“I refuse. I will not wear that.” She didn’t slam her palm on the table this time. Instead, she rose to her feet in a huff that I could tell was mostly hot air.

I merely shrugged at her display. “Fine. No problem. It’s a shame you’ll miss out on being part of the wedding of the century. But hey, I’m sure your father will understand you foregoing your duty when you explain that it’s because you didn’t like the dress.”

She turned on me in real fury. “You wouldn’t dare!”

My smile was more than a little bit predatory, but for the first time this evening I wasn’t faking it at all. I’m pretty sure my teeth showed. “Oh, but I would. Now, are you in or out?”

“I will be speaking to the king about your insolence,” she announced before turning on her heel and flouncing out with her guards hurrying to catch up.

“Go for it,” I called. “He already knows I’m insolent.” If she heard, she ignored me.

17

It was late. I was tired. Dealing with difficult people wears me out more than just about anything else. I also didn’t want to go home until the secret service types had gone over the estate with a fine-toothed comb. Call me crazy, but staying somewhere nice and anonymous, where no one would know where to look for me, sounded like a really nice idea. So I told Gilda, Isaac, and Dawna, via my jewelry, thanks, have a good night and see you in the morning, said the words to end the spell, and rented myself a suite at a nearby hotel that I’d used for clients more than once. Griffiths contacted his superiors, who sent reinforcements to stand guard until morning. I made a couple of calls to let my friends know I was okay, sent an e-mail arranging for the dresses to be delivered to Isaac’s shop, filled out my breakfast order and hung it on the door of the suite, stripped, and fell into bed.

I slept well, better than I had in quite a while. No nightmares, not the recent ones, not any of the old standbys that recur when I am stressed. Let’s hear it for utter exhaustion! I woke feeling rested, which was a nice change of pace. After a long, luxurious bath and a room-service breakfast, I brushed my teeth, put on more new clothes that were examples of Isaac’s tailoring skills, and was actually looking forward to the new day.

My optimism lasted all of ten minutes—until I called the office. I had three messages from Laka. The first let me know first, that Okalani was with her and safe, and second, that she, Laka, was very grateful. The next two were increasingly frantic. Her daughter had bolted. Had I heard anything?

I swore long and hard. Damn it to hell. Couldn’t the kid just stay put for twenty-four damned hours? I’d talked to Rizzoli. He was going through channels. I had no doubt that everybody on our side wanted the information Okalani had and would be more than willing to deal with the kid to get it. But damn it, we were dealing with multiple agencies from multiple countries. That takes time.

And now Okalani was gone. She wouldn’t be safe, and I couldn’t produce her.

The logical place to look for her was with her father. The best place to get his address, the university. I didn’t have the pull to do it. Emma could probably get the information out of the university computers, but looking up that sort of thing could get her fired if anyone found out. Calling Rizzoli would get the feds looking for her, but even my handy-dandy consultant status didn’t guarantee anyone would share information with me.

I was angry at Okalani, angry at myself. But mostly, I was afraid. These people were playing for keeps. If they found her before I did … “Don’t think about it, Graves. Just find her.”

I dialed the number Laka had left for me. She picked up on the first ring; her hello was breathless with hope and the raw edge of tears.

“It’s Celia.”

“Have you heard from her?”

“No. But I have an idea of where to look. I need you to call the university. Tell them you’re her mother. Find out what she listed as her home address, or if she listed her father’s numbers in case of emergency. Then call me back at this number. Can you do that?”

“She’s a student at the university?”

“Yes. Paranormal studies.”

“Oh, I … I didn’t know.” She sounded hurt and confused. I could understand, even sympathize, but we didn’t have time.

“Can you call?”

“I’ll do it now.”

“Good. Call me back with the information at this number.”

I hung up and made a quick call to Dom’s direct line at FBI headquarters. It went to voice mail. I left a vague message for him to call me, that it was important, but didn’t give any details. After all, there was a chance I would find Okalani before he called and save myself a lot of trouble.

I debated calling Queen Lopaka and decided that talking in person would work better. So I distracted myself with packing my things while I was waiting for Laka’s call, taking special care with the previous night’s outfit.

As a courtesy, I stuck my nose out the door. I was pleased to see who was standing there.

“Hey there … partner. We need to leave in ten.”

Baker let out a little laugh. “Good. I’ll make sure the car is ready.” If I’d spent as much time in airports as she had lately, I’d have looked a wreck. But Baker’s hair and makeup were perfect, her charcoal gray suit was crisply pressed and beautifully tailored. There was no hint of all the weaponry I knew she was wearing. She looked as fresh as a very professional daisy. “By the way,” she assured me, “the estate is clear. You can go home if you want. Our people are on the way to check out your office now.”

“Cool. You can stay in the guest room. Hope you packed a bag, Agent Baker.”

She smiled; apparently she’d expected the offer. Likely if I hadn’t made it, she would have found a reason to suggest it. “I did.” She stepped into the suite, closed the door, and watched me gather the last of my things. “And please, Princess, if we are to be partners, you should call me Helen.”

“Then I’m Celia, not Princess. Tell you what, Helen. Let’s go shopping in a great place I know. We’ll get lots of shiny things that go bang.” She laughed and held the door for me. I liked that she looked both ways, hand on her weapon, when she did so. Yes, I wanted to go home, but more than that I wanted to get to my office and stock up on weaponry. I’d picked up quite a few things at the Levys’. I mean, seriously, how could I not? But given what was going on, I wanted gear I was familiar with. It was a real pity about the Colt, but the police wouldn’t be giving it back until they were damned good and ready. The derringer was with Adriana and probably needed to stay there. Until I got a chance to take it to the range and fire it, the Glock Bruno had given me was new and unfamiliar enough that I didn’t quite trust it. Yeah, I know Bruno takes care of his weapons. That wasn’t the point.

I didn’t see myself having time to go to the range in the next couple of days. I had to find Okalani and get back to guarding Adriana.

I had drawn even with Baker when the phone rang. I sighed and Baker did as well. Then I answered. As I was calming Laka and getting information out of her, trying to convince her there was no need for her to come to the mainland, Baker … Helen was on her radio, making sure our car was being checked again for any possible threats and making changes to our travel plans that ensured that if Laka was phoning duress, nobody would be able to intercept us.

Wow. Even more paranoid than me. I really did like her.

But I doubted that Laka’s breakdown could be faked. Waiting was eating her alive. She was terrified for her child and wanted, needed, to be doing something. Unfortunately, there really wasn’t anything she could do. I told her the best thing she could do was stay right where she was, even though it’s not what she wanted to do. She wanted to be out, pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, calling random houses to see if anyone had seen her daughter. I understood. I’d been there.

Checking out of the hotel didn’t take long. A heavily armored luxury sedan waited at the curb with William Griffiths at the wheel. Baker got in front. I had the backseat to myself. I debated where to go first as Griffiths waited patiently for instruction. Finding Okalani and bringing her in for questioning was a priority. I was going to do my best to find her, but the fact is, the authorities all had better resources and more people to throw at that problem. She might hate me for it after, but we could both live with that. The question was, who to approach first? “Take me to the hospital, please. I need to speak to my aunt.”

“What about the office?” Helen looked at me quizzically. No doubt she’d heard stories about my safe. She would be disappointed in the new one. My old safe was much cooler.

I tipped my head. “Can’t take weapons in there anyway. Why load up my pockets, just to unload them?”

“Point.” To her credit, she didn’t say anything else.

“Right.” Griffiths punched the address into the GPS system and pulled smoothly away from the curb.

A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the impatient tapping of my fingers against the leather armrest.

“Screw it,” I muttered after a few minutes’ thought. Maybe Okalani’s father was a villain. But he was her dad. She loved him. Maybe he loved her, too. This might be a bad idea, but I didn’t have any really good ones. Pulling the note from my jacket pocket, I dialed the daytime emergency contact number Laka had given me. I nearly dropped the phone when a pleasant, recorded voice answered:

“This is the Santa Maria de Luna Police Department. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial nine-one-one. If it is a nonemergency, please enter the extension number now. To reach our company directory, press seven.”

Oh, shit.

Okalani Clark, Ricky and Okalani’s daughter, was Okalani CLARKE. With an E. Laka’s former husband was my hit-and-run driver and would-be killer, J. Clarke. Ricky was a nickname. Maybe his middle name was Richard. Not that it mattered.

I sat there, cursing myself inwardly for being so incredibly dense. How had I missed something so obvious?