A Love For Always (8 page)

Sylvie glanced up when a quick rap sounded on her open door. Kato McMillan’s lean-muscled form stood before her. Her eyes narrowed at his attire. Jeans and a wife beater.
 

“What did I say about wearing a tank top in the kitchen?” At least he was wearing the scarf on his head.

“It’s broiling in there,” Kato answered sheepishly. “We’ve got the oven going for more soup bones and I’m making the tare for the ramen.”

“That’s no excuse. Wear a t-shirt if it’s too hot.”

“Aye-Aye, chef.”

Sylvie nodded and arched a brow, prodding Kato to state his business.
 

“I thought the Ma-Kombu was coming in last night?”

“It was.” Sylvie frowned. Ma-Kombu was the highest quality dried seaweed used for making her stock, and she had sourced it from a small-scale harvester in Osaka.
 
“I put it in . . . shit . . . no, it’s still in my Cherokee. Passenger seat.” She grabbed her keys and tossed them at Kato.
 

Catching the keys, Kato gave her a chin lift and swaggered out her office. Sylvie’s lips hitched. The boy made her smile. He had so much energy; he was the life of the kitchen. When any of her kitchen or waitstaff was having a bad day, Kato had a way of making them laugh, helping to make their difficult day easier. She knew the reason she took a shine to the young man was because he reminded her of herself. Kato didn’t take the job as her prep-chef because it was another job to earn money. The kid had shown real passion. He was meticulous and understood the importance of quality in craft and ingredients. From her chats with him, Sylvie was thankful he didn’t suffer from the prejudice that plagued her growing up.

Sylvie’s unusual almond-shaped green eyes were frequently ridiculed in school. Her hair was dark with auburn highlights, her skin normally milky white in the winter, tanned easily in the summer. Her Japanese-Scottish heritage certainly graced her with unique features kids at school thought were queer. Shunned by the white kids and grudgingly accepted by the other Asian kids who were obviously just too polite to turn her away, she had a lonely childhood. Her mother traveled a lot, leaving her with Nana for months at a time. One day, when she was about twelve, one of the bullies taunted her, announcing in the lunchroom that she was adopted. Sylvie ran into the girls’ room crying and stayed there for a while. By second period after lunch, a teacher came and got her and called Nana to pick her up.
 

Her grandma kept her from school the next day. It turned out, she had called Mom who immediately returned to Goochland from God knew where. Nana and Pru sat her down and told her the truth about her father. Her mom didn’t mince words. Sylvie was an illegitimate daughter simply because Pru refused to marry her dad.
 
He didn’t exactly have business on the right side of the law, and her mother never hid that fact.
 

“Your dad is a dangerous man who has enemies. At the time when you were three years old, the power struggle in the organization was vicious. That was why I took you away from him, but do not doubt that he wanted you. He loves you in his own way, Sylvie.”

“Did you love him, Mom?”

“Yes, but I love you more.”

Afterward, her mother quit traveling and built her workshop at the back of Nana’s house. The next summer, she took Sylvie to D.C. to meet her father for the first time since they’d left Japan. It was awkward to begin with, but Daichi Yoshida was larger than life even if he wasn’t a very tall man. The man exuded confidence and power. He had thick dark hair, a smooth clean cut face, tall nose, and shrewd slit eyes with large dark irises. She could see the tattoos peeking out from his long sleeved shirt.

A loud thud brought her out of her ruminations. Kato was too quiet, and he should have returned from her car by now.
 

“Kato?”

As if on cue, light footsteps treaded down the hallway, but Sylvie knew in her gut they did not belong to Kato.

She stilled herself as a figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Good morning, Sylvie San,” Hiroshi Mori greeted her with a malicious smile.
 

CHAPTER SIX

Drake Lassiter was not who Nate had expected. He’d dealt with DEA handlers before, but it was fairly evident, Cade Bowen’s boss was no bureaucratic pansy. The man was dressed in faded torn jeans, a tight white tee, and combat boots. He appeared to be shorter than Bowen, but it was hard to tell since he was leaning against a black Suburban. He was bulky, but not exactly ripped, with arms covered in sleeve tattoos much like Cade, and aviator shades shielding his eyes.
 

Nate turned off his bike and engaged the kickstand, lifting his chin to acknowledge the two men. Up close, he noticed a scar running along the side of Lassiter’s face. Shaved head, scruffy goatee, all Nate needed to complete his initial impression was a look into the man’s eyes. Obviously both of them knew the game well, because Nate himself was wearing shades.

The meet was set up on a piece of land abutting a deserted warehouse. Trees in full spring bloom, patches of grass, and loose dirt completed the isolated landscape. Returning his attention to Lassiter, Nate wondered if he should have brought backup. However, he trusted Cade, but then again, an agency like the DEA had seen its fair share of corruption.
 

“Nathan Reece,” Lassiter said his name with a trace of a sneer.

“Lassiter,” Nate acknowledged. Then nodding at Cade, he said, “Bowen.”

“I’ll cut to the chase, Reece,” Lassiter said. “Why exactly is a security specialist sticking his nose in DEA business and fucking up a sting operation that took us two years to build.”

“I’m sure Cade filled you in.”

“I’d like to hear it from you. I reckon, an ex-spook like you, this couldn’t be all about pussy.”

Anger spiked through his system, but Nate maintained an impassive face.

“Not sure what you’re talking about, Lassiter.” He didn’t elaborate.

This time, Lassiter took off his glasses and stepped closer to Nate, invading his personal space. Nate’s lips tilted up in a lopsided grin.
 

“Think you’re so smart,” the other man sneered. “On record, you’ve spent four years with U.S. SpecOps. Left the army at twenty-seven to do what? Be a security consultant for various companies that don’t really exist. But I’m sure your background’s airtight, isn’t it?”

Nate gave a brief huff of derisive amusement. He took off his own sunglasses and stared Lassiter in the eye. No question, this had devolved into a pissing contest.

“Get to the point, Lassiter.”

“Where are the pills?”

“Don’t have them.”

Lassiter stepped back and barked with mirthless laughter. Wagging his finger at Nate, he said, “Oh, you’re good. Looked right the fuck at me and baldly lied to a federal officer. You know I can arrest you for obstruction?”
 

This time Nate was the one who stepped into Lassiter’s personal space. “Try.”

“Guys, let’s hide the ruler, okay?” Bowen said wearily, speaking up for the first time.
 

“Off the record, we know you were CIA and you think you can use your connections to get away with bloody murder,” Lassiter said, glancing briefly at Cade. Of course Cade knew Nate was CIA, but he’d never admit it openly to Drake Lassiter. He just met the guy. “Well, not on my watch, Reece. Daichi Yoshida is going down, and if I need to use his daughter to get his attention, I will.”

“What is your agenda, Lassiter?” Nate asked. “How exactly will getting his attention take down the ACS? It’s a damned hydra. Multiple heads. You cut off one, another sprouts in its place.” His eyes narrowed, gauging the other man carefully. “I’d hazard a guess, it has nothing to do with shutting down the Asian Crime Syndicate, but more of using Sylvie as leverage. Blackmail. What exactly does Yoshida have that you want?”

It had something to do with the Glutathione Derivative Enzyme serum. Nate would bet his left nut on it.
 

Lassiter’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, but his face didn’t twitch a muscle. Long seconds passed between them as they continued to size each other up. It almost felt like they were in some Western duel. The only thing missing was a blistering sun beating down on them.

“I wanted this meet to appeal to your sense of duty to country,” Lassiter finally said, backing away with a look of disgusted regret on his face. “I see that man is gone. Your woman is mired in her father’s dirty business. She’s as guilty as every member of that organization.” Cade’s boss turned and walked toward his the SUV. Cade followed suit, casting a resigned look at Nate.

“You can’t protect her forever,” Lassiter threw over his shoulder.

Nate contemplated his next words, clenching his fists, which itched to wrap around the other man’s thick neck.
 

“Lassiter!” Nate called out.

The DEA boss had the SUV door open, but shifted his attention to Nate.

“Leave Sylvie Yoshida alone,” Nate said. “The only way you’ll get to her is through me. You don’t know what I’m capable of and you’ll only find yourself in a world of hurt.”

Nate pivoted, walked toward his bike, and got on.

“Now you’re threatening a federal agent, Reece,” Lassiter scoffed, but the crack in his bored facade told Nate he had hit a nerve.

“Not at all,” he returned evenly, gunning the engine. “I can find out everything about you, and something tells me I’ll dig up shit you’d wished had remained buried.”

“As if you don’t have your own shit.”

Nate’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Did you forget? I’m a ghost. And a ghost leaves no tracks.”

With a two-finger salute, Nate revved his engine and drove away.
 

*****

“Are you crazy?”

Sylvie glared at her father’s lieutenant. Hiroshi held up his phone and waved it at her before his fingers flew over the screen.

Her phone chimed. Message from Hiroshi aka PITA (Pain In The Ass).

PITA:
Your friends may have bugged the place. It is wise not to speak of business here
.

Sylvie:
Where is Kato?

PITA:
My associate has him. He is unharmed. We’re just taking care of the surveillance feeds
.
 

A frisson of alarm shot through her center. Nate had tampered with the feed last night. Hiroshi idly looked at the boxes in her office, not saying one word to her. After a few minutes, one of his men came into the office and whispered into Hiroshi’s ear. Sylvie watched the expression change on the lieutenant’s face, morphing from congenial to angry. He speared Sylvie with a furious stare, lips curling into a snarl as if he wanted to say something.

He typed furiously into his phone.

PITA:
Come with me.
 

“No.”

Hiroshi stalked past her desk, gripped her arm, and yanked her to her feet. He lowered his head. “You will come with me outside whether you like it or not. You have some explaining to do, little sparrow.”

“You wouldn’t dare hurt me.”

“You’re right. But I have no problem making an example of your kitchen assistant. How will he fare with one or two less fingers?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Quiet!” His gripped tightened on her arm as he pulled her toward the door. Hiroshi glanced down at her hand and grabbed her phone, tossing it on her table.

Sylvie jerked her arm out of his grasp and walked ahead of him. Kato was standing near the exit, glaring at the man pointing a gun at him.

“Kato, are you okay?”

“Chef?” Kato straightened from his stance; his troubled face and stuttered breathing signs of his distress.
 

“Don’t,” Sylvie warned her assistant. “He just wants to talk.” She turned to Hiroshi. “Please tell your man to lower his gun.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Sylvie,” Hiroshi replied and pushed her out the door.
 

Kato looked on helplessly.

“How dare you threaten my staff?” Sylvie railed at Hiroshi the moment they got into his car. He ignored her and told his henchman to drive around.

“Where are the pills, Sylvie?” Hiroshi asked her pointedly. “Part of the footage from last night is missing from the hard drive. Your car is suddenly in the parking lot. The pills have been taken out of the box. Where are they?” His accent was more pronounced, the Rs rolling off his tongue harshly.

“I threw them in the dumpster.”

“You what?”
 

“The garbage truck hauled them away this morning.”

“That sounds too convenient, especially without the footage. If I find out you’re trying to sell—”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Sylvie whispered, not looking at Hiroshi, but he didn’t give her a choice anyway. He caught her chin in a painful grip and forced her to look at him.

“What did you say?”

“I think someone is on to me.”

His eyes turned glacial. “How do you know?”

“I told you. I was being followed last night.” Sylvie pushed at his forearm to free her chin.
 

“Is that all?” he asked.
 

“Yes.”

“Who erased the footage?”

“I did.”

“Don’t lie to me, Sylvie! Is your assistant involved? Does he know of our arrangement?”

“No! No one does. Just me.”

Hiroshi remained silent, his gaze unwavering as if contemplating whether to believe her or not. “It might be a good time to broach the subject of marriage between us to your father again.”

Sylvie couldn’t help it. She laughed. Even when Hiroshi’s face reddened in anger, she couldn’t stop. “Oh, my God. Listen to you . . . this is America, not feudal Japan.”

“This is the only way he can keep you in line.”

“He or you? You’re in charge of East Coast operations and the only reason I agreed to this fucked up arrangement is because of Nana.”

“You are causing a lot of tension within the organization.”

“How?” Sylvie asked incredulously. “I’m a bastard daughter—”

“—and still Daichi’s blood. Yet you insist on living away from the protection I can give you. Your father has many enemies. You’re an easy target.”