Heat Wave

  Heat Wave

  A Novel

  by Karina Halle

  Also by Karina Halle

  The Experiment in Terror Series

  Darkhouse (EIT #1)

  Red Fox (EIT #2)

  The Benson (EIT #2.5)

  Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)

  Lying Season (EIT #4)

  On Demon Wings (EIT #5)

  Old Blood (EIT #5.5)

  The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)

  Into the Hollow (EIT #6)

  And With Madness Comes the Light (EIT #6.5)

  Come Alive (EIT #7)

  Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8)

  Dust to Dust (EIT #9)

  Novels by Karina Halle

  The Devil’s Duology

  Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)

  On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5)

  Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

  Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3)

  Donners of the Dead

  Dirty Angels

  Dirty Deeds

  Dirty Promises

  Love, in English

  Love, in Spanish

  Where Sea Meets Sky (from Atria Books)

  Racing the Sun (from Atria Books)

  The Pact

  The Offer

  The Play

  Winter Wishes

  The Lie

  The Debt

  Smut

  Veiled

  Heat Wave

  First edition published by

  Metal Blonde Books November 2016

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Karina Halle

  KINDLE EDITION

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover design by Hang Le Designs

  Edited by Laura Helseth

  Metal Blonde Books

  P.O. Box 845

  Point Roberts, WA

  98281 USA

  Manufactured in the USA

  For more information about the series and author visit:

  http://authorkarinahalle.com/

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  For Kauai – you regenerate our souls

  And for LOVE – may you always win

  PROLOGUE

  I saw him first.

  It shamed me to think it then, it shames me to think it now.

  But that’s what the truth does to you sometimes. It shames you because it’s only in the truth that you realize how human you really are. What a raw, devastating thing that is, to embrace your humanity and learn to live with all your sharp points, the hollow places, the cracks and the crevices. To be utterly real. To be terribly flawed.

  Those cracks had always been forming inside me, slowly making their way to the surface over the years. In my family, there wasn’t much you could do but try and hold yourself together, to stick glue on your wounds, to paste over the imperfections. But the cracks still grew, until all of us were held together by crumbling cement, just statues waiting to collapse.

  That was years and years ago. I was just twenty-two at the time. A baby. I’m still a baby in the grand scheme of things, but there’s something precious about your early twenties, where you think you’re so much older, bigger, than you are, where life is just about to deliver the crushing blows that will knock you off your feet for the rest of your days. The small things become the big things and the big things become the small things and you aren’t quite sure when they made the switch.

  But in the end, I saw him first. He was mine, even before he knew it. He was mine in some strange way that I still don’t understand. The only way I can think of to explain it is…

  You just know.

  There are moments in your life, people in your life, that when they cross your path and meet your eye, you know. Maybe it’s all in the chemistry, certain pheromones that react when they mix together, maybe it’s a smell that triggers a memory, maybe it’s a glimpse at a future you don’t recognize or a hint at the past, a life you’ve lived and forgotten. Whatever it is, you know that moment, that person, is going to shape you for the rest of your life.

  That’s what it was like when I saw him. Standing over by the windows and staring out at Lake Michigan, like he was wishing he could be anywhere but there.

  I wished the same. My mother’s the deputy mayor of Chicago and this was another one of her fundraisers I felt obliged to attend. It was tradition in my family, for my father, for me, for my sister, to show up and wave the flag of support. It didn’t seem to matter that the stuffy politicians that surrounded these events never paid me any attention. And if they did, it was the wrong kind of attention, always the sixty-year-old man leering after the young thing with the nice smile.

  Luckily I didn’t smile all that often. My resting bitch face took over whenever I was deep in thought, which was pretty much all the time.

  But this guy…I felt a kinship with him. I felt like I knew exactly what he was thinking, feeling, and that it was completely wrapped up in and connected to everything that was going through me.

  I don’t know where I found the nerve to go over and talk to him. He seemed so much older, not quite the sixty-year-old politicians I was used to seeing, but maybe in his early-thirties. More than that, there was some kind of aura around him. Sounds stupid, I know. Whatever it was, it was like he belonged in some whole other universe than here, a star on earth, permanently grounded and yearning to be in the sky.

  It was usually Juliet’s job to go around and make everyone feel warm and comfortable at these events—hell, in every event—but she wasn’t here yet. And though I could have easily stayed in the shadows, I was pulled to him, like he had a wave of gravity whirling around him.

  I remember what I was wearing. Strappy flats because I hated wearing heels, a knee-length cocktail dress in emerald green, sleeveless, high-neck. It made me look older and I wore it because my mother always wanted me to look like a lady.

  With a glass of champagne in hand, I made my way over to the windows, my heart racing the closer I got to him. He looked taller up close, well over six feet. His shoulders were broad, like a swimmer’s, and suddenly I had a vision of him diving into the lake. The navy blue suit he was wearing looked well-tailored but he seemed uncomfortable in it, like he couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

  I stood beside him for a moment, following his gaze out the window. He seemed lost in his thoughts but out of my peripheral his head tilted slightly and he brought his eyes over to me while I kept staring at that wide expanse of water, stretching out to the horizon.

  “Can’t wait to get out of here?” I asked, but though my tone was mild, my delivery was bold. It was as if someone else had taken a hold of my body, forcing me to speak. I slowly turned my head to meet his eyes.

  I was taken aback f
or a second. He was staring at me like he knew me, even though I’d never seen him before. Then again, I was sure I’d been staring at him in the same way. That feeling of knowing. He knew me, I knew him, and who the hell knows how that was possible.

  His eyes were brown—are brown—dark with currents of gold and amber, giving them beautiful clarity. Slightly almond shaped. His brows were also dark, arched, adding to the intensity of his gaze. He’s the type of guy whose eyes latch onto you, dig deep, trying to sift through the files of your life, see who you really are.

  “How did you know?” he asked, a full-on Australian accent rumbling through his gruff voice. It made my stomach flip, my core smolder. How deed you now, is what it sounded like. Funny how I stopped hearing the accent after time.

  I gave a half shrug and looked back to the party. More people had flooded the room, mingling around the appetizers. My mother was in the corner, a crowd of politicians around her. She didn’t see me. She never did.

  “Because I think I’d rather be in the middle of Lake Michigan too,” I told him, “then be stuck here with all these people.”

  “These people,” he repeated. My focus was drawn to his lips, full, wide, tilting up into a smirk. Beneath them was a strong chin and even sharper jaw, dusted with a five o’clock shadow that seemed permanent, like the man couldn’t get a clean shave even if he tried. “How do you know I’m not one of these people?”

  “Because you’re over here and not over there. How come you keep answering my questions with more questions?”

  He studied me for a moment. My blood pounded in my head and I felt a giddy kind of thrill at how this was progressing. If anything, I was proud for holding my own with this handsome stranger. He was the first man I ever really felt at ease with.

  He cleared his throat, offered me a quick smile before he nodded at the lake, his hands sliding into his pockets. “She almost looks like the ocean, doesn’t she?”

  “Not quite the same as Australia, I would imagine.”

  “No hiding this accent, is there?” He glanced at me and stuck out his hand, which I shook for a moment, warm palm to warm palm. “I’m Logan Shephard. Australian. And the reason I’m here is because I was invited by a friend of mine. I’m only in town for a few days and he didn’t want to go alone. He’s over there.” He nodded at a tall man in the corner, listening intently to another man.

  “Warren Jones,” he said, as if I should know him. Perhaps I should. He probably thought I was one of them. “He’s local and the key piece to my investment.”

  I wasn’t one for business talk—I never had anything to contribute other than lamenting student loans—but I wanted him to keep talking. “What’s your investment?”

  “Starting my own hotel,” he said. “In Hawaii. Have you ever been there?”

  “Once. When I was eight. I think we were in Honolulu. I remember a city, anyway. Waikiki Beach.”

  “This hotel is in Kauai. The Garden Isle. Went there once after college and couldn’t get it out of my mind.”

  I didn’t know the right things to say. I wanted to ask more about the hotel, what it means when you have an investor, but I didn’t want to appear dumb. I kept my mouth shut.

  “You haven’t introduced yourself,” he said. “Protecting a secret identity?”

  I smiled, close-lipped. “Not really. I’m Veronica Locke. American. And I unfortunately I don’t have much else to add to that.”

  “Locke?” he repeated, eyes darting to my mother. “Are you the daughter of the deputy mayor, Rose Locke?”

  “One of them,” I told him.

  He nodded quickly. “I see. No wonder you’d rather be in the middle of the bloody lake. I bet you have to do this stuff all the time.”

  “It’s not so bad.” I took a sip of my drink so I didn’t have to say anything more and looked away at the crowd. The bubbles teased my nose, making my eyes water.

  I could feel his gaze on me as he spoke. “I’m sure you have plenty more to say about yourself though. Where do you work? Student?”

  “Culinary arts,” I told him. “I’m one of those crazy people who dream of being a chef one day.”

  He frowned. “Why is that crazy?”

  I gave him a look, forgetting that most people have no idea how hard it is. “Because it’s a long road, long hours, and nothing is guaranteed. People think being a chef is easy. They see Gordon Ramsey or Nigella Lawson and think it’s all fame and food and money and they have no idea what it’s really like. I’m not even out of school and already I feel half-beaten.”

  He was still frowning. He did that a lot, I would soon learn. “Sounds like life to me.” His eyes dropped to my lips and something intensely carnal came over them, like suddenly I was the food, not the wannabe chef. “Did you want to get a drink somewhere? After this? When you’ve done your daughterly duties?”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t know what a drink meant. Just a drink? A date? Was it sex? I started going through my head, trying to think of reasons why it was a bad idea. My legs were shaved, did my bra and underwear match? Did I have a condom? I had taken the pill this morning, even though my last boyfriend and I had broken up months ago. I hadn’t been with a guy, let alone a man, in a long time.

  Don’t flatter yourself, I quickly thought. What makes you think he’d be interested in you that way?

  “Yes,” I said when I finally found my voice. “Yes, I would like that.”

  A spark flashed in his eyes, lighting them up in such a way that made my toes literally curl. Damn. I was in trouble with this man. “Any way you can get out of your duties sooner?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help but smile, raising my brow at his presumptuousness, while simultaneously trying to hide the fact that I was freaking out. I looked around the room and tried to judge how likely it was that someone would notice if I was gone. My mom was still surrounded by a wall of people and no one was paying any attention to us, standing by the windows, already removed.

  A sad thought hit me, sliding past before I could really dwell on it: no one even notices when I’m here.

  “If we’re quick and sneaky,” I told him.

  “Being quick isn’t in my repertoire,” he said, “but I could give it a shot.”

  Again. Damn. I wasn’t one to blush but I could feel my cheeks heating up and hoped my skin supressed the flush. He was so much older than me in so many ways, the last thing I wanted was to appear the naïve schoolgirl.

  And I didn’t know what to say to that. He was staring at me with those dark eyes, a look so intense yet sparkling with charm and something…wicked.

  I’d never find out how wicked they could be.

  “Ronnie!” A melodic, ultra-feminine voice sliced through the moment like an unwieldy machete, causing me to flinch, my fingers tightening around the stem of the glass.

  Oh no, I thought. Not now.

  Logan’s head swiveled toward the sound of the voice, like a hound picking up a scent. I didn’t bother looking over, I kept my focus on him, watching his expression intently. It changed, as I knew it would.

  She had walked into the room.

  He saw her.

  And like it was for so many men, that look of lust I had thought was for me, was now for her.

  That’s when I knew it was over. Whatever thing I had felt for him, it didn’t matter anymore, not when she was in the room. Nothing ever mattered as long as she was around.

  I might have saw him first.

  But he was all hers after that.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Seven Years Later

  “Miss, are you done with that?”

  I can feel the man in the seat next to mine subtly elbowing me until I turn my head and glance up at the flight attendant. She’s nodding at the nearly finished glass of Mai Tai on my tray table, the very reason why my response time is epically slow.

  “Uh, almost,” I tell her with a smile that I hope looks sober and pick up the thin plastic cup so she won’t snatch it away.

 
Not that it really matters—I’ve had four syrupy cocktails in the last six hours. From the moment I boarded the Alaska Airlines flight heading out of Seattle for Lihue, I’ve been drinking my nerves away. It doesn’t help that the Mai Tais on this flight have been free the last two hours, even for us poor people in coach. It seems the airline wants everyone to get excited about the impending paradise, and drinks are on the house.

  I finish the rest of the cocktail while she patiently waits, the sticky sweetness of rum and fruit-juice puckering my tongue, and hand her the empty glass. I immediately bring my attention back to the window, not wanting to miss a thing.

  We’ve already passed over Maui as we started our descent, a brilliant color show of red and green, ochre and sienna, and now we’re over the ocean between the islands, the water a shimmering aqua that seems so alive and hypnotic I can barely tear my eyes away.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Those words won’t stop ringing in my head. They started when I began packing a week ago and haven’t stopped since. I’ve always been so organized, so planned, so careful with my life, and now I’m heading to Hawaii of all places based on nothing more than a promise and hope for the future.

  I never thought my future would have me way out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, on one of the most isolated places in the world. Beyond the eight islands lies 1,860 miles of empty ocean before the nearest continent. To know I’ll be staying here is a sobering, terrifying thought.

  Yes, I know, it’s not the typical outlook of someone going to Hawaii on a job prospect. I should be as happy and excited as the rest of the passengers on the plane, chatting and laughing merrily through their Mai Tai buzz, flipping through the in-flight magazine and pointing out the different places to go. But while they’re most likely going on vacation, I’m going there to live.

  And once again…

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  In an ideal world, I would have found a job right away after my last one. As the chef de partie at one of Chicago’s biggest Italian chains, Picolo, I thought finding another job would be easy, even in such a highly competitive business. But it didn’t matter that I’d worked at the place steadily since I got out of culinary school, starting as a line cook and working my way up. The pickings were slim, (for a reason I might add) and without a job I couldn’t afford my apartment, which meant moving back home with my parents for one-hellish month. Sure, they live in a multi-million-dollar house in Lincoln Park, but if you knew my parents at all you’d understand why I had to get the hell out of there.