By Jessica Speart
For most folk, Hawaii is heaven on the earth. yet U.S. Fish and natural world carrier agent Rachel Porter sees the rot underneath its average elegance. Its pristine seashores are harboring a brand new breed of legal, those that could disappointed the delicate ecological stability within the identify of revenue ... those that could kill within the reason behind greed.
On the path of unlawful traffickers in unique animals, Rachel stumbles upon whatever way more insidious and scary -- and a suspiciously shark-devoured human corpse that washes up at the rocks is barely the start. by surprise every body wishes her off a case that's too sizzling to address. yet she will not be warned, coaxed, or threatened away, while the blood that darkens the tropical waters marks Rachel Porter because the such a lot endangered creature in Paradise.
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Extra resources for Restless Waters: A Rachel Porter Mystery (Rachel Porter Mysteries)
Dolph thinks he can sell your boards if you paint them with these kinds of images,” I relayed, wondering how hard it would be to shake ones hips and strum an instrument at the same time. “Sounds terriﬁc. In that case, maybe I’ll ﬁnd myself a couple of models,” Santou suggested with a sly smile. “Like hell you will. The only one that will be modeling for you is me,” I advised, trying to ﬁgure out where to get a grass skirt and grab a couple of hula lessons. Santou laughed at my response. “You’ve got a deal, chere.
It was then that my heart ground to a halt and panic grabbed me by the throat. Santou sat with his legs wrapped around a surfboard, looking like a rodeo rider. My mind turned blank and my body grew numb. Only when a siren screeched in my head was I jerked from my stupor. He couldn’t possibly be this crazy, I tried to reason with myself. But then, what in hell was Jake doing out in the water? Granted, his physical therapist had said that swimming would be good. Even some light surﬁng might be all right.
My footsteps echoed as I trod down the hallway. The Fish and Wildlife door was still locked, a clear sign that Norm Pryor had yet to arrive. Using my own my key, I opened the door and walked inside. I’d been assigned the smaller of two ofﬁces, in which the prior agent had thoughtfully left behind a poster. It was of Donald Duck holding a tropical drink and wearing sunglasses while twisting around in a beach chair. What he saw obviously gave him a fright. There were seven bullet holes lodged in the wall directly behind his head.