Shards by Allison Moore

Keawe’s compliment. Since joining the department I’d been working my ass off, putting in insane overtime, taking the senior officers’ cases, keeping myself in top physical shape so I could fight if I had to, all the while learning how to defuse situations to make fighting the last resort. At MPD, you were either a ripper—a hardworking go-getter everyone could count on—or a broke. Ruben was a broke: a lazy, unreliable oaf who could make a volatile situation worse.
    â€œThose kids aren’t dead because of you, babe,” Keawe was saying. “No one said this line of work was full of happy endings. We should talk about it more. What are you doing today?”
    â€œWorking?” I said.
    â€œBullshit. You’ve got the day off.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI’ve got good investigation skills too,” he said. “I’ve also got some time. Why don’t I take the ferry to Lanai and we can hang out?”
    â€œWhat about your family?” I asked.
    â€œOh, they’re in California for a few days,” he said casually. “Visiting Colleen’s parents.”
    His plan was so transparent. His wife and children out of the picture for a while, he was ready to swoop in on me, just as he had tried to do the night before I left Maui. But he had been calling me at least twice a week since I got to Lanai. All those times couldn’t have been predatory. Some of them must have been in honor of the friendship we had started to build while we worked together.
    â€œSo what do you say?” he asked, trying to sound casual. Then, with more feeling, he said, “I’ve really missed you, Alli.”
    â€œDon’t come to Lanai,” I said. “I’ve got to get off this island. I’ll come to Maui.”
    â€œYou will?”
    I found myself smiling at how excited he sounded. “Yes,” I answered. “I’ll take the ten-thirty boat. I’ll call you when I get in.”
    â€œNo need to call,” he said. “I’ll meet the ferry.”
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    I had exactly forty-five minutes on the ferry to wonder why the fuck I was agreeing to see Keawe, but in typical fashion I avoided thinking at all. Instead, I watched a group of dolphins off to the right, one of them doing triple axial spins. Molokai passed off to the left. I nodded at one or two people I knew on the ferry, but most people on board were tourists. Three twenty-something girls with great bodies and bad sunburns. A honeymoon couple. A golfer who looked pretty dejected. It was late July, high tourist season.
    The ticket taker came around, chatting to everybody. The golferhanded him money and the ticket taker shook his head. “You got to buy the tickets before you get on the boat,” he said.
    â€œWhat do you do with stowaways?” the golfer asked.
    â€œThey get to go halfway for free.”
    The golfer laughed.
    The ticket taker said, “You can pay on the other end.”
    The ferry was expensive for tourists, but they offered kama’aina rates for Hawaiian residents, and MPD always paid for my ferry trips. That was part of my compensation.
    I liked listening to everyone’s conversations but couldn’t bring myself to start up a conversation on my own. No one talked to me, either. Maybe it was because of Mo. He loved riding the ferry back and forth, but people usually kept their distance from a 180-pound mastiff. My mom or sister would have made best friends by the time we got to the other side. They were so different from me.
    When we docked in Lahaina, I spotted Keawe immediately. He was leaning against the fence, wearing a powder-blue T-shirt that cut just at the place on the biceps a girl loves to look at. He smiled and walked toward me for a hug.
    â€œHi, gorgeous,” he said. The hug felt tense, not because of me, but because of those around us. Maui was so small—someone was bound to know at