by Amelia Autin
She moved ever so slightly closer to him, and he could feel the warmth that emanated from her. Could smell the faintest trace of ginger, just as he’d smelled it on her skin last night as he’d held her in his sleep. And just like that, he wanted her. Desperately. His arm reached around of its own accord and pulled her flush with his body, and she didn’t resist. Not only did she not resist, she raised her face to his as if inviting his kiss, an invitation he couldn’t refuse.
He’d known she was soft, had known it since last night. And he’d known her skin was satiny smooth, a tactile delight. But he hadn’t known her lips could bring him to full arousal with just a touch, just a taste. And he hadn’t know just how sweetly the satisfaction of having her surrender to him this way would sing through his veins.
But satisfaction soon gave way to something darker. The claws of need sank their talons into him, and he pulled her even closer, both arms wrapped around her now as she took him places he hadn’t realized he wanted to go. Places he hadn’t been in forever.
She made a sound deep in her throat, and his mouth left hers to find the source of that sound...to press his lips there as her head fell back, exposing the tantalizing column of her neck. He took full advantage, nibbling his way down to the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse beating wildly. He was already hard and aching, but that wild pulse kicked his desire up a notch, knowing it beat so wildly for him. Knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
His hands roamed her body restlessly, pulling her red silk shirt from the waistband of her slacks and sliding beneath it to skin that was even silkier to the touch. For a few brief seconds he told himself he should stop, but her hands were taking liberties, too. She cupped him, stroked his arousal through the denim that refused to stretch—damned denim, Dirk thought with a dart of humor as his erection pressed painfully against the zipper. Then he gasped his relief into her mouth as Mei-li popped open his jeans and slid the zipper down, freeing him.
A small hand slid inside his briefs, and—
The pealing of the doorbell brought everything to a crashing halt. Dirk cursed fluently, and if he could have had his way, he would have ignored whoever was at the door and continued what he was doing. But Mei-li was already pulling away from him, and her face told him she was shocked at herself, at how close they’d come to—
“Zip up,” she whispered, frantically trying to straighten her clothing into some semblance of order, and that was the first moment Dirk realized he’d disarranged her clothes in his desperate haste to claim her body as his own.
When Dirk didn’t respond quickly enough, Mei-li reached for the zipper herself. He caught her hands before she could emasculate him, then eased the zipper up. It was a tight fit, but he managed it...barely.
The doorbell sounded again, several rings this time, and Mei-li looked down at the strain on Dirk’s zipper. “I’ll answer the door,” she told him. “You’d better—”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll be in the bedroom, until...” She started to move away, but he pulled her back to him for a moment. “Don’t open the door unless you know who it is,” he told her roughly. He kissed her once more, taking his time about it. Then he said with dead seriousness, “This wasn’t a mistake, Mei-li. And it’s not over.”
* * *
Dirk walked out of his bedroom and through the study a few minutes later. He’d taken a quick, ice-cold shower to force his arousal into submission, but it hadn’t helped all that much. His mind had slid into thoughts of Mei-li as he dried off and tugged his clothes back on—her warmth, her unexpected sweetness, those little sounds she made when he kissed her—and by the time he was dressed he was already semiaroused again. Nothing I can do about it, he’d told himself with a touch of humor as he tucked and zipped.
Rafe was standing in the middle of the living room talking earnestly with Mei-li when Dirk entered the room. Rafe’s body language was a dead giveaway the bodyguard was excited by something, and suddenly Dirk had no trouble pushing Mei-li and their encounter in the kitchen to the back of his mind.
“He agreed to come up here on his lunch break,” Rafe was saying as he glanced at his watch. “Should be any minute now. I told him we’d make it worth his—” He was interrupted by the suite’s doorbell ringing. When Rafe quickly opened the door, he welcomed a Chinese man in his early sixties wearing a doorman’s livery.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. Lin,” Rafe said, leading the other man from the foyer into the living room. “We really appreciate this.” He turned to Dirk. “Mr. DeWinter, Ms. Moore, this is Mr. KamPor Lin. He’s one of the doormen on duty outside the lobby. He was working yesterday, and I think you need to hear what he has to say.”
Mei-li had already reached for her purse. She took a red Hong Kong banknote from her wallet, dexterously folded it and slipped it into the doorman’s palm as she shook his hand. The bill disappeared, and she murmured a few words in Cantonese, then stepped back and let Dirk shake the man’s hand, too.
Dirk glanced at Rafe, raising a brow in question, and Rafe said, “Mr. Lin was telling me earlier what he saw yesterday afternoon.” He started to say something more, then checked and said, “Probably better if you hear it from him directly.”
“Shall we be seated?” Mei-li asked, courteously indicating the sofa and chairs in the living room. When everyone was seated, she fixed her gaze on the doorman and asked a question in Cantonese. He nodded enthusiastically, breaking into a smile that revealed a gap between his two front teeth. He spoke for more than a minute, almost without pause. His face gleamed with pride, and Mei-li appeared enthralled by whatever he was saying.
She waited politely for the man to finish before turning to Dirk and murmuring, “I asked Mr. Lin if he is a father. He was telling me about his two sons and one daughter, who have all graduated from college. One son is a pharmacist, the other a chartered accountant. And his daughter is a teacher.”
Her eyes delivered a message Dirk had no trouble reading, and he reined in his impatience. “You must be very proud of your children, Mr. Lin.”
“Yes,” the doorman replied in English. He beamed. “Heaven has smiled upon my family. And my oldest son’s wife will soon present me with my first grandchild.”
Mei-li nodded and smiled. “You are indeed a fortunate man.” Then her face turned serious. “As a father yourself—soon to be a grandfather—you understand a father’s feelings toward his children,” she said gravely. “His link to immortality.”
“But of course.”
“Something priceless was stolen from Mr. DeWinter yesterday,” she continued, still in that grave tone. “His twin daughters. Little girls not even two years old.”
Shocked that Mei-li would reveal the kidnapping to a stranger, Dirk shot her a sharp glance. But she wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were glued to the doorman. “You can understand better than most why we need your help so desperately.”
The change that came over the man was immediate. “Stolen?” His face darkened. Then he nodded to himself as if a puzzle had been explained. “Ahhh, I knew there was something wrong with those two men. But I never dreamed—”
“What two men?” Dirk interjected.
“Yesterday afternoon, when everyone else was worried about the typhoon, when most people were taking shelter inside the hotel, two men came rushing out. It wasn’t raining yet, but still... And they did not look like guests. I said to myself, ‘Something is wrong here.’”
“What made you think they weren’t guests?” Mei-li asked.
“They were each carrying a large duffel bag...military,” he answered vaguely. “The color, you understand.”
“Khaki,” she supplied.
“Yes. We do not get many military guests. And the duffel bags were the worse for wear, too—not the baggage guests of the Peninsula Hotel normally carry.” He almost sniffed his disdain. “But it was not just that,”
he added. “One of the men was also carrying one of those...” He searched for the word.
“Diaper bags?”
“Yes! A briefcase or a computer bag—that would be expected. Not a diaper bag. Not what a man normally carries. They appeared to be in a hurry, and one of them asked me to call a cab for them.”
“Which you did.”
“Yes, but that was another thing that made me sure they were not guests of the Peninsula Hotel.”
Mei-li smiled her understanding. “The tip, of course.”
He nodded. “A blue.” If anything, he appeared almost insulted. “No guest would tip me a single blue.”
She turned to Dirk and explained, “Hong Kong currency has different colors and sizes for easy identification. A blue note is twenty Hong Kong dollars—not even three dollars US.”
Dirk got it even without Mei-li’s conversion into US dollars. He’d been in Hong Kong long enough to understand the local currency, to be able to do the exchange rate in his head—roughly 7.8 to 1.0, which he usually rounded to eight. And the cheapest rooms at the Peninsula Hotel went for roughly four-hundred-fifty US dollars a night—only the most well-to-do could afford to stay here. A normal tip from a patron of the Peninsula for having the doorman obtain a cab would be forty Hong Kong dollars, or even fifty—roughly five to six dollars US.
“What did they look like?” Dirk asked quickly, hoping against hope this man would remember something—a distinguishing mark, maybe, or distinctive features.
“We were very busy yesterday,” Mr. Lin said almost in an apology. “Cabs and limousines arriving every few minutes. All I remember is the man who spoke to me—the man without the diaper bag—was an American with dark eyes and close-cropped dark hair. And he wore Western boots, like in American movies.”
“Cowboy boots?” Dirk conjectured.
“Yes. Exactly. And he was tall. Not like Mr. Johnson here,” he said, referring to Rafe, who was six-five. Mr. Lin held a hand over his head, indicating a height differential of five or six inches, which Dirk interpreted as meaning the kidnapper was approximately six feet tall. “The other man was a few inches shorter. Chinese. Dark hair, too, which he wore straight and a little on the long side. Dark eyes, of course. But he never spoke, so I can’t tell you if he is from Hong Kong.”
Mr. Lin’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember something more. Then he shook his head regretfully. “That is all I remember about them. Oh!” he added abruptly as a thought occurred to him. “The cabdriver tried to take their duffel bags, but they insisted on loading them into the trunk of the cab themselves—I remember that. Do you think...?”
Mei-li, Dirk and Rafe exchanged meaningful glances. If these men Mr. Lin was describing were the kidnappers, the contents of those duffel bags were two little girls who’d been chloroformed so they could be transported in silence.
“And as they were getting into the cab,” the doorman volunteered before anyone could say anything, “the taller man told the driver to take them to the airport. Both the driver and I tried to tell him no flights were taking off—everything was shut down because of the typhoon. But he insisted.” His expression clearly conveyed what he thought of a man who ignored sage advice.
“How old would you say they were?” Mei-li asked.
“The Chinese man—late twenties, thirty at the most. The American?” He scratched the side of his neck. “Hard to say. Somewhere between thirty and forty. I can’t be more specific than that.”
“No distinguishing marks? A scar? A birthmark?”
Mr. Lin’s eyes lit up. “No, but I had forgotten—the Chinese man had a tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. I saw it when he placed the duffel bag in the trunk of the cab. I couldn’t see what it was, but...”
Mei-li cupped her chin in one hand for a few seconds, seemingly lost in thought. Then she rose and held out her hand with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. Lin. You have been a tremendous help, and we appreciate you giving up your lunchtime for this. There’s just one more favor we need to ask of you.”
“Anything I can do to help.”
“I have a friend, a sketch artist. Would you sit with him and describe these two men to the best of your ability? You may be the only one who saw their faces, and that could be crucial.”
“But of course. I would be honored to be of assistance.”
“Time is also critical. If Mr. DeWinter cleared it with hotel management, would you be willing to do this right away?” The doorman nodded. “My friend could meet you here—that’s probably easiest for you.” She hesitated, then added delicately, “This information must not get out to the media—a famous man like Mr. DeWinter would be swarmed with reporters. And with a kidnapping,” she said, holding Mr. Lin’s gaze with her grave eyes, “secrecy is a must.”
“You have nothing to fear from me,” the doorman assured her in fervent tones.
“I knew I could rely on your discretion.” She shook his hand again, said something in Cantonese, and suddenly there was another folded bill in her hand, this one brown and yellow.
The doorman held up his hands in protest and spoke volubly, also in Cantonese. Mei-li turned to Dirk and explained, “Mr. Lin says he is a father, like you, and he will not take money to help a father find his stolen children, or to keep that news to himself.”
A kindred feeling for Mr. Lin engulfed Dirk, but he correctly interpreted the message Mei-li’s eyes were sending him. He took the folded bill from her and pressed it into the doorman’s reluctant hand, saying, “Take this for your soon-to-be-born grandchild—from one father to another with heartfelt thanks.”
The doorman bobbed his head in acknowledgment, and the bill vanished into the man’s pocket. “You are a good man, Mr. DeWinter. I’m sorry I couldn’t remember more, but I will do my best to describe these men for your sketch artist. I pray heaven this will help you recover your daughters soon.”
“Thank you. That is my prayer, too.”
Mei-li accompanied Mr. Lin through the foyer to the door and courteously opened it for him. She was just about to close the door when he turned around suddenly and said, “Perhaps the cabdriver can tell you more than I can.”
Chapter 8
An electric current sizzled through the room. Dirk’s gaze swung to Mei-li for a heart-stopping moment, then to Rafe, and he knew they’d reached the same instantaneous conclusion he’d just reached. His gaze moved back to Mr. Lin. “The cabdriver? You know him?”
“But yes,” the doorman said. “Yik-hong Wang has been a fixture at this hotel’s cab stand for years, ferrying guests to and from the airport and many other destinations in Hong Kong, Kowloon and the New Territories. If nothing else he can tell you where he drove those two men, what terminal he dropped them off at.”
“How can we find Mr. Wang?” Mei-li asked swiftly.
“He is working today as always—he has already taken three fares to the airport now that the typhoon has passed and planes are flying again.”
Dirk turned urgent eyes on Rafe. “I’m on it,” the bodyguard said, moving purposefully toward the door. “If you can point him out to me, Mr. Lin,” he told the doorman as they started toward the elevator together, “that would be a huge help.”
Dirk stood stock-still in the middle of the living room, staring at the door Mei-li had closed behind the two men. “Is it possible?” he whispered to himself. Then he caught her eye. “Is it?” he asked, feeling as if the storm clouds had suddenly parted, letting a single ray of crystal clear sunlight shine through.
“It’s a huge break,” she acknowledged as she walked toward him, “and I don’t want to discourage you.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “But you have to accept that even if we learn where the cabdriver took the kidnappers and your daughters, that doesn’t mean that’s where they are now.”
He jerked his arm away. “Don’t tel
l me something like that,” he told her sharply. “The first glimmer of hope and you—” He bit off the rest of what he was going to say and strode toward the kitchen. He grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, tore off the cap and downed the contents in three long gulps.
Mei-li followed him into the kitchen, and for a fleeting moment Dirk remembered the last time the two of them had been in this room together. The sudden flare of passion. The urgent need they’d both responded to. The unexpected yearning for something just out of reach. Then he angrily shook off that memory the same way he’d shaken off Mei-li’s hand in the living room.
“I’m sorry,” she told him quietly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear. But one thing I will never do is lie to you about the progress of the case. And I’d be lying if I told you I have a lot of confidence in tracking down the kidnappers this way.”
“But—”
She cut him off. “Is it a possibility? Of course it is.” Compassion filled her eyes, her face. “And if we find them this way, I’ll be ecstatic. But if I let myself be in all over this now, I’ll lose perspective. Maybe even miss something important because I’ve lost focus.”
“When you say you, you really mean me,” he told her gruffly. “If I let myself get too excited, I’ll lose focus.”
One corner of her mouth moved in the barest hint of a smile. “That, too,” she agreed.
“So we ignore what the cabdriver has to say?”
“Of course not.”
A thought occurred to him, and he voiced it. “Why would the kidnappers take a cab? Why wouldn’t they have a getaway car waiting?”
Her smile deepened. “Cars aren’t as prevalent here as they are in the US, and they’re very expensive to own and operate. Petrol prices are...” She made a face. “Our public transportation is so good, cars aren’t the necessity that they are in the US. But it’s more than that—a lot of people in Hong Kong don’t know how to drive.”
