Dangerous Journey (mobi v.9/12) Page 5

  C.J. pried her stiff fingers off the dash and twisted this way and that to look around. The black Mercedes was gone. “Thank God! Shall we try the consulate now?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He turned onto Garden Road where the American Consulate stood, and immediately made a U-turn. She was flung back against the seat, the car leaping to life as Darius gunned the motor. “I saw it, too,” she said. A black Mercedes had been parked just outside the consulate. Was it the same one? She had no idea, but agreed with Darius that it was best not to chance it.

  “We’ll go to the hotel,” he said. “I’ll help you pack up and find another place to stay. Use a different name and you should be safe.”

  She stared at him. “What about you? Will you also stay at the next hotel?” she asked.

  He gave her a quick glance, and turned back to the road.

  “No.”

  “Where, then? Why not stay where I am?”

  “That might not be a good idea.”

  She nodded. How could she have forgotten? “Right, you have a life. I just sort of barged in and took over, didn’t I? God, where’s my head? You’ve got other things to do! Important things…like your counterfeiters in Macao.”

  “Listen, the safest thing for you to do is to go back to the U.S. Let the police do their job. Jimmy warned us. There’s something big going on here. Bigger than either of us knows.”

  “That scares me, I’ll admit it. But I’m not going home until I find out what has happened to my brother.” As she spoke, she stared straight ahead, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to admit to herself how after less than twenty-four hours with him, the thought of leaving was difficult. But she always was a silly sort of person that way. “If Jimmy Lee learns anything, will you at least let me know?” Somehow she managed to keep her voice calm.

  “C.J., you need to leave here, you really do.” He touched her hand as he looked at her, and almost immediately realized that pleading for her safety wasn’t going to work. “All right, if anything turns up, I’ll contact you.”

  He pulled into a parking space near her hotel. They cross the lobby to the elevator in silence.

  “We have to get out of here fast,” Darius said as they got off at her floor.

  She nodded, feeling strangely abandoned, even as she derided herself for those emotions. She could handle this quite nicely all by herself. Just as she had been doing before Dangerous Kane entered her life. Or, had she?

  Darius held out his hand for the key to her room. She couldn’t keep her eyes from lingering a little too long on his hand, tanned and rugged, yet with fingers so sensitive they had made some of the most beautiful music she had ever heard.

  She shook her head, kept the key and stepped in front of him to the door. She squared her shoulders as she slid the key into the lock, determined to pack quickly, get out of here and be on her own again—away from this man and his disturbing presence.

  But when she opened the door and stepped into the room, she gasped in shock.

  “Oh no!” She cried as she stormed inside. She heard Darius cry out, “Wait!” But she was too busy looking at her belongings on the floor, at the overturned bureau drawers, and emptied closet.

  From behind the door, a hard, viselike hand gripped her arm while a heavy blanket was thrown over her, cutting off all light and air. She gasped in shock as a thick arm circled her waist and lifted her as if she were a rag doll. Someone pushed the blanket hard against her face, muffling her scream of terror.

  She fought wildly to be free. Her arms were pinned down, but she kicked as hard as she could.

  Suddenly she was flung roughly aside, helpless to stop or protect herself, and came up against something solid.

  Her mind went black as she fell in a heap to the floor.

  Chapter 5

  “C.J., are you all right?” Fresh air filled her lungs as Darius untangled the heavy blanket and lifted it away from her.

  “Oh God!” She sputtered as she sat up. “What happened?”

  “A couple of men grabbed you before they noticed me in the doorway. That’s when they pushed past me and ran. Since one of them had a gun, I wasn’t about to argue.”

  “A gun? Here? In my room?” She felt even more light-headed than when the blanket was over her.

  Gently, he pushed her hair back from her face and ran his fingertips along her cheekbones and forehead, his face filled with concern. “Does it hurt anywhere?” His voice was hushed, full of worry.

  “No, I’m okay.” She tried to stand, but was so woozy that before she got very far he scooped her up in his arms. Shocked, she put her arms around his neck as he walked toward the bed.

  “Put me down! I don’t need to be carried! I’m too heavy!”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said softly. He held her as if she were a child, then lowered her to the bed and sat by her side.

  “I just had the wind knocked out of me, I guess.” She tried to smile, but found she couldn’t—her heart was pounding too wildly. Between her fright and being in Darius’s arms, she didn’t know which made it harder for her to breath.

  “Dr. Kane says a little rest is called for.”

  “Shouldn’t we get out of here right away?” Her eyes darted toward the door, as if she were expecting to see a bunch of maniacs burst through it any moment.

  “You have time to calm down. They won’t be back that soon.”

  “Did you recognize them?”

  “They looked like a couple of standard issue thugs. Hong Kong, like any big city, is full of them.”

  “You think it was just a random burglary, then?” She hoped he would say it was.

  “No, but don’t worry about that for now. Just rest. You’re very pale. It won’t do your brother any good to have you ill.”

  At the mention of Alan, a wave of fear swept over her. If people were coming after her on the off chance she might lead them to him…

  She turned her head away from Darius and shut her eyes tightly, raising one hand to cover them, as she willed the scared, sick feeling to pass.

  He took the hand she had raised and held it between both of his. “C.J.,” he said. “Is there anything, anything at all, about this situation that you haven’t told me?”

  “Of course not,” she said, trying to free her hand, but he only held it more firmly. After a moment she added, “It’s just that hearing Jimmy Lee’s warning, then the car chase, and now those men, right here in my room, I can’t help but think that something. . .” She paused, lifting worried gray eyes to his green ones. “What if something…terrible…happened to Alan? What if he’s…”

  “Hush, C.J. There’s no indication of anything like that. He’s fine, I’m sure. You’ll find him.” He continued to hold her hand and she found her fingers tightening on his as if they had a mind of their own.

  She tried to believe his words, to drive the horrible thought from her mind, but the more she tried, the more persistently it clung. Alan, her big, strong, wonderful brother, might be in real trouble, hurt, even— No! She groaned.

  Darius, trying to calm her, placed his hand against her cheek. His touch was like fire, and it was all she could do not to reach out for him. Instead, she sat up quickly, then turned and place her feet on the floor; firmly on the floor.

  “I don’t know what more I can do,” she whispered.

  “You’ve tried,” he said. “But this place, this situation is too dangerous. You’re just not the sort of person who should get mixed up with thugs and low-lifes. You’re such an innocent.”

  She looked up at him. His gaze was soft and gentle, and far, far too kindly. Quickly, she stood and took a few steps away from him, folding her arms.

  “I won’t give up, Darius.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I guess that means we’ll have to find him.”

  She faced him again, unable to believe she had heard him correctly. “We?” she whispered, remembering his insistence about leaving her.


  He stood as well and stepped closer. “Yes.”

  If only I understood you, she thought, trying to ignore the flutter in her breast. “Thank you,” she whispered, thankful she didn’t have face these dangers, this strange, foreign, frightful area alone. His nearness soothed her, filling her with unexpected warmth.

  Alarmed at her increasingly strong reaction to this man, this stranger, she reminded herself, she began to hurry around the room picking up belongings strewn on the floor, doing whatever she could not to think about Darius Kane. It was safer that way. The ever-present, practical creature who lived in her head forced her away to keep moving, to not stop, to not let herself feel. She was a loner, would always be one, and had long ago accepted that about herself. To think otherwise, especially about a man like Darius Kane, would only cause her unhappiness.

  He lifted her suitcase onto the bed so that she could begin to pack it, an odd expression on his face. She prayed he hadn’t realized the turn her thoughts had taken. If he had, she was quite sure he would be appalled by any such romantic notions on her part.

  She was simply “good old C.J.,” the down-to-earth one everyone else went running to when they had difficulties, the one everyone leaned on, needed...used. She had to be tough when those around her were falling to pieces, practical when they were lacking caution. The role didn’t put her in a position to be the object of many men’s desire. Many? Hah…not any man’s desire. Or, at least, not any man she would have given a second thought to. Combining no likely man, with no second thoughts, she found herself, at age 28, in a laughably inexperienced state.

  Darius had called her innocent. If he only knew!

  She concentrated hard on packing her bags, with Darius helping as best he could, and she trying but failing miserably to ignore him.

  She fastened the locks on the suitcase, then looked up.

  Darius sat on a chair and took out a cigarette. He lit it, leaned back, and watched the smoke spiral toward the ceiling.

  “So tell me,” he said finally, his arm on his knee, his wrist bent loosely as the cigarette dangled between his long fingers, “how does Miss C.J. Perkins spend her time when she’s not chasing down thieves and missing relatives?”

  Glad to get her mind off its dangerous path, she began putting and cosmetics and toiletries into a tote bag. “I paint,” she said.

  “Paint? You mean houses, or pictures?”

  “Pictures.”

  “Really?” He sounded interested. “Have you had any shows?”

  “No.”

  “Oh?” He hesitated. “Your work is all commissioned, then?”

  She paused. “In a sense. Yes, you could say that.”

  “Must be a very rich patron. A man?”

  Was he insinuating what it sounded like? If so, he was even more deluded about her than she had imagined. “Good God, no.” She shoveled more into her bag, eager to be off.

  “But you did say you make a living doing this?”

  “It’s rather difficult to explain.” He said nothing, but she could see the curiosity in his eyes. She paused, took a deep breath, then said, “I paint scenery. Mainly natural, garden scenes. Little ponds, the flora and the fauna—you know?”

  “Yes.”

  “They didn’t sell. Not at all. Not a single one.” He nodded. ‘‘So I put some people in the scene. Potential customers gave them a second look, at least. So then I tried couples—a man and a woman, obviously in love. I even sold a few.”

  He smiled slightly, took one more puff and then stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray.

  She faced him, her back straight. “Then one day I heard one fellow say to another while looking at one of my paintings, ‘What are they doing?’ The other guy fellow, and said, ‘Nothing.’ Then they walked away. That got me to thinking.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Yes?”

  She shrugged, and in a clipped, curt voice explained, “Now my couples ‘do’ something. Or, I should say, suggest that something’s going to occur shortly. And the paintings sell. I do live in Los Angeles, after all.”

  “You mean they’re…”

  “Slightly erotic.”

  He grinned. She looked at him, studying him, not sure what he thought. “C.J.,” he said, “that’s wonderful!” Then he laughed.

  She turned back to her packing. She’d been through this before, yet, even as she tried to ignore his laughter, she couldn’t help but glance his way. His gaze caught hers, and in his eyes she saw he wasn’t laughing at her, but at the way she explained her work. The incongruity of someone like her creating erotic art…that was worth a chuckle. Slowly, her lips upturned into a smile. “At least they put food on the table. They’re sensual, but no more graphic than the cover of a paperback romance.”

  “Oh? That risqué?” he teased.

  He crossed the room to stand beside her, his gaze searching her too-serious face. “I imagine they would sell. Somehow, I’m sure they’re very good. And what’s most important is that you’re doing what you love. To do the thing that’s important to you—that’s what makes you feel good just to be alive.”

  “Maybe.”

  He remained silent. She finished packing, and zipped her tote shut. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her. She wasn’t sure how to react. Finally she looked at him. “What is it?”

  “You. I don’t understand you, Clarissa. Not at all.” Something in his gaze as he spoke made her uneasy.

  “Me? I’m just a simple, middle American girl.”

  “Simple? You’re a complete contradiction! A fascinating, warm, open contradiction, I’ll admit.”

  “Oh, sure!” She saw herself as being as straightforward as the proverbial Mom and Apple Pie.

  “You’re a very proper, mid-western lady, with a bold-as brass exterior, and an interior that’s soft, loving and shy. You yell at policemen, take home strangers off the street—”

  “I never—”

  “And”—his gaze caught hers and held—“I’m sure you aren’t one to casually make love to a man you share a mutual attraction with, which is something that about ninety percent of the unengaged women in this town would do, by the way. Yet you paint and sell suggestive pictures.”

  Her face reddened. She decided not to touch his comment about making love and concentrate on her paintings. “They aren’t suggestive.”

  “Oh? Explicit, then?” He grinned.

  “Maybe we should call them…warm.” The corners of her mouth turned upward. They both broke into laughter, then looked at each other in surprise as the laughter faded and the realization that something more had developed between them, something that went beyond pleasant understanding, something that went beyond words.

  She decided to double check the room, to make sure she was leaving nothing behind…anything to brush off the unsettling feeling he caused her. “Anyway, now you know my deep dark secret.”

  “Why a secret?” he asked.

  Good question, she thought. She walked to the window and concentrated on the view—windows and views were her usual place of escape when she didn’t want to face questions, people, or situations right under her nose. She placed a hand on the frame. Looking out, she said, “At times…sometimes…I feel like a failure. I wanted to be a great artist. I really did. To walk through the Museum of Modern Art and see my own work, a picture I had created. But it takes talent. I worked hard, and, technically, I’m up there with the best of them. But some things just can’t be learned, no matter how dedicated you are.”

  “Not everyone can be Picasso.” His words were quiet, sincere.

  “You, on the other hand,” she gazed at him as she remembered the beauty, emotion and perfection of his music, “you have talent.”

  His features hardened. “But no technique.”

  Jimmy’s words about an accident came back to her, about the “flaws” in his ability. “I’m no judge, Darius, but for me, your playing was magical.” She rubbed her hands together. “Anyway, I’ve lived with my shortcomin
gs for a long time, and I accept them. But still, I like being able to create, even if it is just ‘suggestive’ little oils.”

  He folded his own hands and looked at them for a long time, then raised his eyes to hers. He stood, their gazes holding.

  She took a step towards him, then another.

  A loud rap on the door made her jump. “Police! Open up!” The pounding began again.

  C.J.’s eyes were wide as she turned to Darius.

  He winked, walked to the window, crawled out, and a second later was gone.

  “Open this door!”

  Her breath caught as she looked from the door to the window. Running to the latter, she leaned out over the sill. There was no fire escape, only a frighteningly narrow ledge along the side of the building. And they were four stories up!

  She studied the darkened courtyard below, her heart in her throat. Darius was nowhere to be seen, but he hadn’t fallen...she hoped.

  Her hands shaking, she headed towards the door just as it was opened by the hotel’s manager.

  Standing with him in the hallway were two strangers in gray flannel suits. “May I help you?” she asked. “Is there a problem?”

  A tall man, middle-aged, with thinning sandy brown hair and blue eyes, stepped into the room flashing his ID.

  “Gilles, British Intelligence. Leaving?” he asked, looking at her suitcase.

  “Is that a crime?”

  “It all depends. My concern is the man with you. Where is he?”

  She swallowed hard. “Are you talking about my brother?”

  “We know he’s not your brother.”

  “Of course he is! Ask the Luchow police.”

  “Alan Perkins was arrested this morning in San Francisco. He’s being investigated in connection with the White Dragon theft.”

  The whole room swayed. C.J. reached out, grabbing the edge of the door, not wanting to believe what she had just heard. “Alan is in San Francisco?” she whispered.

  “That’s right. We have a few questions to ask of you and the man posing as your brother.”

  She shook her head. “My brother is no thief.”