Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  Way too weird. She wasn’t thinking straight.

  She felt him lay on the bed beside her, heard the rustle of a key in the handcuffs. She didn’t move from the comfy pillows, just opened her eyes to stare at him as he moved the other end of her tether and clicked it onto his left wrist.

  “If you move in the night,” he said, “I’m going to know about it.”

  “What did I ever do to you to make you distrust me?”

  He laughed and reached for the light on the nightstand. A second later the room went dark. Slivers of light appeared around the curtain’s edge, the faint glow outlining the furniture in silhouette.

  It struck her then, how aptly it fit her life. Always in the shadows. She aimed her sights on goals that appeared worthy on the surface, but dig deeper, and the foundation lay based in hatred. That driving force had always been enough for her, each victory over the Yakuza a salve on the bitterness she carried against them. Lately though, the truth of it had become a weight, and guilt ate at her. She needed to avenge her father’s murder, of that there was no doubt. The feelings of restlessness, the deeply buried wish that life could be different, was not something she wanted to face. Or admit.

  “You know,” Dallas began, “for months I’ve tried to figure out why you provoke trouble like you do. It didn’t take me long to realize the majority of your targets line up with the Yakuza. Once I put that puzzle piece together, I traced your history back to the day your father died.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “You were young, only thirteen. But something in you changed, didn’t it?”

  “Stop it.”

  He kept going. “I also discovered that Kai Menita worked with your father.”

  She rolled to her side and faced him. “I don’t need a therapist. I don’t want your opinion. I want you to leave me alone.”

  “You see, right there? That just proves my point. That solitude is isolating you. You are good at what you do. Have you ever thought to use your powers for good instead of evil?”

  She rolled back over and stared at the ceiling. “The world isn’t always fair. Black and white mix into shades of gray, and some who deserve to pay for crimes operate freely. If I have to work outside the law to deliver true justice, then so be it.”

  “I get that,” he agreed. “Occasionally I do things I don’t like, all in the name of the greater good. But you take it to the extreme.”

  “Maybe I have valid reasons.”

  He lay on his side, propped up on the arm with the cuff, and stared down into her face. She tried to ignore him, to block out the unexpected sympathy she sensed coming off him. But his other hand reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair off her neck. The move felt uncomfortably intimate, tender, and she made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

  “Tell me what that reason is,” he said.

  For the first time in her life, she wanted to share the burden with someone other than Kai. The emotion scared her almost as much as the person she wanted to tell. Of all contenders, a federal agent wasn’t the best choice.

  “Yakuza killed my father.” That wasn’t much of a revelation, probably something he already knew, which made it a safe place start.

  “And you think one woman can make them pay.”

  “It’s worked so far.”

  “Exactly. And that success may prove your downfall.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she said. In fact, he confused her. One minute angry and biting over her ability to strike and run, the next he was trying to psychoanalyze her motivations. “You aren’t my friend, and you aren’t here to help me. You’ve come to stop me. What game are you playing?”

  “Oh, I definitely want to stop you. Just not yet.”

  “Not until we find Phantom Pearl, is that it?”

  “Partly.” His fingers began tracing a figure eight on the sensitive skin of her forearm. “Recovering the antiquity will go a long way in establishing closer ties with an unstable region.”

  “Why is it personal for you?” She echoed his earlier question.

  “You’ve made it that way. You must realize this quest to avenge your father’s murder impacts other people. But no matter how good you are, there’s no bringing down an organization that has existed for hundreds of years. How far will you take this before you’re done?”

  His question startled her. She’d not considered that before. Would her desire to inflict payback ever be satisfied? Since her father’s funeral and her mother’s complete withdrawal from life, she’d willingly worked and trained with Kai. He had supported her and her mother through Riki’s teen years, then paid for her art and history degree from University of Southern California and put her to work collecting artifacts. All in the name of one day avenging her father’s murder. She knew the risks, hated the enemy, and understood the price she might one day pay. But out of all the details, the one thing Kai never supplied was an end date. Or names. Ken Cho, that name she knew. She’d competed against him often enough. And a handful of other Yakuza soldiers she’d come into contact with over the years. But specifics from the time of her father’s death seemed off limits. Kai promised he’d one day reveal them all, and she took him for his word. But that day had yet to come. Maybe it was time to force the issue.

  “How far, Riki?” he asked again.

  She frowned as he continued to lightly trace the figure eight on her arm, sometimes switching it up by brushing the pad of his thumb against her wrist. The touch was distracting, which was no doubt his intention.

  “I will be done when my father’s ghost is laid to rest.” It was that simple.

  He nodded in agreement with that, but she knew there was more. “That’s commendable, but a heavy responsibility for anyone to bear. Don’t you ever get tired?”

  She wanted to deny it, but he’d struck close to home with the comment, and the words wouldn’t come. The answer was yes, but not for the reasons he had implied. Jet lag had finally taken its toll, and the brushing movements on her wrist began to feel hypnotic. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, then rode a wave of relaxation on the exhale.

  Riki felt him lean over, felt warm breath on her face, a light pressure on her lips. His kiss was soft, exploratory, and her lips parted in compliance. His free hand slid around her nape and lifted her slightly to meet his lips more fully. She welcomed the command, reveled in his caress, and eagerly kissed him back. She wanted to touch his skin, feel his strength, make this the kiss she’d dreamed about sharing with him. It might be her only chance.

  Giving into the impulse, she brushed her palm against the hard muscle of his arm, slid her way up to tangle her fingers in his hair as he traced light kisses across her mouth. It felt like a fantasy, but he was real, warm and willing, and she suddenly wanted it all, craved him with an intensity that left her breathless.

  She captured his lower lip in her teeth and tugged softly, begging, demanding that he give more. He obliged, his tongue sliding in deep, his body hugging hers intimately. She moaned in response, a mindless sound of pleasure that should be a warning. He released her lips, rubbed his cheek against hers, then nuzzled her neck. It pushed her past the point of coherent thought.

  “You taste fantastic,” he whispered in her ear.

  God help her, he did, too. He had kissed her senseless, and it hadn’t taken long. He was like a drug, powerful and all-consuming. Addicting. She liked the feeling of relinquishing control to him, being consumed by his lips, touch, and taste.

  That gave him a power over her that could be disastrous. A new reality that made her eyes widen in alarm and she tensed.

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. “What is it?”

  “You.” An absolute truth if there ever was one. “Nothing about you or this job is what I expected. I can’t seem to think straight, and it scares me.”

  He dropped back on his side of the bed and st
ared up at the ceiling. “What if I said the same thing? That you’ve caused me nothing but grief, but being around you makes me forget I’ve a job to do.”

  His admission shocked her, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. How does one respond to something like that?

  He sighed, a heavy sound that filled the awkward silence. “Good night, Riki. Get some sleep.”

  Chapter 10

  Dallas woke to his cell phone ringing. He rolled over to grab it off the nightstand and came to a sudden, jerking halt. He fell back to the bed in stunned surprise.

  Handcuffs firmly attached him to the headboard.

  He gave them a hard yank, then realized with a red haze of anger that the bed beside him was also empty. “Son of a bitch!”

  He was going to kill her. First he’d catch her and arrest her; then he’d kill her.

  The phone kept ringing. With a snarl, he stretched over to grab it, then glanced at the display. Mathis Howe.

  Christ almighty. This day wasn’t two minutes old, and he already hated it. He answered with as much restraint as he could, which was damn little. “You know what time it is, Howe?”

  “Not yet three in the morning here in Singapore.”

  What now? Had Layla already compromised the operation? “What is important enough to warrant a phone call at such an ungodly hour?”

  “Where are you, Mr. Landry?”

  “Australia.” He knew better than to lie about something that could be easily verified. Howe’s organization had no problem monitoring a simple tracer. “I have interests here.”

  “Indeed?” His tone held an edge that signaled suspicion. “Your sudden departure caused a stir. I don’t like surprises that impact my business.”

  As of this morning, Dallas clearly saw why. He yanked on the handcuffs, trying to break the spindle, but only succeeded in breaking skin. He shoved himself to a sitting position on the bed and tried to focus on the call.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to check in with you before handling my own affairs.”

  Howe uttered a small and humorless laugh. “Your lack of concern amuses me.”

  “Is that why you called and woke me up?” The words were droll, and he yawned for effect. “I was in the middle of an excellent dream. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to it.”

  “I expect those I hire to keep me informed.”

  This was new. If he were still in Singapore, he’d be elated at the confirmation. The thrill was still there, but he needed to buy time. “When did I become your employee?”

  “You are a business associate, one who disappeared without warning. I find that kind of thing unsettling.”

  No doubt. Black-market dealings can be derailed by the slightest deviation of the expected, and Howe had a lot of money on the line.

  “I didn’t leave without ensuring the cargo was on schedule.” Dallas shifted the phone to his cuffed hand and used the other to rake through his hair, scratching circulation into his brain. “It’s a waiting game at this point. Australia won’t take long. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  He hoped that were true, but he was dealing with Riki Maddox. He glanced at the clock. Four-fifty-five a.m. gave her at least an hour head start. Ken Cho was probably right behind her. He needed to get moving.

  “I have an upcoming event,” Howe was saying. “It’s invitation only. I’d like for you to be here to facilitate the transfer.”

  This was exactly the break he’d been waiting for—Howe giving him access to his private collection. The upcoming event was an Asian military exhibition, and damn the timing all to hell. How was he going to manage both cases at the same time?

  “Local work or does this involve travel?”

  “Local,” Howe replied. “The event will showcase carefully selected pieces. Mine and a few of my close friends. Small venue, but important based on the attending clientele.”

  Dallas was at a complete loss. He faced an impossible choice. Take the opportunity to bring down a prime-time black marketer, or go for the chance to acquire the Phantom Pearl, a prize-winning trophy from Japan’s stolen treasure. Both would advance his career by leaps and bounds. But only one offered the satisfaction of finally gaining the upper hand in a long-standing battle that caused epic heartburn.

  He wanted both.

  “I believe I can wrap up things here in the next couple days.” He’d need a miracle to accomplish that feat, but at least he’d buy forty-eight hours to come up with a plan. “Will that be satisfactory?”

  “No delays, Landry,” Howe responded. “I expect to hear from you as soon as you land back in Singapore. We understand each other?”

  Oh, he understood all right. Perform, or pay the consequences. Howe wouldn’t give him a second chance.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he promised and ended the call.

  What in the hell did he just do? Committed to the impossible, that was what. He had no earthly idea how he could pull this off, but it started right now. He swiveled in place, grabbed the handcuffs in both hands, leaned back, and then used his bare feet to kick the headboard spindle.

  It hurt. Another sin to lay at Riki’s door. He grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over the spindle, then kicked several more times until the thing shattered.

  Twenty minutes later he’d showered, dressed, shot a quick e-mail to Lassiter, and headed out. He stopped at Oscar’s room and banged on the door.

  He heard a loud curse from inside and banged again.

  The door opened, and a bleary-eyed Oscar stood in nothing but his skivvies and a frown. “What the bloody hell—”

  “Time to earn that paycheck.” Dallas snapped his fingers. “Let’s go, army boy. Meet me in the lobby by the continental breakfast bar. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “God’s teeth,” Oscar said with a shake of his head. “Hazardous duty pay starts at...” He squinted at the watch he held in his hand. “Jesus. Do you know what time it is?” He slammed the door, then opened it right back up. “I’ll see you in twelve.” He slammed the door again.

  By the time Oscar made it down, Dallas had bagged up muffins, apples, and bananas, and devoured two bites of a cream cheese bagel. He was contemplating the hot bar when a whole new version of Oscar joined him. Mr. Friendly was gone, and in his place appeared a soldier decked out in military camo pants and a black T-shirt.

  “What happened to the cabbie uniform?”

  “Retired it until this job is over. I’ve a feeling working for you requires more than causal shorts and sandals.”

  Dallas grinned. “You learn quick.”

  A grunt was all the response he gave before grabbing a plate, but Dallas shook his head. “No time for that. Get it to go.”

  Oscar traded the dish for a plastic container and headed down the line. Dallas went back to raiding the fruit bar.

  “Here, try these.” An auburn haired forty-something woman wearing a chef’s apron and a dusting of flour handed him two warm scones on a saucer. “One is ham and cheese, the other lemon.”

  “Chef’s special?” he asked with a nod of thanks.

  She slid a tray of them onto the counter, pushing a bowl of cut fruit over to make room. “Fresh daily, baked by me.”

  He broke off a chunk of the ham and cheese and promptly ate it. “It’s heavenly.” Nothing like waking up chained to a headboard to jumpstart your appetite. He took another bite. “Can I get them to go? In fact, would you mind if I added a couple more? I may be gone a day or two.”

  “Funny, the movie scout said the same thing. You working with her?”

  The innocent question hit like a blow to the gut. The second one in less than an hour. “No,” he replied, “not directly.”

  More like not ever. Hell would freeze over at this point. Why must everyone remind him of his perpetual failure with everything Riki Maddox?

  “What time d
id she come in this morning?” Continental breakfast didn’t open until five-thirty. Maybe Riki wasn’t as far ahead as he assumed.

  “Around four-thirty. Scones were still in the oven, but I had a few left over from yesterday, and she took those. Along with several mangoes, a demi-loaf of sourdough bread, some sliced turkey and cheese.”

  He barely heard the menu list. His mind was too busy calculating how far down the road Riki might be.

  “Sandie, my love.” Oscar joined them. “How’s the best baker in all of Australia? You saved a lemon scone for me, right?”

  She laughed and slid two into a small paper bag. “You know I have.” She handed over the goods. “Oscar’s been coming in here near every morning since he retired,” she said to Dallas. “Says he’s sweet on me, but I think it’s the pastries.”

  “You know I can’t resist that smile of yours.” He accepted the bag with a grin and a wink. “It makes the scones taste better.”

  “Go on with you.” She waved him off with a smile and headed back to the kitchen.

  Oscar turned off the charm and faced Dallas with a dead serious expression. “Tell me…what’s got you fired up this morning?”

  “I made a deal with the devil last night,” Dallas replied. “She won’t come through. In fact, she’s on the run as we speak.”

  “Always knew the devil was a woman,” Oscar said with a sage nod as they headed outside to the truck.

  A five-foot-four ninja with cat-like stealth, to be exact. He had slept right next to her and didn’t feel a thing. How did she do it? And why did she insist on working alone? She knew the level of force in town to stop her. Accepting his help would have been smart, at least until the Pearl was found. The fact that she promised to protect the treasure didn’t make him feel any better either.

  Theirs was a history of competition, not reconciliation, and he was a fool to think otherwise. Still, she’d seemed pensive, almost hesitant. Different from the Riki Maddox he’d met once before. That girl had been all hard edges and swift action. The Riki of last night was all soft, silky, and vulnerable. The change confounded him, had left him reeling.