Golden Lies

by Barbara Freethy

  "Possibly."

  "Is this thing worth much?"

  "Could be worth a lot, but we don't know yet."

  Tony took out a small spiral notebook and jotted down some notes. "I'll speak to Mrs. Hathaway. See if she knows what her husband was doing in Chinatown, who he might have gone to see. I need to drum up some witnesses fast. I already got a call from the mayor. The Hathaway family is very important to the city. They want his assailant behind bars ten minutes ago, if you know what I mean."

  Riley nodded, knowing the pressure the cops would be under to solve this case as soon as possible. By morning the press would be all over it, too.

  Paige came around the corner, startling him with her sudden appearance. She looked just as surprised to see him standing with the police officer.

  "Are you the officer investigating my father's attack?" she asked Tony.

  "And you are?"

  "Paige Hathaway. I'm his daughter."

  "I'm sorry about your father, Ms. Hathaway."

  "Thank you. Can you tell me any more about what happened?"

  "Not yet, I'm afraid. We're still investigating the scene. Do you know what business your father had in Chinatown?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Did he have friends there? Business associates?"

  "Probably both. My father specializes in purchasing Asian art. He has many contacts in the Chinese community."

  "Sounds like we'll need a big net. I'll need you to sit down with someone and give us a list of names. But right now I'd like to speak to your mother. Is she available?"

  "She's in the waiting room."

  Before Tony could move down the hall, the elevator doors opened and a uniformed officer stepped out. Tony walked over to greet him, and they began to converse in hushed tones.

  "What do you think that's about?" Paige asked Riley.

  "Probably your father's case."

  "I hope they caught the bastard."

  "If they didn't, they will," he reassured her.

  "They better. It's cold in here, don't you think?" She shivered, clasping her arms more tightly about her waist.

  Riley shouldn't have put his arms around her. He knew it as soon as her breasts brushed his chest. But it was too late then. Her cheek was pressed against his heart, her hair tickled his chin, and her arms crept around his body, holding on to him with a tight desperation that he suspected had a lot to do with fear. He wished he had as good an excuse for hugging her back.

  "I'm sorry," Paige said, pulling away far too soon. "I don't know what came over me. I don't usually throw myself into people's arms like that."

  "Miss Hathaway?" Tony walked back to join them. "Do you recognize this bracelet?" He extended his hand, a gold bangle in his palm.

  She shook her head. "I've never seen it before. Where did you find it?"

  "It was found near your father. It might not have anything to do with him, but there's an inscription. It says 'Jasmine, my love'. Do you know anyone named Jasmine?"

  "Jasmine," Paige echoed, looking confused. "I -- I don't think so."

  Despite her denial, Riley had the feeling something in the name had registered with Paige.

  "I'll ask your mother." Tony closed his fingers over the bracelet.

  "Wait," Paige said. "Do you need to ask her now? She's upset."

  "If this bracelet can help us find who assaulted your father ..."

  "You're right," Paige agreed. "Go ahead."

  "From what I've seen, your mother is a very strong woman," Riley said quietly as they watched the detective stride away.

  Paige looked at him with indecision in her eyes. "Yes, she is."

  "You've heard the name Jasmine before, haven't you?"

  She hesitated. "There's a painter named Jasmine Chen. We've bought some of her work for the store. But that doesn't mean that she and my father ... He wouldn't do that. He's not a bad man. At least, I don't think he is." She pressed a hand to her temple, looking paler than she had before. "The truth is I don't know what kind of man he is, and I'm terrified that I won't have the chance to find out. What if he doesn't make it? God, I shouldn't have said that."

  "Give yourself a break. You're human."

  "No, I'm a Hathaway. The press will be all over this before morning. And if there's speculation about another woman ..." she let out a sigh. "I should get back to my mother. She might need me." She paused, then let out an odd laugh that sounded incredibly sad. "Who am I kidding? She doesn't need me. I didn't even think she needed my father until a few minutes ago." Paige seemed to be talking to herself more than to him. She suddenly started. "Was I talking out loud?"

  "I didn't hear a thing," he lied.

  She stared at him for a long moment. "I can't quite figure you out."

  "Likewise," he replied.

  "Thanks for the ride."

  Riley watched her walk away, the stiffness of her spine no doubt worthy of the very best Hathaway. She had her game face back on, and she would do anything to protect her family.

  But right now he had his own family to worry about -- his grandmother's possibly priceless dragon. And the only clue he had was Jasmine Chen, a local painter. She shouldn't be that difficult to find.

  * * *

  Jasmine turned over in bed, her legs twisting in the hot sheets. She wanted to escape from the dream that raced through her head once again, but it had her in its grip, the jade green light burning from two bright eyes, the makeshift altar with the candles, the fireworks bursting outside. Then there was nothing but darkness, the swish of fabric against her face, the terror of no way out, the screaming, the terrible, terrible screaming of a woman, the harsh grip on her arm, the wrenching pain ...

  She woke up abruptly, sweat dripping down her face. The dream always began and ended the same way. But tonight was worse, because today the dream had become a reality.

  The dragon from her nightmares existed. It wasn't a figment of her imagination, as her mother had assured her over the years. It was real. David had shown it to her. It matched the vision in her head, the one she had painted so many times, trying to understand what her dreams might mean. For there had to be a meaning, a reason why her mind kept taking her back to that place. What was she was supposed to learn? And why couldn't she learn it, understand it?

  Untangling herself from the sheets, she walked over to the window and threw it open. The cold air washed over her, cooling the fever in her body, in her head, but she still felt frustrated. She was close to something. She could feel it in her heart, a heart that sang to the past more than to the present. It was a love she shared with David, a love of history, of China, of people and places that seemed both magical and yet very real, as if she had lived there once. But she hadn't lived there. Her parents had been born in China, but she had been born here in Chinatown, just a few blocks away in an apartment that she'd shared with her three brothers and one younger sister. How could she know of things that had happened a continent away and several lifetimes ago? Was it just her imagination, or did she have an old soul, as a fortune-teller had once told her?

  Shivering, she stayed by the window, refusing to give in to the cold or to the reality of her life. She tried not to look down, not to see what was right before her, because so much of her present was not what she wanted it to be. Instead, she looked up at the moon and the stars, to her dreams, her desires. She was a fool, she knew that, too. Foolish to believe in miracles. Her life had been hard since the day she was born missing the index finger on her left hand, a sign of just how inadequate she was and would be. She had disappointed so many people in her life. So why was she here on this earth? What was she supposed to accomplish with her life?

  The answers had something to do with the dragon. She knew it with a certainty that she couldn't explain. David knew it, too. He was as much a dreamer as she was. And her persistent dreams had always intrigued him. Over the years, they had looked through centuries of stories about dragons to find some similarity to the one in her dreams. Only one tale had come
close, but that tale involved two dragons connected together. She never dreamed about two, only one. Unless they were a perfect match, unless they blended together as one in her dreams. She remembered seeing a rough sketch of those dragons in a book of Chinese fairytales, and there had been a small similarity, but neither had really matched the dragon in her dreams. Another dead end, she had thought. But today ... when her fingers had traced the joint opening where two dragons could become one, she had known the truth.

  And if there were two dragons ...

  Where was the other one?

  Chapter Six

  Paige walked through the front doors of the hospital and blinked against the brightness of the early Thursday morning sun. She couldn't believe the night had finally ended. For a while she had thought it might go on forever.

  Her father was in a coma, the doctors said. There was severe swelling in his brain. They didn't know the extent of the damage, if it was permanent or temporary. In fact, they didn't know much of anything. Only time would tell. So they waited and they waited. When the sun came up, Paige had ventured down to the lobby, grabbing a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, finally making her way out here, to the front of the hospital where a horseshoe driveway allowed for pickups and drop-offs.

  She sat down on a cold bench and let out a long, frustrated, anxious breath—the breath she'd been holding most of the night. But she couldn't relax, not yet. The immediate danger wasn't over. And she had to be ready for everything that would follow, the press, the police, Riley McAllister. She knew he'd be back. And she'd have to deal with the question of the missing dragon.

  Maybe it was somewhere in the store. She would have her secretary search every floor. She'd ask Martin, too, and whomever else she could enlist to both help and keep the search confidential. The last thing she wanted was for the public to catch wind of not only her father's attack but also the fact that a piece of art that Hathaway's had not yet acquired had disappeared from their care.

  "Paige, there you are." Martin came through the hospital doors, looking as crisp as he had appeared the night before. She couldn't imagine how he did it. "I'm glad you waited," he said. "I'll drive you home."

  "I'm not going home yet."

  "You've been here all night. You need some sleep."

  "I can't sleep now, not until I know for sure my dad is all right."

  "Paige, it could be hours."

  "My mother should be back shortly," she said, taking a quick look at her watch. "I'll leave when she gets here."

  "Do you want me to wait with you?"

  She shook her head. "No, but thank you for the offer. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty."

  "It's not duty. I care about you."

  She looked away, not liking the gleam in his eyes.

  "Paige, I know this isn't the time, but—"

  "You're right, it's not the time. I have a lot on my mind."

  He frowned. "I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

  She thought about that for a moment. "There's something you can do when you get to the store. You can find out if that dragon statue is anywhere on the premises. I think my father had it with him, but I have to know for sure. I don't want to think there's a connection between the dragon and my father's attack, but it's possible."

  "Does your mother know about this?"

  "I mentioned it to her last night before Dad got hurt. I don't think it's at the top of her list right now. And I really don't want Grandfather to know, although I suspect he already does. He seems to have an uncanny ability to know every single thing that goes on at the store."

  Martin smiled. "The sign of a good executive. Don't worry, Paige. I'll do everything I can to help." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Maybe someday you'll realize I'm a good guy to have around."

  She was saved from answering by the appearance of her grandfather's car pulling up in front of the hospital. She stiffened at the sight. Wallace Hathaway was the most intimidating individual she had ever known. He demanded perfection, and he made no allowances for family. If anything, he expected more from those who shared his blood. She stood up as her grandfather got out of the backseat of his black BMW, which was driven by his longtime chauffeur.

  Eighty-two years of living might have turned his hair a pepper gray and drawn thick lines across his forehead and around his dark eyes, but time had not lessened his stature. At six foot four, her grandfather still seemed like a giant.

  "Grandfather," she murmured, walking over to him. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

  "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you upstairs with your father?" he demanded.

  "I was just—"

  "How is David?" he interrupted.

  "The same," she said.

  Her grandfather's lips tightened with anger, or maybe it was fear. He was a difficult man to read. She wanted to tell him she was scared and worried and have him respond that it would be all right, that her dad would pull through. But to do that would mean admitting personal weakness, something her grandfather never wanted to see.

  "I've hired a private nurse," Wallace said abruptly. "I want someone with him at all times."

  Paige immediately felt guilty for having abandoned her post for even a few moments.

  "I'll walk up with you, Mr. Hathaway," Martin said. "Paige needs a little air."

  She sent Martin a silent thank you, knowing he'd made the offer to give her some space. She sat back down on the bench, retrieving her rapidly cooling cup of coffee.

  Martin and her grandfather got along well, she thought, taking a sip of the tepid liquid. Another item to put in the pro column. And he'd just saved her a few minutes of awkward tension. But deep in her heart she knew there was still something missing in their relationship. Despite all of Martin's good qualities, she couldn't seem to feel more for him than fondness and appreciation. Her mother would say those emotions were enough to base a marriage on. But she wanted more. She wanted that reckless, breathless, falling-in-love kind of feeling. She wanted her stomach to do flip-flops when Martin was close by. She wanted to be acutely aware every time his hand touched her shoulder or the small of her back. She wanted to be swept off her feet. But Martin didn't make her feel any of those things.

  He was a good date. Generous, concerned, able to pick fine wines, good restaurants, appropriate movies. He read extensively, traveled when he had the chance, worked out, kept fit, handled money well, had a good job. Damn. She was doing just what her mother had suggested, making a pro and con list in her head. Only the pros were all logical, and the cons were all emotional. Big surprise there. She'd spent most of her life torn between reason and desire. And she always chose reason. She always did the right thing in the long run. That was who she was; even when she wanted to stray, she couldn't. She should probably conserve her energy and just agree to marry Martin now, save herself all the stress and turmoil of a decision that would probably end up there anyway.

  With a sigh, she leaned back, resting against the building. This wasn't the time to be thinking about marriage. Not with her father's life on the line. A rush of worry hit her once again. She didn't want to lose him. It couldn't end like this, without warning, without a chance to say good-bye.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, seeking a peaceful image, but she was taken back to an even more painful place—her sister's bedroom. She'd had more than one chance to say good-bye to her sister, but she hadn't been able to make herself go into the room, so she'd stood in the doorway as her parents sat by Elizabeth's bed. She could see them now, the sunlight streaming in through the window, lighting up Elizabeth's face as if she was already an angel, already gone to heaven. Her mother had asked Paige to come in, to say good-bye to her sister. But she hadn't been able to enter that room. Not with Elizabeth lying so still, her eyes closed, her small hands folded on her chest. It was the way she would look a few days later when they put her in the casket, like she was sleeping, only she wasn't.

  God, how Paige wished she h
adn't had to see that. But her mother had insisted that she face it, that she understand that death was a part of life. You must be strong, Paige. You must not cry. You must go on with your life. She hadn't been strong, and she hadn't understood. She'd been six years old and terrified that whatever was happening to her sister would happen to her, too. She hadn't been able to sleep on her back for years. In fact, she still hated that position, still refused to put her hands together on her chest, as if she were inviting the same result.

  Her eyes flew open so she wouldn't see the images in her head. She knew that the reason she was sitting out here was so she wouldn't have to look at her father in the same position. She was twenty-eight years old now, but seeing her father lying so still in bed, looking so old, so fragile, made her feel as if she were six years old again. She wanted it all to go away. She wanted everything to be the way it was yesterday.

  Rolling her head around on her shoulders, Paige felt the aches of the long, stressful night. The sudden ringing of her cell phone made her jump. She answered the call with a wary hello.

  "Paige? This is Riley. We need to meet."

  "What? How did you get this number?"

  "It wasn't difficult. How's your father?"

  "No change."

  "It sounds like he's holding his own."

  "For the moment, yes."

  "We need to talk, Paige. I think you should meet me in Chinatown."

  "Why?" she asked, shocked by the suggestion. She never went to Chinatown. Her mother insisted it was a tourist trap, a neighborhood where Hathaways didn't belong. Even on the few occasions when a girlfriend had dragged her there for dim sum, it had always been to visit a certain restaurant, not to go anywhere else, not to walk down the streets, or stop in the shops, or talk to the people.

  "Paige? Are you still there?"

  "I can't go to Chinatown. Why would you ask me to? The police are investigating the area. There's nothing I can do. There's nothing you can do, either."

  "I've already done something."

  "What?" Her heart beat in triple time. "What have you done?"