Wiser Than Serpents

by Susan May Warren

  Not if he wanted to be the soldier he’d dedicated his life to being.

  He followed the chauffeur up the stairs and stopped obediently, waiting, finding his sea legs as the man disappeared into a compartment.

  David recognized the two thugs who appeared along the rail. They’d had a bonding experience in a dark container on the wharf in Kaohsiung. He gave them a dark nod, noting again the shiny Makarov pistols they carried. Sometimes he wondered at the love/hate relationship China had with Russia. They sure shared their toys well.

  He walked between them along the starboard deck until they reached a door. Again he waited as Kwan’s muscle introduced him. As if Kwan might be royalty. King Kwan. David barely hid a smirk, evidence again that his head still wasn’t quite on the game.

  From this vantage point, Taiwan appeared as a smudge on the horizon. David wondered how far Kwan parked from mainland China, and if this location might be under the protection of certain Red Guard patrols. How deep did Kwan’s Chinese influence run?

  His escort reappeared and gestured him into the office. A young man sat behind his desk, his eyes cool and dark. He wore a silk shirt, a flash of silver at his neck, and another in a bar that ran through a pierce in his left eyebrow. David hid his surprise, and a spurt of anger. Clearly, he’d been duped again. This man was young—in his late twenties. The Twin Serpents reign of terror had begun in the eighties. This Kwan hadn’t been shaving long enough to helm an organization like the Twin Serpents.

  David approached him with a swagger that he hoped projected confidence. Across from “Kwan,” he saw a thin brunette who’d clearly had an ugly twenty-four hours sitting slumped in a chair, her head down, her hair tangled and hanging over her face, her hands cuffed behind her. She wore the attire of a working girl—stiletto boots, a short skirt, see-through blouse—and David refused to let his thoughts untangle the scenario. Taking down Kwan would also dismantle his human-trafficking business—the third largest moneymaker for organized crime around the globe. An added benefit would be if they caught his suppliers, from Russia, across Asia, and even into America. Human trafficking had no geographic bias.

  He ignored the woman and the pulse of pity inside, and faced the Kwan imposter.

  “I was told I was meeting Kwan.”

  The man said nothing. Raised the pierced eyebrow. Then smiled. “I am Kwan.”

  David didn’t react, didn’t betray his frustration. Instead, he folded his hands over his chest. “Why did you make me wait? I have other buyers, if you’re not interested.” David watched the so-called Kwan, weighing his reaction.

  Kwan said nothing, let his eyes run over him. Then he lifted one shoulder. “I have other sources, also.”

  David maintained his silence.

  Kwan smiled, slowly. “But none at your price.”

  David nodded. “Then let’s do this. I say where, you say when.”

  “No. We’ll go right now, today.”

  David narrowed his eyes, shook his head. “How do I know you’re Kwan and not someone—”

  Behind him, he heard a slap. The woman cried out and David turned, fighting his reflexes. He didn’t care who the woman was, he wouldn’t stand here—

  Ice flushed through him even as she looked away. His breath actually left his body, and for a long, painful second, he couldn’t move.

  Yanna.

  Yanna?

  He felt sick, staring at the welt across her face. Sickened and just short of launching himself at the man who’d hit her. “What is she doing here?” He’d had to wrestle every emotion back to its starting pad to manage the cool, somewhat annoyed tone, and not sound as if the world had just slid out from under him. What was she doing here?

  Her gaze snapped up to his, and for one raw, awful moment, he knew. She recognized him. Even under his long dyed-black hair, his Mafia garb. She now knew exactly what he’d been doing the past three months. An odd hint of shame rose, right alongside the nearly rabid panic that surged through his veins. Yanna…

  “You like her?” Kwan asked, standing.

  Yanna looked away, and something inside David broke. “I do,” he said, painfully aware at how real those words felt. Real and terrifying.

  Especially when tears glazed her eyes. Oh, Yanna. His horror nearly choked him.

  “She’s not for sale.”

  Yanna closed her eyes. David felt as if he’d been belly punched.

  Kwan came around the desk and leaned against it.

  “Why not?” He kept his voice detached, and should have won an Oscar for his prize-winning, nearly wolfish tone. “I want her.”

  But oh, how it hurt to see Yanna close her eyes in a slow flinch.

  “She’s not who you think. She’s a Russian agent.” Kwan nodded to his man, who grabbed Yanna around the back of the neck and forced her gaze up. David’s breathing quickened and he fought it. Look at me, Yanna. But she didn’t. She kept her beautiful eyes averted, as if ashamed.

  What was she doing here?

  “An agent?” David somehow said. “Then why do you want her?”

  Kwan was silent. He drummed his fingers on his arms as he stared at her. David caught her wince of pain. He glared at the man holding her neck. Keep it up, pal, and you’ll find out just how that feels. David flexed his fingers at his sides.

  “I don’t,” Kwan finally said. He looked at David, a smirk on his stupid, pierced face. “We’re done with her.”

  David felt a whoosh of relief so strong it nearly took him down at the knees. “Then let me—”

  “No.” Kwan reach behind him and pulled out a tube. Of lipstick?

  David glanced at Yanna, saw her nearly go white as Kwan uncapped it and twisted the base.

  A tiny knife appeared.

  Oh, this was bad, very bad mojo. Kwan glanced at his man, as if giving a signal, and he released Yanna. She shook out of his grasp, swallowed, lifted her chin.

  Now there was the Yanna he’d met ten years ago. The one with composure and courage. The one who had stolen his breath clean out of his chest.

  Oh God, help! Not only was he sorely outnumbered, and undergunned, but if he did what his gut screamed for him to do, he’d erase months, even years, of hard work. Chet’s suffering would be in vain.

  And Kwan would go deeper underground.

  What was Yanna doing here?

  That things were going to get worse seemed apparent when Yanna’s attacker pulled out his pistol.

  Then Kwan stepped up to Yanna. Grabbed her hair, tilting back her head.

  “I’m going to kill her,” Kwan said softly. “And then maybe we’ll do business.”

  Chapter Four

  T hink, Yanna, think! Yanna stared up at David, at the horror on his face as he watched Kwan clutch her stupid little knife and her brain went blank. Aside from being exactly the last scenario she would have conjured up for meeting David again, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that right now his brain was checking out every possible egress route, every possible angle where he wouldn’t have to blow his cover to save her life.

  And probably coming up empty.

  Contrary to current appearances, Yanna made her living using her brain and solving problems. And from her viewpoint, David had two options.

  Watch her be killed or be killed himself.

  And neither of those seemed acceptable. At least, not to her.

  Yanna caught David’s eye and then, with everything inside her, slammed her stiletto into Kwan’s ankle.

  She connected in a bone-jarring crunch. Behind her, a gun fired, missing David’s head, or where his head had been, because the moment she acted, he turned and slammed his fist into the face of Fu, or maybe Wang. The Chinese thug went down, bleeding from the mouth.

  Yanna followed with an inside kick to Kwan’s knee. Her cute knife went spinning across the floor. Kwan collapsed, but not before he grabbed her arm, pulling her with him.

  She landed on top of him, pinning him with her chair.

  She looked up just in time
to see David scoop up her knife and turn it on Wang. In a second, he’d appropriated Wang’s gun.

  For one endless moment, all Yanna heard was panting.

  “Let her go,” David said, pointing the gun at Kwan. “I won’t ask twice.”

  Outside, shouts, feet thundering across the deck.

  “You’ll be dead long before they get here,” David added.

  Kwan released his hold on her hair. “You’re the dead man,” he said. David pulled Yanna to her feet, helped her wiggle from the chair. Before he could force the handcuff key from Kwan, the door burst open.

  “Run!” David pushed Yanna ahead of him, toward another door. Yanna stumbled through it to a narrow hallway.

  Shots fired behind her, then David burst through the door and slammed it behind him. “Run!”

  Yanna fought for balance, her hands cuffed behind her. She reached the stairs and tripped up them.

  Twilight, the sun setting on the far horizon and turning the ocean to fire, beckoned from the bow of the yacht.

  David had her by the arm, running, pulling her, now flinging her right over the edge into the frothy depths.

  Cold! The ocean gulped her whole, sucking her under, stinging as she went down. She kicked and kicked, surfaced with a greedy gulp of air.

  And David was right there, arm around her waist, pulling her against him. “Kick!”

  Yeah, okay. She coughed, but kicked hard, letting David drag her against the hull of the yacht. Above, voices yelled, clearly searching for them.

  “Shh.” David’s cheek rested against hers, his voice calm, as if they might be out for a leisurely swim. “Stay calm.”

  Calm? Yanna shivered, and she fought to keep her breath steady. But inside, her pulse raced at full tilt in her throat, and David’s heart hammered against her as he pulled her tight to his chest. Clearly, neither of them were in any state of calm. She kicked, willing herself to trust him, to trust his arm around her waist as he trod water, pulling them into hiding. The voices came toward them.

  “Deep breath,” he said a second before he pulled them under. She closed her eyes. Don’t panic. But David had a death grip on her and the breath in her lungs leaked out too quickly, began to burn. She fought the urge to struggle, but couldn’t stop herself as fear spewed into her arms, her legs.

  She opened her eyes and saw the yacht hazy above them, David swimming hard toward another boat. Oh, please, oh, please. With everything inside her, she kicked, too. Just as she knew she would have to breathe, even if it were water, they broke the surface.

  Shouting came from the front of the yacht. David pulled out her knife—where’d he get that?—and lunged at the rope tying the boat to the platform of the yacht. The boat began to float away and David grabbed it with one hand, keeping a hold of her with the other.

  “I gotta get aboard. Then I’ll pull you up.”

  Shots zinged the water next to her. He was leaving her here? “Wait!”

  “I’m not going to leave you, Yanna. Just tread water.”

  His voice, so calm, so David, went straight to her thundering heart. For a second he turned her, holding her arms, and looked her in the eyes.

  He seemed to promise without words that he wouldn’t leave her.

  “Don’t die,” she rasped.

  “Right.” With a nod, he let her go and she sank into the water. In a second he’d pulled himself over, into the belly of the boat. More shooting, and she hugged the boat, like he had, kicking to keep her chin above the surface. Hurry, David! But he didn’t lean over for her; in fact, she heard the engines fight for life and the boat begin to move. “David!”

  And then, just as the boat began to pull away, the last protection between her and a very angry Kwan, David grabbed her arms.

  He dragged her over the edge, unceremoniously dropping her in a seat as he dove for the controls and hit it.

  The boat surged to life and Yanna landed facefirst in the back of the seat, ground into submission by the gravity of however much horsepower Kwan’s machismo demanded.

  “Stay down!” David shouted as a shot whistled over his shoulder and chipped out a portion of the windshield. He ran the boat in tight zags, making it jump and churn, and Yanna fell into the seat and huddled, praying she wouldn’t be sick.

  “They can’t catch us, not in the yacht.”

  Yanna stared up at David, breathing for the first time. He braced one knee on the seat, both hands on the wheel, glancing back over his shoulder now and again. The wind parted his long dark hair, which sailed out behind him, and, in his flamboyant silk shirt and wet jeans—which had torn somehow in their great escape—he looked uncannily like some modern-day pirate.

  All he needed was a tattoo.

  And, look at that. As his shirt flapped open in the breeze, what did she see but the etchings of a design. An eagle.

  David Curtiss had turned into a high seas buccaneer.

  She looked up at him, and for a split second couldn’t help but smile.

  Apparently, however, he had the demeanor of a pirate, too, because he frowned back. “We’re not outta trouble yet, Yanna.” Then his eyes softened, and something so much like relief filled them that she felt herself completely wordless.

  He was right. At least one of them was in serious trouble, indeed.

  David could hardly keep up with what had just happened. Without hesitation, almost instinctively, he had reacted to Yanna’s bravado and suddenly here they were, he and Yanna, parting the ocean in Kwan’s cigarette boat. And, to his even greater shock, the woman he so wanted to love huddled at his feet, staring up at him as if he might be some sort of South Seas swashbuckler.

  His head had most definitely checked out of the game. He exhaled, stifling a word his persona might use. Instead he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel.

  At his feet, Yanna made a wry face. “That bad, huh?”

  He looked at her, then sat on the driver’s seat and pulled her up. The wind buffeted her eyes and she looked down, blinking. Then she turned sideways, searching the ocean behind her. “I can’t even see them.”

  “Trust me, they’re behind us. Maybe even tracking us with some onboard GPS. We gotta ditch this boat as soon as we can find another ride.”

  Yanna hunched her shoulders and brought her legs through her handcuffed arms one at a time, until her hands were in front. David glanced down at the jewelry. “I’ll get you out of those as soon as I can.”

  “I know you have your hands full,” she said, without looking at him. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

  “I think it might be the other way around,” he said, frowning. “What were you doing there?”

  Yanna glanced at him, a pained look crossing her face. Then she shook her head and looked back toward their pursuers.

  Okay, don’t tell me why I just blew a multimillion-dollar operation. David concentrated on driving. Just. Drive. Get to shore and then maybe he’d confront the feelings roiling through him, the ones he couldn’t get a fix on. Relief? Fear? Anger?

  Why was it, every time he got near her, really near her, he couldn’t seem to get a hold of his emotions?

  Staring at the shivering mermaid next to him, he could see her as she’d been, a beautiful coed with a brain that could run circles around his, tying his heart into a messy knot of confusion as they sat in the kitchen of his Moscow flat, trying to unlock advanced calculus.

  “It’s not so hard, David.” Her laughter always made him feel the wind under him.

  “It would be a thousand times easier if it weren’t in Russian.” It was these times, with the night pressing against the windows, the cool spring air carrying in the scent of the late night, of rain, and the occasional bark of a dog, that he wondered how he would have made it through those years at Moscow University without her.

  “If you want to graduate, you have to nail this final,” she had said, pushing the book toward him. “I’ll translate if you can’t get it.”

  He’d looked up at her. It hadn’t b
een the words that confused him. It was how he was supposed to pack up his bags and climb on an airplane and live the next decade without Yanna in his life.

  His face must have shown it, because her smile dimmed. “Are you still hoping to go to grad school?” Those brown eyes had roved over him, her long elegant hand tapping her pencil on the linoleum tabletop.

  At that moment, he hadn’t known what he wanted. Well, besides Yanna. Because it wasn’t just her exotic beauty—those dark, mysterious eyes, the silky dark hair, the strong frame honed by championship volleyball. But the way she had kept up with him, out-thought him, even challenged him.

  They said that opposites attracted, but sometimes Yanna felt like the other side of himself, even in the way she could read his thoughts. “I don’t know. How about you?”

  She had leaned back, rolled her pencil between her fingers. “I’m…being recruited for the military, or something like it.”

  It had been the way she said it that made his eyebrow quirk up, made his plans unravel. “What kind of military?”

  She made a face. “I can’t tell you.”

  Oh, that kind. He didn’t say anything, but panic had reached up and wrapped around his throat. Yes, America and Russia seemed to be getting along pretty well, but if she joined the KGB, or something like it, and he planned on filling out the forms from the recruiting office, well…Somehow he had resisted the urge to pull her to him, perhaps run for Siberia.

  “Hey,” she had said, smiling. “It’s adventure, travel, education. Power.”

  Her words hadn’t sounded so different from his own to his father, when he’d told him he might join the military. But as he had seen her tap her pencil on her leg, he had heard the words behind her statement. Power…as in, not weak, not helpless. “This is about your mother, isn’t it?”

  She had shrugged, not looking at him.

  “Yanna, just because your mother made stupid mistakes with men, buried her pain in a bottle, doesn’t mean that you can’t get married, find a nice guy…” He had just about gagged on his words. Because even as he spoke, he had felt the words cut into his heart.

  She had looked up at him, her mouth in a tight line. “No, David, I’m never getting married. Ever.”