volcano to the amazing waves. I loved the culture.”
“Did you see any hula?” he asked in a low voice. And she knew he was thinking of her dancing in that damn bar.
“I studied it that entire summer,” she said, fighting against a tide of heat in her face. She couldn’t help the one down below. But her voice stayed steady, at least. “I love hula mele—you know something about hula?” She noticed he didn’t look confused. Or bored.
“I did a piece for History Channel on the revival of hula kahiko. One of the best gigs of my life.”
“Oh, yes, the ancient forms of hula! I was sorry when my mother dumped that step-father, and we had to come back to L.A. again. How about your travels?”
“How much do you want to hear?” he asked, opening his hands. “I got the travel itch early, I guess because I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, because of my dad.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a Marine lifer. Been doing tours since before I was born. I grew up knowing how to pack a go-bag, and have been living out of one off and on ever since.” He flashed that grin. “In fact I did my first pro job on a tiger cruise.” His grin broadened into a silent laugh.
“Tiger cruise,” she said. “Isn’t that where family members of people in the service get to go on board warships for a short time?”
“Exactly,” he said. “I did a several as a teen. That’s when I got addicted to sailing.” He tapped his shoulder. “But any kind of travel is okay: have camera, will go. This is not only my first sting, it’s the first gig I’ve ever had without my trusty camera. I keep reaching for it,” he said—then he lifted his head. “Ah. Here’s Agent Sloane.”
A mild-faced African-American man sat down in the empty chair. He had bushy gray eyebrows, and reminded Mindy of one of her professors at UCLA. “Miss Maurek,” he said with a nod. “O’Keefe.”
“What’s the word, sir?” Dennis asked quietly.
Mindy noticed how the agent seemed to take in the room without making a big deal of it, before he said, “I’d hoped we would have time to get to know one another in a congenial atmosphere.”
Agent Sloane sent a flick of a glance at the heedless customers talking, flirting, tweeting, or bent over laptops with earphones shutting out the world. “But something has got our friend riled, judging by the number of calls he’s been making.”
He gave a slight nod at Dennis, who held up four fingers. “I’m one of them. Since morning,” he murmured.
“Right,” Agent Sloane said. “So I think we need to move fast. What I want to propose, if you are agreeable, Miss Maurek, is that Dan Moore insist on taking his girlfriend for a tour of the film set, which Haskell has been keeping closed tighter than a drum. Between the two of you, we might be able to get what we need to lock this up.”
To Mindy’s surprise, Dennis glanced her way, and lowered his voice to a teasing purr. “Hey, Mork. Up for that?”
She’d always hated that nickname—until now. Those amazing feline eyes of his, the devil-may-care grin, those broad shoulders . . . his tone caressed the silly name, making it special. Making her feel special as that smile of his dared her to share one of his adventures.
What else could she say? “Why not?”
* * *
“Why not?” she said, her chin lifting, which sent her curly hair clouding around her face. The moment she’d walked in wearing another of those halter-top dresses, this one a cool blue print, Dennis knew he was going to have a tough time keeping his gaze above collarbone level.
Then he found himself mesmerized by her eyes, that brown closer to rich dark amber, their expression steady and . . . soulful. Weird, he didn’t think words like that were in his vocabulary, but there really was something so clear in that gaze, even when she’d been obviously skipping over a lot of her history. But with what sounded like Guinness Book of World Records-level multiple
Learning to Kill: Stories