“Who, me?” I looked down to make sure my wardrobe hadn’t magically morphed into something sexier than I remembered.
“Absolutely.”
“Uh, thanks.” I tried not to argue with a win. It sounded obvious when I first heard Baba say it, but the philosophy was more challenging than it seemed.
Daniel watched with interest as Baba’s wait staff brought steaming dishes to the tables behind me. “You know, I’ve never eaten here before, but I’ve heard great things about your father’s cooking.”
Was he backing out already?
“I guess we could eat here, if you want.”
“Honestly, Lily, it doesn’t matter. I’m just looking forward to spending time with you.”
His eyes crinkled into narrow slits and his mouth bowed into a heart-shaped smile, the kind that went up on either side of center like the Joker’s. If I detected the slightest whiff of comic book psycho-crazy, I was going to kick him to the street no matter how many compliments he threw my way.
“That’s a helluva line, Mr. Kwok. Did you go to school for that?”
He paused longer than necessary before replying. “No. I have a BA in business.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Well, I get a lot of my father’s cooking. So what do you say we go check out the foodie paradise?”
Daniel beamed, obviously delighted with my choice. “After you.”
He opened the door and held it while I walked out to the boulevard. Apparently, Daniel Kwok played the gentleman even when Ma wasn’t watching.
I rolled my eyes and caught a glimpse of the full moon. It shone like the polished disk in my dojo temple, reflecting my ill-thoughts and suspicious nature. Could Daniel be the real deal? It wouldn’t be the first time I judged someone more harshly than they deserved. Call it self-preservation. Rose had been trusting to a fault, and look what happened to her. Then again, nothing about Daniel seemed disingenuous, just literal. If I wanted to enjoy the evening, I’d need to rein in the snark.
And then I saw his car.
The black Lexus sedan screamed business exec so loudly I expected the license plate to read FUTRCEO. Fortunately, Daniel misinterpreted my pained expression for impressed surprise. “You like it? My father drives the same car in Hong Kong.”
“Then it must be hard for him to get around.” The comment slipped out before I could stop it. Daniel must have heard it because his head tipped like a puppy trying to figure out how the ball he had been chasing had suddenly disappeared. It was kind of cute. “I’m kidding. It’s a beautiful car. Your dad has good taste.”
Daniel grinned, and I was pleased to see it no longer reminded me of the Joker.
“My father’s a smart man. Just like your grandfather.”
I let his observation about Gung-Gung pass without comment. We had come to the first hurdle of the evening—getting into the car.
I didn’t go out on dates often, but when I did, I always arranged to meet the guy at the destination. This allowed me to bail if things got weird and kept a potential stalker from knowing where I lived. It amazed me that more women didn’t do this. Instead, they blithely gave out their home addresses and trapped themselves in confined spaces with men they barely knew. It made me want to scream. None of those women would ever get in a stranger’s car, and yet they did just that every time they went on a first date. And not just the first date, how about the second, or the third?
How long did it take to detect a rapist or a psychopath? Weeks? Months? Ever?
Calm down, Lily.
I took a steadying breath. I had let Daniel pick me up because, thanks to Ma, he already knew where I lived and because our families knew each other. If he turned out to be a serial killer, Gung-Gung would go on the war path and wipe out the entire Kwok family. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but the point was, Daniel’s family would lose enormous face, which would likely ruin them in Hong Kong.
I tried not to think of any of this as Daniel opened the passenger side door and waited while I did the whole leg-folding thing. It wasn’t easy—not because of the knee-length skirt, but because of my nerves. If at that moment I had been given a choice between getting in Daniel’s car and hanging back on the Ukrainian’s hook, I would have chosen the hook. At least I’d know the score.
The last time I let a man get me in a car, the evening had gone horribly wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A food critic once described République as a super-bistro on steroids. That seemed about right. The restaurant offered an elegantly rustic ambiance with an epicurean menu that would have satisfied the most discerning gastronome. And from the sights and smells that greeted me in the foyer, I’d say they’d nailed it.
“Can I just breathe in our meal?”
Daniel smiled, inordinately pleased, as if he had slaved in the kitchen himself. “But then we’d deprive our taste buds of the pleasure.”
“Good point. We better eat.” I gaped at the racks of meat displayed behind glass. “And I may need a steak.”
Daniel laughed. He might not get my sardonic humor, but he seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm for food. He pointed at the bottles lined up in a temperature-controlled wine cabinet. “And a good merlot?”
“Sure. Why not?” I wasn’t a big drinker, but that sounded like something I could get behind.
We followed the hostess past the gleaming modern bar and main dining hall, through a stone archway, and into a long room with vaulted ceilings and cozy alcoves tucked against the walls. Clearly, this was the place to be—away from the crowd and in sight of the open gourmet kitchen.
The hostess gestured for Daniel to walk up the kitchen side of the long central table and escorted me up the other. Then she stopped in the middle and offered me a seat with the perfect culinary view.
“Is this okay?” Daniel asked, glancing from the dignified couple on my right to a party of thirty-somethings on my left.
“Are you kidding? This is like house seats at the ballet. It can’t be an accident.”
“It could be.”
“But it’s not. Seriously, Daniel. When did you make this reservation?”
“Okay, you got me. I made it last week when your mom invited me to dinner.”
“She invited you last week?” I wasn’t sure which annoyed me more, that my date had presumed I’d accept his offer or that my mother had given him more notice to last night’s dinner than she had given me.
He shrugged. “You’re family. She knew she could count on you.” I must have made a face because he looked surprised. “What?”
“I doubt she would agree.”
“Of course she would. You’re a good daughter, and good daughters always honor their parents.”
I laughed. I had so many things to say about that comment I hardly knew where to begin. “And what about sons? Do you always follow your parents’ wishes?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Not even the slightest equivocation?”
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. Because this isn’t ancient China?”
“Traditions are the foundation of living, and what’s more traditional than honoring one’s parents?”
Was he for real?
To avoid answering, I snuck peeks at my neighbor’s plate, triggering an embarrassingly loud growl from my belly.
Daniel laughed. “Wait till you see the menu.”
République offered so many intriguing choices that we ended up ordering one entrée and a selection of appetizers and sides to share. As each delectable came and went, I took the measure of the man sitting across from me. He had asked about my interests, but when I danced around the topic, he seemed just as pleased to tell me about himself. I couldn’t figure out whether he was self-absorbed or nervously trying to fill space. Either way, his monologue spared me from having to prevaricate and allowed me to devour more than my share of the Gruyère-potato beignets.
Da
niel continued as though he had my undivided attention. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m pulling in a good salary, and I’ve risen faster than any of the other new loan brokers, but the company has a glass ceiling, and the top is exclusively white male. I don’t see them ever promoting an Asian.”
I popped a roasted Brussels sprout into my mouth and closed my eyes. Whoever had originally thought to pair these little cabbages with bacon deserved some kind of award.
Daniel watched as he sipped his merlot. “I’ve never seen a woman enjoy food as much as you.”
“Really? Well, this chef is amazing.”
“True. But still, you must exercise a lot.”
I snorted. “Why’s that?”
He made a face as if the answer were obvious. “Because you have the perfect figure.”
I stopped chewing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
I thought of Kateryna Romanko’s delicate femininity, Mia Mikkelsen’s towering abundance, and my mother’s classically proportioned elegance. Each of their body types seemed more desirable than my broad shoulders and muscular thighs.
And yet, my date seemed genuinely baffled. “Why would I kid?”
I thought about answering, but Daniel didn’t need to hear my insecurities. Besides, I had already noted his personality characteristics. Gratuitous flattery was not one of them. Daniel said exactly what he meant. In my world, where deceit and manipulation obscured the truth, his unmitigated statements cut through like a beacon of light.
He took my hand and stroked the top of it with his thumb. Then, as if the gesture might be too intimate for a first date, he switched his attention to Gung-Gung’s bracelet. “This suits you.”
“Really? I almost didn’t wear it.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Too fragile.”
He took it as a joke. It wasn’t. The only reason I had changed my mind was because I could tuck it under the cuff of my jacket if I ran into trouble. Besides, the platinum links went well with my silver phurba dagger. And there was no question about me wearing that.
Daniel tapped my hand. “Bold and unusual.”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s why it suits you. A single color of jade would have been too safe, too ordinary.”
As I floundered for something to say, our waitress came by to collect the plates. “Would you like to see our dessert menu?” she asked.
Her offer relieved one embarrassment and bloomed another. The dignified couple to my left had been nibbling at a fried croissant drowned in hazelnut chocolate for the last half hour. I desperately wanted to try it, but after Daniel’s comment about my hefty appetite, I felt self-conscious. Once again, Daniel cut through the bullshit.
“I think we’ll need a couple of those,” he said, nodding toward the cornetti fritti. Then he leaned closer to me and dropped his voice.
I froze. If I as this transparent about dessert, what had I revealed about myself?
“I didn’t think you’d want to share.”
I didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Siren Club was a trendy place that catered to an elite crowd with deep pockets and an appreciation for top shelf drinks. It made sense that the bouncer, elegantly attired in black on black, paid more attention to the clientele than the head count.
“I’m glad I left my jacket in the car.”
“Huh?”
I shrugged. “My dress looks sexier without it.”
He laughed. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. You’d look sexy in sweats.”
The last time he had seen me, I had, in fact, been wearing a sweat suit, albeit a nice one. Maybe my fashion choices weren’t so bad after all. I smiled. “Thanks. Although I wasn’t fishing for a compliment; I just want to get into the club. But you look nice enough for both of us, so I’m sure they’ll let us in.”
Daniel beamed. Mr. Perfect had a streak of vanity.
“I still can’t believe you suggested this place,” he said. “You don’t seem like someone who’d be into the club scene.”
“I’m not normally, but a friend of mine used to work here. She made it sound pretty cool. Besides, the night is young and we’re all dressed up.”
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a terrific idea. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
Daniel wasn’t wrong to be surprised. I hadn’t visited a club since I had gone trolling for Rose’s murderer. The only reason I had suggested it tonight was because I wanted to see where Mia had worked and maybe chat up some of her former co-workers. Slow nights, like Tuesdays, gave bartenders and waitresses time to work bigger tips by engaging with their customers. Also, I’d have more freedom on a date. A lone woman on an off night attracted the wrong kind of attention.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked. “Because we could always call it a night.”
“No way. I’m having too good of a time.”
“Me too,” I said, and was surprised by how much I meant it.
The bouncer asked for our IDs, and I caught his gaze drifting to my bracelet and Daniel’s watch.
“See. You look stunning,” said Daniel as the bouncer waved us into the club.
I smiled, but I knew the truth: we had passed the bouncer’s wealth-o-meter. Still, the warmth of Daniel’s breath against my neck felt awfully nice. I brushed my cheek along his to whisper back my thanks and was annoyed to hear that my voice had dropped an octave.
“Lily? Are you okay?”
“Huh? Of course.” I had blocked the entryway during my little interlude with Daniel’s cheek, and the group behind us were getting impatient. “Just waiting to follow you in,” I said—as if I ever waited to follow anyone anywhere.
Daniel smiled and led the way into the club. When he arrived at the junction between the dance hall and the lounge, I asked if he wanted to dance. I needed to burn up my hormone-induced energy before I could concentrate on intelligence gathering, and this seemed like the most expedient way to do it. Unfortunately, Daniel turned out to be a distractingly sensual dancer. It took a half dozen songs before I felt back in control of my emotions. By then, I was happy to follow Daniel to the bar. I felt even happier when I saw the mass of thirsty patrons waiting for their turn. It would take at least thirty minutes for him to maneuver his way to the front, catch the attention of a bartender, and pay for the drinks—plenty of time for me to go ask some questions.
I tapped Daniel on the shoulder and shouted near his ear. “I’m going to find a restroom.”
“Okay. What do you want to drink?”
“Something with ice.”
He gave me a thumbs-up and turned back toward the bar. I left him to it and set out to get some answers.
I didn’t need to relieve myself, and I didn’t care about washing away the sweat, so I wasn’t sure what caused me to detour to the restroom; I just found myself walking through an exit and down a relatively deserted corridor to what the club euphemistically referred to as the Ladies’ Salon.
As the heavy doors closed behind me and the throbbing bass beats deadened to a soothing pulse, I realized the salons were intended for more than pit stops. Clubbers could come here to primp in peace or enjoy a quiet conversation. They could even lie down on a couch and rest their aching feet. I doubted it ever occurred to the designers of the club what other actions soundproof walls might inspire.
Then again, maybe it had.
I didn’t know about the Gentlemen’s Salon, but the bathroom stalls in the Ladies’ Salon had thick wooden doors and enough space inside for two adults to engage in all manner of sexual gymnastics. And from the thumping coming from the stall at the end of the aisle, I figured an adventurous couple was putting this to the test.
Until I heard crying.
“Quiet,” a man whispered, followed by whimpers from a woman.
This didn’t sound like an erotic nightclub hookup, it sounded like rape.
I raced down the ai
sle and pounded on the teak door. “Get out of there. Now!”
The woman cried for help, but her voice was muffled midway through the word. I yanked at the handle and pounded, again. “Security is on its way.”
The thumping and whimpering continued. Whoever this monster was, he wasn’t going to stop until someone made him. I jumped on the counter opposite the stall. Good thing I had opted for practical boots rather than sexy high heels or what I was about to do would have been a whole lot harder.
I grabbed the door and pulled myself over the top. My entrance wasn’t as cool as Jackie Chan’s dive through the casino cashier slot, but it got me into the fight—head first. I grabbed fistfuls of the man’s hair, and twisted to send his face smashing into the opposite wall, which would have been wickedly cool if I hadn’t conked my own head in the process and squished the woman into the gap beside the toilet.
Pain shot through my neck. My vision wavered. I grabbed at the man to pull myself up. He slammed me back down. My head missed the toilet bowl and smacked onto the tile floor. I tucked my knees to jam his punch and stomp kicked him into the teak door. The woman screamed. The stall that would have been roomy for one and cozy for two, had become a deathtrap for three. I had to end this fight.
“Stay back,” I shouted, more to the woman than the man. I needed her out of my way and out of his path.
Instead, she attacked, fists hammering in a frenzy of ill-targeted strikes. The man clubbed her with his arm. She slid to the floor.
“Sonofabitch,” I yelled, and kneed his balls so far into his gut they wouldn’t drop for a week.
He howled in pain—not just from his impacted testicles but from the zipper that had ripped his exposed scrotum from stern to stem.
Justice was a bitch. And tonight, that bitch was me.
I left the would-be rapist to his suffering and helped the woman out of the stall just as a bouncer charged into the ladies’ lounge, followed by a couple women and their dates. The distraught victim crumpled into the arms of her girlfriends. The bouncer headed for the stall. The dates pressed in to help. No one looked at me.
The Ninja Daughter Page 11