Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  “Thank you, by the way. They were delicious. But no. This is how I pay back being hung out to dry. I have a score to settle with you.”

  “If you don’t release me this instant, I swear you’ll regret it.”

  He shook his head. “The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner.”

  “Let.” She yanked against his wrist. “Me.” A harder yank. “Go.” The last one she pulled straight down and kicked out.

  It knocked his legs right out from under him. He expected it and went down willingly, pulling her with him. He twisted and landed on his back in the grass. She managed to land on top of him, pinning him in place with one knee high on his chest.

  She was breathing heavy, her chest heaving in exertion. Or maybe anger. Probably both. Either way, it was sexy as all hell. He didn’t trust her, not by a long shot, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view.

  “Now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” That was all sorts of wrong if he wanted her cooperation, but he couldn’t help it.

  Her glare confirmed it. “Give me the key.”

  He wiggled their linked wrists. “This key?”

  “Yes, that key,” she snarled. “Give it to me.”

  “What do I get in return?” He excelled in the art of negotiation. And patience. He knew how to use both to good advantage.

  She leaned down closer to his face. “I’ll let you keep your miserable life.”

  “Wow. You’re not mad or anything, are you?”

  Her knee slid higher and pressed against the base of his throat.

  Apparently he was good at aggravation, too. “Front pocket of my jeans.”

  She slid off his chest and reached into his left pocket. A good time to make a move, but he’d rather allow her free rein. It was interesting to watch her in action. Know thy enemy. An appropriate saying that seemed to fit the situation.

  The object of his ill-timed desire pulled out a wintergreen Lifesaver he was saving for after dinner and tossed it aside with a huff of exasperation.

  “Not that side, sweet cheeks,” he said. “Other one.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She straddled him again and leaned to the other side, then shoved her hand inside his pocket. She came up empty.

  “There’s no key!” she accused.

  He laughed. “Of course not, it’s in my room. But you’re a good frisker.”

  “You lying son of a—”

  He didn’t let her finish, just grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved sideways, following through with a roll that planted her firmly beneath him. He lay prone on top of her, face to face, and the shock in her eyes made him grin. This was the most fun he’d had in years.

  “What do you say we call this a draw and go back to my room?” he said. “We can chat. Drink wine. It will be nice.”

  “Drink…?” she said incredulously. “Are you insane?”

  “Probably. Let’s go find out for certain. Shall we?”

  “No.”

  He sighed. “Are you always this uncooperative?”

  “Get off me.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He caught her fist an inch before it slammed into his jaw.

  “You’ve also got a temper,” he stated as he tucked both her hands between them.

  She didn’t respond, but her eyes promised revenge. That sealed it. No way he’d turn her loose now. He knew better than to let go of a hellcat in full fury. He’d never survive.

  “Look, all I want to do is talk,” he reasoned. “Is that too much to ask?”

  “We were talking fine before you handcuffed me,” she said with narrowed eyes. “You’re the one who ruined it.”

  “You’ve got that wrong,” he argued. “I was talking. You were lying.”

  She shrugged. “And it was working just fine.”

  She was magnificent when she was angry. Beautiful and deadly. Somehow his brain took note. Good thing too, because the rest of him was busy taking in how soft she was, how nice she felt against him. It was a thought that spelled trouble, and he pushed it away.

  “If you agree to play nice and have an honest conversation with me, I’ll let you up,” he offered.

  “I promise.”

  She said it much too quickly for him to believe her. Whatever it was she promised, odds were it involved a slow and painful death for him.

  “You’re lying again.”

  She hissed and tried to twist free. Wait, that wasn’t her, the sound came from—

  A shower of water hit them as the sprinkler system engaged. He jumped to his feet, pulling Riki up with him, and started a mad dash for the sidewalk.

  “Wait!” She tugged on his arm. “My bag!”

  He shifted direction and snatched her backpack from the ground at a full run, not stopping until they cleared the grass, jumped onto the walkway, and came up against the wall.

  She was laughing. Nearly doubled over laughing. He couldn’t believe it. She changed moods like quicksilver.

  Then again, it was damn funny. And perfect timing. He’d been losing ground, wondering how to move them off the grass and into the safety of his hotel room without giving her the chance to mortally wound him.

  “You’re dripping,” she said and laughed again.

  He grinned, unable to stop the infectious humor. “Who waters the lawn at night?” He grabbed the lower half of his T-shirt and tugged it up to wipe his face dry. “Doesn’t that cause mushrooms or something?”

  When the laughter stopped, he dropped his shirt, only to find her staring at his chest. When her eyes lifted to meet his, the wariness had returned.

  “You need to let me go.”

  They were back at square one. “You do realize we’re being watched, right?”

  She glanced around and back to him, one eyebrow raised. “Are they watching now?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised,” he replied. “I confronted one of Cho’s men tonight, right before running into you.”

  That news had an effect on her. She snatched her backpack from his grasp and sighed. “If you were smart, you wouldn’t get involved in this one, Landry.”

  “That’s what Cho’s man said. Thing is… When people tell me not to get involved, it tends to make me wonder why.”

  “My room,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I want to go to my room and get this over with. It’s been the longest twenty-four hours of my life, and I’m tired. I want a shower, fresh clothes, and some desperately needed sleep.”

  Not exactly gracious, but he’d take the win. “Lead the way.”

  Five minutes later, they were inside her room with the door locked and the drapes firmly drawn. She tugged him over to an oversized backpack where she began to pull out clothes.

  “Undo these.” She rattled their conjoined wrists.

  Dallas smiled. Having the upper hand over her was a novelty experience. So was always knowing her whereabouts. He was a little reluctant to let that go.

  “Say please.”

  She glared at him. “You are not funny.”

  “I’ve been told that before. Might be a character flaw.” He placed a finger on her lips to silence the agreement he knew was coming.

  And quickly realized he shouldn’t have. Her lips were soft and feminine and he impulsively brushed his thumb across their fullness. He was losing focus. What was the matter with him? He was here to recover the Pearl. Not toy with the woman who made a joke of his career. And yet, keeping that professional distance proved difficult when they stood inches apart, when he could see her eyes making threats and her lips promising heaven.

  “Where do you hide the weapons?” he asked her.

  “Nowhere. I don’t have any.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “You expect me to believe that? You’
re constantly surrounded by enemies. You need protection more than anyone I know.”

  “I don’t travel with the authority of the U.S. government like you do. Weapons and airport security don’t mix.”

  “Maybe not, but you aren’t here alone. And that thing you are after? It’s worth an untold amount of money. How exactly do you plan to protect it?”

  She shrugged. “By working fast. It’s hard to hit a moving target.”

  “I can’t argue that.” He wanted to, but much to his chagrin, he was living proof how well that strategy played out. Deciding to take the high road, he let it go and waved a hand toward the bathroom. “After you.”

  “No.” She adopted a stubborn look he was beginning to recognize.

  “What is it now?”

  “I shower alone.”

  He kept a tight rein on the mental image that conveyed. “Get serious. You’re the absolute last person I’d want to get bouncy with.”

  Clearly, she wasn’t the only one lying tonight. For months he’d anticipated getting close enough to snare his nemesis. But after rolling in the grass with her, his thoughts ran more toward kissing her into submission instead of taking her into custody. He was an idiot.

  She hadn’t said a word, just stared at him with those mysterious gray-blue eyes that gave nothing away except absolute irritation. That, she gave off in spades.

  “Here’s the deal,” he began. “We go in the bathroom. I’ll scan for hidden ninja weapons. If all is clear, I’ll cut you loose long enough for a hot shower. Then it’s back in cuffs you go.”

  Her jaw worked in anger. “I find it hard to believe that I ever liked you,” she finally said. “I’m over it now.”

  He laughed. “You never liked me. You liked winning. If anything is over, it’s that. Try not to be a bad sport.”

  Without a word, she turned on her heel and marched into the bathroom. Since he was attached at the wrist, he went along without complaint. He couldn’t resist baiting her. It might be shameful, but after all she put him through, he deserved a little fun. But enough was enough. It was time to do his job.

  The bathroom was sparse and an exact copy of the one in his room. It had all the necessary equipment, plus a few extras his lacked—a second towel rack and an extra-wide countertop over open cubbyholes stuffed with rolled-up plush towels. He pulled them out, shook them open, and found nothing.

  “Satisfied?” she asked.

  The room was inescapable, no windows, no tiny little rat holes she could slither through. She was locked in tight.

  “For now.” He pulled back the shower curtain, propped his foot up on the tub, and dug the handcuff key out of his shoelaces.

  “You said it was in your room,” she accused.

  “And you said you’d work with me, so we’re even.” He released her and stepped back. “Enjoy your shower.”

  He shut the door and immediately heard the water kick on. He didn’t waste time either and began to rifle through the main room. He went through the dresser drawers, the nightstand, and TV console. Looked under the bed and checked between mattresses. Not a single weapon could be found. He snagged her cell phone and tried to activate it, but it was passcode protected.

  A sturdy hard-shell case caught his eye, and he opened it. A soft foamy interior had predesigned indentions, obviously for Phantom Pearl. He tackled her backpack next, but it carried surprisingly little—a flowery swimsuit, a few tops and shorts, stuff you’d pack for a beach vacation. But he also found cargo pants and hiking boots. She certainly planned for every contingency.

  A thin zipper surrounded the bottom of the bag, and inside he found the most interesting thing in the entire hotel suite, the girl not included. No guns, knives, or ninja stars, but a grid map, complete with handwritten notes in the sidebar.

  He spread out the map on the desk, clicked on the lamp, and quickly snapped off several pictures with his phone. Then he sat down and studied the small and neat handwriting, the map coordinates listed along the edges. His finger traced the lines drawn on the paper—from Cooktown heading north that followed a track along the mountain slope, passed by Hope Vale, and finally came to rest on the wilderness area of Mount Webb. A tiny red X marked a spot in the mountains beyond.

  He held the map closer to the light and studied the location. It didn’t take long to realize what it all meant.

  They’d already found the damn plane.

  She’d no intention of going airborne tomorrow.

  The search was going to ground.

  Half of him burned with anger. Mostly at himself. For about a minute tonight, he wanted to believe she’d work with him, even when she’d proven time and again she was capable of duplicity. Hell, he still wanted to believe, despite the evidence he held in his hand.

  But the other half, the art and history lover, fought to keep down a sizzle of excitement. To be on the verge of finding Phantom Pearl, an ancient mammoth tusk studded with emerald, ruby, lapis, and mystical mother-of-pearl; it wasn’t something he ever had dreamed possible.

  Recovering the priceless artifact would be a tremendous asset in America’s quest to strengthen ties with Cambodia, a highly volatile outpost in the war on terror.

  It would be a miracle capable of transforming his career.

  When the bathroom door opened, he turned to face her.

  “You found the map,” she said. She stood in the doorway, her shoulder-length hair hanging loose and damp. He drank in the sight of her fresh skin, shapely lips, and girl-next-door looks. Dressed in a form-fitting pair of stretchy shorts and tank top, she was temptation incarnate. She was also his enemy.

  He tapped his finger on the map. “I assume you were to meet Craig Lawson before the crack of dawn.”

  “Yes.”

  That was probably the first truth she’d told him.

  “Good. The three of us will have a busy day tomorrow.” He dangled the handcuffs and nodded toward the bed. “Now be a good girl and come to bed.”

  Chapter 9

  Dallas Landry was way too full of himself when he thought he had the upper hand. It was a status quo that Riki intended to change before the night was over. “Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked him.

  “If you’re referring to the day you stole the Tibetan death mask, cost Homeland Security a terror negotiation tool, and turned me into a comedy routine at the office, then yeah, I remember.”

  She smiled. That acquisition had been particularly satisfying. The obnoxious black-market dealer deserved to be handed his attitude back in shreds. She’d enjoyed every minute of it and had no regrets.

  “I learned something interesting about myself that day,” she said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “I enjoyed delivering comeuppance.”

  “Is that some sort of obscure threat?” he asked. “Because honestly, as a federal agent, I’ve delivered my fair share of karmic justice. It doesn’t scare me.”

  “How do you feel about being on the receiving end?”

  Dallas stood up from the desk and approached her. “I probably should be worried. I’m fairly certain you’re plotting my demise as we speak, but this is a two-way street. Aren’t you afraid of that answer yourself?”

  She stood her ground, even when he lifted her right hand and attached the cuff again. “What do you mean?”

  “You tempt fate when you go after the Yakuza.” He steered her toward the side of the bed farthest from the door. “One day it’s going to catch up with you.”

  “Why do you care? Wouldn’t it solve all your problems if it did?”

  He pulled the covers down and patted the sheets. She climbed in, and he fixed the other half of the handcuffs to a spindle in the center of the headboard.

  Then he leaned down, fists on either side of her, his face close enough for her to see dead serious determination in his eyes. “Your ass is mine, sweetheart,” he w
hispered. “I alone will be the one to bring you down.”

  She blinked. He meant it. And she had no idea their rivalry had escalated to such an intense level. This changed everything, and yet it changed nothing. She still had a job to do.

  “Now,” he said as he straightened, “tell me about the plane.”

  It took a second for her to gather her thoughts. His nearness had an effect she didn’t like. A tingle in her bloodstream, a quickening of her pulse. It scattered her concentration. She needed to get a grip and stop thinking about how his eyes were not exactly hazel like she’d remembered. They were more of a tawny green. And how the heavy five-o’clock shadow he wore suited the strong line of his jaw.

  “Riki?”

  “Hmm?”

  He frowned at her. “The plane?”

  “Right,” she said, snapping back to reality. “Which one? The one we’re looking for, or the one we found?”

  He’d walked back over to the desk and picked up the map, then made a show of studying the page. “Aren’t they the same one?”

  “Hard to say until we actually lay hands on it.”

  “Why do you risk your life like you do?”

  The sudden change in topic was probably intentional on his part, a way to keep her off balance. It wasn’t going to work. She yawned instead. Twenty-four hours with little to no sleep had caught up with her.

  “I could ask you the same question. Your job or mine, both have risk.” Using one hand, she awkwardly propped up two pillows and relaxed back against them.

  “You’re the only person I know who intentionally baits people as dangerous as the Yakuza,” he said. “You walk a tightrope, risk your life and your freedom. Why do you do it?”

  “They are the bad guys.”

  “I’d say you like tweaking their noses, but it’s personal for you, isn’t it?”

  “And private. Not interested in sharing.” She closed her eyes. “What I need is sleep.”

  It was odd how comfortable she felt in his company. Yes, he was Homeland Security and could put an end to her path of revenge. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d asked her questions like he wanted to get to know her. How weird was that?