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Angel stood silently by her side throughout the exchange. He didn’t try to take over or show off any manly ability to talk auto shop with the tow truck driver.
Leilani found Angel refreshing. Because Leilani was short, men often treated her as though she were a child, not a savvy businesswoman with a good, if basic understanding of tires, mechanics and fair prices on both. In most cases, once men realized she wasn’t a pushover, they gave their observations to her straight. No embellishments or talking down to her.
The tow truck driver waved to Leilani as he drove out of the gravel parking lot.
Leilani climbed the steps into the resort shuttle and smiled at the faces turned in her direction. “Thank you all for your patience. We should arrive back at the resort in half an hour. And, since we were unable to complete the day’s itinerary, Windsong Tours will refund your money.”
“Ms. Leilani.” An elderly gentleman raised a hand as if he were still in elementary school.
“Yes, sir.” Leilani smiled gently, grateful the guests were getting along well enough they didn’t mind being cooped up on a bus for a while.
“Some of us discussed what we paid for the tour and agreed we got our money’s worth at Twin Falls. A refund is unnecessary. We know you, your family and your employees lost a lot in the fire. We didn’t want to make matters worse by demanding our money back. It’s our gift to you and your employees.”
“Hear! Hear!” shouted the younger men in the back of the bus.
Leilani’s chest swelled, and her eyes burned. “Thank you all so very much.” Their gesture was so generous her heart swelled.
For the journey back to the resort, she shared more of the history of Maui and the chain of Hawaiian Islands and some of their customs passed down through the generations.
Time seemed to pass quickly. Before she realized it, they were pulling into the parking lot at the resort.
As the guests exited the shuttle, each person handed her a tip and thanked her for taking them to the falls and for all the stories.
In turn, Leilani thanked them for their generosity and reminded them of the snorkeling tours offered the following day.
Angel was the last guest to leave the resort shuttle. He took his time coming down the steps and stopped for a long moment in front of her. When he handed her a twenty-dollar bill, she held up her hands. “That’s too much.”
“Then give it to someone you know who needs it.” He folded her hand around the bill, his fingers cupping hers. “I’m sure you know plenty who do.”
“I do,” she said, thinking of people living in the resort who only had the items donated through churches, the Red Cross and private donors. Most were unemployed, the jobs they’d had having gone up in flames with the buildings of Lahaina. “That’s where all my tips go,” she murmured.
Leilani was one of the lucky survivors of the fires. Not only did she make it out alive, but parts of her businesses were still operational, generating income as soon as Maui had reopened to tourists. Thanks to her captains, two of her three boats had been moved out of the harbor before the fire reached them.
Angel pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to Leilani. “Let me know what you decide about my team helping you out. We won’t do anything until you give us the go-ahead.”
She stared down at the card, reading the words Brotherhood Protectors in bold letters and his name, Angelo Cortez. “A business card makes your service sound legit.”
He chuckled. “Anyone can print a business card. Not everyone has the training or experience we have. Call Hank. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
She looked up from the card and smiled. “Thanks. I’ll do that as soon as I get back to my room.”
“Good.” He gave her a brief nod. “Thanks again for an inspiring tour.”
She snorted. “What little we were able to accomplish.”
“It was enough...for now. I’ll see you later,” he said and left her standing beside the shuttle. When the driver closed the door and drove away, Leilani walked across the sprawling grounds to the section of the resort designated for the refugees from the Lahaina fire.
Tucked away from the rest of the structures, this area had a more lived-in appearance. Small children played on the lush green grass while the adults sat nearby. Some visited with their neighbors, others hung laundry on makeshift clotheslines or stared off into space. Though the fire was in the past, the memories and grief were still fresh, raw and real.
Leilani waved at a few of the women as she passed and entered the room she’d been assigned. Thankfully, it had a bedroom, a sitting area and a kitchenette where she could prepare food for herself. The resort kitchens and local restaurants provided free meals to people who’d lost their homes in the fires, but Leilani preferred to make her breakfast and soups and salad.
She made a beeline for her new laptop, thankful all over again that she’d stored everything to do with her business in the cloud. She’d been able to access all her data once she’d received the laptop and logged in.
Following Angelo’s advice, she performed a search on the internet for the Brotherhood Protectors and found several references and phone numbers for offices in Eagle Rock, Montana; Fool’s Gold, Colorado; West Yellowstone, Montana; Bayou Mambaloa, Louisiana; and the Big Island of Hawaii. Apparently, business was good for the organization to spread across the nation.
As suggested, she looked for Hank Patterson and found several articles about the former Navy SEAL who’d opened a security agency providing protective services to anyone who needed them. Several news articles referenced Hank and the Brotherhood Protectors for their successes in stopping an organization from overthrowing the government, shutting down a sex trafficking ring in Wyoming and protecting a U.S. Congresswoman during her election campaign.
She found the phone number for the Brotherhood Protectors in Eagle Rock, Montana, and punched the numbers into her cell phone. For a moment, she hesitated. Was it necessary to actually call the man? From what she’d found, she could easily assume Brotherhood Protectors was a legitimate organization.
