She slipped out onto the lanai. The helicopter was hovering over the lawn now, the downdraft flattening the manicured grass. Chanel didn't run. Running drew the eye. Instead, she walked briskly to the edge of the property where the volcanic cliff dropped away to a hidden tidal pool.
By the time the federal agents breached the villa's front door, Chanel was halfway down the Kamehameha Highway, the top down on the Mustang, the wind whipping through her hair. The ocean stretched out endlessly to her left, a brilliant, deceptive blue. chanel preston hawaii
She smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. It was a perfect Hawaiian afternoon—sun, surf, and a seven-figure payout. She turned up the radio, letting the slack-key guitar drift over the hum of the engine. In the rearview mirror, the island paradise faded into a postcard memory. She slipped out onto the lanai