Anytime I thought about that warehouse and tried to recall the voices that had whispered around me, no matter how blurry the images and indecipherable the words, the skull buster in my head cranked up its jackhammer. I pressed fingers into the corners of my eyes, sorely tempted to dig them from their sockets to relieve the pressure.
I flipped off the water and toweled off my bone-weary body. Neither the shower nor aspirin helped. I felt like shit.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I went to sit on the edge of the bed and called Nat. It went straight to voice mail. I disconnected and called again a few seconds later. This time I left a message. “Crazy day. I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later, but right now I need to crash. I love you.”
I ended the call, sent a quick text with my room number since I’d promised to do so earlier, and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. It skidded over the edge and onto the floor, but I didn’t care. I was too tired.
Groaning, I fell back onto the pillows. My eyelids dropped and I slept, through the night and well into the next day.
CHAPTER 17
JAMES
Present Day
June 27
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
That evening, they barbecue chicken—chicken Natalya purchased at the local fresh market. The sun sets in a vibrant array of lavender and gold. A spectacular sight, one he’d paint should he have the inclination to do so, which he doesn’t.
Natalya watches the sun drop below the horizon and he feels a similar drop of disappointment in himself. She’d longed for him to paint her sunset.
James steals glances at her from where they eat on the lanai, twirling his fork like he does with paintbrushes. Conversation between them has been stilted, and at times he’s convinced she keeps the chatter going with his sons so she doesn’t have to engage with him.
“Today was awesome, Tía Nat.” Julian yawns the announcement and Marc follows suit. He rubs his eyes. “Can we catch some waves tomorrow?” Julian asks.
“I want to build more sand castles.” Marc yawns again.
James covers his own yawn. They are used to a later time zone. Puerto Escondido is four hours ahead of their current time. He rises and collects the plates. Natalya reaches for them.
“I got it,” he says. “Why don’t you help them get ready for bed?” He remembers reading that she likes to participate in the nightly ritual during her visits to Mexico. He takes the dishes inside.
There isn’t much to clean. Aside from the salad, which the boys had a hand in assembling, the cooking had been done on the grill. He finishes quickly. Natalya is still with his sons, so he returns to the lanai to have a few moments to himself, and he keeps walking, down the stairs, across the yard, and through the park. He sits down where the long blades of grass meet the cool sand and listens to the ocean. He matches his breathing to the rhythm of the waves and thinks about the years he’s lost, his instant fatherhood, and how he won’t feel settled until he’s settled things with his brothers, which could land Phil back in prison. He has the scar, a stark line across his hip, but he doesn’t have the memory. Yet. He wants more proof than Thomas’s conviction Phil tried to murder him.
His mother won’t take kindly to another family scandal, not after what she’s been through. Apparently she had a breakdown after his death. Sending her oldest son back to prison might send her back to the “retreat” Thomas took her to the summer after James had been “lost at sea.” But at this point he doesn’t care. His sons’ safety is his top priority, and he wouldn’t put it past Phil to threaten them to get back at him. Because Phil has lost as much as James. His place in the family, his birthright to Donato Enterprises, and five years of freedom.
The ocean plays its song, reeling his mind back to Puerto Escondido and her violent shore that lures experienced boarders. They ride her waves, a race to the beach before she devours them whole.
James feels himself go under, spinning, his world going dark until he’s standing at a table in a dive bar. The sunlight is murky and the air thick with cigar smoke.
“You walked into the hornet’s nest, Jim.”
He glanced down at Phil, dressed in a black shirt and teal shorts. Phil took after their mother’s side of the family more than he and Thomas did, which made sense considering both his parents were from that side of the family. Phil turned those hawkish features up at him, his mouth twisted in a cynical grin. He slowly shook his head. Dark Ray-Bans hid his eyes, but James knew they’d be narrowed in warning. Phil had told him not to follow him into the bar. His brother slowly shook his head, dipping his chin, seeming more fascinated with the bottle cap he spun on the tabletop. James’s stomach bottomed out. He knew whatever happened next was his own damn fault. He swore at his impatience. Raged at his own anger and drive for vengeance.
“Is this the guy you were telling us about?”
James’s gaze swept over the other two men. The one who’d spoken and sat beside Phil had an arm across his bloated stomach, his hand tucked under his other arm, hidden from view. James crossed his arms, hiding his clammy hands. He didn’t want to think about what the man kept out of sight from him and the other patrons in the bar.
“No, Sal,” Phil said, his tone adamant. “That’s my other brother. Jim was just leaving.”
The second man, decked in a silk shirt and linen trousers, forearms inked, kicked out the empty chair. It hit James in the shins. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Mind if I have a seat?”
James blinks and looks up, disoriented. A beer bottle hovers in his line of vision. Condensation beads on the side, and sweat dots his hairline. He takes the beer and adjusts his position so his forearms rest on his knees, and Natalya eases down beside him. “How are the kids?” he asks.
“Marcus fell asleep in the middle of the story and Julian was already out before I went to his room.”
He sips the beer and flavor explodes in his mouth. His eyes widen at the citrus and mango taste. He checks out the label.
“Beer, Hawaiian-style.” Natalya drinks hers.
“It’s . . . different.” He prefers darker brews, but on an evening such as this, where the humid trade winds are more pleasant than the blistering heat of Puerto Escondido, he welcomes the change.
“What were you thinking?”
He frowns. “When?”
“A moment ago, I called your name and you didn’t hear. Maybe you were just ignoring me.” She laughs softly, nervous.
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” He plucks at the corner of the label. “I was thinking about my brother. Nothing in particular.” He tries to grab the memory again, but it’s like grasping smoke. Details recede like the tide with every passing second.
His skin pricks. He senses Natalya watching him, so he angles his body toward her. The night sky casts her skin in blue. His expression is questioning, inviting her to ask him anything. She must have plenty on her mind.
Her eyes buzz over him; then her chest rises with a deep inhale. “I’m going to come right out and say this. It’s very hard for me to look at you and not see Carlos.”
“My conservative clothes and shorter hair aren’t enough to differentiate us?” he quips, trying for humor in hopes of unbuckling the tension he’d felt strapped around her since their arrival.
“I wish it were that simple, but no. For a long time, Carlos saw his situation differently than I did. He separated himself from you. He talked of you as though you were a brother or cousin.”
“How do you see me?”
“You’re the same person. Almost,” she adds as an afterthought. “The same blood pumps through your veins. You have the same heart and same soul. So, tell me, James Charles Donato. Who are you?”
He doesn’t know. There isn’t much of his old life left. He gulps back his beer.
“Come on,” she prods. “You have to give me something. What makes you different from Carlos?”
“I don’t collect newspapers?” he points out.
She nods, considering. “That is something. But you know he did that for you?”
James palms the sand and lets it rain between his fingers. There’d been more stacks of newspapers than he cared to count, boxed away in the garage in Mexico. Left behind by Carlos for James, so he wouldn’t miss out on one day’s worth of news. He’d tossed them without opening the boxes. The clutter had been overwhelming. It only added to the staggering number of issues he had to contend with.