“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Everything. I mean . . .” She paused, uncharacteristically stumbling over her words. “Someone tried to break in last night.”
His breath seemed to stop and for a minute it was like something dark and foreign clutched his heart. It couldn’t be. The newspaper slid and almost dropped to the floor. Unconsciously he shoved it higher beneath the crook of his arm. “What happened?” He was repeating himself and yet his brain couldn’t seem to connect with his tongue.
And as he had done not twelve hours ago, he took her in his arms and held her warm and solid and safe against his chest. He might never let her go. Her hair smelled of lemons and she fit right against him as her breath softly matched his.
“God, Andra. This is unbelievable. I should have been here.”
“Max, let go. I’m fine, now.”
He let her go and she shivered as she leaned against him and covered his hand, where it rested on her shoulder, with hers.
“Someone tried to force their way in. A man.” Her voice trembled. “I didn’t see more than that.”
“My God, Andra. You’re not hurt?”
“No. But I may have broken his hand in the process. I hammered it with the door and this.” She pulled away from him and picked up a can from the counter, something that looked like hair product—the bottom appeared dented. The reality of that almost froze him in place.
“What the hell!” There were no words for what she had told him. She had been physically in contact with someone who planned to maim or kill her. How had she gotten away? His gaze roved over her slight frame. There was no way she could have physically fought him off.
“I was lucky. When I heard someone outside the door I called security. So there really wasn’t that much time for him to try to get in. It seemed like forever.” She shrugged and her hands shook slightly as she grasped her upper arms, clutching them close to her chest. “Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I had the door wedged with that.” She picked up the chair and aligned it with the tiny kitchen table.
“You’re all right?”
She nodded.
“I should have stayed.” She could have been hurt. “You called more than security I hope—the police?”
“I did.”
“Thank God for that. I only realized this morning that you live next door to Margaret.” His voice seemed to drop an octave with his next words. He almost physically shuddered. “What if it wasn’t Margaret they were after? That seems like an unnecessary question considering this.” His gaze swept to the jam, where it was clear the upper hinge was half ripped from the frame, and back to her.
Her face lost what little color it had at his words. “I thought of that last night. Believe me, I had time to think of a lot of things.” Again she shrugged. “What else are you going to do when sleep is out of the question?”
He wanted to smooth away the worry lines and the deep blue shadows that lurked beneath her beautiful eyes.
“Whoever killed Margaret, it’s becoming quite clear, since last night . . .” She shuddered. “May have meant to kill me.” Her hand reached out, steadying herself on the counter. “I’m sure the police suspect the same. They’ve now posted two officers in the building.”
“You need to get out of here,” Max said firmly.
“I’ve been ordered by the police to remain here. Go about my normal activities but don’t set up a temporary residence elsewhere. In case they have further questions.”
“That’s illogical. You told them what you know.” He took one look at her disheveled appearance and cursed himself again for leaving last night. “You’re definitely not staying alone. Not again. Not after last night.”
She offered no argument. In fact, her hand trembled even as her voice was steady. “At least for now, let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Seven
She closed her apartment door and jiggled the lock once.
Max considered how little stood between serious threats and her safety and wished he hadn’t. It only reminded him of his colossal error. He should never have left her alone last night—he vowed that it wouldn’t happen again.
“I thought we’d have breakfast at a local dim sum,” she said. Her voice quivered, whether from shock or lack of sleep or possibly a combination of both, he wasn’t sure. He stayed her with his hands on her shoulders and she leaned against him. He kneaded her shoulders, feeling the tension, tight and stiff beneath his fingers.
“I wish you could do that forever,” she whispered.
“That might be arranged,” he replied, and longing settled low in his gut and deeper.
Outside, a few minutes later, his hand was on the small of her back as he guided her around a slight woman in a red pencil skirt and polka-dot high heels who delicately swept her sun umbrella to the right and away from them. Beneath the protection of the umbrella, her porcelain skin was pale despite the intense July sun. Only two blocks from Andra’s apartment building, the residential area had slipped back and now businesses flourished, their shops and signage crowded and tight against a sidewalk that was filled with well-suited businessmen and interspersed with the occasional camera-slinging tourists.
“Do you suppose someone is following us now?” Andra glanced over her shoulder and shifted closer to him.
“I don’t know, Andra. I have to tell you this is way out of my league. I wish I’d never come here. Never involved you.” He looked furtively behind him.
“We’re going to have to be vigilant,” she said.
“You were always the matter-of-fact one.”
It was interesting how much he knew about her, but then their conversations had always extended well past the realms of business. In fact, they had had many phone conversations outside of work, as friends rather than colleagues. There were things he knew about her that he would never know about the people he worked with on a daily basis. It was a relationship that had developed into an attraction and a co-reliance that he would find hard to explain to an outsider. But it was a bond they’d never discussed and yet one he cherished. It was a bond that was now threatened not by distance but by something far worse.
“And the one that encouraged you to come here. That’s something I may live to regret.”
“Don’t even suggest such a thing.”
Within a few more blocks they turned. Here, the concrete sidewalks were pebbled with age and coated with grime, and crowded with a jumble of aged shops and advertisements. It was hard to see anything as every sign merged into another and shops layered one atop the other. The earthy smell of plants and moist earth mixed with the salty tang of a late morning fog that was at odds with the clatter and noise that seemed to lace through it all.
Fifteen minutes later they were seated at the restaurant Andra had mentioned earlier. The restaurant was cavernous and poorly lit, the carpeting rich burgundy, the table deep mahogany and the walls lightened only by ornate gilded light sconces. They were at a table away from the outside wall, near the inside of a room that held maybe fifty tables.
“I know, it’s classic. Classically stereotypical but the food is good,” she assured him and smiled. A dimple appeared, just a slight indent in her right cheek. It was delicious, subtly sexy—and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. His hand covered hers and gave it a squeeze.
She smiled at him as a small woman with grizzled black hair braided and pulled into a bun came over to take their order.
“I know,” Andra said, “we don’t have menus. Would you trust me to order for you?”
“Of course,” he agreed and leaned back in his chair with a smile, feeling comfortable, sure that she was safe for the first time since he’d stepped off the elevator at her apartment. He watched as she fluently ordered in Cantonese. She was amazing. He was sure there wasn’t much she couldn’t do if she set her mind to it. His gaze drifted over her lithe figure, the curve of her waist and the cleavage that only reminded him of how she had felt in his arms so briefly last night and again this mor
ning.
“I think you’ll like it. It’s my standard when I come here, but from everything we’ve discussed . . . Max? Are you listening?”
“Yes, I . . . I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “It’s odd really, I hadn’t thought of it until now, but dim sum means touch your heart. An omen?”
“Omens.” He shook his head in the negative. “No. Nothing but superstition.”
“True, but an intriguing observation all the same.”
He smiled. “You ordered shao mai.”
“I did.”
He ran a thumb along the paper at his elbow, the article haunting him. He looked up and met the troubled gray of her eyes and somehow his thoughts blurted out. “Andra, I’m afraid for you.”
“I know. And let’s not talk about it now.” She smiled at him. “Pick another subject, something else, anything.”
“All right.” He covered the back of her hand with his. “I don’t understand why you’ve never taken a position with the university. I can’t imagine that they haven’t asked.” The question had been in the back of his mind ever since he’d learned of her well over a year ago. For despite becoming friends, distance had still put certain discussions off limits—they knew each other and yet, in a strange way, they didn’t.
“They have many times but the contract work suits me much better. I prefer working for myself.” She sighed, slipping her hand free. “Truthfully, I hopped between one assignment and another before I finally settled back here in Hong Kong. In fact, before I completed my education it was rather one career to another.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” Her tone was rather acerbic and that surprised him.
“What are you suggesting? That as a professor in academia I have no idea of the independence and freedom that lures others?”
“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” she said softly.
“Thoreau.”
Their food arrived and for a time their conversation was only sporadic as they enjoyed the various dishes.
“The shao mai is outstanding,” he said as he swallowed the last of the steamed dumpling filled with chopped shrimp, shitake mushrooms, green onions and ginger. “All of it, delicious.”
“I told you so.” She looked at the paper beside him. “So, anything in the news?”
He glanced down. “I bought it for the mention of increased murders among the triads. But here’s what really got me.” He unfolded the paper, pushing his plate to the side as he did so.
Body unexpectedly discovered by businessman scouting investment potential of long-deserted pipe factory.
Andra read the words and looked up, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“Read on,” Max said as his breath caught on all the reasons why he shouldn’t have shared this with her.
Another murder later in the day and closer to home occurred right in the city and had unexpected triad ties, with the victim’s throat slit with a knife in a manner that was the trademark of a small-time hood known only as Bao, who once operated under the cover of a smaller triad. It appears that both deaths are connected in that the body found in the pipe factory is actually that of a man who was once Bao’s right-hand man, a local hood who went by the name Fang Chen.
Andra looked up with a frown. “Bao. Is it possible it’s the same man that Fu mentioned? And if so, that the death in the pipe factory and Margaret’s killing are linked?”
“Can we rule out the significance of a murder next door followed by a second attempted home invasion, my arrival with this doll and a connection to a man mentioned in Fu’s note?”
“Oh, my God, Max. What could this mean? The possibilities are frightening if they’re connected at all.”
“I don’t like any of this, Andra.”
A movement caught his eye and he started and turned. He drew in a relieved breath as a large extended family filed in. An elderly woman led the way as she moved agilely to her seat, leading a toddler by the hand. In all there were twenty of them, laughing and chatting in Cantonese. A woman smoothed a small boy’s hair, her touch slow and gentle. He wondered what that would be like for a child. His mother’s touches had been sparing and offered only when necessary. It was rare that even a skinned knee saw much more than a stern lecture on care and an adhesive bandage.
“They probably share a flat.” Andra laid her napkin down beside her plate. “An incredible life filled with noise and confusion. And yet it’s a tradition that’s disappearing. More couples opting for careers over children. I can’t imagine a life without a family, without children.”
“Each to their own,” he replied darkly.
“What about you? In all our conversations you’ve never spoken of your family,” she said, and there was an innocent lightness in the words.
“My parents are both gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was long ago.”
She folded her napkin and turned her attention to him. “So children in your future?” she asked lightly. “We’re both what, early thirties—I suppose it’s a time when you start thinking of such things.”
“Never,” he replied.
“That was fairly cryptic,” she replied sarcastically, and some of the light fell from her voice. “Maybe you’ll change your mind. Meet the right girl—”
“No.” He cut her off. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just something that I would never consider. It’s not for me.”
Silence settled on the small table as around them glassware clinked and the incomprehensible din of a multitude of conversations enfolded them.
“Isn’t it ironic that we’re chasing the possibility of one of the lost girls?” There was a dreamy cast to her face as she shifted the conversation.
“Maybe.” He didn’t want to think where she might be going with this. “But it’s all supposition at this point.”
He looked out into the crowded street, where pedestrians filled the sidewalk. “Aside from our academic affiliation, a doll, and a mystery involving a forgotten women’s language, what is at stake?” he asked.
“Money motivates most people.”
“Precisely. We have no idea what Fu wants us to find and apparently someone else might. In the meantime, like I said before, there is no way you can stay in that apartment alone. Anyone you can call? A brother or uncle?” He thought he’d toss that out, because as much as he wanted to stay with her, be with her . . . it was still early days and not the right way to begin any relationship.
“In answer to your question, no. There’s no brother or uncle. I’ve lost contact with my family and, like you, my parents are both gone. The only men in my life are colleagues. I’d hardly impose on them.” She laughed but the laugh had a slightly disparaging edge.
It was one of the things they had in common, their tendency to hold personal information close to their chests. He’d known as little about her family as she knew about his and still they’d become friends.
“I hope they find the intruder,” she said with an almost whimsical note to her voice.
“Like I said, you won’t stay alone.” He hesitated, but this wasn’t about what he wanted or what was appropriate. This was about her safety. “I’ll have to stay with you.”
“Max, you can’t—no.” She shook her head. “That’s such an imposition.”
“Hardly.” His gaze went over her figure, slight yet lush. “Not at all. Seriously, I’m almost thinking we should get out of Hong Kong.” He toyed with a chopstick. “But of course we can’t.”
She shook her head. “No. The police were adamant about that.
He shook his head. “I don’t know how much I agree with that order. Coincidences are adding up. Fu warned of Bao and now the news seems to have linked someone of the same name. Margaret’s apartment was one away from yours. She was murdered and nothing was taken from her apartment, and hours after that they went after you. The police don’t seem to have any answers and definitely no arrests. I don’t know if we have time to
wait for answers.” Max twisted the strap of the satchel around his wrist and pulled the bag onto his lap. “I could be completely wrong, but if I’m not, whoever killed Margaret will be back. If they weren’t already.”
“The police don’t realize the danger their edict has put me in.”
“And have threatened you with arrest if you defy them.”
“I’d be safer.”
He looked at her oddly.
“Under arrest, I mean.” She smiled.
“I can’t argue that.”
“So.” She delicately fished out a crisp noodle from the communal bowl with a deft twist of her chopsticks. “I know of a local man who might be able to shed some light on the idea of a village of women.”
“One exists?”
“According to rumor, yes. In reality, I have no idea.” She held the noodle with chopsticks poised between mouth and plate. “Although the doll and the reemergence of a language most have forgotten leads me to consider there may be some truth in it all.”
“I can’t begin to imagine that such a possibility could be true. But if it is, how does it all link together?” Was it that far off—the possibility of a revitalized women’s language and a society that might sustain such a renewal?
“I don’t know. It’s a stretch, all of it.”
“A feeling,” he offered.
“Possibly.”
“Nushu—the language of women. It’s a woman who contacts us and provides us with a doll, a girl’s toy. This village of women idea might not be so far-fetched. Some feel the Amazons weren’t a myth.”
“Like I said, I’d heard vague rumors, years ago. A former colleague of mine spoke of a village of women. I’d forgotten that because it was vague, as such rumors tend to be, and then dropped into obscurity. I hadn’t thought of it since then. I guess I forgot about it—considered it an impossibility.”
“And now?”
“I gave it some thought last night.”
“And?”
“The more I consider it, the more it seems a possibility. We don’t have much to go on. If nothing else it’s a start.” She looked away for a moment, as if there was more she wanted to say.
Legacy of Fear Page 4
