Lucky the Hard Way

by Deborah Coonts

  “Exactly. If they win a million from the house.”

  “They win ten million from the junket dealer.” I knew this game—huge upside, but the downside matched and was far worse.

  Ryan’s voice took on a more ominous tone. “And if they lose a million at the tables…”

  “They are in deep. And the Triads enforce the debts.”

  “We’ve had a few murders recently that have sent the city into a bit of a tailspin. As you might imagine, that’s a bit out of the ordinary here. And then Jhonny Vu…and now Kim.” Ryan leaned forward, lowering his voice. “The war has started.”

  And they had Romeo.

  Too tired to move, I slumped down in my chair, my legs stretched in front of me. I watched Ryan move through the bar, then down the steps and onto the casino floor. Unlike his earlier approach, this time he didn’t greet anyone. Instead, he cast a quick look over his shoulder toward me. Hunkered in the dark corner, I knew he couldn’t see me, but he knew I was there. He probably felt me watching him.

  Funny what guilt could do.

  I wondered what he was guilty of. Exactly how far had he gone?

  That was when I saw her.

  The girl with the dragon tattoo. God, I felt a book coming on. Dressed in black as she had been on the boat, she leaned casually up against a slot machine. She was watching Ryan, too. She didn’t duck out of sight as he approached and passed her. If they acknowledged each other, I couldn’t tell. Once he’d passed by, she waited a beat or two, her eyes scanning the casino, the bar.

  I hunkered lower, even though I knew the shadows hid my presence.

  Apparently satisfied, she turned to follow Ryan.

  I lost sight of them both among the gamblers and the machines and tables. Bolting out of my chair, I rushed to follow. With hands on the railing, I swung myself down the three steps leading to the casino floor, then took off at a run, not caring whose attention I drew.

  Dashing and darting, I found a few dead ends and startled a few servers when I burst into a prep kitchen, but didn’t pick up the trail of the mysterious young woman. Pausing on the arc of one of the bridges crossing the indoor stream that separated the lobby from the casino, I pivoted, pretending to be a corporate exec scanning my territory, whatever that looked like.

  On my second pass, as that fickle bitch, Luck, would have it, I spied the girl hiding behind a clump of rushes on the opposite bank of the stream to my left. Hard to see in her in black, she’d parted the tall fronds and was peering intently at something or someone in the lobby. She had an angle on me so I couldn’t see exactly what she was looking at, but, whatever it was, it was riveting. Good for me, bad for her. I’d closed half the distance before they saw me. Like a startled rabbit she bolted from her hiding place and ducked around the corner.

  Skidding into the turn off the bridge, I caught myself with one hand to the floor. Regaining my footing, I charged off, racing after her. Down a back hallway. One of the side doors banged shut just as I rounded the corner. Without slowing, I slammed though.

  A streetlamp silhouetted a slender figure running, hair flying. Twisting, she angled a glance back at me, then put her head down and ran. I ran after her. Not gaining, not losing, I managed to just keep sight of her as I rounded a corner or jumped a hedge, or bolted across three lanes of traffic. The streets narrowed, the traffic thinned, the hush of darkness slipped in around us. My breathing ragged, my legs growing heavy, I willed myself to keep her within just-a-glimpse sight. Somewhere deep in my gut a tiny alarm sounded. For some reason, it seemed the young woman was slowing, waiting, making sure I could follow.

  A trap?

  No doubt. But I was tired of always being two steps or more, as I was right now, behind. I relished a fight—at least then I’d have an adversary, someone tangible, flesh and blood in front of me, someone who perhaps I could wring some answers out of.

  When I rounded the last corner into a tight, dark alley, and I saw her waiting in a doorway, I had my answer. I didn’t need to look behind me—there would be someone there blocking my exit. I was good with that—I’d brought my badass.

  I slowed to a walk, ignoring the music leaking from the windows overhead, the laundry flapping loosely, the only evidence of a breeze that ruffled the stagnant humidity. The stench of garbage and fermented vegetables told me I wasn’t in Vegas anymore, that I didn’t know the rules. But I knew people, and, despite our outward differences, inside we are all the same.

  The girl leaned against the door jamb, her arms crossed, her face open and admiring, which threw me. I was happy to see she was as sweaty and out of breath as I was. She eyed me as I stepped in front of her. Balanced on a six-inch step, she was eye-to-eye with me.

  “How you get so tall?”

  “Lucky, I guess,” I said in an offhand, I’m-tough sort of way. Even though I hated games, apparently I could still play, although perhaps not well.

  A point she made when she reached for the goose egg on my temple, which I’m sure was now turning a rainbow of colors.

  “So why am I here?”

  “You follow me.”

  “You let me.”

  That got a grin. Without the frown, she was a pretty young woman. She stepped aside, inviting me in. “I show you.”

  Without hesitating, I stepped past her.

  Funny the things you’ll do when you’re out of options.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DARK and narrow, I followed the corridor, the young woman dogging my heels. Walking slowly, I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Closed doors on either side. Strains of music…and sex. Astringent covering the musky sweetness.

  Same setup, different country.

  Miss Minnie’s without Minnie.

  But a whorehouse just the same. Like I said, inside we’re more alike than we think.

  Why was I here? What did the young woman want? Time to find out before things got any worse, if that was possible.

  By my reasoning, I had two advantages in this game: surprise and being pissed-off.

  I stopped, turned, and grabbed the young woman behind me, pinning her arms. Before she could react, I curled one leg behind hers and pushed. We both fell. Letting her slight body break the fall of my not-so-slight frame, I made sure I stayed on top, holding her arms above her head and her legs with mine hooked across her shins. My weight and size ensured she couldn’t escape, at least not easily or quickly.

  Her breath left her in a whoosh. Pulling great lungsful of air in an effort to replace what had been knocked out of her, the woman gasped and wheezed, her face turning red.

  “Slow down. Easy.” Her eyes burned a hole in me, but she did as I said.

  “Me your friend. The only one,” she managed after a minute or more.

  “You are not my friend. You helped kidnap the one friend I did have, giving me one hell of a headache and heartache in the process.” She moved underneath, slight shifts, testing.

  “You not know when to shut up and stay out of it.”

  She got that right. I could feel her coil. Pressing harder on her hands and her legs, I used my weight and for once I was glad for every ounce. “Don’t.”

  Maybe the hint of crazy that tinged that one word made her do as I said, but she stopped, relaxing underneath me. “You seem to know all about me, so it’s my turn. Who are you? What is that dragon on your arm? Why did you want me to follow you?”

  The door we’d come through banged open, hitting the wall. I glanced up. A tall figure in a short skirt, with long hair flowing behind her, burst through the opening. Backlit by the light over the doorway, her face remained in shadow.

  Something familiar.

  She stopped, clearly a bit lost in the darkness.

  The hint of gardenias floated on the wind she’d let in when she’d opened the door.

  Terrific. Now I was outnumbered.

  “I bring you for him,” the young woman said, rolling her eyes back toward the door behind her.

  “Him? Him who?”

>   “Lucky?”

  That one word shot straight through me.

  The figure reached to the right and clicked on a light, bathing us all in a weak yellow glow.

  Blond, tall, trim, with legs a mile long and blue eyes I’d know anywhere. A frisson of exploding emotions bolted through me.

  Teddie!

  In a female server’s uniform, makeup, blonde wig, and…I narrowed my eyes…yes, a pair of shoes that looked remarkably like a pair of Manolos I used to own. Five-inch knock-me down-and-fuck-me shoes.

  Oh, I’d love to knock him down. But the rest? Not anymore.

  Letting loose of the woman underneath me, I sat back on my heels. “You’re alive,” I whispered, afraid if I said it too loudly it would shatter the dream.

  Beneath me, the young woman balled her fist and swung her arm, landing a perfect strike just below my sternum, doubling me over.

  My breath deserted me. She pushed. Angling her legs for leverage, she rolled me to the side and wiggled out from under me.

  My hand found the wall. I collapsed to a seated position. My vision swam.

  Teddie rushed over to me. I could hear him, feel him, smell his gardenias and his fear. “Lucky, stay with me.” He reached for me.

  I tried, but I couldn’t.

  My world went black.

  Jabbering in an unfamiliar language. Smells. The heat of bodies pressed close. I tried to make sense of it as I swam toward the surface of consciousness.

  “What is that horrible sound?” I mumbled. Grating, it hit every nerve.

  “Somebody kill the music.” Teddie’s voice, fear tempering the hint of a chuckle, sounded so familiar, comfortable, like an old sweatshirt and PJ pants.

  But it couldn’t be him. He was lost. I tried to think. I wasn’t sure where. Of course, that’s what being lost was about. My thoughts folded over and over like plaques in my brain, trapping thoughts, making holes, leaving me adrift.

  A dream, that’s what this was. It must be. Nothing made sense.

  A warm, solid, male hand squeezed mine. Hot breath caressed my cheek. “Honey, come back to me.” Definitely Teddie’s voice.

  “I can’t. I love him.”

  His lips brushed my cheek. “I know. But open your eyes,” he whispered.

  Struggling against the darkness, the warmth of this place, I forced my eyes open. Tiny slits, but I got them open. Assaulted by the light, they teared. Someone thumbed the tears away, leaving a cool streak of wetness. Opening them further, I gasped as the world rushed back in.

  I curled up, trying to get an arm underneath me to lever myself to a seated position. So undignified lying on the floor as I was. A blinding pain. The world tilted and spun. I pressed a hand to my head, then instantly regretted it as pain radiated. “Romeo?” Fear jump-started my heart. “We have to find him.”

  Life focused. I looked around and gasped. “Teddie! You’re really here. I thought…”

  He was alive!

  And, if I could still read his face, scared but happy. I let my gaze roam over each plane, each facet—I knew them all by heart. Yes, I could read him—even under all the pancake makeup.

  The man I used to love.

  I figured if I kept telling myself that, one day I’d believe it. Seeing him on his knees, bending over me, alive, breathing—even though I wanted to shoot him myself, I was overcome.

  Despite my best efforts to stop it, I felt the warm flush that used to flood through me whenever Teddie was near. And I felt somehow less for feeling that way—as if my body cheated of its own accord. But how did one override one’s heart? Was it possible to love two men, but be with only one?

  Could one be a treasured friend and the other the love of my life?

  Simple questions so rife with disaster.

  One thing I did know: Teddie still looked better in a dress than I did.

  Although he could wear a dress and heels with aplomb, and despite the conclusion folks normally jumped to, Teddie was anything but gay. Ditch the dress and he oozed virility and enough pheromones to have half the female population swooning. I would like to say I was immune, but that would be a lie.

  “Romeo?”

  Teddie shook his head and waited. He knew better than to push my buttons when I was beyond tired, hardwired to the pissed-off position, and scared beyond rational thought. Guess he could read me, too.

  I waited for the anger, but it didn’t come. Relief flooded through me instead.

  Teddie was alive.

  And that alone caused a flood of mixed emotions.

  Finally, I’d corralled my runaway feelings enough to trust using my words. “Do I want to hear why you are dressed as a geisha and lurking in a whorehouse off a back alley in Macau?”

  “I’m not a geisha. Geisha’s are Japanese—”

  “I know that. I just like the word, okay? I’m sure you get my point, Harvard boy.” Teddie had an MBA from Harvard and a music degree from Juilliard—the double whammy, smart and sexy. He also had a penchant for weaving elaborate stories, which muted his shine just a bit.

  He helped me to a seated position, my back against the wall. Standing, he shooed the ladies out of the hallway and back into their rooms. I hadn’t even noticed them, not really, just a sea of out-of-focus faces swirling behind Teddie. Once the hallway was clear, the music, if that’s what it was, screeching again, Teddie joined me anchored to the wall. Our legs stretched out in front of us, our feet touching the wall on the other side.

  Everything was smaller in China.

  So many things I wanted to say, to do, not least among them was to throw my arms around his neck, pull him close, and breathe him in. So, in an effort to keep my dignity and my self-respect, I decided to take the high road. “Can we talk here?”

  He stood and extended a hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Still a little wobbly, I finally felt solid over my feet about halfway up the narrow, rickety staircase.

  As if he knew, Teddie, who had held tight to my hand, let go. “It’s just down this way.”

  I followed him. Oh, to have a tight ass like his. “What’s down this way?”

  “My room.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  He pushed a door open, then stepped aside. “Can you think of a better place for me to hide?”

  He had me there. And, from my experience, if the girls didn’t want you in their house, you weren’t getting in.

  His room was small, large enough for a twin-sized bed covered in a faded cotton quilt, and a small dresser, the wood stained by cigarettes left to burn too long, glasses left to sweat in the humidity, and scarred by neglect or at least a lack of appreciation. Wallpaper, sloppily applied, peeled in spots. The paint, chipped and thin and dulled by time. “No bathroom?”

  “Down the hall.”

  “Taking sharing to a new level.” At Teddie’s silent invitation, I sat on the edge of the bed.

  Thoughtful when he wanted to be, he held up the wall across from me. He left the door ajar.

  “Is there anyone up here?”

  “No. These are private quarters, and all the girls are working tonight. Besides, I’ve yet to meet one who speaks or understands anything but the most basic English.”

  “Other than your friend with the tattoo.”

  “Ah, yes, Ming. She is resourceful.”

  “What’s her story?”

  “Not sure. I only have bits and pieces.” He narrowed his eyes. “But, if I had to guess, I’d say she’s been waiting for you.”

  “Me?” Did the whole goddamn world know I was coming? “Why do you think that?”

  “A hunch, but you’ll have to ask her.”

  “I will, if she decides to leave me conscious the next time I run into her.”

  Teddie smirked. “A heavy hand when a light one would do, she reminds me of someone else I know.”

  “I prefer to consider myself exuberant.” I shifted, moving back on the bed and pulling some pillows to stuff behind me.

  “What did
she do to you?”

  Not wanting to continue as the topic of conversation, I waved his question away. “You’ve been here long enough to at least sniff out a trail. Give it to me quick and dirty; we haven’t much time.”

  Playing the part, he gave me a sultry look. “In any other setting that would be quite an invitation.”

  At this moment, for some odd reason, I was finding men impossibly irritating. “A man, dressed as a woman, inappropriately innuendoing me in his bedroom is not attractive.”

  “My opportunities are few; I take them when I find them.” His voice teetered on the edge of a hurt.

  “Forgiveness doesn’t happen just because you want it to.”

  “You’ve forgiven me.” He seemed so sure.

  Had I? “Forgiving and forgetting are two different things. But I don’t want to talk about this. Not here. Not now.”

  “I knew you’d come,” he whispered.

  I looked into his eyes and managed a controlled voice. “I didn’t come because of you.”

  We both knew I lied.

  More in control of my faculties than before, I let my eyes roam over him, seeing under the costume while he was lost in a past and the loneliness of a world apart. Still broad in the right places, and narrow in the rest—he had a butt most women would kill for or fight over—Teddie looked like Teddie. Oh, there was a bit of haunt in his blue eyes, and stress drew the skin tighter over his cheekbones. He’d lost some weight. But he still looked like the man I had loved. But looks could be deceiving, as they say.

  Teddie pushed himself off the wall. Reaching down, he shucked one shoe, then the other.

  “Hurt, don’t they?”

  “Pain is relative.” I was pretty sure he was going to keep beating that dead horse when he said, “Cho and Gittings had a twelve-hour jump on me, probably longer. I had to be a bit careful getting into the country.”

  The way he said that made me sure I didn’t want to know how he’d accomplished that singular feat, considering half the known world, including a couple of international agencies, was looking for him.

  “You know, if the female-impersonator thing doesn’t work out for you, you could take this International Criminal thing and run through Interpol with it.” A man of countless gifts, Teddie could be anything he wanted to be. If he wanted to use his considerable talents for the Dark Side—well, I shuddered at the possibilities. Thankfully, to date, he had yet to show any hint of a sociopathic personality. Selfish and vain, yes, but that meant he was destined to break hearts, not kneecaps.