friend first.

      “Here’s to thinking outside the box,” Chad said. “Do you have any close friends at the docks?” he asked, an idea hitting him.

      “Sure. I’ve been running my boats around here for—what?—almost fifteen years. I know everybody.”

      “Is there someone who’ll let us borrow a cargo container?”

      Eddie gazed at him blankly for a second before his dark eyes widened. He slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “Akamai ’oe!” You’re so smart! “Damn! Now I know why you went to Stanford and I didn’t. Of course, I know several guys who’ll lend me a container for a few days.”

      “You went to Stanford?” Devon asked.

      “That’s right. Where did you go to school?”

      “UCLA.” She took a sip of her drink. Her sensual lips were now glazed with the wine. A quick dart of her tongue brushed them clean in a way Chad found extraordinarily erotic.

      “What about the shipping container?” she asked. “How are we going to move it around?”

      “We’ll have to rent a container truck,” Chad replied. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Ninety percent of the goods that come into Hawaii arrive on ships. Most of it in containers.”

      “Some folks go to the dock and get their stuff loaded onto their own trucks,” Eddie told her. “Others, especially places on the North shore, have the container delivered.”

      Devon looked impressed, but her eyes drifted to the entrance. Now and then her gaze would casually scan the café.

      “One problem solved.” Chad liked the relieved expression on Eddie’s face as he said this. “Next we have the rentals. The good stuff is already taken.”

      “We tried all the hotels to see if we could arrange something,” Eddie said. “Either they need their tables and chairs or they don’t have enough that matched.”

      “I have a thought,” Devon said in a deceptively soft voice as if she didn’t quite trust her idea. “Chairs for a wedding of this caliber aren’t the usual nice white folding chairs. They have fancy slipcovers over them. Several rental companies have slipcovers, but they don’t all match. I was thinking of making our own. If—”

      “Not enough time,” interrupted Eddie.