He surprised her by taking a hard left just as the lights ahead began to change. She put her foot down and negotiated the junction just as waiting traffic surged forward. The sound of angry horns faded behind her. She had memorized the city’s street grid so she knew precisely where they were, and which direction they were traveling. West along Jackson, above and parallel with California Street. Apparently he had changed his mind about returning to her apartment. Where was he going, and why? She considered the possibilities. Guessing served no purpose other than to serve as a distraction, since she had three hours to kill before tonight’s scheduled conference, which she had every intention of attending. She could not return to her apartment, and obtaining alternative temporary accommodation in the city carried an additional element of risk, since they would expect her to do just this. She followed him not only to gain information that could be of value, but also because she had nowhere else to go.
###
Ryker became aware that he was muttering to himself under his breath. Bad habit. But an indication of his awareness that he could be committing professional suicide. So be it. He’d made the decision and he’d live with the consequences. He drove on autopilot, and that infallible inner mechanism took him back to Valerie Lin’s house in Sea Cliff district. During the long journey—it seemed to take hours -- he replayed what she’d said to him when she called him at the hospital. She’d wanted to talk to him. Why? Then she’d abruptly changed her mind. Why? Those questions refused to be ignored. They demanded answers, if only to quell the pounding in his ears. His pulse was racing, his mouth was dry. It wasn’t too late to turn back; wasn’t too late to avoid what would be the most embarrassing moment of his life, when he confronted one of her servants at the door and they told him Mrs. Lin would much prefer if he made an appointment instead of turning up at her home unannounced and unwelcome.
Spider would suspend him. Captain Jerko would demand his badge. The D.A. and whatever government departments wanted James Lin and his family protected from idiots like Hal Ryker would throw him in jail. What the hell was he doing here? He didn’t know. He doubted his own sanity. He kissed goodbye to his future with SFPD and walked up the driveway, up the steps, across the porch, and to the front door of a woman he could never have even if he lived a thousand lifetimes.
His finger stabbed the doorbell.
He expected the maid, or the gardener, or someone who would tell him to go away. He didn’t expect Valerie Lin to open her own door and stare at him with dark, unblinking eyes that held the key to the universe. She wore a black silk shirt with a high collar. An ivory comb secured her hair, exposing her graceful neck. Her expression and her body language gave nothing away. He wanted her to say something; she didn’t. It was up to him to dig his own grave.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said.
“Are you?” Her harsh tone surprised him; he hadn’t expected that.
“If this is a bad time for you, if I’m interrupting something—”
She turned and walked along the hallway, leaving the door open. An invitation? He took it as such, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. He looked upstairs, and into adjoining rooms. No sign of anyone. Valerie Lin disappeared into the living room. He followed her, and braced himself for a tirade of histrionic shouting, a delayed reaction to his delivering the news of her husband’s death. Was this why he’d driven here? Was he obeying some subliminal instinct that knew she had to let off steam before she exploded?
In the living room she touched a button that caused the curtains to close, blocking the view of the garden and the sea beyond. Dim yellow wall lights came on automatically, illuminating the ceiling and casting a soft glow over the room. She walked to a wooden cabinet and opened its doors.
“What would you like to drink, Detective Sergeant?”
“I’m on duty. Thanks anyway, Mrs. Lin.”
“You don’t mind if I have one?”
“Help yourself.” His voice sounded rough to his own ears. He wanted to ask for some water but sensed that something was going on, something damn weird.
She opened a bottle and half-filled a tumbler glass. She added ice and lemon and a splash of something else he didn’t see. She turned to face him. She leaned back against the cabinet and folded her arms, swilling the drink in the glass. She took a sip, apparently found it to her liking, took another.
“Before my husband died, this would have been utterly unthinkable,” she said.
He wasn’t sure what “this” was so he kept his mouth shut, let her do the talking.
“Allowing a stranger into our house. A man. A white.” She swirled her drink, the ice cubes clinked. “And drinking alcohol. Shocking. Forbidden. For guests only. Never for the dutiful wife.” This time she took a mouthful, closing her eyes. “I dismissed my servants for the night. I wanted to be alone. Or thought I did. They will not leave their quarters unless I call them. Should I call them?”
Ryker shook his head, feeling helpless. “I don’t know, Mrs. Lin. Do you need them for something?”
“I need them, Detective Sergeant, to restore my sense of duty and obligation. I need them to help preserve my honor. I need them so I will remember who and what I am. My husband is dead.” She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “My husband is dead.” She opened her eyes again, and held him spellbound with her unblinking gaze. “His ghost is doomed to walk the earth until he is avenged. He is here, watching us, listening to our conversation. He disapproves of our meeting under these circumstances. He wishes you to leave, at once.” She almost shouted the words.
Ryker didn’t know what she was drinking, but he knew it wasn’t doing her any good. He took the glass from her hand and put it down on top of the cabinet. “Take my advice, Mrs. Lin. Lay off the juice and get some sleep.”
She slapped his face with enough power to make him stagger. He hadn’t sensed the blow coming, it was totally spontaneous, unplanned, unavoidable. The side of his face felt numb.
“How dare you?” she said. “I am not a child.”
“No, you’re not.” The numbness faded, replaced by what felt like scalding heat.
“You will not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Only my husband may command me. Only he. No one else.”
He felt enormous pity for her. He’d been right, she had wanted him here, but not for any of the reasons he’d imagined. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”
She brushed past him even as he turned away and reached the living room door before him. She slammed it shut and stood there with her back to him, one hand against the door, her shoulders heaving as she sucked in air. He didn’t know if she wanted him to pull her hand away, open the door, and leave. Or whether she wanted him to stay.
Her hands worked at the front of her jacket. They moved down, lower, lower still. She gave a little shrug and the black silk slid off her shoulders revealing creamy flesh beneath, and a pattern of three tiny birthmarks over her left shoulder blade. She kept her arms in the sleeves so the jacket hung from her waist. If she wanted to, she could pull it up again and cover herself. If she wanted to, she could turn round and show him her breasts.
He wasn’t surprised at his reaction. His cock tried to rip its way out of his pants to get to her. But what did she want? His hands on her? Or was she about to lose it and cry rape?
He’d played things cautiously all his life and gotten nowhere. He crossed to her in two long strides and pulled her round to face him. Her eyes were huge, filled with surprise and want. He pulled her against him, covered her lips with his. His hands caressed her naked back, loving the cool touch of her skin. She moaned into his mouth as he moved his fingertips in small circles. He drew swirling patterns up and down her spine and she arched her back. She stuck her stiff tongue into his mouth. He thanked God he’d chewed a fresh mint on the way over here because her tongue tried to follow it down his throat. He became aware that the jacket was gone, proba
bly lying at their feet. Her hands fumbled at her waist, brushing against his pants. She gasped and became motionless. He opened his eyes, found himself staring into hers. Her fingers clamped themselves around his rigid prick, feeling him through the wool-cotton material, seeking the outline of him behind his zipper. She squeezed him so tightly that he instinctively jerked his hips back and stepped away, afraid he’d come. He saw now that she’d loosened the drawstring holding her pants up. The black silk slid down around her ankles. Underneath she wore nothing. Her waist was tiny. Her hips divine. Her legs shapely with defined muscle. His gaze fixed upon the shiny black triangle that marked the entrance to her sex. Even from here he could smell her desire. Her gaze in turn was locked to his crotch. She covered her mouth with both hands. He’d never felt so hard before. He hoped his pants made his prick look bigger. Judging from her shocked expression, it did.
Before she had a chance to change her mind -- if such a possibility existed -- he wrapped his arms around her and physically carried her to the couch. She weighed almost nothing. He laid her naked, trembling body down on the soft leather and stood over her, unbuckling his pants while she watched. He maneuvered his zipper around his pulsing totem pole, careful not to rip his foreskin off, which would be an inauspicious start to their lovemaking -- a thought that almost had him giggling like a nervous schoolboy about to make it to third base with the school bike. He put his kidney holster, badge, cuffs and phones on the floor and pushed them away with his foot. He slid his pants and his shorts down his legs. He slipped off a shoe, intending to step out of his pants and join her on the couch.
Before he could, she sat bolt upright, grabbed hold of his buttocks, pulled his hips forward and fastened her lips over his cock head. Not that he didn’t want her to but he had other plans—
plans that didn’t involve her devouring his cock as if she hadn’t eaten for a week. He tried to pull her head away as gently as he could, but she was clamped onto him like a leech and clearly had no intention of letting go. His plans turned to shit as her furious sucking brought him to his peak in record time. Every muscle in his body trembled in ecstasy as he leaned back slightly and shot his volcanic payload into orbit. She gurgled and choked and jerked her head away, a scattered spider-web of semen joining her chin to his still-throbbing cock. She looked up at him and he looked down at her, equally surprised. She giggled with delight and covered her face with both hands again -- then realized her mistake, that she’d just made matters worse. Her fingers came away covered in his essence. She stared at her own hands with bemusement, if he interpreted her expression correctly. He could hardly do anything except gasp for breath and hope he didn’t keel over. He’d never felt so embarrassed in his life.
She picked up her black silk pants and while she maintained eye contact with him, she carefully wiped him clean. The touch of the cool silk against his over-sensitive prick sent shivers through his body. When she was finished she wiped the cum-drool off her chin and the dribbles off her breasts. She tossed the pants away and stood up. She pressed herself against him, careful not to injure his most vulnerable part. She rested her head against his chest and said, “I had forgotten what a man tastes like.”
“I didn’t intend for that to happen,” he told her. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” She drew back and looked at him. “For what?”
He opened his mouth to explain but couldn’t find the right words.
She put her head against him again and he felt her shake. Realized she was laughing. “You think you have disappointed me? You could not possibly be further from the truth.” The shaking subsided. Her voice became more serious. “I begged the gods to allow you to come to me tonight. I offered them everything. I offered them my own life to be allowed just one night in the company of a man who finds me attractive, who is not so disgusted with me that he would rather rut with whores than share a bed with me.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I don’t understand at all. Why would your husband treat you like that? Why would he even look at someone else?”
“You found her attractive, didn’t you? The woman who made love to Lin Dan before he died. Zhu Xiaohui. Isn’t that her name?”
“Yes and no.” Ryker instinctively held her at arm’s length so he could see her face and he could see his. “I can see how men would find her desirable. But the truth is, she didn’t press my buttons. Not like you did. Not like you’re doing right now.”
She shook her head with obvious disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me you would rather be with me than her? That’s absurd. She knows everything about pleasing a man.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Each to their own. I’ve told you the truth. Yeah, looks-wise, she’s okay. But as far as pleasing a man goes, I really have to say, you’re not so bad yourself. If I’m not making myself clear, that’s a compliment. A very big compliment.”
She came to him again and this time, as well as putting her head against his chest, she encircled his waist with her arms, which surprised him, in a pleasant way.
“Yesterday,” she said. “When we met for the first time. What did you think of me?”
“I’m afraid to tell you.”
“How can you be afraid, after what we just did? I still have your taste in my mouth.” She purred against him, soft and sensual and very naked. Her hand moved down and reached underneath, and her sharp little fingernails raked his scrotum, a slow, pleasurable sensation. Against all expectations he felt a stirring in what he thought was dead tissue. “I don’t wish to put you under any pressure, Detective Sergeant,” she said, “but it is my hope that you may become erect again very soon.” She clawed him again. Heat diffused his cock, which felt heavier. “You have pleasured my mouth. I wish you also to pleasure my cunt. But first... what did you think of me?”
“What did I think of you?” He had to swallow hard before he could speak. She did it again and this time her fingernails continued up, clawing the underside of his swelling cock, stopping just before the head, as if she knew he was still too sensitive there. “I was mesmerized. Fixated. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Every movement you made, every gesture. Every word you spoke.”
“Were you aroused?”
She knew. She knew and she was playing with him. He glanced at the floor, checking exactly where he’d left his gun holster. If a gang of Chinese thugs kicked the door open and came at him, he’d get off a couple of shots before they took him down. Jesus, Ryker, you are one suspicious bastard! This couldn’t possibly be part of some twisted revenge plan she’d concocted because he’d insulted her.
“Yes,” he said. “I was very aroused.”
Her fingers, over his tight ball-sack, up his rigid cock, around the rim of his engorged head. “I thought so.” She chuckled. “I couldn’t be sure. It was only after you left that I had time to think, to go over our meeting in more detail.”
“Now you know. Are you angry?”
“Angry? Because you became hard at the sight of me? No, I see what you mean. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The circumstances were less than ideal. My husband had died. You were the bearer of sad tidings. You carried out your duty well. And you were honest with me. I remember that too. Please, I can’t wait any longer. Please....”
He put his hands around her tiny waist and lifted her up off the floor. She put her arms around his neck and drew her knees up to her chest. They enjoyed an exquisite moment where his swollen and eager cock head hovered directly beneath her wet and fully open sex, just barely touching her labia with every beat of his heart. Her breath came in desperate gasps. Sweat ran down her face. He lowered her onto his pole. Her furnace enclosed him totally. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Without warning she let go of his neck and leaned completely back, so he had to hold her hips to stop her from falling off. Whimpering noises escaped from her throat. He moved her up and down, hoping he was doing the right thing. Her insides clamped about him, giving him a clue. He kept at it, hoping his heart didn’t give out before she took her
pleasure.
CHAPTER 16
For the thousandth time, Manning had to wonder just what the hell he was doing.
He’d been at the S.F.P.D. precinct for over an hour, waiting in a small interrogation room. All had gone well upon his arrival. He’d left his firearm at home, so going through the metal detector hadn’t been an issue, but the uniformed cop manning it had gone over his body with a wand anyway, just to be sure. His California driver’s license had been scanned and entered into a computer, and from that a temporary badge had been made, which bore his photo, name, and the legend ESCORTED. After that, he’d been buzzed into the stationhouse itself, and escorted by another uniformed officer to the interrogation room. Manning had been unnerved that this is where he had been taken, and it left him wondering if the Tokyo police had made him after all. The door had been left open, and as Manning sat at the table in the center of the room, passersby would look in at him. Manning looked back, his face a composed mask.
This is stupid, he thought. Just a waste of time.
Finally, the door opened. An officious-looking woman stepped in, followed by a man in a rumpled suit. He regarded Manning with bleary eyes. The woman walked directly toward the desk and held out her hand.
“Mr. Manning?” she asked, even though he was sitting alone in the room and wearing a name badge. “Good afternoon–I’m Selma Kaplan, from the district attorney’s office, and this is Detective Sergeant Hal Ryker, the lead investigator on the case.”
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