“Not if you pay the money,” Christopher replied. “The Chinese believe in honor. You deliver the money. They deliver Claire."
“Where?"
“It doesn't say,” Donald said. “The Chinese take their time with this sort of thing. They're experts at mental warfare. We've been instructed to wait at the hotel. We'll get another message."
Garrett marched toward the waiting carriage. “If Chen Loo or his cohorts have so much as touched her, I'll have their heads to decorate my garden wall,” he said. He wrenched the door of the carriage open, almost tearing it off its hinges and climbed inside.
Claire's brother and Christopher joined him, neither one commenting on the banker's words. There was no doubt in their minds that Garrett meant what he'd said. At that moment, Garrett looked more like a gunslinger than a banker. His eyes glowed with a cold hatred that made his friends, old and new, grateful they weren't on the receiving end of his anger.
Chapter Seventeen
It hurt to blink her eyes. Claire leaned against the wall and put her hands to her temples. It felt like a train was thundering through her head at full speed. Her nose and throat were raw and she knew it was from the chloroform that had been used to render her unconscious.
But why?
She looked around the sparsely furnished room. The walls were painted a dull yellow and the baseboards and door trimmings were black. Wherever she was, she was still in Chinatown. Her cane was gone and her ankle was throbbing because she'd kicked the man who had attacked her more than once. She was sitting on a short, thin mattress and there was a small table and a pillow across the room. A gas fixture, suspended from the ceiling, gave off a dull light. No windows. Nothing, except the fierce pounding in her head and the surety that she was in trouble. Big trouble.
Her mind raced despite the pain and she came up with two possible explanations for her kidnapping. One was that Chen Loo or one of his associates had seen her visiting her brother and they thought to use her to get Donald to do something for them. The other possibility was that she'd been followed when she'd left Chinatown the previous day and knowing Garrett Monroe was one of the city's wealthiest men, she'd been taken to hold for ransom.
Either way, Claire knew that Garrett must be frantic trying to find her. She had no way of knowing what time it was. In a room without windows, she had no way of gauging the time of day. Her body told her that she'd been unconscious for several hours. Her legs were cramped and her back ached from lying on the uncomfortable pallet.
Claire was wishing for something to drink when the door opened and a plump Chinese woman came into the room. The door was shut behind her and Claire heard the distinct sound of the lock being set once again. The woman looked to be sixty or perhaps even older. Her face was brown and wrinkled, as were her hands. Her hair, grayed by age, was pulled back into a braid that hung down her back. Her eyes were round and dark and held the same blank expression as her face. She was wearing loose black trousers under a blue and gold embroidered robe that reached just below her knees. Her sandals made a dull sound on the wooden floor as she walked across the room and placed a tray on the table.
“Where am I?” Claire asked, struggling to her feet. Without the cane, she used the wall for support, edging her way toward the woman.
The woman ignored her, not even glancing Claire's way when she spoke. Once a cup of tea had been poured and a bowl of rice set on the table, the woman turned to leave.
Claire reached out and grabbed her by the sleeve. “Who are you? What do you want?"
The woman answered in Chinese. Her tone was sharp as she pushed Claire's hand away and walked to the door. It was opened and she disappeared without looking back.
More frightened than she'd ever been in her entire life, Claire slumped to the floor and stared at the door. Tears came to her eyes, running down her face in a silent stream of despair as she realized that whoever was holding her captive cared nothing about right or wrong. She was a pawn in a game she didn't understand and she couldn't even communicate with her captors.
The aroma of the tea finally reached her nostrils and Claire made her way to the squatty bamboo table. She drank and felt better and then knowing she was going to need all her strength she forced herself to eat the rice. She had to use her fingers, since the Chinese woman had left her no silverware, and the meager meal went slowly. After a second cup of tea, her throat felt better and her headache had subsided a little.
She thought of Garrett, of his handsome face and stubborn nature, of his silver eyes and the arrogant way he'd smiled at her when he'd demanded a good night kiss, and tears welled up in her eyes again. She'd made love with him, but she hadn't told him that he was loved.
Claire regretted it now, wondering if she'd ever see him again, if she'd ever be able to say the words. Even though she knew that Garrett didn't want to hear them, she had an insatiable need to say them. To hear them rolling off her tongue, to free her body and mind and heart of the words.
Thinking of Garrett, of his mulish attitude and his gentle embraces, made Claire's heart clutch in her chest. A sadness she hadn't thought possible enveloped her and she knew in that moment that her plans to start a new life without the banker would be an impossible achievement. No matter how far she traveled or how long she lived, Garrett would always be a part of her.
The door opened again and Claire looked up to find two men. They were slender and dressed entirely in black and she felt a new wave of fear wash over her. One of the men motioned her to her feet and when she finally managed to stand, he snapped out a few Chinese words and pointed toward the door. Claire understood enough to know that she was supposed to go with them. Limping and biting her lower lip against the pain, she slowly made her way toward the door. Once she was outside, the two men changed positions. One led the way down a narrow corridor while the other walked behind her.
A few painful steps later, Claire was forced to stop in front of another black door. It was opened from the inside. The old Chinese woman stepped aside and the man behind Claire gave her a not-so-gentle push to get her inside. When she stumbled, the Chinese woman said something that sounded like a reprimand and the man disappeared, shutting the door with a loud click.
Claire looked around. Once again, the room lacked windows, but it was very different from the one she had woken up in an hour or so ago. The walls were painted a soft green and a mural of a Chinese garden decorated the largest wall, opposite the door. There were candles instead of gaslights and the flickering light gave the small room an intriguing allure, not romantic, but softer and less dangerous than the one in which she'd been confined since her kidnapping.
There was a tall wooden tub in the center of the room. Wisps of steam lifted toward the ceiling. A low bench stood next to the tub and on a low rectangular table to the side there was a thick white towel. The Chinese woman helped Claire to stand. Once she was supporting her own weight, precariously but managing to stand alone, the woman's hands went to the buttons on the front of Claire's jacket. Claire tried to slap them away, but the woman chattered something at her and went right on trying to undress her. A few minutes later, Claire was standing in nothing but her pantaloons and camisole.
The woman slapped her hands together, saying something that made no sense to Claire, and waved at the tub. Claire looked at the inviting water. She inhaled. The air, or was it the water, was scented and she longed to let the steamy bath ease her aches and pains. While the Chinese woman gathered up the clothes that had been tossed to the floor, Claire walked to the tub. Feeling awkward and shy, she stripped off the last of her clothing and got in. Her captors might be considered barbarians by some, but at least they appreciated cleanliness.
The water felt wonderful. Claire stepped up on the bench and eased her body into the tub. She was amazed to discover that the water came up to her shoulders. There was a small bench built into the tub itself and she sat on it, lessening the strain on her ankle. Then the plump Chinese woman opened the door, tossed Claire's clot
hes into the hall and closed the door again.
Claire wanted to protest, but she sensed that the woman didn't understand English any better than she understood Chinese.
Claire was even more surprised when the Chinese woman stepped up on the bench with a large sponge in her hand. She scooped up some water, wet the sponge, and began washing Claire's back. The natural abrasion of the sponge against her skin felt wonderful and Claire let out a soft moan. A short time later, after being bathed like a child in the scented water, Claire felt the old woman's hands reaching for the pins in her hair. She was treated to a thorough shampooing that left her hair soft and silky and clinging to her shoulders and back as she was helped from the tub and handed the thick towel. Claire wrapped it around her and sat down on the bench, which doubled as a footstool.
The old woman handed her another towel for her hair, mumbled a few short words, and left the room. Claire listened for the sound of the lock and when she didn't hear it, she was tempted to flee the room. But how far would she get, wet and naked and with an ankle that could barely support her weight? The answer became irrelevant when the woman reappeared in less than a minute. She motioned impatiently that Claire was taking too long to dry herself, then moved to the table and laid down what Claire assumed was a change of clothing.
* * * *
Garrett paced the hotel office with the ferocity of a wild animal. It was almost two in the morning and there was still no word from Chen Loo. Donald had been given a room to rest and although there was several vacancies in the hotel, Garrett couldn't fathom sleeping in one of the elegant suites while Claire was being held in the claws of the Chinaman.
He stopped measuring the room as the door opened and Christopher stepped inside.
“A rather handsome Chinaman just delivered this to the front desk,” he said, holding out a small fold of paper. “Chen Loo wants a meeting with me."
Garrett snatched the note from his friend's hand, knowing he wouldn't be able to make sense out of the strange Oriental writing, but needing to see it nevertheless.
“Do you have the money ready?"
Garrett nodded. “Chen Loo will get what he wants,” he said harshly. “But not until I have Claire at my side."
“I've instructions to act as the go-between,” Christopher told him. “I'll ask Chen Loo to let me see Claire. I'm sure I won't have more than a few minutes with her, if that, but I'll try to let her know that she won't be his prisoner much longer."
“Do you have any idea where he might be keeping her?” Garrett asked.
Christopher helped himself to a cup of the coffee one of the hotel maids had brought up earlier. “She could be anywhere,” he said, adding a small helping of sugar to the black brew. “Chen Loo owns half of Chinatown. It would take weeks to search every building."
“Tell me exactly what the note says,” Garrett instructed his friend. “I don't want any surprises."
His biggest surprise was discovering just how far in love he'd fallen. The warmth of the day had vanished the moment he'd discovered that Claire was missing and the night had taken on the color of lifeless black when she still wasn't found. The more he thought about her being locked in some strange room in Chinatown with no one to comfort her, no one to hold her close, no one to love her, Garrett's guts knotted so tightly he almost doubled over with the pain.
The anger that had devoured Garrett when Christopher had told him that Chen Loo was Claire's prison master had taken on a new dimension in the long hours since midnight. Instead of burning his insides, it had seeped into his veins, becoming a part of him the same way Claire had become a part of him. Invading his every thought. He'd told his friend that the money was ready, and it was. He'd gone to the bank himself and filled the leather suitcase that was now sitting at the end of Christopher's desk. But Chen Loo wasn't going to get the blood money he was demanding for Claire, not if Garrett had his way. Hiram had joined him at the bank, along with several armed men to act as bodyguards while Garrett transported the large amount of cash from the bank to the hotel. He'd asked the investigator to make sure wherever they went to redeem Claire, they wouldn't go alone. Once Claire was back in his arms, where she belonged, Garrett intended to make Chen Loo and his Chinese cohorts pay the price of their folly. If necessary, he'd use the fifty thousand in the suitcase to track the fat Chinaman to the ends of the earth.
Claire belonged to him and the Chinese drug lord had signed his death warrant when he'd touched her.
Unaware of his friend's plans, Christopher sipped his coffee and translated the note.
“I'm to go to the Tin How Temple and wait for someone to take me to Chen Loo. Once I've been given instructions, I'll return for you and we'll get on with the actual exchange."
“I want Claire out of there as quickly as possible,” Garrett said.
“So do I,” Christopher agreed. “Don't worry. I've had dealings with Chen Loo before. He may not be conventional in his approach to business, but he's a man of his word."
Garrett wasn't so sure, but he kept his doubts to himself. “When do you leave?"
Christopher looked at his pocket watch. “Andy is hitching up the buggy. I'm to be at the Temple by four o'clock."
“Why don't you try to get some sleep,” Christopher added, putting down his coffee cup. “If I know Chen Loo he will want this business taken care in his usual efficient manner. Probably by dawn."
“That's only a few hours away,” Garrett said hopefully.
“Then at least have a quick bath and a shave. As I recall, you've always kept a fresh suit of clothes here at the hotel. I'll have Andy get them for you,” Christopher suggested. “If Claire sees you looking like this she might run back into Chen Loo's waiting arms."
Garrett managed a lopsided smile. “I'll make myself presentable. Just make sure Chen Loo hasn't harmed her and get the instructions for the exchange. If I have to wait much longer, I'll take Chinatown apart with my bare hands."
Christopher nodded and left the room. Garrett watched from the window while his friend climbed into the hotel buggy and headed toward the Oriental community where Claire was being held prisoner. Garrett felt the anger washing though his body again as he recalled watching Claire from the same window a few months ago. He looked at her then, thinking only of pleasing his grandmother, but those thoughts had changed, along with his feelings.
He'd found himself looking forward to their quiet evenings in the parlor; he reading the paper while Claire sat on the settee with his grandmother stitching away at lace that would eventually decorate the hem of a pillowcase. He enjoyed the way she bantered with him when no one else was around, insisting that he was stubborn, while she on the other hand wasn't. He had never enjoyed making love to a woman the way he'd enjoyed making love to Claire. His body had craved hers and when he'd finally found satisfaction it had come with a deep contentment he'd never known before, as if something inside had been lacking and he hadn't been aware of it until that night.
He prayed that their lovemaking was fruitful. If Claire was pregnant with his child, she would marry him. She might not love him as much as he loved her, but he wouldn't let her pride stand in the way of giving their child a name. Once she was safe, he'd convince her of that and more. And he'd give her more children, enough to fill the Nob Hill mansion with the teasing of older brothers and the girlish reprimands of little sisters who would grow up too quickly while their brothers protected them the way Garrett vowed he would protect Claire from now on. He closed his eyes and thought of the future, blocking out the horror of the present, until he could see Claire in his mind's eye. She'd be waiting for him on the staircase when he came home. They'd kiss and the children would come running to greet him. He'd lift his youngest son, or daughter, in his arms and spin them around. The evening would be filled with conversation and the nights would be filled with love.
The image slowly vanished and Garrett felt his body tighten with anger. He gripped the windowsill. Where in the name of God was Claire? Was she hurt? Frigh
tened? Of course, she was. Nothing in Claire's life had prepared her for what she was experiencing now. Feeling helpless and utterly useless, Garrett left the office and marched down the hall to the room he used whenever he stayed at the hotel. Andy was waiting inside.
Clean clothes were spread out on the bed. A spare set of boots had been polished and there was a razor and a bar of soap on the vanity table.
“Do you need anything else?” the young clerk asked.
“No, thank you,” Garrett said, wanting to ask for a bottle of whiskey but knowing he needed his wits about him. “Give me an hour, then wake up Mr. Aldrich and have him meet me in the office."
“Yes, sir,” Andy replied.
The young man moved to leave but Garrett stopped him with some more instructions. “When Hiram Wilson returns, send him to me immediately."
Andy nodded, then quit the room.
Once the door was shut, Garrett took off his jacket and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the spigot and began to fill the tub with hot water. He looked at himself in the mirror over the vanity table. Christopher was right, he looked like hell.
* * * *
Claire felt odd dressed in the silk trousers and tunic. She had no undergarments on and the slick fabric brushed against her thighs and breasts like a lover's caress. Like Garrett's mouth when it moved over me, learning every inch of my body. Would she feel his mouth again, driving her crazy with wanting, making desire burn in her veins until she was consumed by the sensual emotion? Until all she wanted was to join her body with Garrett's, to feel the things only he could make her feel. God, what a fool she'd been to leave him. Claire knew her pride had been her downfall, that and the doubt that she could reach Garrett's heart.
She still had doubts, but she'd regained her determination. Being attacked in the alley, and waking up in a strange house, filled with people she couldn't speak to and the nerve-chilling fear that she might be killed, had taught her just how precious life really was.
A Gentleman's Bargain Page 25
