In the Still of the Night:Sexy Romantic Suspense (Book 2 The Blonde Barracuda's Sizzling Suspense Series)

by Lee, Taylor

  After Anthony was killed, and her fierce bouts with the bag consumed her to the point of exhaustion, Jake and Master Wan cautioned her. Admonishing her, the way she did her students. Master Wan’s patient wisdom rang in her ears. “Moderation, Jai Li. The warrior’s strength comes from peace, as much as battle. True strength is peaceful.” While Lexie would like to agree, the anger that ran deep in her soul that had been reignited by Anthony’s death made a peaceful practice unlikely. Moderation was hard enough.

  Entering her office, she was surprised to see Captain Rourke and Lt. Peterson, two police officers who headed up the vice unit for the SFPD. She’d been on several panels with Daniel Rourke and he’d become a friend.

  “Dan, I would say this is a pleasant surprise, but given that you are unlikely to drop in for a visit, I can only assume you are here on police business. Unless perhaps you knew that Madam Juen makes her lotus pastries every Monday and you couldn’t resist. If that’s the case, trust me, you aren’t the only visitors who suddenly find they have urgent business with me every Monday at approximately 11 a.m.”

  Cap. Rourke’s ruddy face cracked in the semblance of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I wish that were the case, Lexie. Unfortunately the nature of my job doesn’t make me the most welcome visitor under the best of circumstances. And today is no exception.”

  Motioning the two large men toward the armchairs in her small sitting area, Lexie looked up to see Madam Juen’s kitchen assistant, Jung Kee, in the doorway.

  “Excuse me, Jai Li. Madam Juen asked if you and the big officers would like some tea and pastries.”

  Lexie smiled at the young woman.

  “I think you read our minds, Jung Kee. And yes, please, bring the ‘big officers’ both tea and pastries. And Jung Kee, please ask Master Wan to join us.”

  Seeing that being referred to as the “big officers” by the diminutive young woman brought barely a smile to the faces of her guests, Lexie knew that the news was serious. She had reason to be concerned when the police came to their dojo. Too often it meant that one of their students had been hurt by an angry husband—or worse, by a sadistic pimp. But since that day when she’d received the news of Anthony’s death, even a year later, police officers bringing her news spiked a sense of dread. Fighting the tension rising inexorably in her stomach, she was relieved to see Master Wan enter. Just his presence gave her courage. The Master nodded to the officers and gave Lexie a questioning glance, then joined her on the sofa.

  Lexie answered his unspoken question.

  “No, Master Wan, Captain Rourke and Officer Peterson haven’t yet told me the reason that they are here. But as we have learned in the past, as much as we may like and respect them, their visits are not something we look forward to.”

  Dan Rourke grimaced. His bushy grey-flecked eyebrows met in the deep crease between them.

  “Yes Lexie, Master Wan. Someday I’m going to come and invite you both to my house for dinner and the best Irish stew you’re likely to eat, and we can all get drunk together. But today isn’t one of those days.”

  He nodded to Mark Peterson, who opened the folder he’d been carrying and spread three glossy photographs across the coffee table.

  Lexie squeezed her eyes shut to block an all-too-familiar sight. Grateful for Master Wan’s comforting hand over hers, she took a deep breath and asked the obvious.

  “Who… who is she, Dan? And what happened?”

  “We’re not sure, Lexie. We don’t have a positive ID yet. As for what happened, she was stabbed to death, found by some junkies in an alley in the District. From her clothing, scars and internal injuries she’s one of the street workers, likely in the massage parlors in that area. She… she had a hard life.”

  The gruff officer stopped abruptly, shaking his head. After a long pause, he added, “Damn, this girl can’t be more than twenty… and, hell, if she weighs eighty pounds I’d be surprised.”

  Lexie swallowed around the hard lump in her throat. Like Officer Rourke, no matter how many times she saw the bruises, the cuts, the broken bones—or as with this young girl, the dead bodies—the sight shattered her. Her first reaction was shock, disbelief. Who could do this to another human being? Especially one so vulnerable? Her shock morphed into grief and soon became anger. It was the anger that galvanized her. It was why she’d started her center, why she met each new challenge fiercely determined to right the wrong. But it never got easier. Oh, she’d heard that, over time, police officers and other people like her got inured to the pain and the suffering they saw. But she hadn’t. From the shadowed expression on Dan Rourke’s stern face, he hadn’t either.

  Master Wan broke the silence.

  “She is Korean? Although, it appears she has had facial surgery.”

  Lexie grimaced. She was as offended as Master Wan was, at the attempts by the pimps and sex trade bosses to make their Asian girls look more American, more Caucasian. Supposedly, that made them more attractive to their white “johns.” In addition to the racial insult, the cost of the surgery was always added to the debt the girl owed, further indenturing her. In the worst cases, the surgery failed or was sloppy, and the disfigured young women were tossed on the scrap heap of the industry. Like casual experiments gone awry.

  At the grim nods from the two police officers, confirming they agreed with Master Wan’s conclusion, Lexie asked, “Why are you here, Dan? If you’re asking me if I know this young woman, I do not. But, I have a number of Korean women in my “Strong Women” program who have lived the life that this poor girl did. While I don’t relish showing these awful photographs to them, I will if it’ll help you track down the animals that exploited her… and killed her.”

  “I appreciate that, Lexie. Anything you can do to help us figure out who she is, gives us a fighting chance to find the bastards who did this. But, we’re here for another reason.”

  Lexie took a sharp breath and frowned at the troubled man. He answered her questioning gaze by taking out of Officer Peterson’s file a tattered piece of note paper.

  “As you can see, Lexie, while you don’t seem to know her, she apparently knew you.”

  Lexie opened the note with a surprised gasp, and then handed it to Master Wan. A rare frown crossed his usually smooth countenance. The note said: Come to 2607 Larkspur Lane, Jai Li will help you. She will protect you.

  The note was signed Ming Tong.

  Chapter 2

  Ming sat between Master Wan and Lexie, sobbing bitterly. She looked up at Lexie imploringly.

  “I’m so sorry. Oh God, I am sorry. I just wanted to get her out of there. She looked so young. So scared.”

  Lexie knew about “Ming’s missions,” as she called them. While Lexie wasn’t sure how much good they did, she applauded the young woman’s passion and determination to give hope to the hundreds of girls caught in the hideous trap of the sex trade. As with her own program, Lexie knew how little they could do to undercut a multi-billion dollar industry—but every woman who joined the Strong Woman program was one less victim. Or so she hoped. Seeing the frown on Officer Rourke’s face, she interrupted what she was sure would be a criticism of Ming’s tactics. Unfortunately, Lexie knew Master Wan had been concerned for some time about the initiative and had cautioned Lexie. She agreed with his concerns but disagreed with his prescription—which was to have one of the more accomplished male students accompany the girls.

  “Dan, I’m aware of the fact that Ming and some of the other students have been distributing these notes to women who look as though they’re being exploited. I hope you understand that Ming and I both are devastated that this young girl was killed. But the fact that she had this note on her person, does not mean that the note caused her death.”

  Officer Rourke’s ruddy face flushed dangerously. He made an obvious effort to contain his response but his Irish temper squeaked through.

  “Damn, Lexie. Do you mean to tell me that you sanction—what did you call them, ‘Ming’s missions?’ Do y
ou have any idea how dangerous it is? Not only for girls like this,” he said, pointing to the photographs of the dead girl, “if they are caught accepting Ming’s overture. But also for Ming. I hope to hell you have some big burly guys accompany them.”

  Lexie could have told Rourke that he could have said a lot of things to her, that might have garnered a more reasonable response. But his chauvinism, however predictable, hit her between the eyes. She jumped to her feet and began pacing the floor, her long blond ponytail twitching dangerously behind her. She did her best to soften her reaction. Even seeing Master Wan’s subtle cautioning shake of his head, didn’t prevent her temper from rising.

  “No, Dan. We do not send big brawny men or for that matter any men with the women who hand out these notes. You know as well as I do that the women who work in the massage parlors are terrified of men—particularly the men who look like the ones who train with me. No, we want to encourage these women to trust us. They are much more likely to respond to someone like Ming—even more so than me. Because Ming is Korean, she can speak to them in their language.”

  Dan Rourke scowled.

  “Listen, Lexie. You women are asking for it. I’m not saying that you caused this girl’s death, but you sure are playing with fire. Hell, you are throwing gasoline on it. What if some of those pimps had snatched Ming, or one of the girls with her? I gotta ask you: Does Jake know what you women are up to?”

  Lexie was genuinely angry now.

  “Dan, now you’re being insulting. You know the danger that these women are in. You know how pitiful the response of the City—and the police—has been to the plight of these women. What do they do? They arrest the victims. Never the johns or the pimps. No, they punish the victims and charge them fines, that their pimps turn around and add to their debt. Along with a new set of bruises and beatings to teach them not to be careless. I don’t want to be rude, but until you and the rest of the vice squad come up with better ideas, you have no business criticizing our attempts to help the victims of this terrible crime.”

  The big Irishman sunk back in his chair, his troubled frown and flushed cheeks confirming that he agreed with at least some of what Lexie had said. His discomfort embarrassed her. She knew she had to watch her temper. Dan and Mark were on their side. Dan had supported her Center in every possible way. She knew he was as frustrated by the City’s response to a seemingly unsolvable issue as she was. She also knew from Master Wan’s calculated silence that he agreed with Dan concerning the danger of Ming’s missions. The Master had already raised the issue with her, in his calm thoughtful way. The clinker in Dan’s criticism was his reference to Jake. Jake was a hero in the law enforcement community. Dan knew him well and openly admired him. What Dan didn’t know was that Jake was fiercely protective of Lexie, and continually on the lookout for possible dangers. He supported her work a hundred percent, but that didn’t mean he always agreed with her methods. And Lexie was certain that Jake would disagree with this particular strategy. She just needed to deal with this incident and not let him find out. Glancing over at Master Wan who was studying her through half-closed eyes, she knew how unlikely that was.

  “I’m sorry, Dan. I apologize. That was uncalled for. You are the best vice squad leader I’ve known. I know you’re as frustrated as I am, that we haven’t been able to make a dent in this issue. I’m going to ask you for a favor. I don’t do that often, so I hope you will agree.”

  Dan’s frown deepened.

  “I’ll do what I can, Lexie. But you know—”

  Lexie broke in. Pointing at the pictures of the slain girl, she managed to keep her voice low, although it vibrated with intensity.

  “All I ask is that you tell me what you discover about her murder. I need to know if you find out who did this. I hope you can at least give me her name. We have a victim wall in the Strong Women Center. It is important that we put a name and a face to these terrible crimes. We want to acknowledge the victims, even if no one else does.” She picked up the photographs and looked at one after the other. “I do not want her to be written off as another Jane Doe, Dan. She deserves to have a name.”

  The big man heaved himself out of his chair with a sigh and a slight nod.

  “I’ll do my best, Lexie. I’ll leave these photographs with you. Perhaps some of your clients will recognize her.”

  What Lexie didn’t add, as she walked them to the door, was that she particularly wanted the name of the massage parlor where the girl had worked. She’d pester Mark Peterson for that information. He wasn’t as “on to her” as Dan was. She agreed with Dan that Ming’s missions were dangerous. Lexie was already plotting a new strategy. Ultimately the exploited girls were more afraid of people like her than they were of their pimps. It was hard to convince them that a group of women could protect them from the evil men who controlled them. Likewise the pimps were so protected by shyster lawyers and an overworked legal system that they were impervious to public scrutiny. In fact they relished the publicity. It added a notch to their belt in the underground community and brought them more johns. But the massage parlor managers were a different story. Often women who themselves had been exploited, those managers had to answer to the pimps and their bosses. And it was those bosses, hiding behind the protective screen of legitimate businesses, that Lexie was after. The madams who ran the parlors, and especially the owners, couldn’t risk public attention. Unfortunately for them, capturing the limelight was one of Lexie’s special gifts. She got attention just blithely walking into a room—much less if she came armed with volatile information and photographs of dead girls.

  After Dan and Mark left, and Ming went to her quarters to rest, Lexie hoped that Master Wan would follow suit. But when he poured himself another cup of tea, and put a second pastry on the china plate Jung Kee had left, Lexie knew she wasn’t out of the hot seat.

  The stately Chinese man sipped on his tea, then sat back in his chair and squinted at her. “Does Jake know about these missions, Jai Li?”

  Lexie huffed. He certainly didn’t beat around the bush. The least he could do was give her an out. She hesitated. There was no use lying to Master Wan. She couldn’t get away with it when she was a sixteen year-old practiced liar and rarely ever told the truth. She could hardly get away with it now. She did the next best thing and turned the tables on him.

  She gave him a nonchalant shrug.

  “Hmm, not specifically. And, he won’t. Unless someone chooses to tattle to him.”

  Master Wan arched an expressive brow.

  “And why might someone choose to do that, Jai Li?”

  She sniffed. “Maybe because they sometimes forget that I am a big girl and can take care of myself.”

  Master Wan nodded thoughtfully.

  “I would agree for the most part. However I am not as certain about Ming.” He took another sip of tea, and drilled her with a steady gaze. “Are you, Jai Li?”

  Lexie glared at her mentor then gave a troubled sigh.

  “Did I ever tell you that you play dirty?”

  He gave her a pleasant smile.

  “Definitions, Jai Li.”

  ~~~

  Grateful that a long day of classes was over, Lexie shooed the final class of students out of the dojo and closed the door behind them. She was more unsettled by the death of the young Korean girl, and Ming’s (and Lexie’s own inadvertent) role in the tragedy than she had let on to Master Wan or the police officers. Not that she fooled Master Wan, of course. He had an unerring sense of her often turbulent emotions, but rarely interjected his thoughts—and virtually never his advice. He honored her in a way no one ever had, which made his rare admonitions—as gentle as they were—all the more potent. Turning as she always did to the punching bag, she systematically began to beat the hard leather with her fists and pounding kicks, barreling her frustrations and fears at her leather target. Its unyielding surface only made her more determined to do the impossible. Burn off the frustration and sadness overwhelming her.

  She
relented somewhat after the strap on one of her leather gloves broke, forcing her to forego her clenched fists, and instead began driving powerful kicks at the bag. At this point in her practice, she married the barrage of her kicks with full swirling turns that spoke to her fearsome artistry. Her high arched kicks and spins never failed to astonish and crush her opponents, unless they happened to be the individual who taught her the signature move.

  Spinning away from the bag, she raised her leg high over her head in a virtual standing split, only to have a strong arm grab her foot and pull her tight up against his hard wall of a chest. Catching her as only he could—halting her move without hurting her, he rolled her to the floor. Covering her body with his much larger and stronger one, he chuckled and drawled in her ear, “How about turning some of that fury on a different target, Darlin’? One that’s been dying to pound into you as hard as you are pounding that defenseless bag.”

  Completely caught off guard, Lexie shrieked then as quickly recovered and thrust up against him attempting to dislodge him. A useless effort, given his strength—and the prominent arousal pressing against her fevered body.

  Slipping his hands into the waistband of her abbreviated workout shorts, he deftly pulled them off and tossed them over his shoulder. When she shrieked louder, he laughed a hearty roar of pleasure.

  Burying his lips against her ear, he chortled, “Damn, Darlin’. I don’t know why you bother. These barely cover your ass cheeks. But even so, they’re too many clothes for me. The same with this.”

  In seconds he’d stripped off her exercise bra and tossed it next to her shorts leaving Lexie stark naked on the dojo floor glaring up at the bluest eyes no man should have, especially when coupled with a shock of black wavy hair and a big appreciative grin to match.

  Pressing his hard muscular body against hers and ignoring her useless attempts to free herself from his iron grip, he growled, “Now Darlin’, if you’ll just give me some breathing room, I’ll shuck off my trousers and level the playing field.”