She Walks the Line (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Fox, Roz Denny

  He hadn’t been so obviously propositioned in a long time—not since tracking a painting into the red-light district of Amsterdam. He’d planned to ask more about the incident the woman mentioned, but noticed she’d backed off, probably the instant his shock showed.

  Her low, sultry laugh raked Cullen’s spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  “It’s clear you aren’t here to score—more’s the pity. That leaves pushing drugs. Unless…” She stubbed out her partially smoked cigarette and blew the final wisp of smoke into the air. “Unless your sexual appetites don’t run toward women, honey. That’d be a crying shame,” she whispered huskily, tracing a finger over one of Cullen’s shirt buttons.

  He’d gone stone-cold at her last insinuation, and nearly toppled from his perch when Mei Lu slid her tense body between him and the stranger.

  Cullen was aware of the glitter in Mei Lu’s eyes just moments before she flipped open her dainty beaded handbag and flashed her badge. “If I were you, honey,” Mei said with exaggerated sweetness, “I’d avail myself of this one and only opportunity to take a hike. A quick phone call to Vice, and I can shut you down.”

  “You left him, sweet cheeks. Don’t blame me for poaching.” The woman trying to poach didn’t appear intimidated by Mei Lu’s threat. But in their clash of wills, she gave in first, and slipped off her stool. “Guess I was wrong on both counts,” she said to Cullen, around Mei Lu.

  Bold as you please, the hooker extracted a card from a black satin purse. Reaching around her nemesis a second time, she tucked the card in Cullen’s shirt pocket. “Call me if your woman’s ever out flexing her muscle with the boys in blue and you’re in need of a diversion. I’ll make it worth your time…and money.” She sauntered in the direction of the front door, with a lot of hip-swaying.

  “What nerve,” Mei Lu exclaimed. “For two cents, I’d sic Vice on your friend.”

  He smiled. “We both know the punishment would be to Vice. They’d be doing the paperwork long after her lawyer bailed her out.”

  “You liked her,” Mei Lu exclaimed, faintly accusing.

  “Nope. But don’t you admire her grit?”

  “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” she murmured, diving her fingers into Cullen’s shirt pocket. “Her working name is Fidelity. At least it’s not Chastity.” Mei wafted the pink, perfumed card under Cullen’s nose, then made a big point of pressing it back into his hand.

  Holding Mei Lu’s slightly hostile glance as he got off his stool, Cullen ripped the card into tiny shreds which he deposited in the ashtray Fidelity had used to extinguish her cigarette.

  Mei Lu’s heat fizzled. “Sure you won’t regret that before you get home?”

  “Positive. Ready to leave? I know you blew our cover to save my honor, but I can’t say I like the way that bouncer’s eyeing us. Either the bartender or those two women have probably tagged us as trouble.”

  “While you were making nice with a streetwalker, I got a lead. A waitress who happened to be going off duty at the time our courier was shot.”

  “Wait. Don’t say any more until we’re in the car with the motor running.”

  Mei Lu let Cullen drop her shawl around her shoulders. And she didn’t object when he pulled her tight against his side as they exited the bar. Then they practically ran to Cullen’s BMW.

  Both expelled pent-up breaths as he peeled out onto the main drag.

  “What did you find out?” he demanded.

  “Wang Xi’s part of a triad. The waitress was scared spitless. I gave her fifty bucks before she’d tell me he had the mark of a tiger on the web between his thumb and forefinger. A white tiger. Trust me, that’s significant,” Mei insisted when Cullen looked clueless.

  Cullen was busy reflecting that Mei Lu Ling never ceased to surprise him. Again she showed him how little he’d learned while he was in China. If he wanted to make headway in this case, he’d do well to start relying on her cultural expertise—and her experience as a cop.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MEI LU FACED CULLEN, who appeared to mull over the information she’d gleaned from the waitress. “The ME’s report on the second courier should tell us whether he had a tiger tattoo as well,” she said.

  “Why a tiger?”

  “For centuries in China, red dragons have depicted good and white tigers have stood for evil. I kid you not—that waitress was shaking in her shoes when she brought up the tattoo. She desperately wanted the money I was offering, but I could see how nervous she felt about giving me information.”

  “While I was chasing after that painting I told you about, I ran into roadblocks thrown up by people whose every move was determined by what a fortune-teller had outlined for their day. You don’t believe in all that, do you?”

  “No. But we’re dealing with people who do.”

  “After we check the medical examiner’s report, this is the neighborhood where we’ll have to dig for further leads. Did you get the name of the waitress, Mei Lu?”

  “Are you kidding? Not for ten times the money! Tomorrow, you call for a copy of the report, Cullen. I’ll visit local merchants on either side of the nightclub.”

  “Will you be safe?”

  Mei Lu nudged his ribs. “I keep reminding you, I’m a cop. Trained to investigate criminal elements. I carry a weapon.” She opened her purse, which contained only her badge, Taser and a small tube of lipstick.

  “That’s supposed to make me feel better? Guns beget violence. Violence begets more violence. Not to mention a criminal’s gonna take one look at you and think…” Cullen stared straight at her, then turned aside without finishing his sentence.

  “Go on. What is a criminal going to think?”

  “Never mind,” he muttered. “If we’re referring to men, their minds are going to be on that dress, or how hot you look in it. My mind certainly is.”

  She ignored him. “It’s a mistake to think pretty does as pretty is,” she said, twisting the old cliché. “Come with me to the kung fu studio one night. I’ll show you a two-hundred-pound cop my friend Crista put out of commission in one flip. And she’s smaller than me.”

  “Kung fu, huh? I imagine you’re really proficient.”

  “I could lie and claim that I am. However, I’m finally making progress. I don’t tell many people, Mr. Archer, but in martial arts I was a joke at the Police Academy. Everyone started out way better at hand-to-hand combat and self-defense than me. It’s also a mistake to think all Chinese are like Jackie Chan.”

  “I prefer it when you call me Cullen. And another thing it’d make me happier if you were a grand master kung fu fighter. You’re planning to head off tomorrow to poke into a mess that’s already gotten two people killed.”

  “Two that we know of,” Mei Lu murmured, all teasing gone from her demeanor.

  Cullen pulled to the curb in front of her duplex. “The sooner we sort this out and come up with a suspect who might be transporting the statues, the better I’ll feel.”

  Mei Lu started to agree, then held back—because it dawned on her that when the case was solved, there wouldn’t be any reason to see Cullen again. She’d never experienced anything like this over a man. The swiftness and depth of her reaction bewildered her. Her earlier concerns flooded in, the reservations she’d come away with from their first meeting. Nothing had changed, really. And Cullen’s ex was still in Asia.

  Except that the more time she spent in his company, the less Mei Lu could picture him involved in anything underhanded. She hated all this emotional confusion. Mei told herself she needed to focus on the facts of the case.

  “Noon tomorrow, then, at your house?” she said, clutching her purse and shawl tight as she prepared for her getaway.

  Cullen watched her grope for the door handle before he swore and thrust his open. Joining her just as she scrambled out unaided, he grasped her elbow, escorting her along the walkway despite her protest. He skimmed his hand along her arm and nonchalantly linked their fingers. Never glancing at her profile
, he said, “That dress deserves a whole evening in a classier place than the dive we ended up in tonight.”

  Mei didn’t know what to say. She tried to separate their hands, but he didn’t release hers.

  “Why do you shy away from compliments, Mei Lu?”

  “Because we’re trying to work together on a case.”

  “Are compliments against police regulations? I hope you don’t consider a simple compliment harassment.”

  “No, of course not. I’m sure flattery is a common practice in your crowd.”

  “I beg your pardon? First, I don’t have a crowd. Second, that term, ‘flattery,’ suggests I’m insincere. Let me assure you, I’m very sincere.”

  Mei reached her bottom step and stopped. “I didn’t mean to insult you. The chief said you’re an art patron. That’s what I meant by ‘crowd.’ As for the other…” She stammered a bit. “M-my friends all say I need to loosen up.”

  He’d finally let go of her hand, and she shot up two steps.

  Cullen considered what she’d said, and what she’d implied, as well. He’d sworn off women after his divorce, but something about Mei Lu Ling stoked long-forgotten longings that reminded him all women weren’t like Jana.

  Although he knew the smart thing to do would be to say goodbye and walk away, a desire to kiss her—just to see what response that might bring—overrode his good sense. Acting on instinct, he bounded up beside her and, for a moment, merely ran his hands up and down her arms, keeping her off balance. The minute he felt her begin to tense, Cullen pulled her against him and covered her lips in a kiss. Had she tensed more, or struggled in the slightest, he’d have released her at once. She did neither.

  Cullen noticed her initial shock and softened his kiss. That was when her lips parted and she began kissing him back.

  His smile came involuntarily, as did a feeling of satisfaction. The instincts that guided him told Cullen light and short was best, even though hunger for a whole lot more spread through every part of his body. He recognized when the time had come to end the kiss—when he felt her purse slip out of her grasp and strike his shoe, followed almost immediately by the gentle swish of her shawl pooling around his ankles.

  Easing away, he bent at the waist and retrieved both things, which he then tucked firmly into her limp hands. Turning, he leaped off her porch with a casual “See you tomorrow.” Cullen whistled jauntily, although he wasted no time getting back to the BMW.

  As Mei Lu stood on her porch, it seemed to spin out from under her. Through a fog—although it was a glass-clear night—she watched Cullen’s car lights switch on. His engine’s throaty roar echoed inside her skull. Why had he kissed her? How could he act so casual before, during and afterward? Mei Lu felt anything but.

  Clasping her purse and shawl, she felt too rattled to hunt for her house key—until she saw that Cullen wasn’t driving off and she realized he wasn’t leaving until he saw her enter the house. She had to pull herself together. Foo was barking his head off and pawing at the door.

  Ah! The key. At last she inserted it in the lock and made it all the way inside without looking totally foolish. She hoped so, anyway.

  After all, it wasn’t as though that was her first kiss. “Just the first one that caught me completely off guard, Foo,” she said as she closed the door behind her. She dropped her belongings on the couch and switched on a second lamp before hugging the dog. It was then that Mei heard Cullen drive off.

  She thought about his delay as she walked dreamily into the kitchen to check on Foo’s food and water. Granted, she hadn’t dated much. A couple of the nicer cops she’d met. Working screwball shifts the way she did made it difficult to meet men not on the force. And the guys she’d gone out with had treated her more like a buddy than a date. At the time, she’d seen nothing wrong with being dropped off at the curb. One had even experimented with kissing her. Nothing romantic.

  Cullen was certainly aware that they weren’t calling tonight a date. He just operated differently. Good manners, for instance, were automatic with him. He opened doors, guided her in and out of buildings with a hand at her waist. Which was nice. Very nice.

  But that kiss!

  Mei Lu paused in the middle of spooning out a quarter can of the dog food her vet said Foo could have once a day. In the morning he got kibble. He loved the canned treat, and now lapped it up before she’d recapped the can and set it in the fridge.

  The little dog padded to the back door and stood there patiently while Mei rinsed the spoon. “I know you want to sniff the backyard for night creatures. But you’ll have to wait for me to ditch these shoes.”

  Given the hour and the fact none of her neighbors could see into her patio courtyard, even if they were up, she donned a nightgown, robe and slippers.

  As she sat in a deck chair sheltered by her mimosa tree, waiting for Foo to do his business, she tried to plan a schedule for morning. But Mei’s thoughts kept drifting off in another direction.

  Cullen had said several times tonight how much he liked her dress—the one she’d chosen from a closet containing ninety percent career clothing. Mei had grown up around silk, satin and brocade, but she’d rebelled at an early age against wearing the things her mother selected. As a result, Mei had probably gone overboard with severe styles. She’d worn no-nonsense suits in Hong Kong. At the academy, jeans. After graduation, a uniform. Then back to jeans, and now suits again. Mei watched the moon flicker in and out among the tree leaves. What did that say about her femininity?

  It wasn’t something she’d worried about before. Why now?

  Well, wasn’t that obvious? Being with Cullen Archer made her want to look and act like a woman, not a cop. A woman able to bring that certain expression to a man’s eyes.

  Hadn’t Lucy said something similar the other afternoon? Lucy, who before she met Jackson Davis had never fussed with her clothes or hair. Yet now she did. In fact, Lucy had admitted making changes for the man in her life.

  Good grief! Mei didn’t have a man in her life. And for the first time in maybe forever, she was bothered by the reality of that.

  Vaulting out of her chair, she sashed her robe with a yank. Placing two fingers against her lips, Mei Lu whistled Foo back to the patio. “Come on, mutt. It’s bedtime for us. What I need to do is crack this case. Spending all this time with Cullen Archer isn’t good for me.”

  The dog sat back on his haunches, flicked his ears and uttered a few muted whines to commiserate before trotting into the kitchen behind Mei.

  CULLEN took a circuitous route home. He drove down Bellaire Boulevard toward the 610 freeway and couldn’t recall ever being in this part of town. Surely he’d been here when he was younger. Yes, he knew he had. Although then there hadn’t been the profusion of Asian signs touting new businesses and restaurants. What had happened to the Hispanic population that used to call this area home?

  The farther he drove, the more Cullen realized his city had changed around him while he—what? Tried to make a life with Jana that ultimately fell apart? After he’d failed to keep his marriage together, he’d pulled back from all but a few social obligations. Now he lived complacently on Max Archer’s estate and ran as many of his business ventures as possible from his home office. Phone, fax and Internet made it easy to be a recluse. A woman on the juried art committee had accused him of that recently.

  Darting fast glances from side to side, he felt as if he were back on the narrow streets of Hong Kong. This smuggling case, which his old friend Brett Davis at Interpol had dumped in Cullen’s lap, might well be harder to solve than he’d supposed. When Brett had first called and then faxed him the file, Cullen had assumed it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to spot a few slippery Asian privateers in Houston. Now he felt like an idiot. This was a veritable city within the city.

  According to his car clock, by the time he got home it should be almost 6:00 a.m. at Interpol headquarters in St. Cloud, France. Cullen figured he’d better call Davis before he left his apartment in Paris and tell
him this wasn’t going to be the walk in the park they’d initially thought.

  Despite that, his curiosity got the best of him and he didn’t take the freeway, but instead followed the surface streets, wanting to see how far the Asian community extended. It wasn’t long before the area really started to deteriorate. After several more blocks, Cullen decided it wasn’t wise to continue. Not with the way those young hoods hanging around an alley entrance were eyeing his BMW. They wore black headbands and red kerchiefs around their upper arms. They could be harmless, but it was past midnight, and Cullen’s gut said they weren’t choirboys.

  Deciding this area would be better explored in daylight, he made an abrupt U-turn and sped straight to the freeway. Damn, he hoped Mei Lu wasn’t planning to follow her lead into this section. Cullen had no trouble imagining smugglers with tiger tattoos finding a welcome haven here.

  A LOUD, PULSING RING ejected Mei Lu from a deep sleep. Groaning and yawning, she waved a hand around in the dim light, trying to find her alarm clock. It’d taken her hours to get to sleep last night, and she knew she was going to pay for it today. She hit the snooze button, but it didn’t silence the sound. Not until Foo dropped her cell phone near her head and whined did she understand the ringing wasn’t her alarm, but her phone.

  Sitting up fast, she flipped the phone open. Assuming it was someone at the station, she shooed away the mental cobwebs and answered in a sure voice. “Lieutenant Ling.”

  “I knew you had a flaw somewhere. I hate people who sound so chipper this early in the morning.”

  The minute she heard his voice, one hand flew to her mouth and visions of his parting kiss last night jolted her fully awake. Mei didn’t respond because “chipper” didn’t begin to describe her current state. Sinking back against her pillow, she scraped her tangled hair out of her face. Her illuminated bedside clock showed it wasn’t quite six o’clock. She read all kinds of implications into his phoning at this hour. None should have left her mush-brained and tongue-tied, but apparently they did.