by Amelia Autin
Alana had already scanned all the letters Dirk had received so they could be stored electronically—Dirk’s office would need to be twice as big if they stored everything on paper in filing cabinets—and she’d queued up a couple of really sweet ones on his computer so he could read them. She looked up and smiled. “I know it’s Saturday. But you’ve been paying my full salary the entire time I was gone, even though I was only doing three-fourths of the work. I figured the least I could do was read and answer these fan letters right away—some are almost six weeks old.” She pointed to his computer. “Oh, and there are a couple you might like to read. I think you’ll be as touched as I was.”
Dirk sat and made short work of signing what Alana had prepared for him, saying as he did so, “Everything okay with Juliana and her baby?” He glanced up. “I assume so or you wouldn’t be here.” But there was a note of concern in his voice she rushed to allay.
“Everything’s fine. She sends her dear love and heartfelt thanks for letting her keep me with her for so long.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “That was nothing.”
“Not nothing,” she insisted. When a discomfited expression crossed his face she added, “But I won’t embarrass you by going on and on about it,” and noted his look of relief.
All at once she thought of Jason. Jason, who’d never looked for thanks, either, when he’d rescued her. Jason, her quiet hero.
Dirk’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Mei-li and I would have picked you up at the airport yesterday, but Jason said he’d do it.” He hesitated. “I got the impression we shouldn’t expect you back until Sunday night.” Buried in that statement was a question Dirk wouldn’t ask outright, but he was obviously concerned about finding her here this morning.
“We went out to dinner, but we...had a difference of opinion, so he brought me home.” A vast understatement, but she really didn’t want to tell anyone what had transpired. It was between Jason and her. She didn’t want Dirk to worry, though, so she said, “I’m okay, really.”
“So why do you look as if you haven’t slept for a week?”
Her hand involuntarily touched her cheek. She’d used a little more makeup this morning than she usually did, but apparently not enough to hide the emotional ravages of last night. “Oh, I...” she stammered. “I don’t like flying. So I didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before I left.” Both of which were true statements. They just weren’t the only reasons.
“Hmm.” She could tell Dirk wasn’t completely convinced, but he didn’t press her on the issue, for which she was thankful.
They worked in quiet harmony until Alana’s smartphone buzzed at an incoming text. Her heartbeat immediately ratcheted up a notch, and didn’t slow back down when she swiped a finger over the touch screen and saw who the text was from. Her first instinct was to read what he had to say, but she forced herself to ignore it. He’d hurt her enough last night. And he’d been quite clear she couldn’t change his mind. She couldn’t imagine what he had to say to her, and she wasn’t going to open herself up to more pain.
Ten minutes later her smartphone sounded the special ringtone she’d set up when she was in Zakhar so she’d know when Jason was calling her. And like his text, she ignored his call.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Thank goodness Dirk doesn’t know it’s Jason on the other end, she thought as she shook her head. “It’s not important. Whoever it is can go to voice mail.”
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later she heard the little ding indicating she had a voice mail message. She dug the fingernails of one hand into the palm of the other beneath her desk as she fought the urge to listen to it. Don’t go there, she warned herself. You both said everything there is to say last night.
The minutes crawled by. Alana tried to concentrate on the latest posts to Dirk’s Facebook page, but her attention wasn’t on her job and she had to read one of the longer posts three times before it made sense and she could click “Like” on Dirk’s behalf.
Then the office phone rang.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake!”
When Dirk slanted a questioning look her way, Alana realized she had no idea if Jason was on the other end of the line or not. She’d automatically assumed it was because he was on her mind, but it could be anyone. Still...she couldn’t bring herself to answer the call, so Dirk picked up the cordless phone.
“Dirk DeWinter. Oh, hi, Jason,” he added almost immediately, fixing his gaze on Alana. “Yes, she’s right here. Hold on a sec.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she whispered.
Dirk held the mouthpiece against his chest so Jason couldn’t hear what he had to say. “If you had a difference of opinion last night, apparently he’s calling to apologize.”
“It can’t be that.”
“So you didn’t have a difference of opinion last night?”
“We did. But—”
Dirk rose and handed her the cordless phone. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said as he headed toward the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t make him grovel.” A tiny smile touched his lips. “You might be tempted, but don’t. Men like Jason don’t handle it well.” There was a decided twinkle in his eyes when he tacked on, “I, on the other hand, have perfected groveling to a fine art,” as he closed the door behind him.
Which meant Alana was laughing when she held the phone to her ear, because “Dirk” and “groveling” didn’t go together any more than “Jason” and “groveling” did. “Hello?”
When he didn’t respond she said, “Hello? Jason?”
“You were laughing.”
The hint of gladness in his voice wasn’t lost on her, but she quickly clarified, “Not at you. Something Dirk said.”
“I’m glad, lang loi. Glad you can still laugh after what I said to you last night.”
She closed her eyes against the waves of pain mixed with joy that swept through her when Jason called her lang loi. She would never forget his deliberately hurtful accusation, If you loved me, my love would be enough. But although he’d meant it in that instant, the Cantonese endearment proved he didn’t now. She was still his dearest love...and he knew he was hers. Now she was fiercely glad she hadn’t said any of the things she’d wanted to say last night, including, If you loved me, you’d understand how I feel. Because he’d already been hurt enough in his life, and he’d hurt himself as well as her last night.
“I should have told you—there is a reason, lang loi. And I shouldn’t have accused you of not loving me when I know you do.”
“I do.”
Neither said any more for the longest time, as if what they were feeling in that moment transcended mere words. Then Jason asked, “Are you free tomorrow? Would you spend the day with me?” Before she could reply, he stated, “I’d planned to spend the entire weekend with you, lang loi—I’d cleared my calendar—but something has come up with one of RMM’s investigations, and I couldn’t say no.”
He’ll never be able to say no when RMM calls, she acknowledged privately. And strangely enough, instead of being upset that RMM took precedence over spending time with her, a tidal surge of love and pride washed over her. A perfect man? Hardly. But he would never let what he wanted be more important than doing what needed to be done. And wasn’t that one of the things she loved most about him?
“Yes, I’m free tomorrow. And yes, I’d love to spend the day with you.”
“Is eight too early?”
“Eight’s perfect. I’ll be ready and waiting.”
* * *
A half-dozen men were already seated around a spacious conference table in an isolated RMM hideaway not far from Repulse Bay when Jason walked into the room that afternoon and took his place at the head of the table. He stood there for a moment, his gaze moving from on
e man to another, silently assessing each one, fighting to suppress the insidious little voice in the back of his head that whispered, One of these men could be a traitor.
Every man there he trusted with his life. And every man there had proved himself worthy of Jason’s trust at one time or another, some of them numerous times. Not possible, his rational brain insisted. Not possible. It can’t be any of these men.
Cam Mackenzie, his second-in-command, and Cam’s twin brothers, Luke and Logan. His maternal cousin, Shuài “Patrick” Chan, whom even Mei-li didn’t know was a member. Trevor Garrett, the only paternal relative he respected, a man who’d taken a bullet meant for him on another RMM op and had nearly died. And Chao Jin, whom he’d known practically forever—Chao’s father had worked for Jason’s grandfather—and who’d been one of Jason’s first recruits.
If he was wrong, what he was about to say could be a death sentence for himself and others in the room. But I’m not wrong. Could there be a traitor in RMM? Anything’s possible. But not these men.
His sudden conviction vanquished his last, lingering doubts and he heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Without preamble he stated, “I think I know how the women are being smuggled into Macau.”
* * *
Alana woke at six, excitement and anticipation making it impossible to sleep any longer. She dressed quickly in one of the jogging outfits she’d bought in Zakhar, tucked her hair under a hat and donned her sunglasses. She grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen, then headed out for a run. She had plenty of time to still be back to shower and dress for her day with Jason.
She hadn’t told anyone except Juliana, but she’d started serious physical training while she was in Zakhar. She was up to four miles a day now, and though she knew Dirk had all the workout equipment anyone could ask for in his exercise room, equipment she was free to use, she much preferred jogging outside to using a treadmill. The sun was shining and it bade to be a glorious day. Too nice a day to jog indoors.
She’d been lifting weights, too. She could bench-press her own weight now—not much compared to what she was sure Jason could do, but a substantial improvement over where she’d started out six weeks ago.
Not to mention the weapons and hand-to-hand combat training she’d received from the head of Juliana’s security detail. Alana had even earned a few cherished words of praise from Captain Mateja-Jones with how quickly she’d mastered certain skills, including, You are a natural with a pistol.
And she loved her toned new look. It wasn’t obvious in her clothes, but she was hoping Jason would approve when he saw her naked again.
She hadn’t said a word to him when they’d talked on the phone, though, because she wanted to surprise him with how ready she was...when she asked to join RMM. She could still hear his deep voice in her mind, stating, If a woman such as Mei-li, for instance, wanted to join our ranks...if she trained as we train...if she was as dedicated to the cause as we are...
That was her goal. She’d have to take time off from training when she had the baby, of course. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize her pregnancy, so she’d have to see what her obstetrician had to say about it.
Which reminded her; she needed to find a good one here in Hong Kong, now that she didn’t have to hide her pregnancy from anyone. She was only a little more than six weeks along—she knew exactly when she’d conceived!—but it was never too soon to consult a good ob-gyn. She’d done her research as soon as she discovered she was pregnant, so she knew she wasn’t putting her baby at risk by jogging. But she wanted confirmation before she did anything more strenuous than that.
Alana had passed The Peak a short time before, heading for the very top of the mountain. Then she’d rest for a few minutes; jogging uphill was a lot tougher than on a level, and her legs were feeling the strain. But after that it was all downhill from there. A nice relaxing shower, she promised herself. And then...
She’d noticed the van that had passed her a mile back along with two other cars, but she hadn’t really given any of them a lot of thought, just made sure she was far enough off the pavement so they didn’t accidentally hit her.
Until she rounded a bend and saw them lying in wait.
Chapter 18
Alana whipped around and ran as fast as her tired legs would take her, back in the direction from which she’d come. A surge of fear-induced adrenaline gave her added speed, but then she heard engines roaring behind her. Closer and closer. She feinted left and darted right, heading for one of the few houses along this section of the road. A car swerved in front of her, cutting her off. Another pulled up on her left and braked sharply. When she swung around to go the other way, the van squealed to a stop and blocked the rear, boxing her in.
She dropped her water bottle and scrabbled in her pocket for her keys to use as a weapon—Go for the eyes, she remembered Captain Mateja-Jones saying, and don’t hesitate. Then she saw the key fob and remembered the alarm beacon and tracking device it contained.
* * *
Jason pulled up in front of the DeWinters’ gate almost a half hour early and buzzed for entry. He could have used his key card, but figured this way, at least the household would know he was here before ringing the doorbell so early.
He’d been awake since six and ready by six fifteen, then had forced himself to sit in his office and do some work while he waited, chafing at the delay. Finally he’d had enough, and had taken off.
“Yes?” His sister’s voice sounded through the intercom.
“It’s Jason.”
Her “Jason, oh, thank God!” response warned him something wasn’t right, and he drove the distance from the gate to the main house at a speed the long, curving driveway wasn’t intended for.
Mei-li opened the front door before Jason could ring the bell. “She’s not here,” she said, her face set in lines of worry.
Dirk was right behind his wife, and his expression matched hers. “Hannah says she saw Alana from her bedroom window this morning, heading off the grounds dressed in jogging clothes. But that was almost ninety minutes ago, and she’s not back yet.”
Jason knew a half-dozen things could have prevented Alana from returning by now, from leg cramps to a hit and run. But those reasons flashed into his mind and were almost immediately discarded. “The beacon,” he asked urgently. “Did you activate it?”
“No, not yet. I—”
An alarm suddenly sounded and Jason cursed under his breath, pushing past his sister and her husband, heading for the security room he’d designed when the DeWinters had built this house. “That’s the beacon,” he threw over his shoulder. “Alana must have set off the transmitter herself.”
Three minutes later Jason was in his Jaguar racing down Mount Austin Road, listening to the electronic blips of Alana’s portable GPS tracking device getting louder and louder as he gained on whatever vehicle was carrying her. He couldn’t see it yet; he just knew it was somewhere ahead of him, but close. He hit the Bluetooth button on the Jag’s steering wheel.
When the disembodied electronic female voice asked him, “By number or by name?” he barked, “By number.”
“Number please.”
“Five.” One was his father’s cell phone. Two was his mother’s. Three was Mei-li. He’d skipped four when programming his speed dial because four was an unlucky number and no one wanted to be “four.” Five was his second-in-command of RMM, Cam Mackenzie.
When Cam answered, he stated, “Someone has Alana. And if my theory is correct, it’s the same triad that abducted her before—the Eight Tigers. Only this time I think she was deliberately targeted.”
He rounded a bend at a speed that in a regular car would have caused the tires to squeal, but the Jag held the road steady. The electronic beeping was louder now, and in the distance Jason saw a white van. He accelerated until he was almost on the van’s tail.
“What makes you think—”
He cut in. “I’m in pursuit now. White van, not new, not too clean.” He rattled off the make, model and license plate number. “Probably stolen plates like all the others, but run it just the same.”
“Will do. What else?”
“My sister was going to call the police, but she doesn’t know about the van. Call Detective Inspector Lam of the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau. Tell him everything.”
“Everything?”
Jason smiled to himself at the doubtful note in Cam’s voice. “Everything.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark car pulling up alongside him on the right, as if to pass. But they weren’t passing. The passenger-side window of the Mercedes was rolled down and the barrel of a semiautomatic rifle was protruding from it.
He cursed and stomped on the brakes, shifting into neutral at the same time so the Jag wouldn’t stall out, as a hail of bullets shattered his right and left side windows almost simultaneously.
“Jason! That was gunfire! Are you under attack?” Cam demanded.
But Jason didn’t have time to answer. And he didn’t have time to thank God he’d slowed just enough so the bullets hadn’t passed through him, too, because the Mercedes was swerving into his lane, trying to force him off the road. He cursed again and fought to keep the Jag under control as the larger car made contact with a thump and a sickening shriek of metal on metal.
And as he was pushed farther and farther toward the edge of the cliff, Jason knew with awful certainty this wasn’t a fight the Jag was going to win.
* * *
Alana came to on the floor in the back of the van. Gagged. Her hands bound cruelly behind her back, just like last time. But this time she wasn’t blindfolded, and that terrified her, despite the lingering effects of the chloroform they’d used on her again. Because the men who’d abducted her hadn’t been masked, and if they didn’t care if she could identify them...that meant they intended to kill her.
