Porter turned solid beside him. “Trouble find you, son?”
“Go!” Nate ordered the admiral.
The admiral looked at him incredulously. “And let you have all the fun?” He lowered his voice. “They’ll underestimate the old guy. They always do.”
He didn’t doubt the admiral. The man had been in as many dicey situations as Nate had.
“Too warm tonight for trench coats. They’re packing all right,” Nate observed grimly. “Let’s hope they’re not uzis or we’re screwed.”
Porter only grunted, but opened his car and grabbed something, presumably a weapon. Nate’s eyes were busy assessing the situation. Four men. All Asian, most likely Japanese. The parking lot’s concrete columns should provide ample cover in case of gunfire. Normally, when he had a jacket on, he had a side arm. Right now his Beretta 9mm was in his car.
Porter nudged him and tucked something behind his waistband. A gun.
Thank God for Porter.
The line of men in black stopped in front of them.
“Are we auditioning for a Tarantino movie?” Nate asked, deadpan.
Porter cursed behind him, muttering something about being a “smartass.”
The second man from the left stepped forward. “We’re here to deliver a message.” Heavy accent. Japanese. This guy had longish hair in a man bun much like a samurai’s ponytail.
Nate raised a brow. “And the message?”
“Stay away from Sylvie Yoshida.”
“No can do.” Nate chuckled mockingly. “What are you going to do about it?”
Man Bun gestured to the two goons on either side of him and drew his gun, pointing it at Porter. “Don’t interfere, old man.”
One of the guys pulled out a switchblade, while the second bigger guy stalked forward and drove a jab at Nate. Wrong move.
He dodged the blow and grabbed Big Guy’s wrist using it to twist the man’s arm while hauling him forward as he drove the heel of his other hand up against the man’s nose.
Simultaneous with the sound of a gunshot, Man Bun howled in pain as he dropped the firearm in his hand. Guess Porter took care of that threat. Nate’s peripheral vision clocked the fourth goon moving in. Pushing Big Guy, who was still stunned and sporting a bloody nose, into the man holding the switchblade, Nate used the momentum of the push to drop kick the fourth goon before he could draw his weapon.
Nate rolled to one knee, cocking his other leg in front of him and drawing the gun behind his waistband to level it at the men on the ground. Porter was holding Man Bun at gunpoint.
Slowly rising, Nate kept his gun trained on their assailants. “Who sent you?” Obvious answer would be Hiroshi Mori, but he wouldn’t put it past Sylvie’s dad to give the direct order.
Silence and baleful glares met his question.
“I repeat . . . who—”
A screeching of tires and revving of an engine sent a frisson of alarm through Nate’s system. A black sedan barreled straight for him, for everyone actually. A gun appeared at the driver’s side and fired.
A burn on Nate’s side sent him spinning, but he found the strength to jump on top of the hood before the car plowed him down. He bounced off the vehicle and crashed on cold concrete.
Motherfucker. The wind knocked out of him, his body seized as unbelievable agony rattled his bones. He willed himself to roll to his front, and for the second time that evening, picked himself off the floor. He fought against blacking out, pulling on the adrenalin rush to keep going. Two of their assailants had been run over, the other two were running after the black sedan, which braked right at the turn to the garage exit.
“Are you all right?” Porter asked, hurrying over to Nate. Sylvie. His one thought was of Sylvie. He had to get to her.
“Reece!” Ed Shephard jogged toward them, building security right behind him. “What the fuck happened, man?”
“Sylvie,” Nate growled, pulling out his phone. It was smashed. “Dammit. Ed. Phone.”
Shephard took out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Nate.
He tapped in the number, which he had memorized by heart, but her phone only kept on ringing.
“Come on. Come on,” Nate muttered, already striding toward his car. Voice mail. “Fuck!”
“Reece, calm down,” Porter said. “She’s fine. I don’t think these guys will hurt her.”
“No, but they may simply grab her,” Nate snapped. “Ed, can you handle the perps?”
Shephard nodded. “I got this. Go get your girl.”
Porter grabbed the keys from Nate. “I’m driving.”
“I’ll be damned before I let you drive my car,” Nate growled.
“You’ve been shot,” Porter stated calmly. “You probably have a concussion. Tell me why I shouldn’t drive you straight to the hospital.”
“We’re wasting time,” Nate snarled, too focused on getting to Sylvie to care about his Ferrari. He strode to the passenger side, but he had to add, “Not a scratch, Admiral.”
*****
Her ears were ringing.
It was dark, save for some sparks and emergency lights. Her cheeks were damp. Dazedly, Sylvie looked above her. Sprinklers.
What happened?
She could see a gaping hole punched through to her office all the way through the other wall to the kitchen. There was a glow flickering in the dark. A fire?
“Kato!” she croaked, pushing to her feet. She wobbled a bit and staggered down the hallway littered with debris. “Rick?”
Oh, God!
Ceiling boards had come loose as well as wires and light fixtures. She turned into the room that used to be her kitchen. The sprinkler was battling the fire valiantly.
The door was partially open, but something was wedged behind it. Sylvie crouched and saw the shelving had fallen across. She also saw Kato lying on the floor, unconscious.
“Oh, my God! Kato!”
“Sylvie, thank Christ! You need to get out of here.” Rick moved unsteadily toward her. “Taylor and I were on our way to punch out when your office exploded.”
Sylvie’s ears were still ringing, but she caught the gist of what Rick was shouting at her. His head was bleeding. “Is Taylor all right?”
“Banged up—”
“We need to get Kato.” Sylvie eyed the fires warily. Seeing it dying out gave her some relief, but not until she knew if her kitchen assistant was fine.
“I shut the gas valve off, but we’re not sure if there are secondary devices. You need to get out.” The urgency of Rick’s voice came through the buzzing in her head. Why did he think there were secondary devices? What exactly caused the explosion? The package?
“I’m not leaving Kato—”
“I’ll get him.”
Sylvie ignored Rick and pushed at the door. Her sous chef cursed behind her and helped her push.
“It’s not budging,” she said morosely.
“You think?” Rick shot back.
“My office. The fires are down; I’m small enough to get through the hole.”
“I don’t think—”
“We’re wasting time arguing.” Sylvie was already heading toward her blown out office. “You’ll need to hoist me up.” They needed to see how badly Kato was hurt.
“This is a bad idea,” Rick muttered, lifting her through the jagged opening.
“You got a better one?” Sylvie gasped out as she landed on the fallen shelf. It was wedged between the work table by the wall, and the center work table that was laden heavily at its bottom shelf. She nearly slipped from the wetness of the floor, but managed to gingerly step through the mess of broken ceramics and spilled ingredients.
Kato was chest down on the floor near the sink. His arms were at an odd angle, but it didn’t look like he was thrown or anything. She knelt and checked for a pulse. There was a slow, steady one. That was good right?
She could hear Rick trying to pry the door open. He was talking to someone else. Taylor?
“Kato? Wake up.” Sylvie brush
ed his cheek, looking around warily as the kitchen grew steadily darker with the dying fire.
He blinked, but didn’t quite open his eyes. “Chef?” he mumbled.
“You’re going to be fine.”
“What happened?”
“There was an accident.” She scanned his body for injuries. “Can you move your fingers and feet? Don’t move your head yet.”
Kato groaned. “I can feel them. I think I can get up.”
“Don’t!”
He didn’t listen and got up anyway. First to his knees, and then finally, with Sylvie’s help, to his feet. Kato looked bewilderedly around the mess of the kitchen. “What the fuck?”
Rick and Taylor finally nudged the door open wide enough to let her and Kato through.
“About time you woke up, kid,” Taylor said.
The four of them limped to the back exit. Just before they got to the door, it slammed open. The firefighters had arrived.
CHAPTER NINE
Nate tried Sylvie’s number over and over on the drive to the restaurant. Each time he got her voice mail, his panic escalated which was a feeling unfamiliar to him. So when his Ferrari pulled up to a sea of red and blue flashing lights and two fire trucks, his head swam with dread.
Before the vehicle even came to a full stop, he was already out of the car. Officers kept curious onlookers away from the building that housed Sapporo Ramen. There was a sizable crowd given that people were coming home from a night of clubbing and this was a mostly residential neighborhood. Nate zeroed in on the two ambulances and relief swept through him when he spotted Sylvie.
“Sir, you need to stand back,” a uniform informed him as he tried to pass the line.
Nate pointed to Sylvie. “That’s my girlfriend.”
The officer’s stern face relaxed and nodded for him to go through.
“Sylvie!” Nate called. She was standing at the back of the emergency vehicle, hovering over Kato who was being treated for injuries.
Her face was inscrutable when she turned to him. Was she in shock? But no. There was something else in her eyes. Anger. Pure unadulterated anger.
“Sylvie,” he repeated, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, swiping his hand away.
“Babe—”
She stepped into his space. “It’s gone,” she snarled. “Everything I’ve worked for”—she slashed her arm toward the building—“destroyed. All because you”—she jabbed a finger at his chest—“decided to stick your nose in my business.”
She backed away, her lower lip trembling, and there was nothing Nate wanted more than to pull her into his arms.
“Sylvs, I know you—”
“You don’t know a damn thing!” Sylvie yelled. Some of the first responders looked at them curiously. Realizing the spectacle she was making, Sylvie swallowed a sob and stalked away from him.
Nate caught Cade’s eye, his jaw tightening. He’d deal with the DEA agent later.
He followed Sylvie to a relatively quiet area of the parking lot.
Her shoulders were slumped, hands on her hips. She was breathing heavily as if battling for control.
“Sylvs, you’re in shock, and when you’ve calmed down—”
“Don’t feed me more lies,” she whirled on him, her eyes shooting daggers. “I am not some fragile flower who can’t deal with the fact her boyfriend is using her to get to her father.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’ve been trying to ignore the clues in my head, but they keep hitting me smack in the face,” Sylvie whisper-yelled. “I was managing just fine, and then not two weeks of you waltzing back into my life, things went to hell in a handbasket. The DEA is suddenly on to me. Hiroshi is starting to get nervous and is pushing to get married. Now my restaurant blows up nearly killing me and my crew.”
“You think I want to kill you?” Nate asked incredulously, his fury shooting straight to his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he was trying to be a damned understanding boyfriend, but her words cut right through him. It fucking hurt.
“No. But you’ve pissed someone off, and they’re retaliating through me. I don’t know what you’re up to, Nate.” Sylvie shook her head. “Was I part of a long con? Did you have to put up with me for nine years? Showing up every now and then to keep me in line before you decided to take down my father?”
“You’re letting that scumbag Hiroshi fuck with your head. The ACS is so far down the CIA’s list, they’re not even a blip.”
“So, I’m right? You still work for the CIA?”
“Sylvie, this is not a conversation for right now.”
She ignored him and continued to rant. “Are you denying it was you who sent the pictures to my father to taunt him that I will never be safe?”
“What pictures?”
“Stop pretending,” Sylvie scoffed, her hands clenched at her sides.
Nate figured she was holding on by a thread, and if she’d let loose, she would have decked him by now. He longed to comfort her, hug her, even let her rail against him, but she was in an irrational state of mind.
“I don’t know how you did it,” she continued, “but those pictures were taken a few days ago from inside the restaurant. After Sam fixed the feed.” The way she looked at him killed him. As if he’d betrayed her.
“I swear to you, Sylvs,” Nate gritted through his teeth, “I had nothing to do with it.”
“He’s right,” Cade’s voice broke through their argument.
“Not now, Bowen.” Nate glared at the DEA agent.
If it was possible for her to lose any more color, she did. She split a confused look between the two of them.
“Were these the pictures that were sent to you?” Cade held out the screen of his phone to Sylvie.
“Rick?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not Rick Meyer. Name’s Cade Bowen. I’m DEA.” At Sylvie’s gasp, Cade hurriedly added, “But I had nothing to do with sending those pictures nor blowing up the restaurant. I was in there for fuck’s sake.”
Sylvie was backing away from both of them. Fear twisted Nate’s gut. He was losing her.
“You knew he was DEA?” Sylvie choked, looking accusingly at him.
Fuck!
“Sylvie, it’s not what you think.” Nate wanted to explain from the beginning. Damn Bowen, she wasn’t supposed to find out this way.
“Did you or did you not know Rick”—Sylvie’s mouth twisted in disdain—“oh sorry, Cade—was DEA? It’s a simple yes or no answer, Nate.”
“It really isn’t,” Nate shot back sarcastically, getting pissed.
“Yes or no!” Sylvie snapped.
“I think you know the answer.”
“Fuck you both,” Sylvie said scathingly. “I don’t want to see either of you ever again.” She looked at Cade. “You’re fired.”
She walked away from them, returning to the ambulance where Kato was getting ready to be loaded.
Nate moved to follow her.
“Give her some space, Reece.”
“Space?” Nate growled. “Someone tried to blow her up. Fuck space. She can be mad at me all she wants, but I’m not fucking letting her out of my sight.”
He had a couple of things to sort out however, so he’d give Sylvie a few hours to process what had happened, and then he’d come for her. He wasn’t going to let the asshole who destroyed her livelihood destroy them. No one was keeping him away from Sylvie, and that included her.
*****
Four freaking hours in the hospital. A tedious time answering questions from the MPD detectives, a CT scan, and getting poked and prodded by a doctor to check for concussion. Sylvie was hanging on at the edge of her patience. Right now she was in the sterile waiting area of the emergency room waiting for Kato to be released. His parents were sitting closer to the nurses’ station. She was drained and wanted to go home. But which home? She dreaded going to Nate’s house, but Nana’s serum was there. Sh
e was also regretting some of the words she’d said to him in anger and didn’t know how to face him.
As if she had conjured him up, his long frame folded on the seat beside her.
“You okay?” His eyes searched her face worriedly. “Do you have a concussion?”
Sylvie shook her head. A sudden surge of emotion threatened to send her into a sobbing mess. She’d been trying to hold back her tears, but with Nate showing up, she suddenly felt it okay to let go, to not be strong all the time. That he’d be there to pull her back in case she wallowed in too much self-pity.
“Nate,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
His chocolate brown eyes softened. He gave her a wry smile. “I know. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. I made some pretty fucked up accusations,” Sylvie puffed a mirthless laugh.
“You were in shock, Sylvie. I’ve also kept things from you. I’ve known Bowen a long time, but I was surprised to see him that day I turned up at your restaurant. That’s the truth.”
“I can’t believe Rick is DEA,” Sylvie said sadly. “I trusted him. I considered him a good friend.”
“He was just doing his job, Sylvs,” Nate said. “I’ve talked to Cade and he said those pictures were just regular surveillance photos. They were never meant to be used against your father. His boss promised an investigation.”
Just then, Kato showed up, a weak grin on his face. “I’m all clear,” he told his parents.
Sylvie stood and waited for Mrs. McMillan to finish fussing over her son before she approached.
When it was her turn, she said, “You scared the shit out of me, kiddo.”
Kato’s nose wrinkled at the endearment. “I’m tough. I just took a header against the edge of the work table, that’s all. Thanks for not running out on me.”
“Never.”
“So, I guess this means we’re on vacation.”
Sylvie grimaced. “I’ll have the structural engineers look over the damage. As soon as I know, I’ll contact everyone. I am not expecting you to wait around indefinitely. Don’t make a decision tonight. I’ll call everyone on Monday. Take what’s left of the weekend to relax.” She would also have to deal with the insurance company and wasn’t sure what she could claim given that the damage wasn’t accidental.
A Love For Always Page 10
