Thirty-nine“Why would they want to kill anyone? It doesn’t make sense.”
In the futile hope it might help him understand Leilani Manolo’s early-dawn news more clearly, Aristide wiped his hand across his eyes for the second time in five minutes.
He’d barely fallen asleep after a night of carousing before he and John Russell were awakened by an urgent banging on their hotel suite.
They scrambled out of bed to find the Manolo twins in the hall, Leilani’s face drained of color, a fine fretwork of fatigue lines shadowing her eyes. Her brother Kaleo towered, his indomitable impassive self, at her side.
“Sir John,” Lani began, her voice cracking.
Russell motioned her with a calm hand to stop. “Not in the hallway. I take it this isn’t a social call.”
He shot her a worried frown before waving
