All was so orderly here, so secure. His bungalow stood along a line of six others, a miniature suburban street inserted smack dab in the middle of high Kona forest. The Preserve had so much land to spare up here, they might as well be in Timbuktu. No one could see them except from a low-flying plane—of which Lett had seen not one—and he wondered if even their air space was off-limits.

He smelled more pork roasting from the next clearing over where they did a lot of the cooking for mess hall. He heard the breeze rustle through the foliage, finding its way to him where it tickled his forehead and toes.

Then a shiver ran up his legs, torso, neck.

He thought about the two shots he’d taken while on assignment, and how Selfer had supplied him with it only after he’d begged Selfer to bother Lansdale for it, and this made him shrink inside a little. He was starting to depend on the dose, to look forward to it, even to that little prick on his skin and the sting along his vein. How long would that last? Was that the only reason why he felt so serene here on his porch? The treatment had to work in the long run. They didn’t call it a cure for nothing.

Still, he wondered if he shouldn’t be feeling more uneasy. Jock had a point, sure. He could’ve stood guard there all day—if not for some of the things he’d seen at that Hilo dock surrounded by molasses tanks. He still didn’t know how he was going to tell Kanani about Frankie. Or should he? But they owed each other. He couldn’t deny that she’d probably saved his ass back in that Kona billet bar. And he’d been the one who convinced her to dodge Frankie, after all.

And then there was Lansdale. Ignoring him like he had? What kind of treatment was that? Lett told himself it was only the man’s professional demeanor and reminded himself not to take it personally. He was far from the only person Lansdale was responsible for here.

A woman was walking up his lane of bungalows, darker skin, her black hair pulled back under a khaki Army bucket hat with the brim flipped up in front, what they called a Daisy Mae. She wore an aloha shirt with rolled-up sleeves and cuffed dungarees and her rubber slippahs.

Kanani.