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Enjoy this free excerpt from Murder in the Pacific

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“The appeal of the islands was simple: sun, sea, and sand; surcease from the strain of life in crowded and ugly and violent cities on the American mainland; the illusion that the world was clean and harmless.”

Gavan Daws, Shoal Of Time:
A History Of The Hawaiian Islands

 

Chapter 1

 

 

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 It sounded like a gunshot.

     Jake Maguire’s eyes fluttered open as he woke from a deep sleep. The sound reverberated like the start of a race. Or the finale to a tragic play.

     A tree came alive with excited birds. Then he heard the distant roar of waves. The rhythmic crash and flow of water gradually soothed his racing heart.

     FBI special agent Jake Maguire lay in bed taking in the new day. The mattress was soft and the air hot and sticky. Blue daylight outlined the timber ceiling. Where was he?

     He felt the length of a body next to him. Long hair in relaxed curls splayed on his pillow. He reached out and grasped the woman firmly. She turned toward him with a satisfied moan.

     He still couldn’t believe it. He was on honeymoon in Hawaii.

     And his new bride was Amber Jones Maguire.

     Their wedding in Washington had been a whirlwind event. There was the joyous marriage ceremony at his parish church in DC, the swank reception at the Virginia winery, the direct flight to Honolulu. One week into their honeymoon and he still could scarcely believe he was there.

     The island of Oahu was colorful and full of surprises. He and Amber had used every minute to explore the Paradise of the Pacific. The natural beauty of the ocean running headlong into precipitous cliffs looked like a living postcard. The weather was warm and inviting with constant trade winds to keep them cool.

     They had swum and hiked and shopped. They had also immersed themselves in the culinary scene of food trucks, fish restaurants, and fresh fruit stands. He licked his lips. What did he like better? Lilikoi jelly or lychee shave ice?

     He felt his abdomen for body fat. There was too much good food in Hawaii. Nearing his mid-forties he needed to maintain physical fitness for his job and marriage. He wondered what workout conditions were like that morning on the Windward side of the island.

     He rolled over and peered through the window shades.

     “What’s happening, baby?” Amber asked, groggy.

     “Just checking the weather for a run,” he said. “I need to work out.”

     “Wasn’t last night enough?” she asked.

     He grinned. He leaned over and kissed her gently. “Last night was great.”

     She returned his embrace and for a moment he reconsidered his workout plan.

     “Gotta put in my reps,” he said at last.

     She groaned and dove back under the sheets.

     “I have to burn off those malasadas,” he explained. The previous day’s indulgence in piping hot haupia-filled donuts had exceeded his calorie limit for the week. He stood up. “Back in a flash.”

     “Are we still on for Waikiki?” she asked.

     He stared at his new bride in disbelief. The intrepid and tenacious NPR reporter had transformed into a lazy hedonist totally seduced by island life. She had just completed a detailed three-part investigative series on over-policing of communities of color, racial disparity in deaths by police, and demographic differences in sentencing that had put her objectivity as a black journalist to the test. She needed a break.

     “Sure, honey. We can go back to Waikiki. Again.” He pulled on his running shorts and stuffed his phone and FBI credentials into his back pocket.

     Amber grabbed her pillow and rolled over in bed exposing her long bronze back that had grown even darker in the tropical sun.

     “Hold that thought,” he said, and slipped from the cozy bedroom to the lanai before descending three steps to the Bermuda grass.

Excerpt from Murder in the Pacific​

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