Lett sat up and fought the urge to run to her. Again he thought of that load they’d guarded, and how it had to be gold. He’d somehow been able to avoid her for the couple days since he’d been back—that way he wouldn’t have to tell her about what he’d seen. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before she’d simply come find him at his bungalow. Meanwhile, he kept expecting, worrying even, that he would see Frankie in all his dark tattooed glory striding around the camp. Yet the man had not showed here. His assignment had been in Hilo, all the way over on the other side of the island—Hawaii’s biggest island by far. It was nowhere near The Preserve. Maybe that was the last time he’d ever see Frankie.

Now he couldn’t help it: he walked down the two steps to Kanani. She grinned and pushed back the brim farther and showed him all of her face. Something still made him hold back. He kissed her on the cheek, just a brush. She looked to her feet as if embarrassed, and sure enough when she looked up again, she was blushing.

She would want him to tell her. So he just had to.

She laughed and pushed at his chest and prodded him back up the stairs. “Like one plantation around here,” she joked, looking back down the lane of bungalows.

They sat in the chairs and caught up. Lett now had regular KP duty to fill time until the next assignment, but at least he was serving food in the mess instead of doing the dirty prep and cleanup. Kanani had her work in the bar as a hostess and bartender and waitress when need be, always with a flower behind her ear. She sold cigarettes on the side and no one blinked an eye.

“I haven’t seen you,” she said.

“We have such different schedules,” he said.

“They put me in a bungalow too, you know. Over by the Main House.”

She’d mentioned it when they were first reunited. She hadn’t told him it was by the Main House, but then again, he hadn’t asked. “Sounds nice,” he said.

She peered out. “Your lane, it’s mostly deserted. So many empty bungalows.”

“Others must be out on assignment, that or they’re still being tested. I haven’t met many. Most have kept to themselves, and I can’t say I blame them.”

Kanani didn’t respond. She smoked one of those Filipino cigars. She didn’t use the gold lighter this time, but a GI-issue Zippo. Then the rum came out—that same Filipino trademark.

And Kanani kept giving him that sidelong glance of hers.

Lett was getting that old bad feeling, just a whiff of it, like a light sunburn heating his skin even here in the shade.