by H. Y. Hanna
The sound penetrated the haze in Toran’s head. He stiffened. No, no, not this way. He broke the kiss, took a deep breath and pulled back, gently pushing Leah away from him.
“Toran…?”
“I’m sorry, Leah, but we can’t… This is wrong.”
She stiffened against him. “Don’t you want me?” she said again, in a small voice.
He let out a shaky breath. “God, yes, Leah. More than you’ll ever know. But not like this. I can’t… I’d be taking advantage of you. You’ve still got the flunitrazepam in your system. One of its common side-effects is that it lowers inhibitions. You’re not yourself at the moment.”
“I know what I’m doing!” She sounded almost sulky.
“You might not think that in the morning.” He sighed and tried to ease himself up. “Maybe I should go and—”
“No!” She grabbed him. “No, don’t go! Don’t leave me.” There was a sob in her voice.
“Okay, okay, Leah.” Toran lay back down again and pulled her gently to him. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” She curled up into the crook of his arm again. He was still acutely aware of her soft curves pressed against him and felt his own body tighten again in response. It was all he could do not to let his hands start wandering and caressing her body. Instead, he reached out and gently stroked her hair, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers. She sighed softly and he felt her relaxing against him.
It didn’t take long for the soothing motion of his fingers in her hair to send Leah to sleep. Toran lay listening to her faint, even breathing, and tried to relax his own body as well, to force his mind away from the images of Leah’s long legs tangling with his and her soft lips opening as her body writhed beneath him. He stifled a groan. It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER 19
Leah came groggily awake, blinking in the dim half-light. She had no idea where she was. In the darkness, she could make out the shape of a room that was definitely not her hotel room. She moved slightly and felt a warm, male body next to hers. She jerked up onto her elbows.
Toran.
He looked much younger in sleep, his brow relaxed, his mouth soft and vulnerable. His left arm was flung up, above his head, and the faint light in the room outlined the curve of his bicep. Leah suddenly realised that he was naked, except for a pair of boxer shorts. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a T-shirt, but it was bunched up around her waist and her legs were bare, stretched out next to Toran’s. Heat rushed into her cheeks. What had happened last night?
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. It was all a haze. She remembered walking into her hotel room and the cruel hand clamping over her mouth. She cringed as she remembered the same hand slapping her hard across her face. Then she remembered her old house, her father’s villa. She frowned. Why had she been at her father’s house? There had been a man… no, two men there. And then Toran, his voice low and urgent, trying to pull her to her feet. A taxi ride. Then a hotel.
This hotel, she thought, opening her eyes again and looking around the room. It looked like the last word in Oriental decadence. Her gaze shifted to the bamboo screen. There’s a bathroom behind there, she remembered. She had washed, then come to bed. She had been wearing Toran’s T-shirt. She had asked him to stay with her and then… her cheeks flamed as she remembered… Toran kissing her, Toran caressing her as she arched against his body… and then… Toran pulling back.
She looked down at him. He had wanted her, she was sure of it. She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in the quivering tension of his body. It would have been easy. She had been his for the taking. So why had he held back?
“I’d be taking advantage of you.”
The memory brought a rush of emotion to Leah’s chest. She didn’t know what to think. Yesterday, she had felt hurt, angry, and betrayed by Toran. She had been sure she could never trust him again. But now, she felt touched by his chivalry.
“Do I drool in my sleep?”
Leah blinked. She realised that Toran was awake. He was lying there, watching her with a lazy smile on his lips.
“What?” she said.
“The way you’re staring at me,” he said. “Talk about a blow to the ego on the morning after.”
She blushed and sat up quickly, pulling the hem of her T-shirt down. She saw his eyes follow the motion, lingering on her bare legs, and felt a tingle of excitement. But he was sitting up as well.
“Do you want the shower first? Last night, you were practically tearing your clothes off to get in there,” he said with a chuckle as he rose from the bed.
“Was I?” Leah frowned. “I don’t remember that.”
Toran hesitated. “How much do you remember, Leah?”
She looked up at him, then looked away, blushing furiously. “Enough.”
He reached out to touch her hair gently. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Leah—”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t the one throwing yourself at other people,” she said, standing up quickly and heading to the bathroom.
A long, hot shower gave her time to recover her composure and by the time Leah walked out of the bathroom, dressed in her clothes from yesterday again, she was feeling much better. She avoided Toran’s eyes, though, as he headed into the bathroom, and busied herself making up the bed. Then she slid open the balcony doors and stepped out into the sunshine. The distinctive red rooftops of the Chinatown heritage shophouses spread out in orderly rows below her, the alleyways in between strung with colourful paper lanterns.
It was Thursday, Leah remembered. She could hardly believe that it had only been four days since she had arrived in Singapore on Sunday evening. A lifetime seemed to have passed since then. A sound in the room made her turn around. Toran was standing behind her, his hair still damp, his face freshly shaved. She stepped back into the room and shut the balcony door.
“Your face.” He frowned, his eyes on her cheek where the man had slapped her yesterday.
Leah gave a rueful smile. “Yeah, that’s the problem when you don’t have any make-up. Don’t worry, it’s my vanity hurting now more than anything else. The marks are fairly faint—I think they’ll go soon. He didn’t hit me that hard,” she added hastily as she saw Toran’s face darken. “It was really more to intimidate me and stop me screaming.”
Toran shook his head. “We should have put ice on it last night. I’m sorry—I wasn’t thinking. Come on, Dieter should have some ice down in his kitchen.”
“No, it’s fine, honestly,” said Leah. “But I wouldn’t say no to some breakfast. I’m starving.”
Toran glanced at the clock on the bedside table. They had slept late. “It’s more lunch than breakfast,” he said with a wry smile as he led the way from the room.
They went downstairs to find that Dieter had gone out, but had left a note for them in the compact hotel kitchen, welcoming them to help themselves. Toran started up the coffee machine while Leah hunted through the fridge and pantry. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime—nearly twenty-four hours now—and the smell of the roasted coffee beans made her stomach growl. By the time they were sitting down at the small breakfast bar, she was ravenous. There was toast, thick and chewy, spread with marmalade and honey that drizzled golden from the jar. A plate of tiny muffins filled with rich, gooey chocolate. A stack of cinnamon scrolls, sticky with icing sugar. And a plate of warm blueberry bagels. All washed down with hot, fragrant coffee.
“Mmm…” Leah sat back at last, half-closing her eyes. “I am stuffed.”
“I’m shocked at how much you can eat,” said Toran with a teasing smile.
Leah looked away, feeling self-conscious. Up until now, they had sat in a companionable silence while eating and she hadn’t even thought about Toran watching her. But suddenly she felt shy. Had she been a total pig?
As if he’d read her mind, Toran laughed. “Don’t worry—I like a girl with a decent appetite,” he said, his eyes twinkling,
“I was making up for yesterday,” Leah s
aid primly. “I hadn’t had anything to eat since the food court in the Merlion Mall…” She trailed off.
He looked at her, his face serious now. “What happened yesterday, Leah? Why did you go off alone, without me?”
She hesitated, then raised hurt eyes to his. “Because you lied to me.” She waited for him to contradict her, to deny it, but he didn’t. Instead, he seemed to withdraw into himself.
“You met my father the night he was hit by that car,” Leah said. “He was your contact.”
Toran nodded.
“It wasn’t an accident, was it?” Leah asked.
He sighed. “No. It wasn’t. Your father was… involved in something. And it got him killed.”
“Involved in what?”
He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “Leah, haven’t you ever wondered how you were able to live in such a big villa in the best neighbourhood in Singapore? Haven’t you ever wondered where your father got the money to buy all his antiques and other top-end luxuries? How he paid for your expensive private boarding school?”
“He was a successful lawyer,” she said defensively. “He had wealthy clients.”
“Client. Singular,” said Toran. “He had one client. Oh, he kept up appearances, but he only really worked for one man. Bentley Warne.”
Leah felt her stomach constrict. No.
“How… how do you know?” she asked faintly.
“Because he told me,” said Toran bluntly. Now that he had started, it was as if he was determined to purge his knowledge, and Leah almost wanted to tell him to stop, to take back everything that he was saying.
Toran looked down at his empty coffee mug and said quietly, “Your father had been working for Warne, doing his dirty work for years. But he wasn’t without a conscience and after a while the weight of his complicity began to bear down on him. I’m sure there were times over the years when your father regretted ever starting to work for Warne, but if you get into bed with the devil, it can be very hard to get out again.”
Leah thought of the way her father had hardly ever smiled, of the many nights she had found him sitting alone, drinking, in the dark.
Toran looked up. “I suppose he comforted himself with the thought that it was mostly white-collar crime, with no one really hurt except giant corporations who could well afford to lose some money here and there.” He paused. “But then this time, things went too far. This time, your father got involved in a murder.”
“You’re saying that my father murdered someone?” Leah whispered, aghast.
“No,” said Toran. “But he was asked to help cover it up. Bentley Warne called him late on Wednesday night last week—told your father to meet him at a deserted car park. When your father got there, he found Warne waiting for him and the body of a woman in Warne’s car. It seems that there had been an argument or something and Warne had struck her.”
“Maybe Warne hit her in self-defence,” Leah said lamely.
Toran’s expression hardened. “He might have done that. But he killed her in cold blood. Yes, you’re forgetting that your father was there and saw it all. The woman was unconscious, but still alive when he arrived. Warne said that the woman had been trying to blackmail him and had to be silenced. He gave your father the woman’s handbag and told him to destroy the contents. Then Warne used his kris dagger to kill her. There’s a technique, used by the ancient Indonesian executioners, where the blade of the kris dagger is pushed into the area below the clavicle. It pierces the subclavian artery and the heart. Death is instant.”
Leah wanted to get up and leave, to stop hearing this, but Toran’s green eyes held her immobilised in her seat. She licked dry lips and said, “Wh-what did they do?”
“Warne left to set up an alibi. Your father’s job was to get rid of the body and the evidence. But your father didn’t destroy the evidence. He came to me.”
Leah stared at Toran. “But you said that you didn’t have the evidence—”
“Your father didn’t have it with him the night he came to see me. And he wouldn’t tell me much more than what I just told you. In fact, he seemed very nervous…” Toran rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I wonder if he already suspected that he was being watched and followed that night. The hit-and-run happened straight after our meeting, as he was walking back to his car. Warne must have realised that your father was planning to talk and decided to silence him.”
Leah stared down at the surface of the breakfast bar, still trying to take it all in.
Toran said gently, “I didn’t mention this to you the other night because I wanted to spare you the truth. I was hoping that maybe we could simply find the evidence without you ever having to find out about your father’s involvement.” He sighed. “It was probably stupid of me, but I was just trying to protect you.”
All his life, it seemed, Toran was always trying to protect her. Leah wasn’t quite ready to forgive him for lying to her, but she was warmed by his concern.
She reached out and brushed his hands. “Thank you. But… I still don’t understand why my father couldn’t have just gone straight to the police. If he had the evidence—”
“Yes, but Warne could threaten something that your father couldn’t risk,” said Toran.
“What?” asked Leah.
“You.” Toran smiled grimly. “Your father knew Warne’s methods well enough to know that the man wouldn’t hesitate to hurt loved ones and family in retribution. He knew I had background on Warne. He hoped that by having the information funnelled through me—as an anonymous source—he could avoid Warne finding out about his involvement and therefore keep you safe.”
Leah looked away, thinking of her father. The old resentment and anger still lingered. She still couldn’t forgive him for her cold, lonely childhood; for the way he had tried to control her life while at the same time freezing her out, even when she had needed him the most. And now, she was finding out that he had worked for a criminal, that he had been involved in far darker things than she had ever imagined.
And yet… instead of hating him more, she found herself thinking about him for the first time as a person, rather than just her “father”. As a man with his own hopes and fears, his own triumphs and failures. A man who had tried, in his own way, to love her and keep her safe. She thought again about that bundle of letters from him and was surprised by a twinge of empathy.
She looked at Toran. “We need to finish what my father started. Expose Warne.”
“We still need that evidence,” said Toran.
Leah nodded eagerly. “And I’ve found it.” Quickly she told Toran about the tailor shop, the USB stick hidden in the jacket, and the chase through the Merlion Mall.
Toran frowned. “But last night, I heard Warne’s men—they said there was nothing on the USB stick.”
“No, I wiped it clean,” said Leah. “But don’t worry—the data is safe.” She looked around. “Does Dieter have a computer we can borrow?”
“In his office,” said Toran, nodding in the direction of the hallway. “Why? Where have you put the data?”
Leah smiled. “I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER 20
Dieter’s office was a cluttered mess. They had to climb over boxes and piles of toiletries to reach the laptop on the desk. Toran powered it up, then watched curiously as Leah opened a browser window. Understanding dawned on him as he saw her navigate to the cloud storage site, log in, and open the folder contained there. Three video files showed on the screen.
“Shall I?” Leah moved the mouse over the first one.
Toran nodded. They both leaned forwards as the video began to play. It was dark and grainy, probably taken with a low-resolution webcam, but clear enough to make out two women’s faces. They were close to the camera, their brows furrowed in concentration as they adjusted something which caused the camera angle to tilt up and down, left and right.
They were both startlingly attractive, with high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and pouting lips. Their long black hair
was styled seductively around their faces and the low cut tops they wore showed ample cleavage. Leah frowned. The face on the right looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. They were nudging each other, saying something in Thai, and giggling, their voices low and excited. Then the video cut out.
Leah started the second video and, instantly, she recognised Bentley Warne. He was standing in the room, further away from the camera, beside a bed on the far wall. The image had a surreal quality as everything in the room was washed in a red light from the neon sign that was hanging outside the window. Warne was wearing one of his usual pinstriped suits. Next to him stood one of the women who had been in the first clip. She was draped suggestively against his shoulder, one hand stroking his lapel. Warne said something, she answered, then he threw his head back and laughed. Putting a hand in his pocket, he pulled out a wad of cash and handed it over.
The woman simpered and moved off camera. Warne began undressing himself. The woman came back into the frame and began to take her clothes off as well. Leah drew a sharp breath as the woman took off her underwear. Something wasn’t quite right. The long, dark hair and pretty features, the big breasts and tiny waist on a feminine body… and then below the hips, suddenly, the woman was a man. It was completely disconcerting, like seeing some mythological creature made up of two halves—a mermaid, half-woman, half-fish.
“Katoey,” murmured Toran.
“What?” said Leah.
“Ladyboy,” said Toran. “She’s a Thai ladyboy.”
They watched as the ladyboy approached Warne and pushed him onto the bed. Then the clip ended. Leah was almost afraid to start the third clip. She clicked the mouse and the video player opened up again, showing the same grainy picture of the same room. This time, however, Warne and the ladyboy were both on the bed. She was on her knees and he was behind her. Harsh, explicit sounds came through the speakers.
