“I have thought of that, by the way. But it doesn’t matter now. What matters is finding—”
“Tochna. I found him.” She leaned over toward David. Handed him the binoculars. “The box across from us, third from the front. Looks like his party has the entire box.”
David put the glasses to his eyes. Here David was, dressed in a monkey suit, sitting next to the most beautiful woman he knew, staring at one of the most despicable men he’d ever met. And shoot, if Kwan wasn’t wearing a better tux, his hair slicked back, a woman on each arm, a small entourage of ninja warriors watching his cowardly back.
David handed the binoculars back to Yanna, put his arm around her. “Remember, you’re going to obey me.”
The lights began to dim, and she turned and smiled at him. “Oh, David, you know me better than that.”
He stared at her in the darkness, feeling a little nauseous. Because, yes, oh yes, he did.
Ina rushed the door as it began to open. Just ran straight past Gracie, and with all her strength, rammed both hands into the door. It slammed on the hand of whoever had tried to enter—Jorge?—and Gracie heard a howl, and some not very nice Russian words on the other side. And then came retaliation, full out and more than Gracie expected because the door banged open, pushing Ina back, right into Gracie’s arms.
It wasn’t Jorge. Which might have been good news except for the fact that Gracie recognized this man. She and tall, creepy Kosta Sokolov had already met at least twice before and she desperately hoped he still had a nasty bruise in the well of his neck where’s she’d speared him, just hard enough to make her getaway.
And, just to confirm, once and for all that her disguise hadn’t fooled a soul, he smirked. Either that, or seeing the housekeeper holding his terrified captive in her arms made him downright giddy.
She hadn’t notice before, but Sokolov had silver teeth. Two of them, to be exact, right where his eye teeth might have been.
“Going somewhere, Ina?” he asked, in Russian.
And, surprise, surprise, the girl had some fight left because she stood up and spit at him.
Sokolov slapped her, hard, right on all those bruises, spinning her. She smacked against the wall and went down.
Oy.
Gracie looked up at him, thinking, yeah, okay, if Vicktor felt like walking in right now, she’d never ever again complain about his over protectiveness. In fact, she even lifted a prayer, something short and to the point, to that effect as Sokolov advanced on her.
Gracie held up her hand—she wasn’t sure why, maybe in some feeble gesture to ward off one of those head-pounding slaps he’d just given Ina. The girl still lay crumpled on the floor, holding her now bleeding face, whimpering.
“Get away from me,” Gracie said, in English.
Sokolov laughed.
And Gracie kicked him. Yeah, she’d taken a couple self-defense classes when she got stateside—part of her therapy—but this came from pure adrenaline, and two-hundred percent panic.
And it might have worked if Sokolov hadn’t taken karate or something of that nature because he reacted fast and deflected her kick, knocking her off balance.
He brought his hand backward, and Gracie saw jewelry and a fist.
This was going to hurt. Gracie didn’t bother holding back. She screamed.
And wonders of wonder, it worked. Because as Sokolov lunged for her, as she backed up, slapping at him, the door opened and then there was Mae.
Holding a gun.
A gun? Where on earth—
“Stop!”
Mae got Sokolov’s attention—she’d probably gotten the entire hotel’s attention with her volume. But mostly she got Gracie’s attention because she leveled the gun straight at Sokolov’s head.
He glared at her. She didn’t even blink.
Mae was Gracie’s hero, hands down. She definitely wanted to be like her when she grew up.
“Gracie, come here.”
“When did you get a gun?”
“It’s mine. I keep it in my car, for emergencies like this.”
Emergencies? Okay, yes, this qualified. But Gracie didn’t move. Because, she calculated about six inches on either side of Sokolov and the wall, and even she saw worst case scenario in that move. She glanced at Mae.
Mae apparently could read minds. “Get over against the wall. Sit down in that chair.”
She wasn’t talking to Gracie, and Sokolov knew it. Gracie backed up as he walked past her, making sure she was out of grabbing distance. Then she rushed over to Ina.
“Get up, get up.” She grabbed the girl by the arm, and hauled her to her feet and then they were past Mae and out the door, running. Because, as it turned out, that was really good advice.
Mae caught up to them at the stairwell. “Down, down!”
“Where is he?”
“Probably taking the elevator. We’ll hide out in my room—Run!”
Gracie tore down the stairs, feeling fat and jiggly and hot in the uniform. She tore off the wig, dropping it in the stairwell, and heaved open the fourth floor door, pushing Ina through.
They quick walked down the hall, and Mae shoved her key into the slot in her door. She practically pushed the two inside her room.
Then they just slumped against the wall and hauled in breath. Stared at each other. Ina still held her bleeding face, but she said nothing.
“We need to leave,” Gracie said.
“No, we’re staying put. They’ll expect us to leave, they’ll be downstairs waiting. But they can’t search every room in the hotel. We’ll hide out, and leave tonight.” Just to add a little oomph to her words, Mae turned the metal door jamb against the door, and went over to the dresser. “Help me.”
Gracie was all over that. She and Mae slid the dresser over to the door.
Ina just stood there, watching, shaking.
But Gracie—as she climbed up on the dresser and stared out the peephole into the empty hall—felt as if perhaps she might be able to fly. Her heart still hadn’t caught up, but, so much for her being unable to take care of herself.
Okay, so she had a little help.
“That was close,” Mae said, going to the bathroom to run water into a washcloth.
“Now what?” Ina asked, her voice tinny.
Mae dabbed the washcloth on Ina’s face.
Gracie cringed as she watched Ina flinch.
Mae looked over at her, raised one eyebrow. “We’re waiting, Brains. Now what?”
14
Even Yanna could agree that something or Someone was looking out for her, because her evil plan seemed to be going off without a hitch.
David might not be so happy, however, because Yanna’s Plan A and David’s Plan A differed not so much in result, but in process.
Her plan involved her getting up close and personal with Public Enemy Number One while David stayed far enough away for Kwan to walk away and lead them all to Elena.
She’d been cooking up her plot ever since she slithered into her slinky black dress—courtesy of another stop-off at the market—and glimpsed the look on David’s face. As if he’d never seen her before, or at least this side of her.
Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded of what he refused to acknowledge.
Even if his brain didn’t want her, his heart did. Because no man kissed a woman like David had kissed her without having at least a portion of his heart engaged. David never did anything halfway, and his kiss was no exception—strong arm around her shoulder, hand entwined in her hair, kissing her like he’d been waiting, dreaming of her in his arms for…well, at least as long as she’d been dreaming the same thing.
But that had lasted just as long as it took for him to come to his senses.
He simply didn’t want her in his world longer than the space of a kiss.
And that made her feel oh so wonderful, so cherished.
But it had given her the idea that she now clung to as she followed Kwan’s floozy out of the bathroom an
d toward his private box.
Maybe Kwan would look at her exactly the same way David had. And maybe—even she could admit it was remote—maybe he wouldn’t recognize the beat-up brunette who had jumped ship two days ago. Maybe instead he’d see a blonde who just wanted to have fun.
“We’re going to Jin’s house after the performance. I’m sure he’ll let you come along.” Up close, Kwan’s girl was slim, and no older than Elena, with short, black bobbed hair. She’d accidentally—or not so, thanks to Yanna and an unsuspecting waitress—spilled red wine down her black satin dress during intermission. David had been watching Yanna, and she’d seen his eyes widen as she followed her victim to the bathroom.
See, Yanna had already discovered Kwan’s real name. Jin. David should trust her more.
Once inside the bathroom, Yanna had simply offered the assistance every girl needed—wet wipes and sympathy. And plenty of I’m so bored to go along with her act.
Which conveniently led to “Why don’t you join me and my boyfriend after the show?”
Yanna had smiled, protested, and finally given in. Oh, sure, you want me to ride in your limo back to Kwan’s secret lair so I can get in under his nose, hide in his bedroom, and surprise him out of a sound sleep, preferably with a kitchen knife to his throat? Oh, okay, if you insist.
The only glitch so far in her ultra-perfect plan was when Floozy, aka Ari, invited her to join them in their box seats.
Yeah, that would be trickier. Especially with David standing in the hallway, leaning to one side, holding up the wall and trying to act nonchalant. Not an easy task since worry radiated off of him like heat, rippling the air around him. He reached out to catch her as she walked by, but she moved her arm out of the way and shot him a look.
Back off.
Or maybe, Trust me.
Probably both, but David reacted like some sort of jilted lover, all dark frowns and glares.
Well, this wasn’t about him. Or her. She’d do whatever it took to track down Elena. Even sit in Kwan’s box, in the back, next to one of his bodyguards who looked vaguely familiar and stared at her like she might be a nice roll of sushi.
She gave him a wan smile. Ari turned back to her and shot her a grin. Best friends. She wondered if Ari had a big sister and where she might be tonight, if she worried about Ari and the company she kept.
Glancing down at David’s seat just as the light went down, Yanna saw that he had reentered his box. He now stared up at Kwan with his hands folded over his chest in a very if-looks-could-kill kind of posture.
Loosen up. She could take care of herself. Really.
Mostly.
Yanna pulled her silk shawl over her and tried to concentrate on the soprano over the roll of her pulse.
She spent the second half figuring out just what to do to get Kwan alone, or if—please, no—he recognized her before she could get her hands on a real knife, as opposed to her Barbie knife. By the show’s end, she’d turned her program into an egg roll, soggy and unreadable.
The last of the applause died, and the lights flickered on. Yanna stood, aware that Kwan now bent toward his girlfriend, who at the moment was probably informing him of her addition to their party.
Indeed, he turned. Yanna braced herself, smiled. But she didn’t see a flicker of anything but interest cross Kwan’s dark face.
Just what, she suddenly wondered, had her new friend gotten her into?
Kwan’s, er—bodyguards? business associates? pals?—steered her into the hall and down the stairs, protecting Kwan from the press of the crowd as they exited off to the side and down to the front lobby. Yanna glanced around for David, but didn’t spy him in the throng.
And then they were outside. The air, fresh and cool, still damp from the rain, swept over her and she gulped it, more for strength than anything else.
Really, she didn’t care what happened to her. As long as she located Elena.
But she preferred that the whatever-happened-to-her part be painless.
That would be better than the scenario currently playing out in her mind, the one where Kwan used her cute little knife on her throat, just like he’d threatened on the yacht.
“Coming?” Ari asked, and Yanna climbed into the limousine next to her and across from Kwan, who was pouring himself a snifter of brandy.
He offered it to Yanna. She glanced at Ari, who raised an eyebrow. Then accepted the glass.
Kwan poured one for Ari, and they toasted to a fine performance.
Yanna tried not to gag, but her mouth and throat sizzled, her stomach convulsing in on itself. See, this was why she didn’t drink.
They pulled away from the concert hall.
Yanna looked out the window to see David standing on the steps, staring out into the parking lot. For a moment, she had a wild urge to wave, open the window, yell his name.
It didn’t help that his worried expression made her think that yes, he had meant everything he’d put into that kiss.
Too little, too late.
Kwan reached across the limo and put his hand on her knee. “So, what is your name?” he asked in English.
David was going to kill her.
Well, once he tracked Yanna down and got her away from Kwan, who at the moment was first in line. Because David knew without a sliver of doubt that Kwan knew—he had to know—that the beauty he’d picked up in his little entourage was none other than agent Andrevka, the woman who’d slipped out of his hands two days ago.
Nothing else accounted for her easy reception into Kwan’s merry band of human traffickers.
David felt sick, watching the limo pull away from the curb, a shiny hearse under the bright lights of the parking lot. He refused to look straight at the car, but saw it in his peripheral vision, memorizing the license plate.
He gave the car about fifteen seconds before he sprinted down the curb, found the scooter Roman had left in the dark shadows of the lot. Plan B.
Again.
He leaned into the ride, into the rain, his anger about all he could feel. He’d known she had something cooking in her sneaky brain. A smart man, a man who knew Yanna like he did, would have kept a better grip on her, at least kept his arm around her waist.
Instead, he’d let her wander out into the crowd.
He gave himself points for not blasting into Kwan’s box and hauling both Yanna and Kwan out for some elbow room, and then getting down to business with Kwan.
But, like Yanna, who should trust him, he also wanted Elena found. And Kwan had too much padding around him for any sort of snatch-and-run to work.
So Yanna, of course, knowing this, apparently decided to employ her own version of heroine.
Why couldn’t she just trust that David meant what he said? They would find Elena, they just needed to do things his way.
The thought zeroed in on him and only made him drive faster, spraying a puddle onto himself. His monkey suit clung to him, his face slick and grimy with rain water. But he had eyes on the limo and Yanna.
Please, God, keep her safe.
They drove through Taipei, past the downtown markets, the bright neon lights. In the distance, Taiwan’s tallest building, Taipei 101, glared down on the wet streets from its glowing, lofty height to the soggy peons below. David kept three lengths back from the limo and tried desperately not to let his thoughts wander.
He most definitely didn’t need to imagine what Kwan might be doing right now to the shapely blonde in the clingy dress.
He should have made her wear a parka.
The limousine cut north, toward the mountains, and he had to hang back farther as they wound into the hills. Houses had broken away from their foundations, sitting in rubble from past earthquakes. The air here smelled fresh, now out of the smog of the city, rife with evergreen, umbrella-shaped Banyan trees, and the Bombax flower, which resembled lumpy trees.
The road began to bend, the traffic thinning, and he held back even more, finally deciding to drive without his lights. The last thing Yanna needed wa
s Kwan alerted to his presence.
David pictured an ugly repeat broadcast of the drama on the boat.
But when he rounded the curve, now high enough up to see the city stretched below him, Kwan’s car had vanished.
David sped up, barely nicking the edge of a long and ugly careen down the side of the mountain. Turning on the lights, he saw nothing ahead. Another mile and he knew.
Kwan had lost him.
And David had lost Yanna.
15
She could do this. She could. Absolutely. Because Yanna was a superagent, double-oh-seven…
Oh, who was she trying to fool? She was not a field agent. Someone needed to write that on a glowing neon sign and hang it over her head.
These moments were exactly why she preferred to sit in her office with all her humming CPUs.
Yanna fabricated a smile for Kwan as she took his slimy, too-smooth hand and stepped out of the limousine. He slipped his arm around her waist, held on. Everything inside her wanted to seize up and hurl at his touch on her, but she kept her mind on Elena, kept the smile pasted on her face, and giggled.
Maybe she did have some latent undercover skills, as even she didn’t recognize the teasing, smiling, supposedly drunk woman now flirting with Kwan. But a superspy would have remembered to bring the transmitter with her—not leave it with her partner, who right now might be sitting outside the concert hall wanting to wring her neck. Why had she ditched David? She must have been out of her mind and she’d reconsidered it about ten minutes into the trip and had been sending him silent SOS’s ever since as they drove into the hills toward Kwan’s place.
Kwan might be playing at treating her like an American, but she felt sure, right to her bones, that the little smile Kwan gave her had nothing to do with delight at her presence and everything to do with the fact that she’d walked right back into his clutches. He recognized her—even if he hadn’t said it. Which meant that not only had she been deluding herself, but instead of finding Elena, David would find her own decapitated, mutilated body.
Run to You Page 19
