Racing the Tide

by January Bain

  “Not long, a few months.”

  “You like working for Uncle Chang? Does he pay good?”

  “Uncle Chang? You know Uncle?” she asked, her tone one of slight surprise.

  He shook his head. “Not really. But I heard he owned this place and the Chang Café down the street. That he’s an important man in Chinatown.”

  “Yes, better man to know than triad.” She dry-spat on the floor for emphasis. “You turn over now. I do your front?”

  “I only need my back done, thanks.”

  “Why you ask about Uncle?” Her tone had changed and was now edged with a tinge of suspicion.

  “I thought you might know him and I was just making conversation to pass the time. Not important. When in Rome, you know.” He prayed the man was a frequent visitor. That damn clock, tick-tock tock-tock, added a heavy weight in his mind.

  She stayed silent, working hard, earning a good tip. Then she stopped, giving him a final tap on the ass he ignored.

  He pretended to drift off, his breathing shallow. She moved around, putting things in order. Just when he thought she’d never leave, she slipped out of the room. He waited a few minutes just in case, then got up, put on his shirt and shoes and left the promised tip. He opened the door and peered into the hallway. No one in sight.

  He hurried on tiptoe toward the open office door. In and out, then back to the room, if luck held. Once in the office, he moved out of sight of the doorway and looked around. Its windows were also covered in bars, shutting in the ten-by-twelve space. No back door—not good—but above the desk, he spied an opening with a piece of tiling, filling the two by two-foot square, likely leading to the attic. In one corner rested an ancient safe, in the other a file cabinet. The desk was old and battered, with three folding chairs lined up in front. A sturdy leather chair near the back wall faced the desk and the door.

  He planted two bugs in quick order, one in the picture frame across from the leather chair and one behind the desk that was far riskier as he could be spotted from the hall. He moved back into a corner as the sound of tinkling bells. The front door had opened. Another customer? He sidled up to the edge of the door and peered around the frame cautiously, sweating at the thought of exposure. Three men, black ski masks pulled down to obscure their faces and guns in hand, were busy shoving the hostess into the room where the women were gathered. Fuck. Not what? He wasn’t armed. Big mistake. He should have at least brought a Taser.

  He jumped up on the desk, pushed the tile aside, pulling himself up by his hands and shoulders into the crawl space above. It took a few seconds, and with his feet dangling from the ceiling he kept expecting to be spotted, an uncomfortable sensation that grew worse by the second. The low-ceilinged attic was dimly lit and dank with the distinct musty odor of mold and mildew. He had no time to wait for his eyes to adjust, placing the tile back over the opening as fast as possible. He lay down nearby, not wanting to break the old wooden floorboards by standing in one spot. Falling through and crashing back into the room would spell disaster.

  Shouts and a gun shot rang out. He froze. Damn it. Now, what? As his eyes adjusted, he could see the attic ran all the way to the front street, ending in an air vent over the spot where the sign that shouted out the business exploits inside was fastened. Its slight neon glow shone through the cracks in the wall, leaving a lattice-work of design on the planked floor. He began to crawl in that direction, hoping to spot another way out.

  Near the front, and most likely over the counter with the till, was another square tile opening. Thank God. He stifled a sneeze, making his ears pop and hurt from the intense pressure. Listening, he heard the door open again with the tell-tale sound of bells and rushing feet, then the sound of women’s voices could be heard. Now or never. If might be his only chance. He was under no illusions about what his crawling around in their attic could lead to, and it would in no way be an offer for another massage.

  He pushed aside the tile, lowering himself to the counter, and came eye-to-eye with his masseuse. Her eyes widened with shook. She was about to say something when he clamped his hand over her mouth, feeling like a real shit for doing it. Nothing worse than frightening a woman.

  “I won’t hurt you. I just need to get out of here. I had nothing to do with this. You understand?” he asked racking his brain for an idea, trying to sound reasonable. “I will give you money if you stay quiet. Meet me at Tim Horton’s in thirty minutes. Okay? I can pay you well. But I can also be your worst enemy. Don’t scream or else you’ll give me no choice but to hurt you.” The threat was shitty but necessary—he had mere moments to make his escape or maybe be shot. He hoped she would believe the worst of him, at least for a few precious seconds. Men in the next room barked orders. They would be back any moment.

  She nodded, her eyes wide with fear. Out of time, he let her go and held his breath, praying she’d believed him. She remained silent. Stood still. Watched him leave. The door closed behind him, each step he took one second closer to freedom.

  On the street and heading down the sidewalk, he took a deep breath, enjoying the rain, trying to calm down. The weather had let up to a fine mist, dampening and cooling his flushed face. He’d left his rain gear inside, small price to pay. He hurried toward the truck, each step feeling like he had a bullseye target painted on his back. The street was quiet, as though everyone knew to stay inside, and he made it to his vehicle safely. But where was Gabby? He’d expected her to be done at the café by now. What if something had gone wrong? What if the masked men had been an attack on Chang’s business interests? His heartrate increased triple-time at the idea, thudding loudly as adrenaline kicked back in.

  He looked around with deep concern, wondering which direction to look in first, the worry ratcheting back up into the stratosphere. Why was she not in the truck when he specifically said to wait for him soon as she was done? Getting coffee and a muffin couldn’t take this long? Maybe she’d been offered a job that started ASAP—not very likely—or maybe, the thought making his stomach roll, she was in real trouble?

  * * * *

  Day Three: 1:19 p.m.

  Gabby sipped her coffee as she strolled down the street. The rain had almost stopped, making the rain jacket almost unnecessary, but she couldn’t remove it, considering her clothing choices underneath. Well, not unless she wanted to be suspected of being a hooker. But it had worked, and very well indeed.

  She spied Cole near the truck on the sidewalk and broke out into a smile. She’d been productive and rather nosy in a few businesses the past hour and had some significant intel to share he might appreciate. His scowl in return made some of the satisfaction drain away. What was his problem?

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, his eyes accusing her.

  “What’s the matter? I’ve just been walking around, getting a feel for this place, getting inside Chang’s office. You know, doing my job,” she hissed. Like his job was that hard. She could see how much he appreciated scantily dressed women. She’d seen the once-over he’d given her last night. And wasn’t he just hanging around such women? An unwelcome visit from the green-eyed monster brought her up short, bit her in the ass. She pressed her lips together to keep from saying more.

  “While you were prancing around, Paradise Massage was robbed at gunpoint. Didn’t you hear the gunshot?”

  “I certainly was not prancing around! Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?” She looked him over with concern. The rain slicker was too hot and confining, buttoned up so tight. Her face flushed from heat and stress. Other than dusty, he looked unhurt. She brushed a cobweb from his shoulder and their glances met. She swallowed hard, understanding the true meaning of being hot under the collar.

  “I don’t think so. I had to crawl across the attic to get out. Promised my masseuse hush money. She’s going to meet me at Tim Horton’s in a few minutes. And that reminds me—I should move the truck, in case we’ve been spotted.”

  She pressed her lips together and climbed into the passeng
er side. He started up the vehicle and drove a few blocks, making a few twists and turns, then pulled into a parking stall at the coffee shop. He withdrew his wallet from his pants pocket and counted out five hundred dollar bills, folding them in half.

  “So, did you learn anything? Plant the bugs?” he asked as she remained silent, her lips pressed together.

  “Yes, I planted two bugs. One in the ladies’ bathroom and one in the office, filling out an employment application. But, if we’re going to be working together, we need to lay some ground rules.” She seethed inside but took the time to enunciate each syllable as though she was talking to an imbecile, which was what he had just been.

  He turned his dark gaze her way. “No time for that. But I will say that I can’t have you disobeying procedure, leaving yourself open to harm. I don’t need that worry on top of all the other shit that’s going down right now.”

  “I’ll give you that a lot of shit’s going on. But I can handle myself. I did before you came to town, and I will after you leave.” Why did that feel so discomforting? Hell, she’d just met him and he wasn’t easy. “I’ve discovered there’s an upcoming war with the triad, which is probably what was behind the robbery at Paradise.”

  “Yes, I discovered that as well and I was able to place bugs.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. They were well-shaped, strong and tanned. Was the rest of him so fine? According to her dreams, yes. But dreams aren’t the same as real life. She had a stab of envy for the young woman who had just laid hands on him. The sweet odor of coconut filled the cab, making her frown. Exactly how far had they gone in that massage room?

  “There she is,” he said. Gabby looked out of the windshield and spotted a stunning petite young woman hurrying across the parking lot, headed for the side door of the coffee shop. She rolled her eyes. Of course, she’d be drop-dead gorgeous.

  “You wait here.” She was about to protest when his next statement made too much sense to protest. “I don’t want your involvement exposed. Not yet.”

  “Fine, but hurry. The clock’s ticking.”

  He grunted. “You think I don’t know that? And if you’re too hot, I have a T-shirt in the backseat.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

  “You’re flushed red. It’s not good for you.”

  She grimaced and he walked across the parking lot. Nice ass, goddamn it all to hell. She unbuckled and rummaged around in the back, finding the tee, and got busy changing out of the hot rain slicker, tugging the shirt down over her head. It caught in her bun and pulled her hair down as well, pins springing out and pinging on the dash and floor. Annoyed, she tided the thick mass best she could then sat back to wait. Cole’s fragrance filled her nostrils as it wafted from the material and she took a deep breath in, finding his scent arousing. Spicy and sex as hell, just like the guy. Damn it.

  She checked her messages. Her sister had sent a text, asking how her new job was going. She got busy answering, fingers flying over the keys. She needed to tell somebody.

  Never guess who I’m working with? Guy from last night. Real FUBAR

  No FW!!!

  Yes way. Talk later. On the job.

  As she looked back up, a trio of young men pulled up in a black car with tinted windows, music blaring, drawing attention. They appeared to be looking for someone as they made their drive by, black and red bandanas tied either around their necks or across their foreheads. A sense of foreboding overcame her and she reached for the door handle.

  * * * *

  Day Three: 1:57 p.m.

  Cole got his coffee black and joined the woman at a table, glancing around, checking to see if any of the customers could be a potential threat. It was a typical Tim Horton’s coffee shop with a line for ordering food and coffee, the round café tables going unfilled for the most part as people used the drive-in option more. But he didn’t like the location of the table she’d chosen—he couldn’t see the vehicle. Or Gabby.

  “Let’s move over there.” He pointed toward the opposite side of the coffee shop. She didn’t say anything, but picked up her brown Styrofoam cup. He gave her a hand up off the chair and slipped the cache of folded money hidden in his palm into her hand.

  She gave him a smile of satisfaction and followed him across the room. Cole kept the truck in the edge of his vision as he sipped his hot coffee, the fresh fragrance of the beverage invigorating, trying to think of something to say to the young woman. He needed to handle this operation delicately, use anything he could discover in the course of the conversation that might give him an edge.

  “You come to Chinatown often?” she asked, making him rack his brain for the best possible excuse that would also curry favor.

  “Yes, I spend time in the area, trying to drum up business.”

  “What business you in?”

  “I have a company on the side that sells watches, jewelry, purses, stuff like that. Very good quality, good as the real thing.” The area was notorious for contraband goods. In fact, most goods sold were knock-offs of the real thing. It was how most of the merchants made their living.

  “You can get me fancy stuff for lower cost?” she asked, running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip with interest. He felt like a real shit, leading her on. She seemed like such a nice girl too, hard-working, and she had helped him out of a bad situation. He owed her something. Hell, he could have been killed. And, if what he suspected was true, she was stuck in a dead-end job for the foreseeable future, and he would bet she’d be paying off for years to come the costs of being brought to Canada. His heart squeezed with sympathy for her plight and so many other young people just wanting a chance at the Canadian dream. A decent life that provided for their family back home. So many broke their spirits trying to obtain it, held by so often by their own people. Fucking unfair. And it didn’t make him feel one iota better knowing he was using her as well—she could be a useful source, going forward.

  “Sure? What do you want?”

  “Anything really.” She shrugged. “All girls love jewelry and purses. Very nice to have. Make nice gifts for when I need and I can also sell them. Help you. Help me. Pearl is my name. What yours?”

  “I’m Cole. I’ll get some nice things together for you to check out, if you like.”

  She gave him a demure smile and a small nod, eyes downcast, though it was obvious she was pleased. Christ, she was a real sweetheart. Sure, she didn’t hold a candle to Gabby, but that was a given. No one did.

  “You’re good at your job, Pearl,” he complimented her, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel much more relaxed.” Not quite true. Worry over Gabby had stripped that away ASAP. Pearl smiled, though, making him feel a bit less like a shit-heel.

  He caught movement near the truck and turned to find Gabby had gotten out and was marching across the pavement. What the fuck? But, before he could react, a loud series of bangs rang out. He ducked down in his seat, peering through the glass. The sharp scent of gunpowder drifted in the front door as it was opened, letting in smoky residue. He squinted through the mist, his eyes watering. Then he was up and running to the entrance.

  Where was she?

  He looked around in fear, his heart thundering. He spotted her lying on the pavement a few feet from the entrance. He raced to her side, desperate to see if she was injured. If they had hurt her, he’d tear them limb from limb.

  “I’m fine. It was just fireworks. A warning from what I think are rival gang members. They were dressed in triad colors, black and red bandanas tied around their foreheads,” she blurted out as he helped her to her feet, making sure she wasn’t bleeding anywhere.

  “Thank God,” he said, pulling her into his arms, able to breathe now that the danger had passed. She felt so good as he held her tiny body tight to his, making him aware of how well her curves fitted into the hollows of his muscular frame and how amazing the fragrance was wafting off her warm flesh, heated from the adrenaline surging through her veins. All flowery with a hint of feminine musk unde
rneath like burnt sugar. His cock responded, growing hard in an instant. She didn’t pull away from the evidence, but pushed up against him. He couldn’t have pulled away now if his life had depended on it.

  It was only the sound of a woman’s raised voice that broke the moment. “You meet me later? Give me what you promised?” Pearl asked, frowning while looking at them both. Under her intent perusal, he took a step back from Gabby, taking charge of the situation. He prayed his hard-on wasn’t obvious, painful as it was pressing against his zipper. He wanted to keep Pearl’s cooperation, no matter the cost.

  “Yes, I will be in touch,” he said, his voice raspy and hoarse. He cleared his throat, wishing away the ache in his balls. What the fuck had just happened?

  “How? You need my number?” she asked, proving she did not want to miss out on anything. And as uncomfortable as the situation was, she wasn’t giving up.

  He nodded and took out his phone. Keyed in the numbers she recited.

  “See you later. Bye.” Pearl walked away. Finally.

  He turned to give Gabby a look, but she was already gone. He followed and got in behind the wheel.

  The throb still demanding between her legs shocked Gabby as she buckled up the seatbelt. Her blood was pulsing under her skin, her flesh on fire. I want nothing more than to fuck this man. The idea left her breathless. Pressed up against him, she had been far too aware of his powerful arms, his flat stomach, his chiseled pecs and his huge cock pressing against her, demanding entry. Fuck. It must have been the adrenaline from the shock. She swallowed, not ready to look his way, instead peering out of the side window as if the view was the most fascinating ever. And what was the deal with Pearl? The color green surging around the edges of Gabby’s vision only added to her confusion.

  “So.” Cole cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here?”

  Good fucking question. How about the closest motel? Or better, yet your place or mine. Or perhaps you would like to explain about Pearl? Just what the fuck is going down with her? Is that the kind of girl you want? Instead she managed to squeak out some words, gaining some control. “I think we should head back to home base. Share what’s happened and what we know.”