Bai closed her eyes and tried to find her spiritual center. Her thoughts were in an uproar. Images of the matron’s body, a comb garishly sprouting from her eye, kept intruding. She squeezed her eyelids tight as she relived the short skirmish, all the time wondering if there wasn’t something, anything, she could have done differently to avoid the deadly exchange.

After hours of soul searching, Bai concluded it was best to avoid public restrooms.

Jason turned to her with a questioning look every time she opened her eyes. Unwilling to talk, she shook her head repeatedly to stave off his curiosity. She hadn’t yet come to terms with killing someone.

Eventually, the wheels of the plane thumped against tarmac. The jet rolled down the runway to a terminal gate. The interior cabin lights brightened. Like zombies, passengers stood to shuffle down the narrow aisle of the plane before being herded into a cold, clammy boarding tunnel redolent of machine oil.

Jason and Bai walked straight to customs with passports in hand. A uniformed agent asked for their documents, questioned whether they had anything to declare, and then mumbled, “Welcome to Vancouver,” before ushering them through sliding glass doors that led to a passenger loading zone.

A white limousine waited. The driver recognized Jason and bowed before quickly opening the rear door. Jason stood back to allow Bai to enter first then followed her into the car. She scooted across the seat to make room for him. On the other side of the aisle sat a large man. He seemed to fill the bench seat. A blue suit, stretched to its limit, did little to mask his massive musculature. His eyes studied her as the car door closed. She didn’t recognize him, and, from his puzzled expression, he didn’t know her either.

Jason reached over to give the man’s beefy hand a cursory shake but didn’t say anything. The giant pushed a button on a small device held in his lap, and a low-frequency hum filled the compartment.

The man nodded in Jason’s direction. “It’s safe to talk now.”

The sound of his voice was surprising—pitched about three octaves higher than Bai had anticipated. The tinny voice seemed out of place resonating from such a huge figure. She cracked a smile despite an attempt not to.

Jason made the introductions. “Bai Jiang, this is Shan Hong, our manager here in Vancouver.”

The man puffed out his chest, preening. Bai put her hand to her mouth to hide her amusement and nodded in acknowledgment. Shan immediately bristled at the casual greeting. His fat lips tightened before twisting up into a sneer. He showed his contempt openly. His eyes sent a silent inquiry at Jason as he handed him a leather briefcase.

Jason ignored the unasked question. He put the briefcase on his lap to open the combination lock. Inside were a signal scrambler, a brace of automatic pistols with spare clips, a pair of throwing knives, and a large manila folder. Taking the folder out of the case, he closed it and snapped the latches down.

As Jason looked over the contents of the folder, Shan’s gaze drifted back to Bai. His eyes narrowed as he took stock of her. She kept her face blank but didn’t avert her gaze. Her forthright attitude seemed to annoy him.

Shan turned his gaze to Jason. “There was a killing at SFO. The body of a woman was found in the first-class lounge. They didn’t release much information. I only mention it because of the time of the death . . . around the time of your departure.”

He was fishing for information.

Without bothering to look up from the papers before him, Jason shrugged. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Jason finished perusing the papers in his lap and then handed the folder to Bai. They were reports, Canadian police reports, on Sammy Tu. It seemed Sammy Tu was well known in Canada. His rap sheet detailed arrests for pimping, procuring, and assault and battery.

When she looked up, she realized Shan was still staring at her. He looked angry.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let this woman read the reports? Our sources are confidential.”

Shan’s question was directed at Jason, though his baleful stare remained fixed on Bai. She ignored him and continued to read the material. He wasn’t the first sexist pig she’d run into. He might, however, have been the largest sexist pig she’d ever run into. The man seemed to fill the compartment of the limo.

When she was done, she handed the reports wordlessly back to Jason, who then proceeded to put them back into the briefcase. He hadn’t bothered to answer Shan’s question. His was a silent rebuff that hung in the air between the two men like a lingering stench.

Jason broke the silence, his voice sounding tired. “Do we know where Sammy Tu is?”

Shan answered reluctantly. “There’s been a sighting. He showed up at the Palace Hotel a couple of hours ago and was seen entering an elevator. It stopped at the twelfth floor. Our contact in the hotel lost him, and he’s not registered there, at least not under his own name. We have a man posted on the twelfth floor. We’re waiting for a visual confirmation.”

“Have you checked the register for all of the floors?” Bai asked.

Shan ignored her question.

She tried again. “If Sammy knows we’re looking for him, and he does, he’ll attempt to avoid us. If the elevator indicator said twelfth floor, he’s probably somewhere on the eleven floors below that. He wouldn’t walk up when he could walk down.”

Shan folded his arms across his chest to stare straight ahead. “‘A bride is like a horse; you break her in by constantly mounting her and continually beating her.’”

In the silence that followed, Bai felt her face grow red, not from embarrassment but from anger. She turned away to look out the car window at the scenery—trees, snow, buildings, darkness.

Just when she thought Shan’s insult would go unanswered, Jason spoke. “She’s right. Check the register again. Also, look under known aliases.” His voice was calm but steely. “As a matter of fact, let’s save time by going there now. The Palace is a nice hotel, and we might as well be comfortable while the search is under way.”

Shan’s jaw clenched at the rebuke. He shot Jason a look that bordered on insolence. Bai glanced aside at Jason to read his reaction. He stared straight ahead, his face inscrutable.

Shan was disrespectful in an organization where face was everything. Loss of face, more often than not, meant loss of life. The two men sparred with words and unspoken insults. Bai had seen the signs before. Jason and Shan were locked in a complex and deadly dance for power.

Shan turned around to slide open a partition at his back so he could speak with the driver. Sticking the upper half of his body through the opening, he motioned insistently with his hands, the hammering gestures an indication of his anger. She noticed Jason smiling at the exchange. His grin quickly slipped away as Shan turned back to face them.

“We’re only a few minutes from the hotel,” said Shan. “A suite is being reserved for you under the name of John Wang.”

A small, self-satisfied smile played across Shan’s lips at one of the oldest jokes in existence. Jason didn’t return the smile.

“Your predecessor made a point of ridiculing me in public.” Jason’s voice was controlled and calm. “He didn’t like the fact I was young for such a position of authority. He didn’t like that I kept my own counsel and did things my way. You’d do well to keep in mind what happened to him.”

Jason let the silence endure as he turned to look out the window.

Intrigued by the exchange, Bai studied Shan. His eyes glittered with anger and his face hardened. He turned and became aware of her silent scrutiny. She recognized the malevolence on his face and smiled, a gesture that only seemed to make him angrier.

Jason addressed Shan without turning to face him—another slight. “Drop us at the front entrance of the hotel, then wait five minutes before following. I don’t want to be seen with you. I’m not well known in Vancouver, and I don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary. Call me in my suite when you’ve narrowed down Sammy Tu’s whereabouts.”

Shan didn’t reply. He sat rigidly in the seat like a ticking bomb. With a barely perceptible movement, he nodded to acknowledge the directive.

The limousine came to a stop under a lighted hotel portico. A man in red livery walked toward the car to open the passenger door. Jason slid out of the limo, briefcase in hand. When Jason’s back was turned, Shan took the opportunity to put his hand on Bai’s knee and squeeze. His grip was painful.

She backhanded Shan with a balled fist. The sound of smacking flesh resounded like a rifle shot, twice—once when Bai’s knuckles met Shan’s jaw and once when his head slammed back against the glass partition. He sat stunned as she scooted out of the car.

As she bounced out of the limo, Jason closed the door and turned to her. “What was that all about?”

“He put a hand on me. I put a hand on him.”

Her anger was controlled but no less virulent. Jason nodded silently and took a deep breath. He put his hand on her elbow, ostensibly for support. She suspected it was to keep her from jumping back into the limo and having another go at Shan. Her hands shook with anger.

The driver retrieved the luggage from the trunk and would have given it to the bellman had Jason not intervened. He grabbed the two small bags and took Bai’s arm to walk with her into the brightly lit, opulent lobby of the hotel. At the registration desk, she stood to one side while he spoke with the clerk.

When everything was in order, they walked to a bank of elevators. “We’re on the twentieth floor, Mrs. Wang.”

“You know, of course, you’re going to have to put Shan in his place.” She spoke while they waited for the elevator. “His disrespect for you is a challenge. His disrespect for me is an affront.”

Jason’s reply was resigned. “He’s one of the reasons I’m here in Vancouver. You don’t have to concern yourself with him. He’s already signed his death warrant.”

She was curious. “What’s the other reason you’re here?”

She turned to face him. He reached up to touch her face gently with his fingertips. “You,” he said, his eyes searching hers, “I’m here for you.”