The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  Miri shook her head. “That young man is screwed up.”

  “He’s more than screwed up. When I catch up with him again, he’s dead. Really, truly, dead.”

  “He made a mistake.”

  “Fuck that. He almost killed you. Hell, he was okay with you dying, or else he wouldn’t have handed you over like he did. That’s a lethal offense in my book.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Miri said. “I still need to get you some clothes.”

  “You don’t even have money.”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Miri—”

  “What? You think walking around naked isn’t going to draw some unwanted attention? It’s going to be light soon. Give me a break. I lived for twenty years without you looking over my shoulder, and I did just fine. In fact, I did great. So you just stay here and hang tight. I won’t be long.”

  Dean grabbed her wrist as she turned away. He pulled her back, hard, wrapping his arms around her body like a vise.

  “You don’t get it, do you?” he whispered. “You got no idea. Being able to take care of yourself is not the issue, Miri. You always could handle things. But not knowing? Not knowing where you are, not knowing if you’re in trouble and need help? That’s what bothers me.”

  “We can’t stay glued together forever,” she protested. “We have lives, you know. And despite all this, I hope we both have something to go back to.”

  “Sure,” Dean said. “But I’m not losing you again.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Say no,” he said. “Say anything. I don’t care. I have to be with you. I have to live with you. I have to know you’re going to be there in the morning and night and whenever I need to see you. Jesus, Miri. If I can’t sleep in your bed, I’ll be sleeping under your window.”

  “Which is covered in cacti.”

  “Love hurts,” he said. “It’ll just hurt a little more, that’s all.”

  She closed her eyes. “If you were any other man, I would be scared right now. You are such a stalker.”

  “I don’t want you scared,” he said softly. “But I do want you safe.”

  Miri placed her hands on his chest and pushed hard until he let her go. “You can’t keep me safe, Dean. You can’t control the world. One day, something is going to happen, and it won’t matter if you’re ready, if you’re standing in front of me to take the fall. When the time comes, the time comes. The obituary is already written.”

  You have to kill her. When the time comes, you have to kill Mirabelle.

  Dean closed his eyes. He heard Miri say his name, but he waved her off, and the next time he looked, she was gone.

  It did not take Miri long at all to acquire what she needed. No money and no cell phone meant either stealing, or the kindness of strangers, and because there were no open shops within the general vicinity, her options became quite limited, indeed.

  But she lucked out; a group of elderly men and women had just gathered on the lawn several hundred yards away, ready for their morning exercises of dance and swordplay—and Miri, blouse torn, hair disheveled, made the perfect victim of a violent crime, which not only she, but her American friend, had fallen prey to, in a most embarrassing fashion.

  Five minutes later, Dean had pants, a shirt, and about as many dinner invitations as he could handle. He borrowed a cell phone, too, and called the safe house. Koni picked up on the first ring.

  He brought clothes. A cab. And then they left for the airport.

  No one gave chase. Or if they did, they were impossible to see. Dean made the cabdriver go down odd streets, take bad turns, while Koni watched traffic through the rear window. Miri sat between them and tried not to feel useless. Tried not to have a nervous breakdown as she thought of Bai Shen and Lysander, or his talk about the jade. She thought of Owen, too, but after a moment’s thought, realized that his little Glen Campbell statue had been in Dean’s jeans when he was set on fire. It might still be on the rooftop of the Memorial Hall—or melted down into nothing—but either way, it was irretrievable. She had no other connection to the old man.

  And you forgot him. Granted, you’ve had a good excuse, but you’re free and he’s not, and he’s almost seventy years old. He can’t handle stress the way he used to. If you don’t find him—

  She stopped herself from finishing that thought. No, no, no. She would find him again. Owen was not lost forever. She just hoped he would forgive her for taking so long to catch up with him.

  It took more than forty minutes to drive to the Chiang Kai-shek International Airport, but only because of Dean’s shenanigans with the cabdriver. Once they hit the freeway, the cruise was smooth. Miri looked out the window only once and saw that the sky had lightened.

  Dean held her close. She could feel the tension in his body, a hard stress. He let go only once to use the cell phone Koni had brought with him from the safe house. He left a message for an “Artur,” and explained they were leaving town, but that—and here, he glanced at Miri—there was someone else who needed help: an old man named Owen Wills.

  “No offense,” Koni said, after Dean placed the call, “but do you really want to use Artur like that? He could read that jade without a problem—probably find out everything you need to know about it.”

  “Just not where it is,” Dean said. “Although you’re right. He’s better at the infodump than I am.”

  “Excuse me?” Miri interrupted. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “A colleague and friend,” Dean said. “He’s a psychometrist. He learns things by touching objects.”

  “And you think he can find Owen?”

  “I know it. Artur reads energy, too, but in a different way. I don’t think he’ll be blocked like I’ve been.”

  Miri nodded. “I care more about finding Owen than the jade.”

  “I figured,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

  At the airport, Koni gave special instructions to the driver, speaking in a fluent Mandarin that had both Dean and Miri turning their heads.

  “What?” Koni said, when they kept staring. “I’m good with languages. Is that a problem?”

  “No,” Dean said. “But it’s a surprise. How many do you speak?”

  “I don’t know. A lot. Enough. Maybe twenty.”

  “Holy shit.”

  Koni shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal. Even you speak some Chinese.”

  “My grandmother taught the both of us,” Miri said.

  “I’ve forgotten a lot,” Dean added. “But twenty?”

  “You are such a jealous man,” Koni said.

  The driver followed a curving path that led them to a chain-link fence and a guard station where two young soldiers in full uniform with machine guns looped over their chests stopped the cab and, in polite terms, asked what the hell they were doing there. Koni rolled down the window, and in a Very Important Voice explained that a private airliner expected them. And that they had better be let through. Right fucking now.

  The men made a call. Nodded their heads. Within seconds the cab was shown on its way. The driver smiled.

  The next half hour was equally easy. A customs official met them at the stairs to a small Lear jet. He asked no questions; simply looked at their passports, scanned them with a handheld device, and then stamp! stamp! stamp! Good-bye, Taiwan. Miri managed to keep her mouth shut until they were on the plane, belted down in luxurious leather seats, assisted by a tiny Thai woman who made apologies for the awful state of the interior while handing them sparkling champagne in tall flutes that tinkled merrily when Miri’s nails hit the glass.

  “Not just a detective agency,” she said to Dean. “Do you guys own a small country? No one gets this kind of treatment.”

  “You do if you know who to talk to and you have a load of money,” Dean said. “Which Dirk & Steele does. It’s not a perk the agency uses all that often, though. We don’t want to draw too much attention.”

  “Right,” Miri said. “Because this
has all been a study in subtlety.”

  Their captain was young and cheerful, with a ruddy face and a good look in his eye, and they were off the ground in no time at all. Up until the moment the wheels left the ground, Dean and Koni and Miri glanced frequently out the windows for any signs of approaching trouble. Miri, in particular, looked for a silver head, a tall man with a gun and a smile.

  But nothing happened, and Miri watched the sun rise from twenty-five thousand feet.

  And then she laid back her head and fell asleep.

  She awakened less than half an hour before they were scheduled to land. Koni was asleep. Dean was not. He looked at her when she moved, and she wiped her eyes, her mouth. Drool. Lovely.

  “Did you dream?” Dean asked.

  Miri thought it was an interesting question, especially coming from him. His eyes were tired, the skin around them dark.

  “I had a dream,” she said. “But it was strange. I was in a dark place. It was cold. I felt like I was waiting for something, and you were there, too. We were both waiting.”

  “And?”

  “And then you were taken away. I woke up.”

  Dean did not say anything. There was not a seat directly beside him, so Miri settled for reaching across the aisle to touch his hand. She wanted to do more. “Did you sleep?”

  Dean shook his head and pulled up the edge of the blanket in his lap; Miri looked down and saw the red jade.

  “You keeping it warm?” she asked.

  “Funny. I’ve been trying to keep it close to my body. Like it’ll help strengthen the connection.”

  “And has it?”

  Dean shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t had any visions, but I do … feel something off the jade. I can’t really explain it.”

  “At least you’re not speaking in tongues.”

  He grimaced. “Again, bad scene. You sure you can’t tell me more about what happened?”

  “If I could, I would.” Miri hesitated, and touched the jade. One light tap. Nothing happened, and she picked it up and weighed the stone in her hand. Warmth traveled up her arm, resting heavy in her chest. She touched her breastbone with her other hand.

  “Miri?” Dean asked quietly.

  “I feel a connection with this thing,” she told him. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Try.”

  Miri hesitated. “It’s like it’s part of me, Dean. Like it should be hanging right where I found it in that mummy. Right here.” She tapped herself.

  “Yeah?” Dean touched his own chest. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

  “You feel the same when you touch the jade?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I think that anything I feel may have more to do with that cut above my heart.”

  Miri tugged gently at the collar of his shirt. Dean frowned, but instead of helping her, he leaned just far enough away to pull off his shirt. Miri swallowed hard, trying to remain clinical. She had already seen him naked at Memorial Park, but that was in darkness and under highly stressful circumstances. Intimacy had been the last thing on her mind—only survival.

  But here, now …

  His chest was smooth and pale, though his skin was marred by scars. And not all of them she recognized. Miri touched a spot on his ribs: one long line that cut down his side.

  Dean shivered. “Army exercise that went awry.”

  “And this?” she asked, touching another healed cut on his stomach.

  “Cornered kidnapper in Brazil. I took the guy off guard and he had no gun. So he went for the kitchen knife.”

  “Who had he kidnapped?”

  “The teenage son of some local doctor he was trying to get money from. We were in the area on another case and found out about the crime from a contact. It didn’t take much effort to step in and do something.”

  “Not much effort, huh? That was a bad wound, Dean.”

  “Too bad I wasn’t indestructible back then.”

  Miri shook her head. There were other scars, but she didn’t ask. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a laundry list of all the times he had been put in danger.

  It won’t end. He loves his job too much. This is who he is now, guns and all. You think you can live with that?

  Not that anyone was asking her to. Though when she thought about being away from Dean, not having him in her life …

  She swallowed hard and focused in on the curving wound above his heart. It was a clean cut, a fine incision. She could see the edges of his flesh, just ready to peel away.

  “This was no dream, Dean.”

  “I’d like to pretend it was. The idea of really being set on fire—”

  “You think Lysander did this to you?”

  “At first I did. But now? I don’t know, babe. It doesn’t feel right. And besides, there was more of a … female presence at the time.”

  “Female,” she said. “Huh.”

  Dean scowled. “Not like that. Just … shit, I don’t know.”

  “No need to squirm,” Miri said, hiding a smile. “But it’s just weird, that’s all.”

  The jade still felt warm. Miri glanced down, turning it in the light, studying the lines cut into the stone. She looked again at the cut in Dean’s chest and frowned as something tickled her brain. An odd thought. She held the jade up to his chest.

  “You’re making me nervous,” Dean said, peering at her face and then looking down at the jade in her hand. “What are you thinking?”

  “Something wild,” she said. “Something impossible.”

  “Miri …”

  “That cut in your chest, Dean. It matches a mark in the jade.” And she ran her fingernail against the carved red line and held it up for him. “Right here. See?”

  “You’re joking,” he said, barely looking at the jade. “Babe, there’s no way there’s a connection.”

  Miri stared at him. “Are you kidding? After everything that’s happened tonight? How can you possibly reject it outright?”

  “Because it’s easier than considering the alternative. Glowing like a light bulb? Burning like hell?”

  “Is there a pattern to it?”

  Dean hesitated. “Magic types. When they’re around, things start to bark inside my chest.”

  “Woof,” Miri said. “What an alarm system.”

  He scowled, but there was something else in his eyes that made her sit up and frown. “What?” she asked.

  Dean closed his eyes. “I need to tell you something, Miri. You’re not going to like it.”

  “With an opening like that, I can bet I won’t.”

  He sighed. “Just before I reached the roof of that Memorial Hall where Bai Shen took you, I had a run-in with an … associate of a friend. He said some things about us. He said that we’re both ‘the keys’ to this mystery, that the jade was secondary to us.”

  “Okay,” Miri said slowly. “That’s some statement. Does this guy know what he’s talking about?”

  “I have no clue. Tonight was the first time I’ve ever met this guy, Rictor, and the things I’ve heard before haven’t painted him in the best light. Bottom line? He’s not that trustworthy.”

  “But you must think there’s some merit to what he said, or else you wouldn’t be telling me now.”

  Dean shook his head. “No, he’s full of shit. In fact, I know he is.”

  But there was something pained in his eyes when he said it, and Miri chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering.

  “You’re holding back,” she finally said. Dean’s gaze flickered, but Miri shook her head before he could deny it. “You can run, but you can’t hide. What else did he say?”

  She thought he would hold back, that she would have to fight him for the truth, but after a short hesitation, Dean said, “He told me that I needed to kill you.”

  Miri stared. A chill raced through her and she quickly sat back, trying to put some imaginary distance between herself and the words she had just heard. But Dean followed her, reaching out across the aisle. He touched her hand, the
back of her neck.

  “I would never hurt you,” he said. “Miri, are you listening to me?”

  She shrugged him off, scowling. “Give me some credit. I don’t think you’re a complete moron.”

  Dean blew out his breath. “I’m sorry I told you, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what he said. I was gonna bust a gut if I couldn’t share. And no, he didn’t give a reason.”

  “Then chalk him up to being crazy and forget about it,” Miri told him, trying to suppress her uneasiness. “Unless you think …”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t.”

  Miri smiled. She wanted to kiss him, wanted nothing more than to wrap her body around that bare chest and sink down into his skin for one long hug, like the kind Dean used to give her for no reason at all. Just because he thought she needed one. Just because it was the right thing to do.

  Miri unbuckled her seat belt and crossed the aisle to Dean. He stared at her for a moment, uncertainty flashing through his eyes, but as she sank into his lap he seemed to understand and he folded her close. The flight attendant glanced up once from her seat near the front of the plane. A smile played on her lips.

  Dean held her. His breath ruffled her hair. The rise and fall of his chest felt like some silent music only her body could hear, and Miri cradled the jade in her hands. Her legs dangled over the armrest.

  “Why are we doing this?” she asked him softly, lulled by his warmth, the safety of his presence, which felt so much like home—the old forgotten home of her youth—that she felt a tear curl into her eyes and blinked hard.

  “Why this treasure hunt?” Dean replied. His lips brushed her brow. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Because even if we do find the other half, what then? People will still keep chasing us. When does it stop?”

  “It doesn’t. That’s what bothers me, Dean. There’s so much going on here, and I just … can’t see the whole picture. If there is a picture. Robert. A man who can’t be killed, who says he has been ordered to steal the jade and kidnap me. Package deal, two for one. Kevin Liao. Department head who destroys four-thousand-year-old mummies, also wants the jade, and has an assistant—a girl formally unremarkable—who makes Rambo look like a mama’s boy. They appear to be working for a woman, Lysander’s mate, in fact—”