"Don't lose 'em and don't get burned," Stone said succinctly.
"In which order, sir?"
"Whichever order you think would do your career the most good or the least harm."
"Gotcha."
O'Donnel shut the door quietly behind himself.
The smile on Lindsay's face felt like a porcelain mock-up of the Cheshire cat. Her cheeks ached. The meal was a disaster in all ways. Every time she or Catlin tried to talk about bronzes, Mitch Malloy offered to put them onto a hot real estate investment.
"I don't need a condo in Miami or Houston or Malibu," Catlin said finally. "I don't collect condos. I collect third century B.C. inlaid Chinese bronzes. You said you had some to sell. Do you?"
Malloy drained his glass of wine and poured another. "Depends on what you want and how long you'll wait to get it know what I mean?"
Beneath the black mustache, Catlin's mouth lifted slightly at one corner. "Not long enough for you to make one," he said bluntly.
Malloy barked with laughter and reached for another piece of sourdough bread. The movement brought him closer to Lindsay, which was what he had in mind. He pushed his thigh against hers as he leaned into her.
"Your boyfriend has a great sense of humor know what I mean?" said Malloy, stretching his arm across Lindsay's shoulders and letting it rest there. "Did I ever tell you that?"
"In the last minute? Not more than once," Lindsay said, trusting her cramped mouth to hold its brittle smile as she leaned forward in a futile attempt to evade Malloy.
"Great!" he said, laughing. "That's just great, babe. Hike a girl with brains.''
"Really?" murmured Lindsay, carefully not looking at the female who was on the other side of Catlin. If Malloy's date, who had been introduced simply as "Missy," had a brain, it was moldering unnoticed beneath the bleached-blond haystack that passed for her hair.
Lindsay's glance switched to her plate. She wondered if the dinner would ever end. Malloy and Missy had trapped Catlin and Lindsay between them in the forced intimacy of a booth. Lindsay had retreated by increments from Malloy's coarse presence, but could move no farther without crawling right into Catlin's lap. The only escape was a trip to the powder room, but she had already left the table twice.
"How long?" Catlin asked.
Lindsay's head snapped up, wondering if he had read her mind. Then she realized that he was baiting Malloy, daring him to produce some bronzes.
"Well," said Malloy, leaning back expansively. He stretched his arms across the back of the booth and crowded Lindsay even more. "It all depends on what you order. If it's the kind of thing that never comes on the market, it might take a while to, uh, persuade the owner to sell. And the harder it is to get my hands on the bronze, the more it costs. Know what I mean?"
Catlin nodded curtly.
"Figured you would," Malloy said, idly stroking Lindsay's shoulder with his forefinger. He seemed utterly oblivious to her discomfort. "After all, the guy who can hustle Lindsay is no dummy. You know, babe, you really had them going in D.C. They thought you wouldn't say shit if your mouth was full of it." He laughed. "God, were they ever wrong! You're just plain folks, like the rest of us." He pulled Lindsay against him in a hard hug. "A lotta people are gonna be real surprised when I tell them just how folksy you are know what I mean?"
Lindsay closed her eyes and tried to block out Malloy's presence. It didn't work.
"How long would it take you to get your hands on a bronze charioteer from Xi'an?" Catlin asked blandly.
Malloy stared for a moment, then gave a forced laugh. "Great kidder, aren't you?"
"No." Catlin's eyes were narrowed, as opaque as hammered gold. "I don't have any sense of humor at all. Know what I mean?"
With a nervous laugh, Malloy lifted his wineglass and drank heavily. "Well, I'd like to help you," he said, licking his lips as he put down his glass, "but I'm fresh out of bronze soldiers this week."
"I'll wait."
"Shit, man," Malloy said in disgust. "I've been trying to get my hands on one of those bronzes for three years. About six months ago I heard a really hot rumor."
"And?"
"It wasn't so hot, after all." Malloy looked at his wineglass to avoid Catlin's hard eyes.
"What have you heard lately?"
Malloy swirled the red wine and watched the greasy rim of his glass with heavy-lidded eyes. The cast of his face became frankly sullen. "Nothing worth mentioning. Not like six months ago. I had it wired, but my connection stiffed me. Said the shipment was ripped off on the other end. But that's what they always say when they can't deliver. Jerk-offs."
Catlin tilted his head to one side and studied Malloy openly. There was a good chance that Malloy was just another spotted toad trying to sing with the bullfrogs. On the other hand, there was a very small chance that he might actually have information. Catlin doubted that Malloy was a major outlet, but he might be able to pull off a good score once in a while. Malloy was the kind of dealer who was only as crooked as he had to be, but if he stumbled across a rich prize, he never looked back. Raiders like him were a regular part of the art underworld.
And there had been rumors linking Mitch Malloy to a load of bronzes that had been stolen on order, then stolen again en route to their destination. Malloy didn't have the brains to set up the original theft, but he had all the qualities needed to steal from the people who had. Six months ago, had he somehow stumbled onto someone who was trying to ship stolen bronzes out of Xi'an's Mount Li?
"Go on," Catlin said quietly.
"Nowhere to go." Malloy finished his wine, reached to pour himself more and discovered that the bottle was empty. "I don't have a damn thing from Xi'an."
"Were you on a direct line to the charioteer or were you a raider?"
Malloy stared at Catlin for a moment. "Hey, I'm an honest businessman trying to "
"Save it for someone who cares," Catlin interrupted in a bored tone. "I know all about the Cellador bronzes."
Malloy swallowed visibly. "You are Rousseau, aren't you?" he asked in a dry voice.
Catlin waited silently, staring at Malloy out of predatory yellow eyes.
"All right, yeah, I do a little raiding," said Malloy. "But never from friendlies. I don't mind dumping on the Commies when I get the chance know what I mean?"
"Who had the pipeline to Xi'an?"
Malloy shook his head. "Uh-uh. No way, no how. I'm; gonna live long enough to sponge off my kids."
"Bullshit, Malloy. I heard you were planning to steal the charioteer from the dealer who smuggled it in. The word was all over the street."
"Not the dealer," Malloy denied quickly. "I may be crazy but I ain't stupid! I was gonna lift it from his customer. But the deal never went down."
"What was the dealer asking for the charioteer?"
"Half a million."
"I'll pay twice that."
Malloy let out an explosive breath. "Shit, man, I'd give my left nut to broker that deal, but I don't have the goods."
"Get them."
"Can't be done."
"Then introduce me to someone who can do it. I'll make it worth your while."
"How much?"
"Three points of the final deal."
"Five."
"Three."
Malloy studied Catlin, shrugged and said, "Three."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes. I'm not exactly in the man's family-know what I mean?"
"One week. After that you lose a point a week."
"Hey, that's hardly-"
"Take it or leave it," Catlin said, turning back to his meal.
There was a moment of silence followed by Malloy's forced laugh. "You're on." He fiddled with his empty wineglass, adding more greasy fingerprints to the ones already there. "Well now, this calls for a celebration. How about a little champagne? We're gonna have a great night. You won't regret it will he, Missy?"
Malloy read Missy'
s wide, damp smile as agreement all around. He signaled a waiter, ordered a bottle of "the best goddamn champagne in the house" and then settled back into the booth with a satisfied smile. Under the table his thigh rested heavily against Lindsay's. He began jigging his knee, rubbing away at her leg as though he were a boy scout with two sticks and a cold night ahead.
"Isn't it exciting?" offered Missy, looking up into Catlin's eyes. "Oh, I just love helping Mitch with business. I'm going to look forward to seeing more of you. A whole lot more."
Catlin's smile was not encouraging, but subtleties eluded Missy. She snuggled her abundant breasts against his arm as she walked her fingers up and down his tie, counting the stripes. When the tie-fiddling failed to elicit a reaction, she managed to lose one of her diamond clip earrings between Catlin's legs. She shrieked in mock dismay, then giggled and began to grope around industriously, missing no possible hiding place, however unlikely that place might have been. As she explored Catlin, she apologized in a breathy little voice that became a squeak when she looked up and saw the boredom and contempt on his face.
"It isn't going to happen with you," Catlin said flatly. "Ever."
Malloy's hand had joined in the campaign on Lindsay's thigh. Suddenly she felt nauseated enough to make another trip to the rest room seem inevitable. She had managed to sit down to dinner with maggots, but she hadn't yet learned not to gag.
"Let me out," Lindsay said, turning toward Malloy without meeting his eyes. "I have to "
The sentence was never finished because Malloy was standing up and pulling Lindsay out of the booth.
"Me too, babe," he said, sliding his arm around her waist, digging his fingers into her hip. "C'mon," he said against her ear. "I know a place where the sheets are hot and the movies are in color know what I mean? And don't worry about Catlin. Once Missy goes to work, he won't even know you're gone."
Lindsay's control snapped. She made a choked sound and tried to push free of the drunken art dealer. It didn't work. He was taller than she was, thick bodied, strong.
"Malloy." Catlin's voice was oddly toneless. When Malloy glanced over, Catlin smiled. "Come here, Lindsay-love," Catlin said softly.
For an instant Lindsay was too shocked to move. It wasn't the endearment Catlin had used that paralyzed her, it was the smile he directed at Malloy. She had never seen such a naked promise of violence.
Malloy had seen it, too. He let go of Lindsay and stepped back quickly. Catlin slid out of the booth and stood with predatory grace.
"Hey, man, I was just kidding," Malloy said quickly, holding up his hands as though to show that he was weaponless, no threat at all.
"I told you once before. I don't have a sense of humor. I've never had to tell anyone a third time. Know what I mean?"
Malloy knew exactly what Catlin meant.
Catlin held out his left hand. Lindsay came to him instantly, pressing against the hard length of his body as though that could wipe away even the memory of Malloy's grasping fingers. Dimly she realized that she was trembling.
"I don't " Lindsay said, but her voice thinned until it broke. She closed her eyes and desperately willed herself to be calm. She had come this far. All she had to do was get out of the restaurant without going to pieces. "I don't feel very well, Catlin," she said carefully. "Too many late nights, I guess." Her smile was as pale as her face. "Would you mind very much if we skipped dessert?"
"You're all the dessert I ever need," he said softly, smiling down at her.
It was a real smile, promising comfort rather than violence. Lindsay tried to smile in return. Catlin's arm squeezed gently. He bent down and brushed his lips over her hair.
"Hang on," he breathed against her ear.
Her only answer was the painful tightening of her fingers on his wrist.
"Call me when you have something to sell," Catlin said over his shoulder.
He didn't wait for an answer. He simply picked up Lindsay's cape and led her out of the restaurant and into San Francisco's crisp, damp summer night. He felt her shoulders shake with each deep, almost desperate breath she took and he felt the fine trembling of her body as he settled the black wool cape around her.
Part of Catlin's mind wondered almost dispassionately whether the bronzes would be found before Lindsay shattered into useless fragments. She was sleeping no more than four hours a night, and she spent part of that time deep in nightmare, crying out for a childhood long dead.
Not that Catlin was doing much better. He wasn't crying out for the past, but he lay awake cursing the present with a rage that grew greater each tune Lindsay returned from her midnight shower and crawled into bed next to him. He hadn't needed to turn on the light to know that her eyes were swollen from crying. Spent tears clogged her breathing and made her movements clumsy. It had been all he could do not to gather her up and warm her with his body, to breathe reassurance and peace into her until she slept deeply within his arms.
But he had neither reassurance nor peace within himself, so how could he give either to her? And without that, how could she survive long enough to do what must be done?
Is that what Chen Yi meant when he told me to protect Lindsay? Catlin asked silently, savagely. Am I somehow supposed to protect her from herself? Because sure as hell I can't protect her from anything else. Not from Wu's righteous cruelty. Not from Malloy's clumsy slobbering. Not even from Stone's constant, subtle pressure to turn informer. What Lindsay really needs is a massive dose of tender loving care and nobody ever accused me of being tender or loving.
So what the hell good am I to her?
Lindsay shivered, drawing Catlin out of Ms bleak thoughts.
"Cold?" he asked, the only thing he could say because there were too many people around them.
"Just tired."
"Want to get a taxi instead of walking these hills?"
"No. I like being outside. It makes me feel free. Clean." She laughed. The sound was as brittle as her smile. "What a silly thing to say. Must be the wine."
Absently Lindsay nibbed her hands up and down her arms, both warming herself and enjoying the softness of the wool jersey cape.
Catlin unbuttoned his suit coat, preparing to give it to her in addition to the cape.
"No," Lindsay said quickly. "Your gun will show."
"So what? Everyone who matters knows that I'm always armed."
"You? Or Rousseau?" Then, quickly, "Never mind. It doesn't matter. They're the same man."
Once Catlin would have agreed with her. Now he wasn't sure. The man called Rousseau would not have had rage turning in his gut like molten steel every time he thought of the pressures being brought to bear on a woman whose only fault was in being more gentle than the world around her. Rousseau would have done what he could and not lost any sleep over the results.
But the man called Catlin wasn't sleeping very well lately.
"I'm sorry," whispered Lindsay. "I have no right to "
Her words were cut off as he stepped in front of her and wrapped her close. Even as his body registered her softness and warmth, his half-closed eyes looked past her, seeking the FBI surveillance team that had been behind him now for a week.
They were nowhere in sight.
After a moment, Catlin led Lindsay slowly down the street. He stopped to admire a display in a store window, drawing her to a halt beside him. After he looked at the fall clothing on the half dozen mannequins, he glanced back down the street casually. Still none of the shadowy, anonymous figures who had become familiar in the past week.
But there was a new shadow, a wiry Chinese man who was all the more remarkable for his loitering outside a restaurant that was blocks from Chinatown.
"We've got company," Catlin murmured.
"We always have company," Lindsay said, trying and failing to control a ripple of fear. That, too, was part of her nightmare. She had been followed like this before, shadows sliding soundlessly behind her as she ran toward something, driven
by a child's heedless anticipation of a gift. Lindsay knew one thing with a certainty that transcended rational memory: as a child, she had been followed and then something horrifying had happened, something that had been her fault. She knew that, too, even though she remembered only in nightmare what the incident was.
"This one's new," muttered Catlin.
Lindsay put her arms around him, resting against him for the space of a long breath. "Is that good or bad?"
"How are your feet?"
"Same way yours would be if you spent eight hours a day on tiptoe," she said, looking down at her high heels.
"Are you up to taking the long way home?"
"Catlin, I'll take any way home that will get me there," she said flatly.
"That's my honey cat," he said, smiling and kissing Lindsay's mouth softly. "Equal parts of claws and sweetness. Ready?"
Lindsay tried to ignore the sensations of heat sliding through her blood as Catlin smiled down at her and nuzzled her lips with his own. It was just an act, and Catlin-Rousseau was a consummate actor.
"Ready for what?" she asked.
"I want you to get a good look at the Chinese who's following us. No. Not yet," Catlin said, holding Lindsay's face immobile against his chest. "He's hanging way back. We're going to turn at the next corner, find a shop with a foyer and wait to see who comes looking for us. The man we want is about five feet six. He's wearing a dark, long-sleeved zipper jacket with no logo and dark slacks."
"Won't he know he's been discovered?"
"If you walked past a couple who had ducked out of the light for a bit of heavy breathing, would you worry about attracting their attention?"
Catlin kissed Lindsay swiftly before he turned and took her hand, kissed it and then kissed it again. As they walked along, he brought her hand to his lips many times, nibbled teasingly on her fingers and tested the softness of her inner wrist with his teeth, playing at being the impatient lover.
The instant they turned the corner, Catlin's legs stretched out in a fast, smooth stride, making for a doorway halfway down the block. He quickly discovered that the spot was even better than he had hoped. The sidewalk was illuminated from two sides from the store itself and from the streetlight nearby. He pulled Lindsay close.
Tell Me No Lies Page 29
