Jade Tiger

by Reese, Jenn

  Etienne removed his hand from the crane, looked at Shan, and nodded.

  "Good." Shan stood and turned back to Fortier. "You have a duty to this boy. Please don't fail him."

  Ian and Charles exchanged a few more words, many of them heated, but Shan shut them out. She focused on maneuvering herself into the backseat of the car without puncturing a lung. A noble goal, in her opinion. Buckley climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine.

  "Remind me to take martial artists on all my vacations," he grinned. "You people are pretty useful."

  Shan merely grunted her response, but she couldn't help smiling. Buckley's levity was often ill-timed, but she appreciated it now.

  "You need to work on your snowmobiling, though," Buckley added, and Shan immediately retracted her silent praise.

  The passenger door opened, and Ian folded himself into the little European seat. Buckley barely waited for Ian to shut his door before he shifted into gear and headed for the road.

  "Sorry I took so long," said Ian, snapping his seatbelt on. "I remembered something about how Fortier got the dragon. He was in Cairo fifteen years ago, in a secret market for stolen artifacts, when a Chinese woman approached him and gave him the statue."

  "That doesn't make any sense," Shan interrupted. "No Jade Circle woman would knowingly give up an animal in her guardianship."

  Ian twisted in his seat so that he could see Shan as he talked. "Fortier said she looked nervous. She told him she was being followed. She said he could have the dragon as long as he never sold it or displayed it publicly."

  Shan frowned. "Does he have any idea where the woman is now?"

  Ian shook his head. "Hasn't seen her since Cairo. Of course, he wasn't really looking. Charles isn't an archaeologist; he just likes old things. Has quite a collection, in fact." He smiled wryly. "I've been trying to get him to donate his artifacts to a museum, but the man is surprisingly stubborn on that issue. He likes having them to himself."

  "Are you two done yapping?" Buckley asked. They'd almost made it back to the main highway in Chamonix, and the traffic was already starting to thicken. "Because I'll think you'll be interested in what I learned while you were both off on your forest expedition."

  Shan refused to give Buckley the satisfaction of seeing her blush. Ian, however, turned as red as a raspberry. Almost the color his cheeks had been in the woods, just after they'd kissed for the first, hopefully not the last, time. "Tell us," Shan said quickly.

  Buckley merged into a heavy stream of cars. "Well, it seems that Mrs. Fortier overheard some interesting snippets from her captors," he said.

  "They probably didn't care what they said in front of her," Shan interjected. "They planned on killing the whole family before they left, I'm sure."

  "Yeah, well, they mentioned this big auction," Buckley continued. "Said they needed the dragon for it. Mentioned some guy named Ashton--"

  "Victor Ashton?" said Ian. "I've heard of him. He's rich, collects antiques. Like our friend Fortier, but on a much larger scale. Holds some function at his estate in China almost every year--my parents get invited, but they haven't gone to one yet."

  "An auction?" Shan asked. She didn't like where this was going. The jade animals were sacred and meant to be kept secret. The last thing the Jade Circle needed was the exposure of a huge auction. Then she'd have to fight every filthy rich collector in the world to get them back.

  Ian nodded grimly. "Probably."

  "So what do we do now?" Buckley said.

  Shan looked out the window and watched the trees streak by. In the darkness, they felt like an endless stream of her ancestors, tall and shadowed, looking down on her with disappointment. Her journey was far from over.

  "You both go somewhere safe," she said eventually, "while I infiltrate the auction and recover the dragon."

  "Now, wait just a minute--"

  "I have a better idea," Ian said. His voice sounded hard. Shan could tell he was trying to quell her arguments before she even made them. "We go to my parent's house," he continued, staring right at her, "we take their invitations, and we go to the auction together."

  "It's too..." She started to say "dangerous," but the look on Ian's face stopped her. And he was right. What part of the last two days hadn't been dangerous? She tried a different tack. "Look, you saw how it went in the Fortier's house. If the family hadn't been held as hostages, the situation would have been much simpler. If I bring you to the auction, I'll spend most of my time protecting you."

  Ian wanted to argue with her, she could tell. The muscles on his face seemed to quiver slightly just below his skin. His soft, kissable skin. Whoa. That comes later, she told herself. Possibly much later.

  "I'm sorry that I'll complicate your mission," Ian said slowly, "but I'm going to insist. You need the invitations. I can get them for you. The invitation is for both my parents, so it will look less fishy if we go together. They'll assume my parents sent me in their place." Ian reached into the backseat and took Shan's hand. Her skin tingled where their flesh touched, and she felt, once again, as if she might melt from his heat. "I'll be useful to you, Shan. I promise."

  Shan closed her eyes and swallowed, her whole body and mind focused on the sensations of that one hand touching Ian.

  Ian was comfortable with his skills and knew his limitations. He deserved to be treated like the intelligent adult he repeatedly proved that he was. If she allowed him to come, her mission would be easier in many ways. The invitations, the cover story. But was it selfish of her to say yes? Was she giving in to Ian, putting his life at risk, in order to help her restore the legacy of the Jade Circle? Or, even worse, did she simply want him nearby for the high of an occasional caress or the bliss of yet another kiss?

  "Okay," she said quietly.

  "Okay?" Ian turned to Buckley. "You heard her say it, right?"

  "Don't bring me into this. I don't speak Chinese, and I don't hobnob with the rich. I'll be happy to sit this one out."

  "What?"

  "Excellent," Shan said. "But you still need to stay safe until this is over. I think you should hide out in my martial arts school in Los Angeles."

  Buckley grinned. "Ah, Hollywood. Failed actresses with boob jobs, too desperate to hold out for that big break or the leading man, ready for the dashing archaeologist to sweep them into bed. Or onto the carpet. Or into an elevator. That's more my style."

  Shan rolled her eyes. "You'll have to curb your carnal instincts for a while and lay low at the school. Lydia will help you."

  "Lydia?" Buckley said. "Sounds like failed actress material to me."

  "Lydia owns the school where I teach," Shan said firmly. "She's one of my best students. I have no doubt she'll be able to handle you."

  "Now that's what I'm talking about!" Buckley grinned. Shan could only shake her head.

  "How is it that you teach, but she owns the school?" Ian asked.

  Shan didn't want to get into the details. Those were for Lydia to divulge, if and only if she wanted to. "She saw me in action once," Shan said carefully. "She had the money to buy the property, and I agreed to start the school. It was excellent timing for both of us." Especially for Lydia, Shan added silently. Without Shan's arrival in that darkened parking lot behind the strip mall, Lydia would have been gang raped. Now, the two of them were almost as close as sisters. And their school, The Way of the River, was teaching more and more people how to defend themselves every day.

  "I'll do it," said Buckley. "You guys can drop me off in Paris and continue up to the Dashell estate, or whatever the hell pretentious name they've given the place."

  "Dashell Manor," said Ian. "I'm hurt that you've forgotten."

  Shan looked from Ian to Buckley and back again. "You guys are kidding, right? Your parents live in France?"

  "Oh, no," said Ian, adopting an exaggerated aristocratic air. "France is so last century. My parents are both Anglophiles, so nothing but jolly old England would suit them for a home."

  "Yeah," said Buckl
ey, "you're going to love their place. All zillion acres of it."

  Shan gulped. "Uh, maybe you should go alone, Ian. I, uh, have to protect Buckley."

  "Oh, there's no way I'm going to visit my parents without one of you as a shield," Ian said. "You either come with me or we forget about the auction."

  Shan sighed heavily, making sure he could see. "Fine. Have it your way. You big baby."

  In the front seat, Buckley laughed. "I see that my presence is having a good influence on you, Shan. Excellent."

  "Yeah," groaned Ian. "It's bloody great."

  "Lydia will pick you up at the airport," Shan said over the roar of vehicles in the departures area of Charles de Gaulle Airport. "Don't call or write to anyone. Got it?"

  "Gotten," Buckley said. "I'll stay in public areas at all times, I'll buckle my seat belt, and I'll drink my milk. Anything else?"

  "And don't give Lydia a hard time," Shan added.

  "And keep your hands off her, too," grinned Ian. "We wouldn't want you to alienate the woman responsible for your safety, now would we?" Ian and Buckley did the guy hug, complete with back slapping. Shan snuck in and gave Buckley a hug of her own in order to avoid that whole French cheek kissing thing. She was more of a chin kisser anyway, but only with the right chin. Shan smiled to herself.

  "And you're sure I can't take the crane to L.A. with me?" Buckley asked for the third time.

  "Absolutely," Shan said. "It would just make you more of a target than you already are. And besides," she hefted the messenger bag that had been over her shoulder for the last few hours, "I'm kind of attached to the statue myself. The only way they're getting this is at my funeral."

  "All right, then. Be good, kids," he said, and he was off, winding his way through hordes of travelers like a seasoned pro.

  Ian scrunched back into the car as Shan lowered herself gently into the front passenger seat. Damn ribs. She closed her door, buckled in, and they were once again driving off into the unknown.

  This time, however, the unknown scared the hell out of her. Growing up in an underground secret organization, then moving to America and being raised by a relatively clueless father did not make for a savvy socialite. It wasn't that Shan was a total tomboy--the Jade Circle had encouraged well-rounded women, and most of the older members had been wives and mothers. But Shan had never really "lunched with the ladies" or "dressed to the nines" or any of those other phrases she only marginally understood. Oh, yes, she was definitely terrified of Dashell Manor.

  They drove in silence for a while, heading for Calais and the Channel Tunnel that would take them to England. Shan rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window and lost herself in the scenery. For sixteen years, she'd lived in the United States and searched for signs of the jade animals: on the news, in magazines, at museums, by word of mouth, on the Internet. Suddenly, one goofy archaeologist publishes an interview and all hell breaks loose. The security guard at the university died. The Fortiers had been held captive. Ian and Buckley were on the run. She'd dragged so many people into her fight. Her mother would never have permitted such a thing to happen. Her mother, the great protector, the greatest martial artist the Jade Circle had ever known. A true leader.

  "If it makes you feel any better," Ian said suddenly, "you'll probably like my parents. Most people do."

  "Just not you?"

  "It's complicated," Ian said, staring straight ahead as he drove. "I definitely love them, but sometimes the liking part is a bit harder. We see the world through such different eyes."

  "Sometimes that's a good thing," Shan said. She and her father had both been obsessed with finding Shan's mother, neither one of them wanting to give up, or even pause to gain perspective. Maybe they should have.

  "I suppose," said Ian. "And I certainly get along with them better than my sister does."

  "Sister?"

  "Oh, yes," said Ian. "Her name is Isabelle, which rhymes nicely with 'Spawn of Hell.' I think she's in Tokyo right now. She should be in college, but we haven't found one strong enough to keep her yet."

  Shan smirked. "Sounds like my kind of woman."

  Ian glanced over at her, his face thoughtful. "You know, I think you two would probably hit it off. Interesting."

  "Does that make me a hell-spawn, too?"

  "Most definitely," Ian laughed. He looked at her again, his face warm. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and intimate. "You should try to sleep," he said, "even your body needs rest once in a while. I don't suppose we have time to grab a couple of hotel rooms?"

  Shan smiled. How carefully Ian chose his words, making it clear that he didn't expect to share a bed with her.

  "Your mother is expecting us for dinner, and we need to get the invitation and rejoin Buckley." She said all this to convince herself more than Ian. The hotel room sounded like heaven, and even the strength of the tiger occasionally wavered.

  "That's what I figured," Ian said. "But in that case, I think you should sleep now. I've driven this route plenty of times, so I shouldn't need your help with the map."

  "Deal." Shan reclined her seat and used Ian's puffy ski jacket as a pillow. She smelled the synthetic material and caught a hint of something distinctly Ian. Shan smiled and breathed in through her nose. Mmm. With the quiet rumble of the car beneath her and Ian's comforting presence beside her, Shan fell asleep.

  "Shan, wake up."

  "Uhh?" Shan opened her eyes slowly. She would much rather have kept them closed. Or at least have had a nice cup of tea shoved into her hands before she was required to think. Or speak. Or be even remotely pleasant.

  "We're in Calais. I'm heading toward the Channel Tunnel. From there, it'll be a quick thirty-five minutes or so on the shuttle train before we're in Folkstone, England."

  "So I'm awake because...?"

  "Because I think we're being followed."

  "Oh," said Shan, sitting up faster than she should have. Her hand went to her ribs. "That's a pretty good reason."

  Ian navigated their car down a street packed with cars, bicycles, pedestrians, and an occasional dog. For the umpteenth time, Shan was grateful that Ian was driving, and that he seemed so at ease with the chaos. She still got angry driving to the grocery store in L.A.

  "How long?" Shan asked.

  "I noticed him right after you fell asleep, but I lost him so easily that I figured I was just being paranoid. Then he showed up again twenty minutes ago when I took a wrong turn and doubled back--"

  "Wait a minute..."

  "What?"

  "You took a wrong turn?" Shan grinned. True, she should be worried about whoever was tailing them, but opportunities to tease Ian were hard to come by. He was way too perfect most of the time. Adorably so.

  "Oh, laugh it up, kung-fu queen," Ian countered. "If you drive cars like you ride snowmobiles..."

  "Okay, okay, you've made your point," Shan laughed. "Please, finish the story."

  "You're sure? You don't have another jibe tucked in there somewhere?"

  Shan folded her hands on her lap and shook her head.

  "Good," said Ian in a tone of voice that Shan imagined he used with his students. "As I was saying--oh! There he is again! Four cars back and one lane over."

  Shan twisted in her seat, ignoring the pain in her side. Sunlight glared rudely from every car hood and roof. Finally, she spotted a black car that seemed to be keeping pace with them.

  "The driver's wearing a hat," she said. "I can't see if it's a man or a woman."

  Ian checked his mirrors. "Well, whoever it is, they're backing off again. They must have seen us looking."

  Shan watched the black sedan disappear out of sight. "Maybe One-eye remembered the crane and is just waiting for a good opportunity to attack."

  "I don't think so," said Ian. "I pulled off to get gas a while back, and the place was almost deserted. He could have taken me easily."

  Shan marveled at how Ian could say things like that. Martial artists, herself included, were not prone to admitting the
ir weaknesses.

  "Well," said Shan, "we really can't lead them straight to your parent's house. I'm not up for a repeat of what happened with the Fortier's."

  "I'm not excited about that either," said Ian, "but Dashell Manor is a fortress. They've got every state-of-the-art thingy-mabob that money can buy. Apparently all the mansions got an update after that George Harrison stabbing in 1999. And besides," he grinned at Shan, "he's working with a lot fewer henchmen--henchpeople--than he was before, thanks to you."

  Shan sighed. "That's all true, but I'm still worried. They probably didn't plan these security systems with evil martial arts badasses in mind. We're an unpredictable lot."

  "You don't say?" said Ian.

  Shan tried to frown at him, but her mouth twisted into a smile against her will.

  "Well, we're almost at the Channel Tunnel," said Ian. "We'll be in England and at Casa de Dashell in no time. Excited?"

  "Thrilled," said Shan, trying to keep her smile from fading too visibly.

  You're doing it for the Jade Circle, she told herself, but it wasn't entirely true. For a long time now, Shan's responsibility to the Circle had been eclipsed by her mother's legacy. Shan needed to prove herself worthy of her lineage, worthy of her mother's sacrifice. And if she needed to face an entire army of Ian's parents in order to do it, well...

  Shan gulped. Well, she'd probably run away screaming.

  CHAPTER 7

  The grounds of Dashell Manor were, if possible, even bigger than Shan had imagined. Minutes ago they had passed a stone obelisk engraved with the estate's name. Minutes ago. And only now were they actually approaching the house. They drove around a sharp bend, and Shan gasped.

  Shan wanted to describe the mansion as nestled in the trees, but nothing so huge could actually nestle, in her opinion. "It's...it's..."

  "Obscene," Ian finished for her. "Ludicrous. Outrageous. A colossal waste of money."

  "Beautiful!" Shan gasped.

  And it was. Two stories of pure old England charm surrounding by rolling, snow-dusted hills. The building itself was shaped like a shoebox, but somehow that just made it seem more exotic.