Na Pali Coast area, is where most of the sightings take place.” She licked her lips. Carson was so close. She felt vulnerable to his warm, vibrant presence. As if sensing her unease, he sat back in his seat. Internally, Kulani breathed a sigh of relief. Trying to concentrate on the changes of terrain taking place beneath her, she urged her helicopter toward the western side of the island.
The land below turned from green to the many different colors of dried earth. “What you see coming up beneath us is Waimea Canyon. When Mark Twain was here, he called it the Grand Canyon of the Pacific. The layers of earth represent different eruptions and lava flows. The canyon is ten miles long and one mile deep. For those who are hikers, you can actually walk thirty-six hundred feet down into the bottom of it.”
“I’d like to take that hike with you. You look like you could handle it.”
Carson—again. Kulani found his intrusions unsettling. Not in a bad way; rather, a good way. She absorbed his low, vibrating voice into her body and, surprisingly, into her heart. Maybe it was just because she was feeling vulnerable. After all, they were getting close to the Na Pali Coast, and Kulani dreaded this part of the trip. Already, her chest was beginning to feel as if a band were around it. And Carson’s voice somehow, almost miraculously, had dissolved her fears—if only momentarily.
“I don’t do hiking, Mr. Carson. I like to fly,” she teased back, her voice a bit off-key.
He chuckled deeply and took a few snapshots out the window. “If I pack the sandwiches, the bottle of wine and bring along some great desserts, will you go with me?”
The other passengers all chuckled at his joking. Kulani felt heat crawling up her neck and flooding her face. Blushing! Of all things. It didn’t look very professional, she was sure. Keeping her focus on the instruments before her, she laughed a little. “I know a whole lotta ants that would love to take you up on your offer, Mr. Carson.”
“Shucks, shot down again.” Dev grinned at his audience, who were all smiling and laughing with him. He saw the redness creep into Kulani’s soft, golden skin and he saw one corner of that incredibly luscious mouth pull slightly upward. Sensing that he had his foot in the door, he decided to work on getting her to go out to dinner with him tonight. One way or another. Right now, he felt like a hunter on the track of an animal he wanted to bring down. There was always the thrill of the chase for him where women were concerned, but Kulani wasn’t just any woman. She was unique. Sultry. Enigmatic. He didn’t quite know what was going on in that head of hers. He wished he could look her in the eye, but from this angle, all he could see was her clean, aristocratic profile.
They flew over the canyon, then on toward the northern part of the island. Clouds that were forming like white cotton candy along the green-clad slopes mesmerized Dev. The whole scene was beautiful.
“What you’re seeing right now,” Kulani said, “are the misty forests of Koke State Park, woodlands that surround this incredible canyon. We’re going to rise and follow the brush-and-tree-clad slopes to the top, on the other side of which is the Na Pali Coast.” Her throat closed. She felt grief surge through her. Automatically, her hands tightened around the collective and cyclic. Her heart began to beat a little harder as the helicopter began to climb the verdant slope toward the top of the ridge that separated the canyon from the coast.
“Hey,” Dev said, pointing his finger between Kulani and the passenger seated beside her, “isn’t that a hiking trail right on top of this ridge?”
Shaken by his sudden closeness and his intensity, Kulani said, “Why, yes, it is…thousands of tourists hike that trail every year. It’s a slippery track made of clay, and it’s always misting rain up there. A lot of people get hurt because they don’t wear proper foot gear or they’re not prepared for the changes in temperature and weather, which happen almost hourly at that elevation.”
Dev was less than twelve inches away from Kulani. He heard the breathlessness in her voice. He saw the corner of her mouth dig inward, as if she were hurting. And as he perused her more closely, he saw tiny dots of perspiration standing out on her brow. She was having a reaction to something. Him? He hoped not. His ego wouldn’t be able to handle the possibility that he bothered her. The feeling around her was one of tightness. Even her lips were compressed, no longer soft and accessible as before.
“Is it possible,” he asked, “to climb from that path down into the Kalalau Valley? It looks like the trail stops at the top of the ridge.”
Stunned by Carson’s question, Kulani felt an incredible surge of pain in her heart. She brought the helicopter to a hover well above the trail so that her passengers could get their first look at the Na Pali coastline. “Uh, yes…yes, I guess you could.” Swallowing hard, she rasped, “The trail is a point where a climber could choose to scale that wall and descend into the valley below. It’s a highly dangerous climb. The valley is twenty-two hundred feet deep, with steep, vertical, black lava walls on three sides. Your handholds are minuscule—little holes and cracks here and there. As the lava cooled, the rock became bumpy and concave, and you might get a handhold if you’re lucky. You must rely on lines and pitons to scale it. It’s very risky. People have died trying to descend from that trail into the canyon.”
Dev heard the rattling in her low voice and saw her face go ashen. He frowned as he glanced out at the red clay trail that zigged and zagged along the top of the ridge forming the northern lip of Waimea Canyon. On the other side of the ridge was one of the most photographed spectacles in the world.
The Na Pali Coast looked as if, millions of years ago, a giant had dug his sharp fingernails into the lava cliffs, leaving five gouged-out valleys in their wake. All were clothed in an incredible verdant splendor, with stubborn brush, grasses and orchids clinging to the sheer walls. Down below, he noted, was the Kalalau Valley—his target. His heart beat a little harder in anticipation as he perused the area with the eye of a mountain climber. Kulani was right: the vertical walls were covered in greenery—mostly ferns from what he could make out at this altitude. Gazing out the window toward the cobalt-blue Pacific, he saw a small trail winding across the landscape.
“What’s that other trail to the right?” he asked, pointing toward it.
Kulani gulped and tried to get a handle on her galloping pulse, her grief. She wanted to get away from the coast as soon as she could. She used Carson’s question to do just that. The deep, wide valley of Kalalau opened up beneath them in gaping splendor. On the valley floor was a river that splashed over smooth gray and black boulders, tumbling toward the ocean. “That’s known as the Kalalau Trail.”
“How do you get to it?”
“You can drive to it by going around the east end of the island. It’s a two-mile hike into Kalalau Beach—one of the toughest trails anyone will ever try. I advise good hiking boots, rain gear, a hat, water and food.”
“Not to mention a first aid kit?” Dev joked as they drew closer. They swept out over the blue-green ocean, which looked both emerald and aquamarine, depending upon the depth. White, foamy waves crashed against newly minted gold beaches uninhabited by human beings. The Na Pali Coast was forbidding from a mountain climbing perspective. But negotiable. Dev hadn’t climbed El Capitan in Yosemite for nothing. The walls of lava were just different, that was all. He felt confident he could climb down into the box canyon where the anthrax lab was reputed to be.
Kulani tried to smile, but didn’t succeed. “Yes, a first aid kit is very advisable. We get hikers all the time who trip over exposed tree roots or fall on the rocks and break an ankle.” She wanted to cry every time she saw the Kalalau Valley. It held too many bad memories and she was still tied to it emotionally, whether she wanted to be or not. Aiming her aircraft in a southeasterly direction, she
