AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Does it matter?”
“Only because I’ve never flown on a plane before.”
“What?”
“I’ve never flown on a plane before. I’ve never gone to Hawaii, let alone a remote tropical island where at least one of the very few people present is most likely a psychopath with a taste for sex-trafficked victims. So, yeah, to me, your motives matter very much.”
Twanow exhales, her shoulders dropping from their defensive stance. “All right, then here it is: I can’t save Keahi, so I would like to save her sister. Keahi said you would take this case because you need the win. Well, I need the win, too. Otherwise, these past four years of representing Keahi, getting to know everything about her, the death penalty, the injustice of the justice system… I need to know it wasn’t all in vain.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I needed to know where you were coming from. Now I do. So, yes, let’s get me on a plane. How bad can it be compared to twelve hours on a bus?”
Twanow finally smiles. “Thank you. I’d like to say I’m only a phone call away, but of course…”
“No cell reception in paradise,” I repeat from her earlier comment.
“Technically, there’s some sat reception so staff is afforded short windows of opportunity to connect with the larger world. There’s also limited internet access, though I understand it’s reserved for the professionals. If you get desperate, Aolani and Vaughn should have authorization given their responsibilities. You’ll just have figure out a way to gain their permission.”
“Yippee. Can’t wait.” But inside, my stomach is already clenching, memories of Wyoming once again flashing through my mind. Bullets and blood, running and falling, last stands and terrible screams, some of them my own.
I used to think the universe owed me something. Now I know better.
I gather up the papers, climb off the bed. “Time for my nap.”
“I’ll book your ticket and prepare a list of essential supplies. We can grab them on our way to the airport.”
“Essential supplies?”
“Sunscreen, swimsuit, wide-brimmed hat, flip-flops. You know, clothing suitable for a tropical climate.” She gestures at my worn jeans and frayed flannel shirt, which basically match the rest of the items in my suitcase, with the exception of three short-sleeved shirts.
“I’m so not ready for this,” I allow.
“Don’t worry, I am.” Then Twanow is powering up her laptop, back to her full-efficiency mode.
I’m so exhausted, I can’t handle even watching. I return to my room and go straight to bed.
I dream of things I don’t want to dream. I remember things I don’t want to remember.
I wake up to the sound of insistent knocking.
And all these years later, my first thought is, Good God, I could use a drink.
CHAPTER 4
I’M USED TO WORKING MY cases my own way at my own pace. This is not that.
Twanow ruthlessly tosses the contents of my small suitcase in search of appropriate clothing. Ironically enough, the few items that pass muster—two pairs of lightweight cargo pants and one thin, long-sleeved hiking top—are from my last shopping binge, which took place in Wyoming after I’d lost most of my worldly possessions.
“Get ready,” she informs me now. “We need to hit the road if we’re going to get all our shopping done before catching your flight out of Austin.”
Which brings us to a mall—the kind of place I abhor and avoid at all costs—where we’re now moving blithely from store A to B to C. At least Twanow is. I mostly trail behind, praying for death.
Swimwear makes a certain kind of sense, as well as rash guards to protect my nearly vampire-white skin from the sun’s abusive rays. Add to that coral-reef-safe sunscreen and a wide-brimmed hat (for the record, I don’t have the kind of head/face that looks good in a hat), and my minimalist self would like to be done. If only I were that lucky.
I need to “blend in” with my surroundings, which apparently involves a fresh round of outdoorsy activewear, not to mention something I’ve never owned before, a pair of Crocs.
