She should probably cop to the truth—she would make a horrible spy.
It made her feel creepy to even be in this hotel, with the lime-green wallpaper, the smelly carpet, the radiator at the end of the hall that clicked on and rattled. The place smelled like it hadn’t been updated since the seventies and should offer hourly rates.
But, no one, not even the men who walked past her dressed in mafia black—where was she, Moscow?— even gave her a second look.
Mae had obviously gone overboard with the padding, the wig, the makeup that made her look about fifteen years older than her current age of twenty-eight.
She stopped in front of a room as another Sergei in Black walked by, and bent her head as if checking the list on the clipboard.
Please, Mae, be waiting at the elevator, like you promised.
So far, their super sleuthing plan seemed to be going off without a hitch—other than the fact that they hadn’t indeed found Ina. But Gracie hadn’t had to dive off any buildings, or climb out of any windows, or even slam her cart into the knees of some greasy thug and take off for the stairwell.
Okay, it was true—her heart had done that already half-a-dozen times. But who was counting?
Mae had taken a room on the fourth floor and Gracie snuck up the stairs into her room. After Mae had swiped a housekeeping uniform and a cart—Gracie hadn’t asked, and Mae wasn’t telling—Mae had added a couple sweaters for padding, zipping the uniform up so tight Gracie started to sweat before she even left the room.
Then again, that might have had nothing to do with the extra padding.
Mae had then gathered her hair into a net and plunked on a hideous black wig that smelled like it had been in mothballs for sixty or so years.
“You act like you might know what you’re doing,” Gracie said.
“I watch a lot of television,” Mae said, then held out a small white card. “All the rooms are accessed by this, the master key.” Mae had held out the card to her. “The lady who had it is gone on lunch, so we have a ticking clock here. I’ll be right behind you, and if I see anyone onto you, you won’t even have to blink, I’ll be there. But, running is always a really good option.”
Gracie took the card key, shoved it into her pocket. Ina, here I come. For a second, she’d felt downright heroic.
Now, she’d never felt more stupid. She’d tried three rooms on the sixth floor now, all of them empty, except for one with the bed still mussed and a tray of day old nachos on the floor. She backed out, deciding that it might be okay if she never held a job as a housekeeper.
Good thing Vicktor wasn’t here to see her. She had called last night, again, and left a message. This phone tag communication system they had going made her want to scream.
But, maybe she should count her blessings that Vicktor wasn’t here to give her one of his signature, “What are you thinking?” looks.
Because then there’d be sparks and bad words, and all she really wanted to do when she was with him again was listen to his stories, and see his smile, and honestly, kiss him, a lot.
A door opened down the hall. She turned into her cart, crouching, checking her supply of towels. Head in the game, Gracie. But she was quickly losing hope, not to mention courage. The man passed, and Gracie stood, key card in hand, knocked, and when she didn’t get a reply, inserted it into the electronic lock.
Of course it couldn’t be this easy, that Ina was still here, after all these days, that Gracie might just open a door, find the girl watching television…
She opened the door.
And Ina looked up from where she sat on the bed, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. Her golden brown hair hung limp and greasy, and she was barefoot. Her mouth opened, disbelief streaked her face.
Oh, c’mon she had a better getup than that, didn’t she? Apparently not, because, “Gracie?”
And that’s when Gracie saw the black eye, the bruised, swollen lip.
“I knew it.” She closed the door behind her, latched it. “Get your stuff.”
Ina’s eyes widened, and she appeared as if she might cave in on herself, simply vanish right there in the middle of the mussed double bed. “No—I can’t.”
Gracie picked up her tennis shoes, plunked them on the bed. “Now. We’re leaving—”
“You don’t understand—” Ina’s voice came out in a whisper. “I can’t.”
“Your parents are safe.”
This seemed to make a difference because Ina’s entire face changed. She went from scared and withdrawn to the energizer bunny. Grabbing her shoes, she opened them, shoved her feet in without socks. “Where? What do you mean? How did you find me?” Tears rushed out, and she brushed them away the palm of her hand. “How’s my papa?”
“He’s going to be okay. And they’re safe. I promise. But they’re worried about you. We need to leave.” Gracie reached out to help her from the bed.
But suddenly, Ina didn’t move, or maybe couldn’t move, caught right then in the memory, the horror. “I… I just stood there, while they hit him. And I didn’t care what happened to me. I just wanted it to be over.” She had a full out sob now, and covered her mouth with both hands.
Gracie stared at her, not sure what to say. But she knew, oh, she knew exactly how it felt to watch someone you love hurt, even dying before her eyes, and not know how to stop it. Yeah, she knew the shock, the disbelief. Her throat tightened. “He understands, Ina. They both do. And I’m going to take you to see them, but we need to leave. Right. Now.”
Ina stood up, not meeting Gracie’s eyes. She managed a wry expression. “I should have listened to you.”
Gracie bit back a “yeah, you should have.” But really, how was Ina to know that Jorge wasn’t interested in her, but what she could give him?
That thought hit just a little too close to home.
“Grab your bag,” she said as she turned to the door.
But, so much for their flawless mission, because the lock had already disengaged, and the door was clicking open.
“Jorge,” Ina whispered.
Do you trust Me, David?
The question, the inner voice had spoken to him last night as David sat on the roof terrace of the Yung’s three-story home. The breeze had been warm, rustling the spider plants draping from the terra-cotta and blue plastic pots. He’d put his feet up on the solid cement railing that ran along the deck, leaned back in the wicker chair, stared at the stars, and knew that he didn’t deserve God’s trust.
Not after the way he’d practically pounced on Yanna. All these years of cultivating their friendship, of showing her how much he cared, he had to blow it in a moment of weakness.
Lord, I told You that was why You needed to keep Yanna on the other side of the world. Because every time I’m with her, I’m just angry, and frustrated, and—
Sometimes, he wondered why God even bothered with him. He only made things worse.
I’m sorry I kissed her.
Boy, was he sorry. Because if he ever hoped Yanna might see a hint of God’s love for her in the way David treated her, the way he respected her, he’d trampled that hope into tiny crumbs. Her expression, the cold lilt of her voice as she’d told him…Thanks? It was nice? Ouch. Only, it had told him exactly how much he’d hurt her so long ago. He felt like crawling back into the hole from where he came.
Do you trust Me, David?
He’d traced the sky, identifying the stars in this section of the world, smelling fried dumplings and rice coming from the nearby houses.
Did he trust God? Enough to let Him have His way in Yanna’s life, without interfering?
Who do you have in heaven but Me?
He’d closed his eyes. I’m sorry I counterfeited Your love for Yanna, that I didn’t wait for Your yes. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust You enough to love her more than I love her. Please, help me to not only keep her safe, but show her Your love.
He’d heard footsteps then, and a door open. Opening his eyes, he thumbed away the wetness
on his cheekbone before Roman could see it. His friend handed him a bottle of lemonade and sat down in a nearby chair.
Roman sat in silence, staring at the stars with him. Finally, “You know, when I asked you that question about who is for you in heaven and earth? That’s not my brilliance.”
“I know,” David said. “It’s from one of the psalms.”
“Yeah. Psalm 73 to be exact. I love that psalm because it’s about defeat. King David knows God is on his side, but he looks at the world and all that people have, and he wonders if he’s kept his way pure in vain.”
David said nothing, simply drank the lemonade. It contained just enough bite to make him wince.
“These thoughts sap his energy and confuse his focus. But then he goes to the house of the Lord, and suddenly, he realizes he’s been looking at this entire thing from an earthly perspective. There is an ending, and guess what—God’s on the winning side.”
David began to peel the lemonade sticker off with his thumbnail.
“‘Surely their way is slippery,’ David says, meaning that someday, those who are opposed to God are going to fall. Hard. And permanently. And then King David realizes that even though he’s stumbled into all this negative, false thinking, and probably done a few things he’s not real proud of because of it, God was still on his side.”
David didn’t look at him, just took another drink. But it burned all the way down.
“David calls himself a brute beast—and then says, but God held his right hand. He was with David even in his dark, cluttered, futile thinking. And He’ll be with him all the way to the end.”
“He says, ‘There is nothing I desire on this earth but the Lord. He will guide me and then bring me to glory.’ King David confirms that though he might make mistakes, even die, God was his portion and strength.”
David closed his eyes again, making himself hear Roman’s words. His portion—enough, and everything David needed to help him be the right man. His strength. The ability to stay the course and do what was right for Yanna, for eternity, instead of the now.
Roman’s words had seemed to be enough, at least then, to remind David of his higher priorities, to give him perspective.
Until, of course, now on the way to the opera. In fact, Yanna was surely trying to torment him, to make him regret with everything inside him that he’d slid into temptation and let himself kiss her.
What was worse, he probably deserved her punishment.
Right now, he’d rather be letting Kwan and his ninja pals take his best shot at him than be holding out his hand for the very shapely and devastatingly gorgeous Yanna Andrevka to take as she got out of the taxi to the plaza in front of the Taipei concert hall. It had to be some diabolical plot that her black dress fit her like a waterfall, sliding down her lithe body, revealing exactly what he was trying not to notice.
Hopefully, Kwan wouldn’t notice.
David didn’t like this plan, not at all. But he didn’t have a full hand of choices at the moment. Even Roman agreed to Yanna’s plan.
That had clinched it.
But David wasn’t going to slip again. He had two hundred percent focus on keeping her alive, and he wasn’t going to compromise it by getting in the way. Regardless of how difficult that might be.
David let go of her hand and paid the driver.
Rain had recently fallen, puddling in the cement and turning the air fresh as it groomed fragrances from the multicolored azaleas in the lush garden outside the concert hall.
Across the plaza, beyond the booths of hawkers selling trinkets and souvenirs, the Taipei concert hall rose glorious, regal and gleaming with its two-tiered pagoda-style roof, the columns that ringed the wide hall flanked with red sash. It gave David the sense of stepping back in time, to the realm of the great Chinese dynasties, and reminded him that Taiwan and China still fought over who had control, really, of this fourteen-thousand-square-mile island.
Then again, maybe something so lush and beautiful, so exotic and dangerous and fragile as Taiwan could never truly belong to anyone.
Yanna hooked her arm around his. “Reminds me of that time we went to Sleeping Beauty at the Bolshoi,” she said.
Yeah, he remembered that, and how she’d smelled and looked just as incredible then as tonight. How they’d strolled through Red Square, talking about their dreams and plans. How even then, as the wind played with her dark hair, he was jealous and wanted to put his arm around her, maybe twine his fingers through all that silk. Tonight, her platinum wig shimmered under the bright lights as they approached the wide steps of the concert hall.
She gripped his arm, not at all unsteady in her heels, but perhaps of the task before them.
“You ready for this?” Yanna said through her smile as she accepted a program from the usher by the door.
And right then, with the chandelier lights twinkling against the faux-diamond earrings, with her smile so brilliant, her hair like a golden halo around her, her eyes bright and full of hope, he saw it. Why he was waiting for God’s plans for Yanna. Even though Yanna might be beautiful now, when God took over her heart, she’d be radiant.
So very worth the wait.
He took a program. Blew out a breath. Was he ready for this night? Definitely not. Because if he found Kwan, well, he’d have some hard choices to make. Like, did he drag Kwan into a back alley and pry information out of him the old-fashioned way? Or did he do it Yanna’s way—tagging the man with the Velcro-backed transmitter she’d concocted from her bag of tricks and follow him back to his lair and, hopefully, Elena. What if David caught Kwan talking to Bruce? Who did he strangle first?
“I don’t know,” David said in answer to her question.
Big questions, all of which made him pause as they went inside. Yanna turned toward him, putting her hands on his chest, as if fixing the lapels to his suit. “I don’t see Kwan.”
He put his hands on her bare shoulders, aware of how smooth and soft her skin felt under his touch. “Nothing to the north either. Maybe he’s already in his box seat.”
“It’s hard to know what alias he booked the tickets under,” she said. “We’ll have to search the boxes during the performance.”
She finished smoothing his suit. “You look nice tonight, by the way.”
He glanced at her, surprised at the approval in her eyes. It made his stupid heart sit up, take notice. “Thanks,” he said, trying to keep happiness out of his voice.
“I like the blond hair. I’m glad you dyed it back.” She reached up to touch the hard bristles behind his ears. “I’ll never forget your pirate look, however, Sea Dog.”
He smiled at that. Yeah, he’d never forget nearly losing her either. “You’re a pretty blonde, too, by the way.” Of course, she’d be a knockout even if she dyed her hair purple and green and bedazzled her skin in silver speckles.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve always wondered if it was true—that blondes have more fun.”
“We’re not here to have fun—this could really backfire. I’m still trying to figure out why I agreed—”
“I was kidding, David. Of course I know why I’m here…but I’m glad you’re here too.” Then she lifted to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m grateful for your friendship and the fact you’re willing to help me. I know you and Roman are both worried, but we are going to find my sister. And when we do, I know I’ll owe it all to you.”
By the look in her eyes, he knew she meant it, but it made him hurt a little too. Because if they found her sister, it would be completely due to the fact that God had intervened, and not at all due to him. Clearly, it would be some sort of miracle if she ever looked past David’s mistakes to see that God was on her side.
Still, he had hope. Lots of hope.
“Here’s hoping that ten years from now, we’re remembering the night we found your sister and took down Kwan’s empire.”
Her smile dimmed and she nodded, her eyes glistening.
They entered the concert hall, and he
was surprised at the elegance, the rows and rows of crushed red velvet seats, the two balconies above. The orchestra was warming up in the pit, and the cacophony of strings and bass added an eerie tone to the moment.
“We were lucky to get these tickets on such short notice. I found these through a scalper online.”
Luck had absolutely nothing to do with it, and it was just on the tip of his lips to say that, but well, something like shame held that back. See what happened when he took things into his own hands? It affected every area of his life.
“We’re on the side, on the second tier. Hopefully we’ll have a decent view.”
He knew she didn’t mean of the stage, but still, for a second, it felt like a date, something precious that he’d file away and remember forever.
He climbed the stairs behind her, and they found their seats. He opened the program, pretended to read the listing of musical scores written in Mandarin. “Listen, I’m not kidding. I’m in charge here. You are going to do exactly what I say, no questions, no arguments, exactly. And if for some reason I tell you to abort and run, I want you to do exactly that, just like we talked about. Just because things went relatively well at the teahouse doesn’t mean that Kwan wouldn’t hurt you, right here, right now.”
Yanna picked up the opera glasses she’d purchased at the market. “Now, dawling, when have I ever disobeyed you?” She began to scan the audience.
“Funny. I’m serious, Yanna. I may look all cleaned up and spiffy, but I’m still the guy you saw on Kwan’s boat, and I’m not afraid to put you over my shoulder and carry you out of here. I care about your sister, but it’s not worth losing you.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but you don’t have to worry about me—”
“Because you won’t do anything stupid? Yeah, tell me about how you ended up here, in the first place? I forget…”
She kept her voice light, her smile affixed, but he noted a muscle pulling in her jaw. “You know, you might consider the fact that Kwan was onto you the entire time and was just using me as a ploy to distract you so he could kill you.”
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