Playing With Fire

by C. J. Hill

  Finally. And there was Shang’s number in her contacts. Dirk memorized it in seconds. “Beauty runs in the bride’s family,” he said with a wink, “and in her friendships, too.”

  While the women smiled at the compliment, he took a few more pictures with both cameras, enabling him to find Min’s number and forward it to his cell. That way, he had the contact number of someone in Shang’s family.

  Dirk probably wouldn’t need it. As soon as Shang felt threatened, he’d either leave the building to draw away the danger, or he’d send his family somewhere safer then stay and fight. Either of those scenarios were workable.

  When Dirk was done playing photographer, he deleted his message from Min’s phone. He couldn’t leave evidence behind. He smiled and handed the girls their phones back.

  “Thanks,” Min said and gave him a bashful look. “Are you going to the dance?”

  Dirk pulled out his own phone, a disposable one his father had given him for the mission. “In a while,” he said, switching his phone to camera mode. “I’ve got a couple of calls to make first.” Without showing any sign he was taking a picture, he snapped one of Min, hoping it hadn’t cut off her head. That way his father’s men would know her when she left the hotel. In a few minutes, Dirk would text her, pretending to be a friend, and tell her she’d left on a light in her car.

  Dirk gave the girls a parting wave and walked across the lobby, already adding Shang and Min’s numbers to his contacts. He texted Yen.

  Time for you to join the dance. Find Shang, keep him in your sights, and wait for my next instructions.

  Yen texted back. If I go near Shang, he’ll sense my adrenaline and know my intentions.

  That’s exactly what Dirk was counting on. I’m in charge of this mission, Dirk reminded him. Go in. I’ll text you when to attack.

  Chapter 25

  Shang stood by the drink table with his mother and Puo Puo, his grandmother from Beijing. He was doing his best to ignore their attempts to pick dance partners for him and had altogether tuned out Puo Puo’s commentary on the music.

  And then something changed in the room. He couldn’t tell exactly what, but he involuntarily straightened, his senses growing sharper. His gaze swept the room looking for . . . he wasn’t sure who. The Slayers had a subconscious radar for danger, and his had just been tripped.

  Someone nearby was overly anxious. Not the normal sort of fear, like a guy worried about being turned down by a girl, or a parent concerned about who was dancing with their daughter. The feeling he sensed was more visceral, more threatening. It was the sweat of someone planning an attack and worried about retaliation.

  Shang surveyed the couples dancing and the guests surrounding the dance floor. The room was large enough that he couldn’t see everyone, but the people he did see all looked normal. Servers cleared dishes from the tables. No one seemed nervous or suspicious. He couldn’t tell who was the culprit.

  “Ah,” his mom said, “now you’re taking our advice and admiring the ladies. Xiaowen is a nice girl. Very smart. Why don’t you ask her to dance.”

  The lights had been dimmed for the dance, making it hard to see facial expressions. The red and gold banners that had looked so bright and festive before looked like swaths of gray. The paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling had turned into dark, vacant orbs. Shang’s eye’s flicked over the guests closest to him. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Still, he couldn’t ignore what his senses were telling him.

  “Something is wrong,” he said. He didn’t want to scare the women, but he also didn’t want them to be caught unaware of the danger either.

  “Many things aren’t right,” Puo Puo said. “The wedding was much too western. Look at all of the people wearing white. It’s a funeral color. They’ll bring bad luck. So much bad luck.”

  Shang’s gaze still scanned the room. His hands hung by his sides itching to do something. “You should go to someplace safe.”

  His mother nearly spit out her punch. “I think you’re taking Puo Puo’s superstitions a bit too seriously.”

  Shang didn’t have time to explain. “Some criminals may be here.” Was he the target, or was it someone else? Not knowing was frustrating. He could be sensing hostility completely unrelated to him . . . or Overdrake might have found him. Shang didn’t know how to react, who to try and save. He spoke to his mother and Puo Puo. “Go to the lobby. Ask if the hotel has security guards.” That errand at least, would keep the two women out of harm’s way for a while. And if security guards came and milled around the room, maybe the assailant would think twice before attacking.

  Puo Puo made an indignant hurumphing sound. “Security guards? What sort of criminals are you talking about? Why are you trying to ruin Serena’s wedding?”

  Shang’s mother didn’t know anything about Slayers or their abilities, but she did think he was involved as a witness in a drug case. She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “You worry too much. No one from DC could have followed you here. And no one from New York knows you are here. We didn’t tell anyone we were coming.”

  When Shang’s parents had decided to take him to the wedding, he told them it wasn’t a good idea. His mother, however, refused to believe that anyone from the criminal case would know enough about his extended family to figure out that his cousin was getting married, let alone think Shang might attend.

  He was not so disrespectful as to publicly contradict his mother. He’d only said, “Perhaps we need to worry more, not less.”

  Now his mother peered around the room. “Do you recognize someone?”

  “No,” he told her. “But precaution is always a good idea.”

  She eyed him, clearly debating how much weight to put in his worries. “All right,” she finally said. “We’ll ask for security guards to look around a bit.” She took Puo Puo’s arm and led her toward the door, ignoring the older woman’s protests.

  Shang didn’t see his father or sister anywhere. He needed to find them and come up with an excuse to make them leave quickly. Faking illness would probably work.

  Shang’s phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his pocket. The screen showed a text from a number he didn’t recognize, one with a Virginia area code.

  You can’t stop all kinds of fire.

  A chill went down Shang’s back, and for a moment he didn’t breathe. Overdrake. Somehow he’d gotten Shang’s number. Overdrake was the type who liked to play with his victims, to gloat. The message was a reminder that Shang couldn’t stop gunfire. He looked around the room again. One of Overdrake’s men must be close by and armed.

  Shang pressed the side buttons on his watch, sending a message to Dr. B that he was under attack. The distress call wouldn’t do much good. The other Slayers were in DC, too far away to help him. Still, they should know.

  Was it better to leave the reception and hope Overdrake’s man followed, or did he need to stay here to protect his family?

  As Shang walked toward the table that held the wedding cake, he called his father and surveyed the crowd to see if anyone was watching him. Several people faced his direction. Any of them could be keeping an eye on him.

  The room offered little by way of defense. Bullets would go right through the plastic tables. The chairs were flimsy wooden things.

  Shang picked up the knife Serena had used to cut the wedding cake. It was the only weapon available, and a poor one at that. He could throw it to disarm someone, but that action would only work once.

  Pieces of cake sat on plastic plates around the table. He picked one up and held the knife below the plate so the blade wasn’t noticeable.

  Although the phone rang and rang; his father didn’t answer. He probably hadn’t turned it back on after the ceremony. His father was always saying that technology intruded too much in their lives. Shang hung up. He disconnected the call, deciding to try his sister. Her phone would be on. She embraced technology and all of its intrusions.

  Before Shang dialed her number, his phone buzzed with
a new text, one from the same unfamiliar number. He searched the room but saw no tell-tale screen lights cutting through the darkness. Whoever was texting him wasn’t nearby. That meant there were more than one of Overdrake’s men here. One was near enough for Shang to sense his adrenaline, and the other was texting him . . . from where? Shang took his eyes off the crowd to read the new message.

  You have such a big family. Have you noticed anyone missing?

  Bái mù. Overdrake was targeting his family. Shang’s stomach clenched, but he wouldn’t let himself feel fear. Fear would only cripple his thinking, and right now he needed a clear mind.

  Who was missing?

  His phone buzzed with another message. Turn yourself over, and no one has to die.

  Shang punched his sister’s number while making his way toward the ballroom door. He needed to warn his father and sister while finding his mother and Puo Puo. After they were safe, he’d check on the rest of the family, see if someone was really missing.

  Shang glanced behind him to see if anyone had followed.

  A man and woman holding hands trailed after him, also moving toward the door. They were suspect. So was the man behind them, heading in the same direction. He looked to be in his twenties, Chinese, in a navy blue suit.

  Shang’s sister didn’t answer her phone. He hung up and called the number again.

  This time her voice came over the phone. “I’m in the middle of a dance. Why are you calling?”

  “You’re in danger. Warn Dad, then stay with a crowd until I come back for you.”

  “What?” she asked in disbelief.

  “The drug dealers,” he said. “At least two of them are here. Call Mom and warn her too, and then find dad.”

  He hung up. He needed to use both hands. Besides, he was about to leave the ballroom and he didn’t want to let his voice give away his location. He stepped into the hallway, slipped his phone in his pocket, and pressed himself against the wall on the far side of the door. He held the cake plate in one hand, the knife in the other, and waited for whoever was following him.

  He hoped to see his mother and Puo Puo walking back with security guards. They weren’t anywhere around, though.

  He forced himself to focus on the door. He hadn’t seen his family, but that didn’t mean Overdrake had taken them. Shang could only see a slice of the main hallway leading to the lobby. The two women could be anywhere. They were most likely at the front desk right now, trying to explain their worries without giving too much information about Shang’s case.

  The couple who’d been behind Shang strolled out of the ballroom, laughing loud enough to suggest they’d had too much to drink. They didn’t look around or show any signs of nervousness. Shang didn’t move, didn’t speak, as they walked down the hallway, unaware of him.

  Next would be the man. He might be innocent too. Overdrake’s man might still be in the room, and Shang would seem insane to anyone who saw him pressing himself to the wall, clutching a knife in one hand and a plate of wedding cake in the other. He could also be wasting his time. He needed to find his family.

  Before the man stepped through the doorway, Shang felt him, could almost smell anxiety leaking from him. As soon as the man appeared, Shang flipped the plate across the hallway. The man’s gaze followed the movement, and he automatically reached into his jacket pocket.

  Shang stepped from his hiding place. Using the knife handle as a club, he hit the man in the back of the head. The man swore and staggered forward, falling. Before he hit the ground, Shang grabbed him by his suit coat and shoved him against the wall. He placed the knife at the base of the man’s throat, holding it tight. “Where are Overdrake’s other men? How many of you are there?”

  The man didn’t say anything, only glared at Shang, breathing hard.

  Shang felt along the man’s suit and pulled out a large, black gun. He’d seen the type before: a tranquilizer. Three darts in the barrel.

  “Thanks for the weapon,” Shang said. “I left all mine at home.” He tucked the gun into his back pocket, away from the man’s grasp. “Are you going to tell me what I want?”

  The man still didn’t speak. He clutched at Shang’s hand, but it was a weak gesture, one without the expected strength. That’s when Shang noticed blood on the wall. A stain had formed behind the man’s head and was spreading. Rén zhā. Shang had hit him too hard.

  “Where are the others?” Shang demanded. “Who did they take?”

  Still breathing hard, the man sneered in contempt. “Someone you’ll miss. If you want to see them again, you’ll give me back my gun.”

  “Who is it?” Shang pressed the man into the wall harder.

  “Turn yourself in, and she won’t be hurt.”

  She. His mind flashed to his mother. Had they taken her?

  “Who?” Shang repeated.

  No answer. Didn’t matter. Whoever Overdrake had taken, Shang would get her back. He couldn’t waste more time on this interrogation. Any moment now someone would come out of the ballroom, see Shang, and think he was roughing up some helpless guy. They’d call the police. And if anyone saw the gun sticking out of Shang’s back pocket, it would make matters even worse.

  He pulled the gun from his pocket and pressed the barrel into the man’s chest. “Last chance to talk.”

  The man scowled and remained silent.

  Shang wasn’t waiting any longer. He pulled the trigger.

  The man let out a cough of pain, said every Chinese curse word Shang knew—and a couple he didn’t. The tranquilizer wouldn’t take long to work, only a minute or two, depending on the drug.

  Shang wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he could use a place to hide the gun and the knife. Fortunately, Overdrake’s henchman didn’t need his suit coat right now.

  Spinning the man around, Shang grabbed the top of the coat, and yanked it down. Before the coat was all the way off, the man turned and attempted to swing his fist, which wouldn’t have landed even if the guy hadn’t been swaying and unsteady. Shang tugged the coat the rest of the way off, sending the man tumbling to the floor.

  The man was still swearing. Shang pulled on the suit coat, regretting again that he’d hit the guy so hard. Blood had oozed onto the collar in places. Hopefully no one would notice. He slipped the knife into the breast pocket, smearing frosting on the lining in the process. Whoever ended up with this coat would get some interesting looks from his dry cleaner.

  The man staggered to his feet and took another swing. Shang sidestepped it easily enough. The man lunged forward, trying to grab Shang. He stepped out of the way and let the man fall to the floor.

  The gun went into Shang’s back pocket again, covered nicely by the suit coat.

  Two women emerged from the ballroom—some of Serena’s friends from college—and stopped short when they saw the man on the floor. He rolled over and slurred something unintelligible.

  The women peered at him more closely, one putting her hand to her mouth in surprise.

  Shang didn’t know either of the women personally but spoke to them anyway. “The guy is drunk,” he told them. “I was just on my way to tell the hotel staff about him.”

  “Oh,” one of the women said, and both stared at the man, as though unsure what to do. “Is he bleeding?”

  Shang gave an exaggerated shrug and strode away before they noticed too many details—like the fact that he’d stolen the guy’s suit coat. As he walked, he went through the coat pockets and found a cell phone. The disposable type. In the recent calls list, he found the number that had texted him earlier. The man and the texter were definitely working together.

  He messaged the number: Where are you? The owner of the number was most likely with whoever they’d taken hostage. If not, Shang would have to find a way to persuade him to give up that information of her whereabouts.

  Shang pulled out his own phone and called his mother. It was a risk; when talking, he’d be less likely to hear an approaching assailant. But he wanted to know whether she was all right.


  She didn’t answer, and his Puo Puo never used her cell, probably hadn’t even taken it with her tonight.

  Shang rounded the corner into the main hall and headed to the lobby. If his mother wasn’t at the front desk, someone there would know whether she’d come by to request security.

  The phone he’d taken from his attacker buzzed, a text answering Shang’s earlier question. We’re still on the north side of the building. What’s Shang doing?

  He wrote back. He’s looking around for his family and texting. Which was, after all, the truth.

  New plan. Instead of going to the lobby, Shang turned and hurried toward a back door. Once he was outside, he’d go around to the north side of the hotel and catch Overdrake’s men unaware.

  He took out his own phone. Time to answer Overdrake’s messages as himself.

  Who do you have?

  He pulled the gun from his pocket. Two darts left. Hopefully they would be enough.

  A half a minute later a text popped up in reply: Does it matter? Is there anyone in your family you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself for?

  Overdrake clearly didn’t know some of Shang’s relatives. There were a couple he would only feel slightly guilty about leaving in a dragon lord’s clutches.

  What exactly do you want? Shang was trying to buy himself some time. He was almost to the back door.

  As he reached it, Overdrake replied. Walk out the front of the hotel and get into the van marked Airport Shuttle. You have five minutes. I would hate to shoot someone.

  Shang would need to be fast. He turned both phones off so they wouldn’t ring and give his position away. Gun in hand, he stepped outside.

  A single pale lamppost lit a small side parking lot. Empty cars filled most of the spaces. No sight of anyone else. Pine trees and some sort of sculpted hedges lined the property on the north, separating the building from its neighbor. Shang made his way to that corner, keeping in the shadows. In camp, he’d learned how to walk without making a sound, but now the method seemed painfully slow.

  He kept his gun at his side and hoped that if any of Overdrake’s men saw him they would think he was the man who’d attacked him.