He didn’t move, continued to glare. “You’ve been sleeping for more than eight hours. Do you want coffee? Water? I know where it all is, so I can get a drink for you without waking anyone up.”
“Go back to your seat and stay there.”
Okay, that wasn’t an auspicious beginning. He was angry and irritated, hugely irritated. She recognized those symptoms. “Oh, oh, hang on, hon.” She hurried back to her seat and rooted through her stash of essentials. She came back with a pack of nicotine gum. “From the way you were smoking in the parking lot I thought you might get a nic attack on the flight. Here, have some.”
He looked at the gum, looked at her. “If I was asleep, I wouldn’t need it.”
Was he still sore about that? “That’s true,” she conceded. “But since you are, have one.”
“Go away.”
He sounded so cross. “Gum and coffee,” she decided aloud. “That will loosen you up.”
“I don’t need loosening up. I need you to go back to your seat.”
She went to the kitchenette and poured him a tall black one. When she came back, he was flat on his back, eyes closed. She leaned across and put it on the tray. She glanced back to comment on the airline’s fine china and caught him taking in her ass. Yes!
She pulled back slowly, letting him take in the girls, too, which thanks to a built-in pushup, were super perky. She settled herself back down beside him and this time, took the logical next step of leaning her torso over him, tucking her hand on his other side. This would allow him to take in her full package without doing much, and she kinda liked the feel of him between her hip and hand. She stretched her legs because he’d eyed them back at Cause & FX.
She popped out a piece of gum from the cello pack and held it at his mouth. His eyes widened as if it were a poison pill, and he sat himself up against the seat. Good grief. She followed after him. “Open up.”
His mouth thinned, though his eyes stayed fixed on the little white offering. “Oh, c’mon. It’s gum, for Pete’s sake. Take it. You know you want to.”
He caved, nearly taking her fingers with it. He chomped on the gum. “Slow, Kannon. The trick is to let it drip into your bloodstream. Chew it slowly then put it into your cheek and then chew again, maybe in five minutes.” Unable to resist, she added, “It’s like with any addiction. It’s all about the slow release.”
His chewing halted, and she watched his tongue pocket the gum into his cheek. “You smoke, too?”
“No, I had a girlfriend who did. She used the gum, and then I had a few pieces, too. And then, yeah, I got addicted to the stuff.”
He regarded her with a long, neutral look. The look of a man who has firm opinions he’s keeping to himself. “You’re addicted to nicotine gum?”
“No! Are you kidding? There aren’t many support groups for gum addicts, so I had to go cold turkey. I still get cravings now and again, so I know a little of what you’re going through.”
Another long, neutral look.
She assumed her previous position of leaning across him. “Soooo, you never said, what do you want to do now?”
“There’s nothing to do.”
Really? Was he that thick? Maybe it was the privacy thing. Maybe she needed to be way more direct. “You know everyone else is asleep. It’s just you and me. “
“Why are you here?”
Okay, she’d overstepped. Everything on the list was checked off, maybe there was something missing in the blank marked ‘Other’.
“I’m sorry, Kannon, I didn’t realize. Are you monogamous, then?” In some relationships, she knew there was no sex with other partners. She was okay with that. Sometimes couples like that almost made her envious with their closeness, their utter belief that all they needed was each other. “Brian and Delta are so into that lifestyle. They get separated on the premises, and soon enough one or the other comes up to my desk, like a lost kid at the mall, wondering if I can page the other. And they won’t carry their phones because they don’t see the point when I’m there. And it’s true. I’m never without my phone. I realized on this flight how addicted I am to it. Then again, is it an addiction if it’s something nobody, absolutely nobody, can live without? Even Brian and Delta count on me to have a—”
“Not here.” He pointed to the place between them. “Why are you coming to Bangkok?” He jabbed his thumb toward the dark rectangle of the window.
The calming effect of the nic gum clearly hadn’t kicked in yet. “You know why. To help my dad.”
“There’s been trouble in the ten years you’ve been away. Why now?”
“How did you know I haven’t been back in ten years?” Then she answered her own question. “Right. You work for my dad’s best friend.”
“I didn’t know you were his daughter. I knew he had a daughter he hadn’t seen in a decade.”
Was he implying she’d deserted her father? She’d gone with his blessing. He’d understood. And she’d understood why he’d stayed in the business.
“We keep in touch, you know,” she said defensively. “If my father needed me, I’d be there for him. Only he wouldn’t tell me if he did and—and I’m thinking this is one of those times.”
She snuck a look at Kannon. His face and eyes were as hard as ever. Okay, she wouldn’t be extending her membership in the Mile High Club on this flight. He took a sip of coffee, apparently having resigned himself to sparing her some attention.
“I called Dad for his birthday a few days ago. His wife answered. Said he was out fishing. Only Dad doesn’t fish.”
“You haven’t seen him in ten years. He could’ve picked up a hobby.”
“No. Dad believes in the specialization of labor. He won’t do for fun what another works for. It’s disrespectful, he says.”
“He should say he doesn’t like fishing, and leave it at that.”
She liked that he’d said that. “That’s what I keep telling him.”
“You think your father’s in trouble?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. He’s supposed to be there to open his birthday present from me. It’s a tradition. We do it over the phone. It’s been like that since forever. Well, for ten years, anyway. And this year—this year, it didn’t happen. “
“You’re flying home because he didn’t show for a gift opening?”
“That makes me sound oversensitive and irrational. Is that what you think?”
His tongue went to his cheek as he fished out his gum. Of course. He wouldn’t insult the daughter of his boss’s friend, because that wouldn’t be smart. Then another thought occurred to her. “Alak Montri. Did he say anything about my dad?”
She could hear his teeth grind on the gum. “No. He hasn’t. Mr. Montri doesn’t talk to staff about his friends.” He made it sound as if she’d insulted her dad, his boss and him all at once.
“Then I’ll ask a different question. Do you know what’s going on with my dad?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Couldn’t or won’t?”
“Yes.”
A single word of affirmation that might be taken as flippant, except his dark eyes held hers steady and long. Put all together, that one-word affirmation meant that he knew something, that that something wasn’t good and that he wasn’t answering questions.
“Does Tasanee know anything?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
“I did and she says she doesn’t.”
“Then you got your answer.”
“Okay. Can you at least tell me if he’s alive or not?”
His careful regard of her didn’t change. “As far as I know, yes.”
That wasn’t a confirmation. “Is he injured?” There was always a chance he’d betray himself and actually give her an answer.
The gum went back into his cheek, and his chin dipped the tiniest fraction to indicate his low opinion of her continued interrogation. Gina shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
She crossed her legs and laced her fingers over them.
“So then, tell me about the love of your life. You married?”
“Widowed.”
She opened her mouth to follow that up when he expanded, “Not in a relationship, either.”
“That must be kind of tough on your daughter.”
“How do you know about her?” His voice was even sharper than usual.
“Tasanee told me. We were talking about friends and she kept bringing up Zoe this, Zoe that. I asked her and she told me.”
“Don’t talk about my daughter. That’s none of your business either.”
What was his problem? She wasn’t pushing for sex, she was talking about family, which was about as universal a topic as could be. “God forbid we should enjoy each other’s company. And don’t pretend you’re all that. I saw the way you’ve been checking me out.”
She was ready for him to deny it. Instead, he said, “I check out deals all the time. It doesn’t mean I’m buying.”
“That because I’m Vincenzo Zaffini’s daughter?”
“It’s because you’re Gina Zaffini.”
“Ah. So you’re rejecting me for who I am. And what is it about me you don’t like?”
“We don’t need to get into that.”
“No, Kannon. We don’t. You haven’t had to tell me anything, but you have. You’ve told me that my father is in trouble, that you’re a single parent, that you’re addicted to cigarettes, and that while you’re attracted to me you’re not going to act on it, which makes no sense whatsoever considering I’ve been clear about my intentions.”
“You want me?” His tone was one of total disbelief.
Why would he think she wouldn’t? Was he not sentient? “Duh.”
“I’m old enough to be your father.”
“I’m thirty.”
“I’m sixty.”
“No, you aren’t. You should just say you don’t want to have sex with me and leave it at that.”
“Not saying that, either.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Unexpectedly he wrapped his hand around her neck, so gently it was almost a caress and said in a low, low voice. “What I’m saying is that I’m a killer. It’s what I do, it’s what I am.” He said it with flat acceptance. And with the thinnest edge of defiance, as if expecting her to deny it. Or deny him.
She leaned right in. “Kannon, I kinda figured that out. What I’m interested in is what else you are.”
Something flashed in his eyes and she was ready to work her opening when the flight attendant appeared with a carafe of coffee. All pressed and pretty, she took in Gina’s pose over Kannon and hesitated. You’d think she’d worked enough overnight flights to be used to this by now.
Oh well, back to being bored.
Gina flipped through the tourist brochure she’d picked up from the airport at Kota Bharu. “Seems the main entertainment’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken,” she said to Tasanee. They were the only females at the seaside café, the male patrons uniformly wiling away their time with newspapers and sweet coffee. “No bars, no nightclubs, nothing.”
Tasanee shrugged. “The rickshaw ride was cool.”
It was the mode of transportation Gina had insisted bring them the final stretch to the waterfront, overriding Kannon’s protests. She had to do something fun, and the rickshaw decked out in a pink butterfly theme was perfect. She and Tasanee had enjoyed being part of the stream of three-wheeled vehicles lazily pedaling down the streets, passing by the vibrant markets and ornate mosques. Kannon had led the way in his own manly rickshaw, scanning the streets through his mirrored sunglasses for anything suspicious. He didn’t seem to appreciate it when she’d pointed out that with his suit and scowl he was the most sinister presence around.
Even now, sitting a few feet off, puffing away on his millionth cigarette, he looked like a reincarnated dragon. Dry as one, too. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and adjusted her tudung, the silken headscarf that was the norm in the Muslim city. Although her long dress was pretty, in a medieval kind of way, the tropical heat made it stifling, excruciating for a woman who rarely bothered with panties.
She raised binoculars to check out the bright blue waters of the Gulf of Thailand for any sign of her father’s yacht. There were plenty of flights direct from Los Angeles to Bangkok, but her father and Kannon had felt it prudent to meet in neighboring Malaysia instead. That meant they’d landed in Hong Kong, caught a plane to Kuala Lumpur, then another connector flight to Kota Bharu. Gina felt as if they’d been traveling for weeks.
She turned to Kannon. “Do you think I should call Darae? Just to see how long they’ll be?”
He didn’t look at her. “No.”
She didn’t get it. What was wrong with making a quick call rather than sit here for who knew how long? Keeping the binoculars in position with one hand, she reached for her phone inside her purse.
Then she saw it.
“Ah, there she is!” Gina stood and pointed to a pale pink yacht that had appeared on the horizon. Kannon held out his hand, and Gina passed him the binoculars.
“The Pink Pussy,” he said, reading the name emblazoned in golden script on the bow.
Gina slung her purse over her shoulder. “The Pink Pussycat. Check out the smaller font. Port authority made him add ‘cat’ so it wouldn’t be so raunchy.”
Tasanee giggled which escalated into snorts and girly laughter that drew disapproving looks from the males. Kannon drew a finger across his throat, and she instantly quieted. When he gave word that a powerboat had disembarked from the yacht, they gathered up their luggage and headed to the dock, a stray dog loping behind.
“I forgot about you dogs in Asia,” Gina said to it as she set her bags down at the edge of the pier. “Always coming to keep me company.”
“It could be rabid,” Kannon cautioned.
Oh, really. She let the animal sniff her hand, then gave it a good scratch behind the ears.
“Or have fleas.”
She tipped some water from her bottle into her hand and offered it to the dog. It lapped it dry and wandered off.
A few minutes later the powerboat eased up to the dock. The woman at the wheel was in her fifties, tall and busty for a Thai, her skin the color of cinnamon and her hair drawn into a high ponytail. Darae. One look at her and Gina wondered how it was that she could’ve stayed away as long as she had. She didn’t know how she got inside the boat but all at once she was there, hugging the woman who’d played mother and mentor.
“Sorry, Darae. Sorry,” she mumbled into the woman’s hair.
Darae pulled them apart and searched Gina’s face. “What are you sorry for?”
“I should’ve come sooner.”
A certain closed stillness passed over Darae, and after giving Gina one more affectionate squeeze, she opened her arms to Tasanee. “Oh, Tas. It’s so good to see you in one piece. We aren’t going to let anyone hurt you. And we’re going to make sure that Wakai pays for his crimes.”
“He certainly will,” said Kannon as he stepped aboard, bowing to Gina’s stepmother. “Hello, Mrs. Zaffini. I’m Kannon Takahama. I take it my assistant is already on board?”
“He is. And so are his two guests. We have Jarun in the hold, along with the driver that came to pick him up.”
Darae throttled the engine, wasting no time in returning to The Pink Pussycat. Gina pushed in close to her, stripping off the tudung that flapped uselessly about her head.
“Your father’s happy you came,” Darae yelled over the roar of the engine.
Gina steadied herself against the slam of the boat on the waves. “How is he? He wouldn’t tell me.” She gestured at Kannon.
“He’s looking forward to seeing you again,” replied Darae, sidestepping the question. “Ten minutes and you’ll be talking to him.”
Tingles, as fine as the water spray, misted down on Gina. Except it wasn’t the urge to shop she felt but the desperate need to get to her father. She fixed her eyes on the yacht.
“Your timing is good. We need you
here, Gina,” Darae shouted on. “This is no ordinary scuffle. Alak’s very respected. You remember, few years back, Bangkok was cut up between so many foreigners, not to mention those horrible pedophile groups. He’s the one who put an end to them.”
“So he has a lot of enemies. That’s pretty standard for a crime lord.”
“He’s got a lot more friends,” Darae countered. “The people, especially those in the slums, love him, and the Thai gangs all either respect or fear him. Now overnight, Wakai’s murdered everyone in Alak’s inner circle and slapped him in chains. One way or another, order’s got to be restored. The trick is keeping his daughter safe while that happens.”
“So Tasanee’s a princess in peril?” Gina asked.
Darae turned her attention from the water to focus on Gina. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Don’t forget you are a mafia princess, too.”
Her stepmother had always been of the opinion that Gina belonged with her father and his world. The paradox was that the very act that had proven Darae right had also been the one that had caused Gina to choose another path. “No,” Gina said. “Not a princess. Not in peril.”
“Then, who are you? A receptionist? A single woman? A killer on the run?”
Gina absorbed each of the labels, wincing at the last one. She looked out across the water as the pink yacht grew closer and more real.
“Right now,” she said, “all I want to be is a daughter.”
Once her feet hit the deck of The Pink Pussycat, Gina flew up the stairs to the sky lounge where Darae had said her dad was waiting. By the time she cleared the stairs, the tingles were crackles and sparks, her entire body a live wire.
Vincenzo Zaffini sat in the shade of an awning, surrounded by young, brown, bikini-clad women. His loose shirt and pants couldn’t hide what had happened to his once big, strong body. His frame was skeletal and pale and so weak it couldn’t seem to hold itself up. His face was sunken, his hair gone. But his dark eyes still shone up at her the way she remembered.
Slowly, painfully, with the aid of his cane and two of his girls, he stood and opened his arms. “Welcome home, bambina.”
Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) Page 3
