Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

Dad laughed. “The other side of that coin is cautiousness, Abby. What you’ve got to do is walk a fine line between caution and fear. And I know you can do that. So?”

“So… I’ll think about what you said.”

“And?”

“And… discuss it with Marco?”

“That’s my girl.” Dad held out his arms, and I leaned over the coffee table for a hug.

“How touching,” a male voice said.

I straightened with a gasp and Dad wheeled his chair around as a stranger stepped through the kitchen doorway. Short in stature, wearing a three-piece gray business suit, he had caramel-colored skin, black hair, and the hooded eyes of a cobra.

“Ms. Knight,” he said softly, hissing the S. “We meet at last.”

I had to swallow the lump of fear in my throat before I could speak. “Mr. Kana?”

He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You know why I’ve come.”

“All I know is that you’re trespassing,” Dad said gruffly. “Get out of my house!”

Kana smiled tightly. “I’d be happy to, as soon as I have the brooch.”

“It’s not here,” Dad said with a defiant lift of his chin.

Kana’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “We all know it is, and I suggest you not get in my way, old man. You don’t want to see what happens when I get angry.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me, you punk!”

I held my breath. What was Dad doing?

“Or what?” Kana sneered. “You’ll run me over with your chair?”

Pressing his lips together, Dad started toward him, but Kana immediately flashed a sharp, light-colored blade, causing Dad to pull back. With the knife in his right hand, his gaze locked on my dad, the Hawaiian held out his left toward me. “Give me the brooch, Ms. Knight.”

I swallowed hard as I stared at his outstretched palm. I couldn’t hand over the brooch. Once Kana had it, there was no reason to keep us alive. But what were my options? Dad wasn’t capable of subduing the man, and I knew I couldn’t distract Kana long enough to make a call on my cell phone. I could throw something at his head, the candy jar perhaps, in the hopes I could escape in the confusion, but what about Dad? I couldn’t leave him trapped with a killer.

“The brooch, Ms. Knight,” Kana snapped, making me jump.

Dad wheeled himself backward in one strong motion and reached for the telephone on the table beside the sofa, quickly punching in 911.

In a flash, Kana crossed the room to the table and cut the phone line. “You do not want to attempt anything so foolish, my friend. I do not play games.”

“I don’t play games, either,” Dad said, “especially with a punk like you. And I’m not your friend. I’m a cop.”

“A punk like me?” Kana repeated slowly, his nostrils flaring.

“Dad, please don’t!” I whispered. But he didn’t heed my warning.

“That’s right,” Dad said, “and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of my house right now.”

In the blink of an eye, Kana was in his face, holding the blade of his knife up to Dad’s throat. “And who, exactly, is going to make me?”

I had to stop myself from crying out, fearing my doing so might cause the Hawaiian to make good on his threat. My heart slammed against my ribs as Kana stared straight into Dad’s eyes. “You, old man? You?”

“Yes, me,” Dad said, his voice tight and raspy, as a line of blood appeared on his throat.

I stifled a whimper. Why was Dad goading him?

Suddenly, Kana straightened, looking very smug. “Then come get me.” He put his shoe on the footrest of Dad’s wheelchair and gave it a hard shove.

I gasped as Dad’s head snapped forward, then back. He gripped the wheels to steady his chair, glaring at the Hawaiian, a trickle of blood running down his throat. “If I wasn’t in this chair-”

“Come on, then!” Kana cried, waving his knife back and forth, taunting him. “Get up! What’s stopping you? Need your running shoes?”

“Abby, get my crutches.”

I stared at Dad in shock. Surely he wasn’t serious! What did he think he could do?

“Abby.”

I eyed the metal crutches propped in the corner, but as soon as I made a move, Kana pointed his knife at me. “Stay where you are.” He backed toward the corner, then folded the blade, slipped it in his pocket, and picked up a crutch in each hand. “Are these what you want?”

“Unless you’re afraid to give them to me,” Dad said.

Kana used the rubber end of one of the crutches to poke Dad’s knee. “For a crippled old man, you certainly talk big.” He turned and heaved the crutch through the kitchen doorway, where it hit the refrigerator and clattered to the tile floor. “You want your crutch? Go get it.”

Dad glared at him. “You son of a-”

“I said go get it!” Kana yelled. But when Dad started toward the kitchen, Kana shoved his wheelchair back again. “Not in your chair. Crawl! Do you hear me? Crawl for it.”

My heart constricted. If Kana wanted to humiliate my father, that was how to do it.

As Dad struggled to control his temper, I knew I had to do something to distract Kana before he humiliated Dad any further-or worse. All I could think of was to get him talking. Maybe that would buy us some time until someone realized we were in trouble.

Suddenly my phone began to play Reilly’s ringtone. I froze as Kana glanced toward my coat.

“I know you stole the brooch from a museum in Hawaii,” I said, talking over the tune. “Why that brooch? Why the anthurium? Is it the most valuable or was it easier to conceal?”

The music stopped. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Kana gave me a coy glance. “Your curiosity seems out of place at such a time, Ms. Knight. You’re not stalling, by any chance, are you? Trying to keep me from finding the brooch?”

I could feel my face turning red. I’d never been able to hide my emotions. Still, it seemed to have worked. He wasn’t focusing on Dad. “Do you really think I’d keep a valuable brooch at my parents’ house?”

He used the other crutch to pull books off the bookshelf against the wall, letting them fall to the floor one by one. “But the brooch is here. And you know how I know that.”

“You planted a bug,” I said. “Too bad I found it.”

“You found it too late.” He tipped over a ceramic vase, sending it tumbling to the carpet, where it rolled to his feet. He stepped on it, cracking it, then peered inside. “What a shame to ruin these nice things. You could simply give me the brooch, Ms. Knight.”

“How about if you answer my questions first, such as why a smart thief would hire bunglers like Bebe and Hudge?”

“I see you prefer to draw this out. Very well. We’ll play it your way.” His gaze swept the room. How long before he found my purse? “I didn’t hire the, as you called them, bunglers.” Kana moved around the room, looking under objects, pushing aside drapes. “My error was in trusting someone else to do a job for which he wasn’t qualified.”

Kana swept a potted orchid and two mirrored picture frames to the floor. “Fortunately, I do learn from my mistakes.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Dad slowly moving his wheelchair backward, in the direction of my mom’s antique writing desk in the corner, beyond the sofa. It was a rolltop desk and the top was shut. Inside were tiny cubbyholes where Mom kept bills and miscellaneous items. The desk had a secret compartment. Was that where Dad kept his service revolver?

Trying not to sound as anxious as I felt, I said, “You’re referring to Tom Harding?”

Kana was eyeing my coat. “Mr. Harding was a disappointment.”

I moved to block his view. “Your plan was that Harding was supposed to receive the brooch and turn it over to you, right? Except that it went to me instead. So Harding hired Hudge and Bebe to get it back. And when they screwed that up for the third time, you killed one of them, then beat up Harding and left him to die.”