SOMEBODY slapped me lightly on the cheek. “Lucky?” A man’s voice. One I knew.
He slapped me again, harder this time.
Anticipating his next slap, I reached up and grabbed his hand before he made contact. “Stokes, you hit me again and I’ll break your arm.” My head hurt like a mother as it was.
“Right.”
I felt him move back a little, giving me room. Wherever I was, the floor beneath me was cool and wet. I tried to remember. The plane. The boat. I bolted to a sitting position. “Romeo?” My world spun, but I gritted my teeth and pressed my hand to my temples. “Damn.” An involuntary epithet as I forgot and pressed where the butt of the gun had raised a large goose egg. “Where’s Romeo?” I reached out, grabbing Agent Stokes by the front of his all-black shirt, and my world steadied a bit. Blinking furiously, I worked for focus. “You have him? You got him back, right?”
“No.”
“We’ve got to follow them, get Romeo back.” Leaning on one hand, I tried to lever myself up. My world spun and I sagged back. Panic flooded through me. I couldn’t lose Romeo; I just couldn’t. The thought squeezed my chest until I fought for breath. “You’re going after them, right?”
Stokes still sported a crew cut and the square jaw. The hard eyes were new. “Your ship was boarded. You were no more than twenty minutes out. They took Romeo and Frank Cho. The captain brought you in.” He pointed to my temple. “You’ve got a nasty bump.”
My eyes went slitty. “Curiously, in Vegas they don’t grow women as stupid as you think they do. What part of all that did you think would be news to me?”
His skin flushed pink—probably from anger, but it should’ve been from embarrassment.
“Where did they go?” I asked, trying to ignore the pounding in my head.
“I don’t know.”
I tried for patience, then gave up. “Damn it, Stokes. What’s the IQ the FBI requires now? Single digit? Which direction did they go?”
“Back toward China.”
“The Fire Swamp,” I whispered. We were on our own. And Romeo was God knew where. My vision cleared a bit and I focused on Stokes. And I had to deal with a Rodent of Unusual Size, lucky me.
“What?”
“Movie reference.” I extended my hand. “Make yourself useful, if possible. Find that boat and the smug English guy who stayed in the shadows.”
“Everyone around here sounds like they’re British. You didn’t see his face?”
“No, I didn’t. But you let them take Romeo,” I said, which was only a small part of the truth. I’d let them take Romeo. And I couldn’t live with that. So intent on my own weak hand in this game where folding wasn’t an option, I’d been blind to life upping the ante.
Stokes didn’t offer a platitude, which was the only thing that saved him from a broken nose. No, I wasn’t above taking my anger out on him—a character flaw I’d live with.
“Why didn’t you come get us?” Shaking shivered through me, rattling the last shreds of confidence. How could I have let this happen? “This is your territory; you’re running the show. You wanted to be in charge. Worse, I let you run the show. Fool me once, Stokes.” My fists balled at my side—an involuntary fight reflex.
Stokes seemed unaware of how close to serious bodily harm he was. “They were watching us. We didn’t want to alert them to your arrival. Frankly, I have no idea how they found out you were coming in tonight. Are you sure you kept it in-house, with only your father in on it?”
That redirected me—a leak, an inside job? I didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good explanation, but one among many. “The pilots knew, of course, but they’ve worked for us for years; we went through that. And don’t go putting your screw-up on me.” Minnie had known, maybe. If not known, then certainly expected. But she hadn’t known when. And since she’d been shot, I doubted she’d had the ability to crow about it. Secrets so hard to keep—I don’t know why I’d thought this one would be any different. Maybe because it’s Christmas.
Most likely because I’m a fool.
“We’re debriefing the pilots, looking for any communications out of the ordinary,” Stokes said with the flat affect of a federal intelligence officer, which, in his case, inflated the oxymoron.
Anger brought me back to normal—well, except for my head, which felt like it had a meat cleaver buried three inches deep. “Feds.” I shook my head, then instantly regretted it as my brain oozed out my ears. “A great cleanup crew, but as a lead-off hitter, you guys suck. You need to learn how to stay one step ahead, Stokes.” I chastised him, but really it was time to clean my own house before I started ridiculing anyone else for their dust bunnies under the couch.
Stokes stood, then extended me a hand. Small consolation, but he looked pretty bummed about the whole thing. Still, I really wanted to rearrange his nose. I had no idea what the penalty was for assaulting a Fed was, but I was perilously close to throwing caution to the wind and learning the hard way. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Instead, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring his offer of help. Too little, way too late. The world tilted, and I gritted my teeth against my weakness. That wouldn’t do—not now, not when Romeo needed me. “We need to find Romeo and get him back. Now!” Somehow, I found solid footing.
“I’ve got my agents on it. Let them do their work. They’ll figure out who took him and where they’re keeping him.”
I raked a hand through my hair, but knots and tangles stopped me halfway. “Frank Cho I get, but Romeo? Why did they take him?”
Stokes scrunched his face like that was a question I expected him to answer. “Because he’s important to you?”
“Thank you, Dr. Watson.”
“Look…” Stokes started.
“No, you look.” I met him eye-to-eye. “You didn’t protect us. That was your only job, and you didn’t do it. You made the arrival plans. I followed them, and now I’ve lost a dear friend.” My voice hitched as I waved my arm in a semicircle. “He’s somewhere out there with God knows who.” I didn’t want to think that Irv Gittings might have him. If he did, he was the type to punish Romeo for my perceived transgressions. Irv was never one to pick on someone his own size…no, he was way beneath that. My anger ran white hot. “This isn’t my turf; it’s yours, as you don’t miss a chance to remind me. Now, go do your fucking job and bring Romeo back in one piece.” A poke in the chest emphasized each point.
A tic worked in Stokes’s cheek, but he took it like a man.
I had no idea what to do, where to go, how to find Romeo. Powerless, clueless, I had nothing to do with my anger. “We need to report it to the police.”
“They’ve been alerted. There’s some question as to whose territorial waters you were in. As you can imagine, piracy is a bit of an issue in the South China Sea.”
“Pirates? That’s your story?”
“I understand you’re upset…”
“You don’t understand anything. I’m assuming you haven’t found Teddie either?”
He brushed aside my question. “We got it covered, Lucky.” He lowered his voice. “There’s more going on here, a lot of players, a lot of money. The politics are very delicate.”
“Well, while you smooth ruffled feathers, my friend’s life hangs in the balance.” I figured if he had Teddie, he’d tell me. No reason not to and every reason to want to throw me a bone, if he had one.
So, no Teddie. Which meant they hadn’t found him, but it also meant he hadn’t washed up on the shore somewhere, so not all bad news.
Stokes glanced around, looking for eavesdroppers. He needn’t have worried; his staff had seen to that, clearing a large perimeter around us. “Trust me. We have this.”
Hands on my hips, I stared at him and couldn’t shake the feeling that he so did not have this. “Take me to the hotel.”
Apparently, that much he could do. The Premier of China wouldn’t have had a better motorcade through town than I did. As I said, the FBI is great on cleanup.
The damage had been done—and they had Romeo.
And still, I had no one to shoot.
The traffic was heavy, the going slow, even as the scooters darted in and out of the cars hung up in the gridlock. I flinched at each turn, at each corner—I would need some time to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road in the long-standing British tradition.
I’d been to Macau many times, but always on business, with my schedule and movements carefully orchestrated. Now, with time, I paid attention to the city parading by. Although long after dark, the sidewalks were still crowded, Christmas decorations very much evident. For some reason, I never equated the Far East with Christmas, but Macau, especially the Macanese, had embraced the Catholicism of their former occupier, Portugal. While Hong Kong had thrown off most of the vestiges of British rule, Macau still embraced much of what the Portuguese had left behind. The ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral stood high on the hill in the middle of town. At night, with its dramatic lighting, the cathedral reminded me of the ancient ruins on the hills that dotted Athens. Around every corner, colonial buildings still in use added a historical anchor, which contrasted sharply with the overbearing casino properties with their tacky neon come-ons.
For me the whole thing had a bit of déjà vu. The Wynn properties here looked exactly like the two at home and were named to match. These were his earlier properties and right around the corner from our own.
Wynn had a new property opening here soon, the Palace. It would be his third in Macau. I thought he was nuts. But it was out on the Cotai Strip, ditto the Venetian, which looked like the one back home, only larger. The Cotai Strip was the new flashy part of the gaming business here. I didn’t much care for it. After the hustle and bustle of the Vegas Strip, the Cotai, with no shops and a super-wide street so folks didn’t wander between the hotels, seemed like a ghost town—a far cry from the insanity of the tight and crowded Vegas Strip.
Central Macau was one bridge and light-years away from the new stuff.
In many ways, the city center seemed like home except with tight, narrow streets that wandered, colonial buildings that reminded me of Florida, and signs I couldn’t read. People crowded the narrow sidewalks. Apartments draped over the streets, tiny cubicles that looked unappealing and sad from the outside. Rectangular air-conditioning units clung to the exterior walls, one for each unit, like alien growths. And there were no sirens. That commonality to each large city whether they be fire, police or ambulance was missing here leaving me with the odd feeling that help was way more than a simple call away.
Alone in the car with Stokes at the wheel, I asked him, “Do you know a guy named Sinjin?”
“Sinjin?” The lights of the city played over his face so I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he had a flash of surprise before he hid it behind his normal pretense of competence. Then he said, “I do, actually,” which surprised the hell out of me. “He’s a regular lowlife around here. Fancies himself a modern-day Robin Hood, in a way.”
“How so?”
“He’s a Chinese champion of truth, justice, and the American way, always lathering up the locals with his talk of fighting corruption and graft.”
“Does he carry a baseball bat?” This story reminded me of the vigilantes who patrolled Vegas back in the day, taking out the guys who didn’t play by the rules. The big question was, whose rules did Sinjin play by? “Any idea how to find him?”
Stokes snorted. “The guy’s a ghost.” He shot me a sideways glance. “It’s my understanding you don’t find him; he finds you. And you’d better be prepared when he does.”
“Terrific, I’m playing a game, and not only do I not know who the players are, I don’t even know the rules.” I turned back to watching the city saunter by outside my window.
“Welcome to my world.”
If Stokes hoped for sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it. Not until he helped me find Romeo.
Finally, we pulled up underneath the grand entrance to our property, the Tigris. We couldn’t call it the Babylon, as someone else had already claimed the name. Some thought the name choice unusual—we already had a world-renowned restaurant in the Babylon known by the same name. But there were no worries that we would open an outpost of our restaurant here in Macau. The Chinese didn’t pay for fancy American feasts—they thought the food too heavy. A high-end steakhouse from the states had boldly gone where few would dare and had opened in a property not far from ours. Last time I’d been, I could’ve shot a rifle through there and not been in danger of hitting anyone. I had no idea if it was still open. Fancy food couldn’t compete with gambling for the Chinese attention and money. Watching the locals run upstairs with their little pots of dehydrated noodles to heat and rehydrate them then rush back to the tables, actually warmed this casino boss’s heart. Time away from the tables was money that didn’t hit my bottom line.
Still, the whole food thing was odd, especially to someone who could wax poetic over anything sublimely prepared…as long as I could identify it. That was sort of up for grabs in China as well. The eating guessing game…not one of my favorites. But then again, I hated games. Here, I usually opted for a grab-n-go hamburger and prayed I wasn’t eating Fido or Fifi.
A young lady stepped up to greet me, a pressed uniform, a lovely smile. “Are you here for the Timepiece Exhibition?” She extended a pamphlet toward me.
I took it. “Yes, thank you.”
She gave me directions to the room where the watches were to be displayed. “It’s an amazing collection. I’m told the value is well over one hundred million U.S.”
I knew that—I’d negotiated the insurance piece by piece. “Thank you.”
She stepped away to greet another patron, and I stuffed the pamphlet in my Birkin. I waved the porter off and then shooed the FBI away. Standing on the curb, I watched the motorcade of black vehicles, all American, all huge, snake its way into the night.
The last car passed, revealing Agent Stokes standing on the other side. Apparently, the Feds decided I needed a keeper.
I didn’t bother showing my irritation—it wouldn’t do any good. “Subtle.” I nodded after the disappearing motorcade.
He joined me on my curb. “Standard Federal issue. I take what I’m given.”
That’s why I didn’t like him! Finally, an answer to why the man burrowed under my skin like a chigger. “People who never rock the boat never make waves, Stokes.”
He looked like he understood…or was being patronizing. Hard to tell with him—another irritation. He picked up my suitcase and pushed open the large glass door.
Even though I knew what awaited us inside, it always startled me.
The lobby looked the same as the Babylon, but it wasn’t the same. The vibe was totally different—everyone patient and deferential. Even though I’d had the course, I still was unsure as to the proper etiquette, which kept me a bit off balance. The last thing I wanted to do was insult someone important when I didn’t intend to.
The chatter was indecipherable. The music, though, that was very much a bit of home. Although right now, I could swear La Vie en Rose was playing.
Different, yet eerily similar—like a funhouse.
While the outside of the Tigris didn’t look like the Babylon, and the inside didn’t feel, smell, or sound like home, many of the design components were similar from the Chihuly glass ceiling to the mosaic tiles. The indoor ski slope hadn’t made the transition, though. And pawnshops replaced the high-end boutiques of The Bazaar back home. Also, no quickie wedding chapel, which personally suited me just fine.
The pawnshops always intrigued me. A cog in the wheel of money laundering sitting there, operating in plain sight—some in the casinos, most of them just outside lining the side streets. The Chinese limited the amount of money a citizen of the People’s Republic could take out of the country—and Macau was considered “out of the country,” a difficult thing for Westerners to keep straight. So, Chinese nationals, and anyone else who wanted to circumvent their own country’s cash-n-carry laws, would stop in at the pawnshop of their choice and buy a very expensive watch on credit. Then, they’d turn around and sell the watch back to the pawn dealer for less than they’d just bought it for. That way the pawn dealer was happy with a percentage and the player had his stake.
And the government looked the other way, knowing they would get their cut of the money put in play. They were making waves about curtailing purchases of luxury goods, but so far the Chinese Government had done only that, make waves. The credit cards issued to the Chinese Nationals were state-issued, so Big Brother not only had one eye in your bedroom, deciding how many children you could have; they also had a hand in your pocket, deciding what sort of purchases the collective wisdom supported.
The whole credit card thing actually was sort of funny. Americans always think they are going to export democracy and free-market economics. What they don’t understand is Russia and China, and many of the other countries struggling with offloading the constraints of Communism didn’t have the infrastructure to make the Western way of life possible. No banks, no individual property, no credit.
The first attempt at credit in China had also included portable credit-card machines, much like we had back home. The problem was, the merchant would carry the credit-card machine to Macau, find an Internet connection, and start issuing credit to Chinese Nationals, as if they all were still in China, thereby bypassing the legal limitations of the exportation of money.
That always made me feel somewhat comfortable, actually. No matter how different we appeared on the outside, on the inside we all were equally as larcenous and as criminally clever. Human nature shared by all. Diversity my ass. Throw money into the mix and we’re all just a pack of hungry dogs.
I was just adjusting to my surroundings when I felt a presence at my shoulder. In China, no one touched anyone else. As a touchy-feely, huggy kind of gal, stifling myself made me twitchy. Inevitably, I would end up with a faux pas or two…or three. I jammed my hands in my pockets and tried to start off at least pretending not to be a bourgeois American.
“Miss O’Toole?” A small woman, brilliant in her flawless skin, silky black hair that cascaded down her back, almond eyes, and perfect features, looked up at me.
So much for riding into town unnoticed. Of course, a six-foot-tall American woman with light hair never really went unnoticed in Asia and never failed to illicit a response, sometimes inappropriate, sometimes irritating, always disconcerting. Some anger, some interest, some touchy-feely in defiance of local convention…a kaleidoscope that kept me on guard and off-kilter. I’d forgotten. The stares as everyone in the lobby turned reminded me. “Yes.”
The lady flicked a glance at Agent Stokes, then concentrated on me. “You must come. Please. We need your help.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked toward the casino.
I started after her, Stokes falling in trail. “Don’t you need to go find Romeo?”
He didn’t answer. I didn’t argue.
Standing a head taller than everyone else, I found it easy to follow the woman’s progress through the crowd. Darting quick glances over her shoulder to make sure we followed, she hurried toward the far end of the large room, then disappeared through a door.
Two steps behind, I caught the door as she let it swing closed. The minute I stepped inside, I recognized the hostess employee lounge. A gaggle of silent young women looked at us with opaque eyes and unreadable expressions. They parted to let us through.
The sight in front of me brought me up short. The agent behind me grabbed my shoulders to keep from bowling me over.
“Shit.” Stokes and I said it in unison, but probably for vastly different reasons.
So much for finding Kimberly Cho.
The surroundings were foreign, but the dead body made me feel right at home.
Miss Cho’s body had been carefully arranged in a circle of gold stars embedded in the dark wood floor. “I’ll find you,” she’d said when she’d phoned out of the blue. I don’t think this was exactly what she had in mind.
She’d called me, and now she was dead.
This one was on me, too. I should have known I couldn’t sneak into town to catch a killer. While I hadn’t brought him, I’d chased him here.
And he’d wasted no time in letting me know how the game would be played.
Careful not to contaminate the murder scene, I pressed two fingers to the hollow of her neck—her skin was still warm. Feeling for a pulse…praying for a pulse. I held my breath, although the lifeless look in her eyes told me all I needed to know.
Kim was dead.
Romeo and Frank Cho were gone.
Not hard to connect the dots.
And that left me flying solo. I didn’t count Agent Stokes as an asset. The über, by-the-book Fed, who didn’t believe in rocking boats would be a huge hindrance if I couldn’t think of a way to ditch him. I tried to ignore the cold seeping through my veins. The killer had killed Kim Cho.
And he had Romeo.
Sitting back on my heels, I stared at the lifeless body, willing it to give up its secrets.
Since I’d last seen Kim in Vegas, she had traded Western make-up for a fresh face, highlighting her youth. And she’d left behind Western fashion, clothed now in a form-fitting silk dress with silk-knotted buttons and a high collar that accentuated the graceful arch of her neck. Dyed a deep vibrant turquoise, the fabric perfectly accented her dark hair and porcelain skin.
I tried to ignore the ivory handle of the knife protruding from her stomach and the seeping dark splotch as I stood rooted to the spot by a desperate need for revenge.
The image of a dragon had been tattooed on the inside of her right forearm. I’d seen it before on the young woman who chauffeured us to the dock from the airport, the same one who’d coldcocked me on the boat, and the flight attendant—it was cropping up enough to take notice. Using my phone, I snapped a couple of photos.
Squinting, focusing, I shifted my attention to the knife. Old, ivory, something about it rang a distant bell. I captured a few quick photos, some panning out to capture the scene, others zooming in to grab the details of the knife. Feeling the pressure of every set of eyes in the room boring holes in my back, I felt the need to hurry, but consciously slowed. These photos could be important. Murder scenes always surprised me with the secrets they held. Some they hid far longer than they should, and photos were often the key to unlocking the truth.
Behind me, the music from the casino filtered in, the volume increasing with each opening of the door, and then muting as it shut, leaving the silence of shock. The women I sensed gathering in the back of the room said nothing, their clothes rustling as they strained to get a better look.
I stood but didn’t turn around. “Who’s in charge here?” I used my grown-up voice, even though the child in me cried. Good or bad, Kim didn’t deserve her fate.
“I am,” a voice called from the crowd.
I knew that voice and that quiet don’t fuck-with-me air. “Cindy Liu!” If it was possible to visibly sigh, then I did. Finally, someone I knew, someone I could rely on, someone I could trust.
A good foot shorter than my six feet, dark hair, flawless skin, almond eyes—green, not the expected brown—she looked like a delicate doll as she stepped out of the crowd to stand in front of me. At the last minute, I stifled my urge to wrap the tiny woman in a bear hug, saving us both an awkward moment.
“Cindy, it’s been a while.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Cindy and I had single-handedly pulled this property together and had opened it on time and in grand fashion. So much in synch, she could anticipate my every wish—I hoped we still had some of that magic. I so desperately needed a point man…and a friend.
“Call Security,” I said, as I worked through a mental checklist. “Then the police. Make sure no one.” –I used my height to impress my point; after the last two days it was all I had—“and I mean no one…” I waited until I got another crisp nod. “No one gets near the video streams from tonight. All of them.”
Sadness lurked under her mask of efficiency as she glanced at the lifeless form of Kimberly Cho, then turned to go. “The police have been alerted.”
Ah, that old black magic….
“And…” I started to say, but she cut me off.
“I will clear the room and have Security keep the girls close by.”
“The police will want to question everybody,” I added, somewhat unnecessarily, or so I thought.
That got a slight smile as she stepped away. “Yes, Miss,” she said, but her tone said, “Yeah, right.”
She turned back, bridging the distance with a hand on my arm. “I will help you.”
I gently touched the goose egg on my head—a throbbing freight train of pain. “Some ice, maybe?”
She gave me a look that wasn’t hard to interpret: There are things you need to know. You can trust me.
“Of course. Thank you.”
Words fled, and I clamped my lips together and my eyes tight as I fought my emotions too long held in check. What if Romeo…. I glanced at Kim Cho, then squeezed the thought away.
Logic, Lucky, logic. You gotta hold it together.
I’d trusted Cindy Liu with my hotel, but could I trust her with my life? Same thing, I reasoned after a bit.
My vision swam and I bent over, putting my hands on my knees, which made the throbbing worse but the standing-without-throwing-up easier. Apparently, I’d reached the end of my proverbial rope. Hanging on by my fingertips, I was swinging over the abyss.
All I had to do was let go…
If I lost it, there wouldn’t be anyone else to make all this right. Pulling myself to my full height, I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and worked to get over myself. Where was Miss P when I needed a kick in the keister?
Cindy Liu would have to do.
One look at her stiff spine, the jut of her jaw, and I knew she would be up to the task.
“Thank you, Cindy.” My gaze took in all the women clumped around us paying partial attention. I was amazed my voice sounded normal, in control. “Do you have the ability to talk with Security directly?”
She produced an iPhone from a hidden pocket that I would’ve bet was out of the question in her skin-tight uniform. “Number two,” she said as she handed the phone to me, then started herding our audience out the door. I glanced at the throng all angling for a look. All Lilliputian. Terrific—I felt like enough of an outcast without having my Amazonian proportions on display. Life always worked out a way for me to stand out when all I wanted to do was blend in.
A lone tall figure hugged the back wall, her face averted. Something familiar tugged at me. Before I could place the feeling, she blended with the crowd and disappeared.
I hit the button Cindy had indicated, pressed the device to my ear, and closed my eyes. Maybe if I stayed this way reality would disappear and I would’ve been in time, and Kim Cho would still be alive.
A male voice answered in Cantonese.
“Is this Security?” I said in English. I didn’t dare use the Cantonese I knew, most of which I’d learned from a hooker at my mother’s whorehouse when I was seven.
“Yes, ma’am.” A clipped accent, not entirely British but with hints. “How may I be of assistance?”
He didn’t interrupt me as I galloped through all of it.
“On my way.”
“No, send a team, the police will be here soon. There’s something else I need you to do.”
He waited while I explained, then we worked through the logistics of patching. I had to patch Jerry, our head of Security, through from home. Thankfully he was at work, whatever day it was and whatever time. I’d given up trying to keep track.
After I’d told the two men what I wanted, I’d rung off, letting them work their magic. After taking a deep breath, I finally dared open my eyes.
Kim Cho was still there, still dead.
And I was still far from home and in over my head. Two killers against one mediocre corporate muckety-muck and a pansy-ass Fed. Not odds even this Pollyanna would take.
I stared at the phone I still clutched tightly, imagining a connection to Vegas, to home. Where would Jean-Charles be? What time was it? Was it daylight or dark? Yesterday or tomorrow? What did it matter, since I wasn’t sure what today was. “Is it possible to feel any further out to sea?” I whispered. Emotion tugged at my already ragged edges. A woman dead. I found myself far from home, far from the man I currently loved, and chasing the one I used to love. The killers had Romeo—now they were the ones with a bargaining chip. “Could you maybe, just once, give me a simple problem to solve?” I muttered, imploring the Powers That Be.
Agent Stokes stood like a statue next to me. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything. I’d forgotten he was there. Ineffectual is easily overlooked.
From the red splotches on his face, he looked like he wasn’t breathing either. “You think that was a good idea?” he said.
Okay, still breathing, but something was bothering him…I mean beyond the obvious. I could only imagine he referred to the job I had given my two Security guys. “No, I think it’s a terrible idea. That’s why I chose to do it.”
The sarcasm didn’t faze him. “The local authorities will take a dim view. They like to keep a lid on their investigations.”
“And I like to cover my ass. Besides, I don’t give a damn what they do. It’s my property.”
Agent Stokes turned and looked at me—something in his gaze brought me up short. “That’s where you’re wrong. Private property is a malleable concept to the Chinese. And human life is easily distilled to a dollar figure.”
Since I had a Ph.D. from the do-it-first-beg-forgiveness-later school, and Stokes was apparently a dropout, I didn’t bother explaining. Besides, he looked green underneath the red. “This your first dead body, Stokes?”
When he turned to look at me, his eyes, now all dewy, flicked from mine. “My first female team member to die on my watch.”
Jet-lagged to the max, still reeling from the blow to my head, that little stink bomb staggered me. “Kimberly Cho worked for you?”
The FBI pansy nodded; the muscles of his jaw knotted, making him look like GI Joe without the balls and the finely-honed sense of justice.
I’d finally found somebody to shoot.
I gripped his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Need to know. The more who knew, the more at risk she was.”
What if I had known she was an ally? My gaze lingered on her face. How different would it have turned out for her? We’d never know, and Stokes would have to live with it—as the head of the team, the choices had been his.
Yeah, I wanted to shoot him. Right now, he might welcome it.
My phone vibrated at my hip, forestalling my homicidal tendencies. The ID said “Unknown.” Knowing caller ID was a long shot in these parts, I answered it. “Lucky O’Toole.”
“Oh, Lucky! I hope I didn’t awaken you.” Mona.
Where was my gun when I needed it?
“Lucky, am I catching you at a bad time?”
With Kim Cho in front of me, Mona wanting to chat, and all eyes burning tiny holes in my flesh, I felt ensnared by indecision and incongruity. There were so many things wrong with this picture, this moment…Mona’s question. Since when did she worry about catching me “at a bad time”? This was a bad dream; that had to be it. I turned to Stokes. “Pinch me.”
“What?” He looked irritated. Understandable.
Then Mona said, “Lucky, don’t be silly; I can’t pinch you.”
“Hang on, Mother.” I lowered the phone then said to Stokes. “Okay, don’t pinch me, but punch me in the arm.”
That he could do—with relish. And it hurt. I put the phone back to my ear. “Damn, not a bad dream. A nightmare, yes, but no dream.”
“Lucky, are you drunk?” Mona’s voice held disapproval.
“Just high on life, Mother. What can I do for you?”
Agent Stokes moved away, his phone pressed to his ear as he quietly spoke into it. Miss Liu wove through the crowd, giving instructions in a hushed tone as, with heads bowed, the girls looked at me through their lashes.
I was an island in a sea of curiosity with the added pain of Mona in my ear. “Oh, Lucky, I’ve done the most wonderful thing, and I want to tell you about it.”
The pit of my stomach hit the floor. I looked around the room, hoping for a window I could jump out of. Oh, yeah, a casino. No windows. My luck. Pressing my eyes closed, I squeezed the phone. “What did you do, Mother?” I tried to keep my tone light, hoping for the best.
“You know that block of rooms at the Babylon you were holding back for no reason?” Her voice was breathy with excitement.
Something I didn’t share. I had a reason for holding back the rooms. Clearly that possibility had been lost on my mother, like so many other things, such as thoughtfulness and logic. “Hmm.” That was all I trusted myself to say.
“I’ve rented the whole block, and at a premium, too!” She sounded so self-satisfied, so productive.
Okay, okay. I slowed my breathing, worked for calm. This wasn’t a disaster. This could actually be okay. Brandy and I could rework the room allotment. There were some rooms at Cielo as well that I’d held back. I found myself letting a bit of her enthusiasm leak into my dour mood, just a little bit, but the panic that had tied my stomach in a knot was loosening. “That’s terrific, Mother. Who to?” I cringed against the anticipated blow of her answer—experience had given me a bit of wisdom at least, although not the kind I really needed.
“A group of the nicest young people. A convention called CrackHack.” She must’ve heard my sharp intake as she rushed on, hurrying her words. “I know. I was leery, too. So I made sure they weren’t one of these medical marijuana groups or anything.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “At first, I thought maybe they were one of those sexual fetish groups.”
If panic hadn’t once again constricted every blood vessel and working organ I had, I would’ve laughed. And I wanted to know just what CrackHack conjured in that addlepated brain of hers. TMI, I know, but I’m a glutton for punishment, although I didn’t have the stomach for it right now.
With my free hand, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Guess you covered most of the bases, which is good—not perfect, but good. There’s only one minor problem. Mother, do you know what they do?”
“Something with computers.”
“That’s like saying NASA does something with air travel. They are a group dedicated to hacking into other people’s computers.”
“Oh,” Mona’s voice went all flutter…sorta like my heart. “They wouldn’t do that. They’re such nice young people.”
“Cancel their reservations, now, Mother. There isn’t a hotel on this planet that wants them in-house with access.”
“But I can’t; they’re already here.”
I counted to twenty. Didn’t help. Didn’t think counting to one hundred would either, so I gave it up. “Well, I’m only half a world away; I ought to be able to handle this.”
“Lucky, there’s nothing to handle.”
I couldn’t tell whether she sounded contrite or indignant—I didn’t care. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Mother. I have a lot on my plate: two killers, a missing, ex…oh, wait, make that two missing exes.” Yes, I had once fallen for Irv Gittings’ personal brand of sleaze. Not a proud moment, but a long time ago…when I’d been even more stupid. “A couple of enforcers for the Triad, a murder to solve, and one to plan.” I couldn’t tell her about Romeo.
“You’re going to kill somebody?” Mona’s voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “Who?”
“You.” I disconnected before I said anything I didn’t actually mean.