“Chinese New Year.”
There were gaily dressed people, bright lights and enough noise to deafen half a city. Marla had to lean in close just to hear what Erik had said. The fact that doing so put him as close to her as her own clothing and that it delighted her was a revelation to her.
She’d always kept both men and feelings at arm’s length, afraid that reality was not nearly as satisfying as the fantasies that evolved in her mind, seeded by stories that existed between the pages of books.
But this was outmatching any fantasy she’d ever come up with. And she found herself really getting into it at moments.
The moments were growing longer.
Who was this man she’d been forced to throw in her lot with? Was he really on the right side, or was she being an unwitting dupe?
Looking into his eyes, she thought not. She knew at least ten people who would have called her a fool for abandoning all logical reasoning and leading with her instincts, but there it was. She was going with her gut. Or, more to the point, with her heart.
Because her heart was definitely going for a ride tonight. And she was loving it.
“Try to blend in.”
His words were breathed against her face, and she was more aware of him than what he was saying. She shook her head, inclining it even closer to his mouth. She felt his breath on her temple, and goose bumps rose to attention. “What?”
Erik indicated the throng all around them. “Try to blend in,” he repeated.
This was Chinatown, and they were surrounded by its citizens and the relatives of those citizens. She stood out like a red flag on a snowbank.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Chinese.”
He smiled at her then. A smile that went clear down to the bone and took up residence within places that, a scant fifty years ago, weren’t mentioned in polite society. “Oh, I noticed, all right. I noticed a great deal about you, Marla O’Connor.”
He was using her full name again, as if he was mocking her. She frowned as they continued moving with the celebrants. “I wish you’d stop saying my name that way. You make it sound like I’m some backwoods foundling who never graduated third grade.”
He laughed at the interpretation. “No offense intended, Marla. I just like the sound of your name.” He liked more than that. He liked the whole neat, surprising package that was Marla O’Connor. Erik slipped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her even closer to him. He could almost feel her innocence. It made him remember what this was supposed to be all about and why he’d originally dealt himself into the game. Mom, apple pie and baseball. She made him think of all those things. She also made him think of long, lazy kisses and excitement that was barely contained. The woman merited a great deal of closer examination. “Would you think I was completely crazy if I told you that in a strange way, I’m enjoying myself?”
She stared at him, trying not to notice that when she turned her head, her mouth was less than a heartbeat away from his. The crowd faded. “Getting chased out of a four-star hotel, a fleabag motel, a McDonald’s, run down and shot at, yes, I have to say that ‘crazy’ seems to fit the situation.” What was crazier was that she was enjoying it, too. “Is this a typical day for you?”
It was anything but. “No, I don’t usually have guardian angels with swirling dark hair and a light touch coming to my aid. Usually I wing it alone.”
A chill went through her that had nothing to do with the weather. The press of bodies made it almost warm. “That has a very lonely sound to it.”
“At times,” he allowed. “At others, I’m too busy to be lonely.”
Marla scanned the crowd, wondering how he could seem that complacent. They were out there somewhere, those distinguished-looking men in their designer suits with their guns and their complete disregard for life. Why wasn’t he more worried? Her stomach growled, reminding her that she was still hungry. “Do you think there might be something to eat around all these celebrating people?”
“Ask and you shall receive.” He surprised her by producing a paper boat filled with tiny blackened chicken wings.
They’d passed a vender a second ago. Was Erik light-fingered as well as everything else? “You didn’t steal that, did you?”
Even amid all this, she was a straight arrow. He found he rather liked that. It kept him grounded. He began to wonder about her, about the life she’d led before today. If there was someone special in it. And if there was room for him.
The thought had just snuck up, surprising the hell out of him. Despite the situation, he began to toy with it in earnest. “Would you refuse to eat it if I did?”
She was already biting into a wing. “No, but I’d feel guilty.”
He laughed, pleased at the gusto he saw. “Don’t. I took it from a vendor, but I left him more money than it cost.” He’d found a five in his pocket, money he’d transferred when he’d changed. He’d forgotten about it.
Marla swallowed, her mouth curving. “I guess maybe you are honorable, at that.”
Erik inclined his head. Honorable. He liked thinking of himself in those terms. Liked having her think of him in those terms.
They were still moving, carried along by the crowd. He remained alert. “Whenever it doesn’t interfere with my living another day.”
The wings were gone. Crushing the container, she tossed it into a basket on the corner. An uneasy question had been haunting her. “Have you killed anyone, Erik?”
Reality found him, dissolving more pleasant thoughts. The less she knew, the better for her. His face hardened. “Much to my mother’s dismay, I stopped going to confession a long time ago.”
Despite the roar of the crowd, she heard only his voice. “You have a mother?”
Humor returned, curving his lips. “Yes, I have a mother. Most people do at some stage of their lives.”
Embarrassment dotted her cheeks. “Sorry, I just don’t think of spies as having parents.”
“Just springing up, full grown, like Athena out of Zeus’s head, eh?”
“You know mythology.”
He found her surprise amusing rather than insulting. He wondered about that. Had to be the woman. “I know lots of things that don’t include bullets and car chases.”
“Tell me about your parents. Are they still alive?”
This was where he should cut her off. That he didn’t was another revelation. “Yes.”
“Do they know? What you do, I mean?”
The smile became a little remote. “At times, I don’t know what I do.”
“They still think you’re a history teacher, don’t they?”
Yes, they did. But he didn’t want to talk about himself anymore. This was far more personal than he’d been in years. “What about you?”
She took the question for what it was, a signal that they were no longer talking about him. “Well, my parents just celebrated their thirtieth anniversary last month. I’ve got three older sisters, all gorgeous, all married, and I still go to confession.”
He smiled at that. Drawing her over to the curb, he curled a wayward strand of her hair around his finger and looked into her eyes. Carving out a small, private niche for them amid the swirling noise. “I’m curious. What is it that someone like you has to confess?”
His eyes were touching her, reducing her to a semiliquid state “Not much. I don’t go that often.”
He could have eaten her up right then and there. And he wished they were somewhere private so he could act on some of the feelings ambushing him. “Would you like something to confess next time? Something to keep the old padre from falling asleep?”
His mouth was so close to hers she could taste it. If she didn’t say something quickly, he was going to kiss her and she wasn’t sure she could handle that right now. Not without dissolving.
Marla took a step back. “Um, is there someplace around here where I, um, could…?”
He drew back, amused at her expression and somewhat taken aback at his own reaction. There had be
en a moment there that he’d felt like someone else. Like the person he could have been if life had gone a little differently than the way it had. “Are you trying to say you’re looking for a restroom?”
Embarrassed, she nodded.
“I think we passed a Chinese restaurant the last block. You can go there.”
She wanted to sit down before her knees deserted her. “Could we maybe eat there, too?”
He was acquainted with the place. The food was good. “We’ll order to go.”
She had a weakness for Chinese food and felt her mouth watering. “Sounds like heaven.”
Holding her arm, he created the appearance that they were two tourists, out for a good time. “No, giving you something to confess sounds like heaven. Food is only a basic necessity of life.”
Walking into the Red Dragon, Erik bowed to the man behind the counter. The man returned the greeting. Then, in what Marla assumed was one of the many Chinese dialects, Erik asked the owner something. The man pointed behind him.
“The restroom’s past the bar,” Erik told her. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.”
She hurried toward the rear of the restaurant, marveling at the growing list of Erik’s talents.
The ladies’ room was small and neat and she was quick, pausing only long enough to fix her makeup before leaving again. Vanity, she thought with a shake of her head. But she wanted to look nice. For Erik.
The moment she opened the door, someone grabbed her from the side, covering her mouth.
CHAPTER NINE
MARLA FELT SHARP PAIN stabbing her scalp. Whoever had grabbed her had twisted her hair around their hand and was close to yanking it out by the roots, half pushing, half dragging her out through a back door of the restaurant.
The pain made her heart race. Terror encompassed her.
Releasing her hair, a man twisted her right arm behind her back, almost snapping it in half. “Well, at least we have her,” he snarled to his companion.
Her captor was so average looking, she could have tripped over him and not noticed him at all. Except for his eyes. A cold, almost clear blue, they seemed to slice into her, carving her into little brittle pieces.
There were two of them. Only two. Were there others around? She couldn’t focus. The pain was making her eyes well up.
“What good does that do us?” the second man asked. “We still don’t have him, and he’s the one with the microchip.”
“We’ll have him soon enough.” Her captor twisted Marla around, studying her. “I don’t know how you figure into this, Ms. O’Connor, but you obviously mean a lot to our fair-haired boy. I could be wrong, but I think he might even be willing to agree to a little trade just to get you back—in one piece.” He laughed quietly, the sound sending salvos of panic through her. “Give us back what’s ours for what’s his.”
His hand still covering her mouth, he began to shove her into a car that was parked in the alley. She knew her chances of getting out alive would evaporate. One look at the man’s eyes told her he had no intention of trading her. She was just bait.
And Erik was the fish.
Marla bit down on the fleshy part of the man’s hand, simultaneously driving her high heel into his shin.
Squealing in surprise and pain, he stumbled back, pulling his hand away. Marla spun around on her heel and shoved him into the other man. They toppled like well-dressed dominoes and she ran back into the restaurant.
When she flew past Erik, it took him less than a beat to fall in behind her. “Sorry,” he called to the owner, who was emerging with their order.
In another beat, Erik was abreast, grabbing her hand. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong—he knew. He silently cursed himself for not standing guard at the ladies’ room door. What if something had happened to her because of him? What if they’d hurt her?
The image of Marla—hurt or dead—was like a physical blow.
It shocked him. He had always been able to detach himself, to emotionlessly see things from all angles. That was what made him a good operative.
“This way.” He pointed.
His target was the long, colorful dragon, comprised of fabric, human participants and imagination, making its way down the street beneath a canopy of fireworks. Pulling Marla in before him, Erik ducked under the sparkling green-and-yellow material that was the dragon’s side.
They found themselves between two confused-looking Asian men in their late thirties. A barrage of words flew at them from all directions. Marla understood nothing. Erik responded and the raised voices lowered, and stopped. The men nodded, smiled and returned to the task, moving the dragon forward.
“What did you tell them?” she asked.
“I asked for their help. I said that I’d stolen you from your husband and he was chasing us.” Catching the eye of the man in front, he nodded his head. “They’re nice guys.”
The man in front of Marla smiled, repeating the words nice guys.
They were safe. For the moment. As far as she knew, the dragon was weaving its way down streets filled with revelers, but all Marla could see were feet.
She felt the press of Erik’s body behind her as they moved. Heat became her companion, as well. “So how long do we hide under here?”
He was acquainted with the route. “The parade winds all the way from the financial district to the end of Chinatown. I think we’d better stay in the dragon’s belly for about half an hour or so.”
It sounded like a plan to her.
MARLA TRIED TO MAKE OUT the numbers on her watch. They’d dropped out of the parade after what seemed like miles. “I’m so tired, I’m going to drop where I’m standing.”
They hurried through the streets. The crowds were beginning to thin out. They needed to find shelter, and soon. It wouldn’t be safe to be out. His shoulder was beginning to ache again. “Please don’t. I’m not in any condition to carry you.”
“We could get a room someplace.” She realized her words could be interpreted as a proposition, but she was too tired to care.
His sentiments exactly. “No charge cards. That’s how they found us the last time.”
“A hotel isn’t going to let us stay out of the goodness of their hearts,” she pointed out.
“Do you have any money?”
Aside from a few dollars, her pockets were empty. “No.”
He saw a bank on the corner. Even at this hour, there was someone making a withdrawal at the ATM window. That was the answer. “Give me your ATM card.”
Confused, she looked at him. “What ATM card? I don’t have one.”
“That’s un-American.” He blew out a breath. For the moment, he was out of ideas.
Opening her purse, she rummaged through the various items Erik had tossed in, until she found her wallet. “But I’ve got a Huntly’s card.”
The name was vaguely familiar. And then he remembered. “A supermarket card?” He laughed shortly. “I don’t think you’d find those shelves all that comfortable to sleep on. Too narrow.”
Excited now, her fatigue temporarily gone, she began pulling him in the direction of the supermarket. “No, but I can get money that way.”
It proved easier to show him than to explain it. Once in the supermarket, she bought a six-pack of cola and a bag of doughnuts. Running her card through the scanner, she punched in her code number and then requested change. A hundred dollars.
Satisfied, she held the money up to him as they walked out. “Now we can get a room somewhere.”
He kissed her, taking the money and pocketing it. “That’s my girl.”
It took a while for her heart to stop racing.
They got a room in the Chandler Hotel. Marla noted that they had made it full circle, back to a four-star hotel. It was after two o’clock in the morning. They had less than twelve hours to go before Erik made his delivery.
Entering, Marla made a beeline for the bed, sinking onto it. After a moment he joined her. They exhaled together, then laughed.
“I�
��m exhausted. I’ve never packed so much into one evening in my life.” Turning her head to look at him, she realized suddenly how close he was. It took a second to locate her tongue. “Do you think they’ll find us here?”
He was thinking that for a woman who was tired, she looked incredibly alluring. He was aware how close they were to each other. “Not with luck.” They’d covered their trail pretty well, and it was time they earned a small respite. “They haven’t shown up in the last hour.”
She wasn’t nearly as optimistic as usual. Still, there was nothing they could do right now except get some sleep. Marla propped herself up on her elbow. “I guess you should get the bed. You’re wounded.”
“Why can’t we both get the bed?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Because—”
His smile was slow, sexy and lethal as hell. She was almost on fire. “Don’t trust yourself with me?”
She tried for dignity, but settled for coherence. “I wasn’t thinking of me.”
He reached over and touched her cheek, sliding his finger down slowly. “I make it a practice never to do anything the lady doesn’t want to do.” Suddenly he desperately wanted to spend the night with her in the very fullest sense of the word.
She pressed her lips together. “Shouldn’t one of us stand guard?”
He laughed. “This isn’t Fort Apache. Besides—” he pointed “—I rigged the doorknob.”
Squinting, she looked intently at it. It looked untouched. “Where? I don’t see anything.”
“That’s the point.” He sensed her uneasiness. This wasn’t the way he wanted it to be. Erik sat up. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll take the sofa.”
Sitting up, Marla looked at it and then at him. It was smaller than a love seat. “The only way you could sleep on that is if you were a Smurf.” She debated her options. By tomorrow, he would be gone from her life. And with him the one opportunity she had to live the way the heroines lived in all the books she loved. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “You can share the bed with me.”
Sundays Are for Murder Page 32