her Preston, like she was just another one of the guys. A growl emerged from her throat, but she tamped it down. The EMTs didn’t need to know she was mad.
“Wait.” The EMT slowed for a step. “Preston? Alana Preston?”
“Yeah.” Alana said it on a sigh. He probably knew her brother.
“No way! My sister thought you were aces. Still does. Kept all her old surfing posters of you. She has the board my dad got her one Christmas that matched yours. She never went surfing, though, just kept it in her room. She’s graduating from U of H this summer. She’s gonna be a vet.”
“Awesome.” She shared a smile with the EMT, though the thought of a younger sibling hitting a milestone was bittersweet. She hadn’t seen her sister, Kaylee, either. Not because she didn’t want to. It was Kaylee who’d told her she never wanted to see her again.
And the last time Alana had seen her brother, Ray hadn’t been much nicer than that.
Alana climbed in the ambulance and lay down on the stretcher. Her fingers wouldn’t stay still, no matter how much she squeezed them together. Hopefully Locke wouldn’t notice. Was he going to file a report? Dumb question. Of course he was—with the police and the Secret Service. Her reaction would be noted, and that note would go in her file. She had to act calm. Cool. She needed something to think about other than the black glove as it gripped her ankle and pulled her into the water.
Locke stood just beyond the step, arms folded across his lean chest. What was he mad about? Was it the attack—like that was her fault—or the EMT knowing who she was?
Maybe he didn’t like the fact the other man knew she’d been a competitive surfer. It wasn’t like she hid it, though she didn’t talk about it too much. It was in her file, but it was unique to her and people often asked her about it. Occasionally she’d meet a fan of hers from way back, like this EMT and his sister. And why not? She’d done something not many people had. Why did Locke have to be such a downer about it?
Alana wasn’t going to back down. “What’s up with—” The EMT wiped her injury, and she gasped. “Ow. That hurt.”
Locke’s frown shifted into an almost smile. It was about as much of a smile as he ever gave anyone, so she counted it as one. Because she was acting like a baby instead of sucking it up like a real Secret Service agent? She didn’t know why that would be funny.
“I’m not saying sorry.” The EMT kept his gaze on her cut. “But you’re right, it isn’t bad.” He slapped cream and some gauze over it that he taped down. “All done.”
“Great.” She shifted to the edge of the bed. The quicker this was over, the quicker they could get to their morning meeting. They’d be late if the police took too long taking her and Locke’s statements.
Locke held up one hand. “Not so fast.”
“What?”
“He’s right,” the EMT said. “You’ve gotta keep that dry. Take care of it, or you’ll have to see a doctor.”
Locke shook his head. “That isn’t what I meant.” His gaze zeroed in on her, and she didn’t like it one bit. “Someone just tried to kill you.”
Locke ignored the bright Hawaiian sun and threw the car in Park outside the residence they were due at in ten minutes. He couldn’t believe Alana was brushing off what had happened to her. It was like she didn’t even care, or was trying to prove to herself she didn’t care.
They’d stopped for coffee after giving the police their statements and going to the morning briefing. At the police station, Locke had looked through mug shots trying to identify the men he’d seen. While he’d been searching fruitlessly through the police’s database, Alana had chatted with every cop in the building like they were old friends.
And yet every time the door had opened, she’d clammed up. Was she on edge because she’d been attacked, or was she not so excited at the prospect of seeing her brother? Ray Preston was a police sergeant, but he hadn’t shown up. Maybe he didn’t want to. Still, Locke figured it was just a matter of time before he did.
Maybe those cops had been old friends of hers. And maybe jealousy wasn’t ugly like he’d thought, but that was probably just Locke kidding himself. He should probably just tell her he was attracted to her so she could tell him that no way on earth would she fall for her uptight team leader, and then he could move on with his life.
That would surely be easier than wondering for a split-second what might have been, followed by convincing himself that dating in this job was the worst idea—which it was.
Locke sighed. They had a lot of work to do before Air Force One’s arrival, and she’d promised that if she needed a break she’d tell him. What else could he ask for? Still, she acted like it was no big deal that she’d nearly died, while Locke could barely breathe he was thinking about it so much.
Who was that Asian man who’d targeted her? Why try to kill her in the ocean? The police had issued a BOLO for both the car and his description of the two men. Locke wanted to be out looking for them, but they had Secret Service duties to attend to.
He glanced at her, pleased her color had come back, at least. He motioned toward the house and decided it was time to test the rookie. “Tell me about this one.”
Locke didn’t miss the face she made. Alana glanced up from the iPad in her lap and looked around at the street he’d parked on in Wainaku, just off the beach on the other side of the island from their hotel. On screen was the file she’d been reading over.
Alana frowned and then shifted in her seat to look out the back window. She wore black pants and a light blue blouse now, her hair pulled back. No earrings—they could get caught on something if a situation occurred. If he hadn’t seen it just hours ago, he wouldn’t think she had nearly died that morning. But she had, and he couldn’t forget it.
“I rode my bike this way to get to school.” Her Hawaiian heritage showed in the almond color of her hair and those peaked eyebrows. She was beautiful—not that Locke had made a point to notice. She was both his subordinate and five years younger than him. Even if he had time for a relationship women were too much work, and he had a president to protect.
Keep telling yourself that.
Alana said, “Does Beatrice Colburn live here now?”
She looked lost in childhood memories. “What does the file say?”
“House number is 456. It’s the right one.” Alana paused for a moment. Locke didn’t even try to figure out what she was thinking.
He grabbed the door handle on his side. “Let’s get on with this.”
They had visited three people since the briefing. Beatrice was the fourth, and it was still early. Before POTUS landed at Hilo airport, they had to visit anyone who’d ever been flagged by the Secret Service’s intelligence division. Anyone who’d written a threatening letter to the president was entered into a file. If they had the means or the inclination to actually carry out the threat, they were of particular interest to the Secret Service.
“Tell
