Kiss of the Blue Dragon (17 page)

I nodded. Every now and then you’d see something in the news about a Japanese corporate executive who committed hara-kiri because his company went bankrupt. It was considered the honorable way to account for failure. In America, CEOs who bankrupted companies didn’t apologize for their shortcomings. They waltzed into the sunset with billion-dollar buyout packages.

“So,” Vladimir said, still showing no signs of affect from the alcohol, “I took these girls because Capone went to a fucking boatload of trouble to get them to market. He wanted to play the magnanimous godfather and sell them to the Chinese community here in Chicago to strengthen their bloodlines. So I’m going to make sure they end up with good boys from the motherland, just to embarrass him.”

“You’re going to sell them to your own people?”

“Or give them away. I don’t know. But I want these girls to have children named Vladimir, Sergei and Natasha. And I’ll do it just to see Capone have a heart attack over it.”

Revenge. I was beginning to think it made the world go around. I took a long sip of my champagne. Every man had his price. What was Gorky’s? If I knew a little bit more about him, perhaps I could make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“So tell me, Vladimir, how did you and my mother get to know each other?”

He pressed his large hand over his heart. “She never told you? I’m crushed. She must be ashamed of me.”

“My mother and I don’t share secrets. She didn’t raise me after the age of seven, so I don’t know much about her.”

He shrugged. “Oh, we’ve known each other for years. When I was a younger man and still involved in street activities for the R.M.O., I was in charge of the Rogers Park operation. At that time the Cosa Nostra was still a player in the gangland scene. This old hit man named Jerry Manetto got a shot off on me outside of Lola’s parlor. I killed the bastard, but not before he plugged a wad of metal in my thigh.”

He stopped and I leaned forward. “Really?”

“Lola came down and pulled me into her building. She dug out the plug, sewed me up and nursed me back to health. I couldn’t go to the hospital or I’d be arrested.”

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Lola operated on you?”

“She dug around a bit,” he said, his eyes finally relaxing from the vodka. “Then she told me I was going to have a great future. I came back for more readings after that.”

I blinked in amazement. What more had my mother done that she hadn’t told me about?

“In fact, I say I owe all my success to Lola Baker. She has an uncanny ability to see the future and to advise me to make good decisions.”

My heart started pounding. I couldn’t believe how deep into this R.M.O. scene Lola had gotten herself. If Gorky really believed Lola’s readings had helped him, he had a helluva way of showing his gratitude. I’d hate to see how he treated his enemies.

“If you’re so grateful to Lola, why did you kidnap her? You slaughtered her cleaning lady, for God’s sake!”

“I am sorry about that,
dorogaya moya.” My dear
. Another inappropriate endearment. “The woman wouldn’t cooperate and my Sgarristas got a little carried away.”

“Were they trying to kill my mother?”

He shook his head with a look of benign regret. “No, Angel
moy
, I would do nothing like that. Lola just made me mad. She had some information about something I hold very dear, something I lost. And she wouldn’t tell me where it was. You don’t want to make Vladimir Gorky mad.”

He poured another drink. The clear liquid
glugged from the blue bottle. His hands were calloused and muscled, with tufts of gray hair curling on the fingers. He wore two rings. One was a pinky ring adorned with a diamond that was so big I wondered if he’d stolen it from the last tsar’s crown jewel collection. The other was a shiny, fat gold monstrosity on his ring finger. Simple in contrast, it was adorned with a three-dimensional silhouette of the symbol of Russia—the two-headed eagle.

I suddenly remembered Mike’s dream:
the eagle soon comes for the blue dragon
. Typical of my luck, it was now two heads against one.

I was beginning to glimpse the big picture here. Lola was hopelessly enmeshed in Gorky’s world, and if she didn’t somehow detach herself, she’d probably end up like the headless housekeeper.

I had to find a way to make Gorky lose interest in Lola the Soothsayer and at the same time give up a one-hundred-million-dollar investment that was guaranteed to satisfy his quest for revenge. What dark human motive was stronger than revenge? Perhaps greed, but I wasn’t in a position to buy him off.

Oh, if only I were Cosmo the Magnificent, I could just make Gorky disappear. Right now sleight of hand would be more useful than my psychic ability.

“What are you thinking about, Angel
moy
?” he said. “You are so serious. I hope I haven’t frightened you.”

Psychic. That was it! I could convince Gorky my mother was a fraud to make him lose interest in her, then find his lost treasure myself, thereby earning his
gratitude, which I could then parlay into the release of the girls. I could kill two eagles with one stone.

“Vladimir,” I said, leaning forward and speaking in confidential tones, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Lola is a fraud.”

He frowned skeptically.

“She doesn’t know how to read the past, present or future. She’s a con artist. She’s been taking you for a ride for years.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know. She’s admitted as much to me. Her ability to tell the future stinks.”

He gave me a knowing smile. “Ah, I see how it is. Children never want to admit their parents can do anything right. One day,
dorogaya moya
, you will see your mother’s good points.”

I shook my head. “When she mentioned your lost treasure, it was simply an accident. She was drunk. She made up something that just happened to be the truth. That’s why she couldn’t you tell where it actually was. She wasn’t holding anything back. She simply didn’t know.”

“And how do you know all this? What makes you the expert?”

“Because I am a true psychic.” This time I really meant it and I could see it made an impression on him. He was really listening to me now. “I was tested and scored off the charts. And speaking as a professional, Vlad, you need to forget about Lola. She’s well-meaning, but a rank amateur. Yeah, she’s a good old gal, but her advice can’t be trusted. Just leave her alone.”

He frowned at me, his inscrutable blue eyes scanning as his sharp mind whirled. I couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.

“I hope, Angel
moy
, that you are not the one who is now trying to play me for the fool.”

I reached out and gripped his wrist. He looked down at it in surprise. “Trust me, Vladimir. I will find your lost treasure. But on one condition.”

He grinned slyly. “You want the girls.”

I nodded, releasing his arm. I had laid out my best hand. It was time to sit back and see if he was ready to fold.

“It’s a deal.” He leaned closer to me and whispered, “But if you fail,
dorogaya moya
, I will throw you from my house into Lake Michigan where you will sleep with the fishes.”

His soft purr sent a shiver of foreboding down my spine. I had just committed myself to having a vision on command. Not just any vision, but a very specific one that had to produce results. What if I failed?

“Sleep with the fishes?” I said with a forced laugh. “I thought that modus operandi died with the Italian Mafia.”

He smiled and poured more vodka. “It is just a figure of speech. You know all too well how we kill our enemies.”

“Yes, I know.” And if I needed a reminder, all I’d have to do was ask the headless housekeeper.

La Petite Morte

I
arranged to meet with Gorky at 9:30 p.m. the next night at his lakeside compound. After walking back to my place from Rick’s, I called my brother and asked him to check the station data bank to see if there was any information about Gorky’s mansion. If I knew what I was walking into and how to get out, I’d increase my chance of survival.

I told Mike about the meeting and didn’t even politely refuse when he offered to come with me. I simply nodded and heaved a sigh of relief. He and I then talked to Lola, picking her brain for every detail she could recollect about Gorky’s spread. She told us a lot about the eighteenth-century Rembrants, the nineteenth-century Monets,
twentieth-century Pollocks and twenty-first-century Joberts adorning the walls, as well as the hand-woven carpets and the handcrafted woodwork, all of which she knew to be expensive and therefore coveted, even though it wasn’t to her taste. She hadn’t paid much attention to anything else that might be helpful to us. And she had no idea what sort of lost treasure she’d unintentionally touched on in her reading. Personally, I hoped it was a cache of priceless jewels and not a stockpile of plutonium.

After grilling Lola, I went to bed around eleven. I would be walking into Gorky’s place cold in less than twenty-four hours and would need to rely on my instincts. For that, I needed a good night’s rest.

Unfortunately the air conditioner went into one of its off modes. It never failed to fail me when I needed it the most. I flexed my fists, tightening my muscles. They were covered in a sheen of perspiration. I tightened various muscles through my body as I mentally reviewed my best kung fu moves.

I shut my eyes, but after tossing and turning in bed for an hour, I dragged a pillow and sheet to the couch in the living room. I looked out the window and was disappointed not to see Marco as I had once before. I gripped the rough bricks outside the window ledge, straining to see his car in either direction, but he wasn’t there.

A dull ache pounded in my chest. For the first time in my adult life, I was really scared and wanted him tonight.
Needed
him. I needed to hold him and to know I was alive before I faced possible death.

If I had to spend the night sweating, why couldn’t it be in the arms of a man? A real man. One who couldn’t get enough of me. One who could hurt me or love me, depending on my luck. One who could carry my heart safe in the palm of his strong, beautiful hands, if my luck was exceptionally good.

It was funny, but I hadn’t missed Bogart at all. When you’re over it, you’re over it. Especially when it is an it and not a he. I’d been living in a fantasy for too long. In a way, I’d exiled myself from human contact and now I regretted it. I claimed it was because I didn’t want to be used again, but it was much more complicated than that.

I blamed myself for being dumped by Peter. If I’d been dumped once, it would happen again, right? Peter wasn’t the one who had been broken, after all. I was.

But that was so wrong.
He
was the dickhead, not me. He had used me, and I’m quite sure he never had a second thought or a moment of guilt. So, by God, I would not let him define the rest of my life. I needed and deserved love. Some lucky sonofabitch was going to experience love from me in return. So there!

I threw my arm over my forehead as I stared at the whirring ceiling fan. I was going to love some lucky bastard, yeah, but not Marco. I had sent him away. Not because I didn’t want him, but because I did and I was afraid of being hurt. Did I really deserve someone as special as Marco?

Yes
, a voice inside me said. But what if I was
wrong? Could I survive the pain of rejection again?
Yes
, the voice answered.

I’ll bet Marco really knew how to make love. Could I call him up now and ask him to come jump my bones? I’d tell him no commitments. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him I was afraid he’d break my heart. I’d just pretend I didn’t really care, that I was simply mad with desire.

No, that was dishonest. He deserved more. So did I.

But I might die tomorrow. Would I die never having been close to someone who deserved my intimacy?

No, I couldn’t die. I would have the vision Gorky demanded and everything would work out fine. No need to call Marco in a tizzy. He’d proven to me I had a special talent. I would simply have to use it.

Icy panic flooded my veins. My fingers felt numb. What had I gotten myself into? I didn’t even know the girls I wanted to save. I might die for them without ever having fully lived myself. What was with this stupid savior complex I had? I couldn’t change the world. I could barely manage my own world.

I held myself tight, shivering in spite of the blistering night heat. I rolled into a fetal position, hating myself for being so damned naive, yet knowing I had no choice because I wasn’t going to back out of my commitment to those girls no matter how afraid I was.

I took a deep breath and propped my head on my arm. No, I wouldn’t let Lin down. I would find her
friends. And on some level I wasn’t even afraid of Gorky. I wasn’t afraid to die as long as I died standing up for what I believed in. I’d be pissed as hell to check out so early, but not afraid. I was more fearful of living in a world where men like Vladimir Gorky were never challenged. Then there would be no hope.

But, what if? What if this was my last night? What if I died never having made love to a real man? Peter Brandt didn’t count.

My hand reached for the phone and I didn’t stop it. I pressed the small handheld receiver to my ear and used speed I.D. to pull up Marco’s number from the memory card. “Riccuchio Marco,” I said, and after a second, the machine dialed his number. The phone rang four times. I almost hung up. My heart beat in my throat. Air escaped my lungs like steam vanishing from a hot pot.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy, deep and, as always, sensual.

“Hi.” It was a breathy reply. “It’s me.”

Pause. “Hi.” His voice was even lower. Warm and intimate.

It was exactly the reassurance I needed. I finally let out my pent-up breath and we shared a moment of knowing silence. When you’re with someone who really turns you on, even silence is magic. “I was thinking about you.”

Another pause. It seemed eternal. My throat tightened as I waited.

“Oh?” He sounded like he was smiling.

I smiled back. “Yeah.”

“Good thoughts?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad. I don’t like to think you’re thinking bad things about me, Angel.”

For the first time, my name sounded right coming from him. This man knew me. He really knew me inside and out, and I didn’t know how it had happened. “I guess I was a little hard on you. But you weren’t exactly Officer Friendly, either.”

“I’m not a cop tonight, okay?”

But he was. That was part of the problem. No matter how much I wanted him, or even how much he wanted me, his duty to his job would always come first.

The silence stretched on. Finally he said, “Don’t you believe me?”

“No. But I know nobody will ever change you, Marco.”

He didn’t argue. “Are you scared?”

A little
, I almost answered. Then I sat up slowly, my languor tightening with suspicion. He didn’t know anything about my plans to visit Gorky. “Why would you ask if I’m scared?”

“I don’t know,” he said on a yawn. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re not out of danger yet.”

We’d been through a lot in a very short time together. If Gorky was going to kill me, there were things I wanted to clear up first with Marco.

“Hey,” I said, “Marco, I want to explain about Bogie.”

“Don’t bother. What I think doesn’t matter.”

It did to me. I suppose if I were a man, I wouldn’t
care. But I wasn’t. And I did. “He was safe.” Emotion clogged my throat. I swallowed and tried again. “That’s why I…well, he was safe.”

“Angel Baker, you are a fine woman and you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

A fine woman.
“Thanks.”

I felt a little more relaxed. I enjoyed talking to him like this. We were on the same wavelength.

“What are you wearing?” he asked out of the blue.

I’d never heard dead like the silence that followed.
What does that mean?
I almost replied. But I knew what it meant. His voice was so husky goose bumps shimmered over my arms. Yes, it was one of
those
questions. An invitation. Do you want to have sex? he’d just asked.
Yes,
my silence replied,
but I can’t admit it.
Not quite yet.

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

“Great idea.” Click. The phone went dead.

I sat there on the couch, frozen, contemplating what I’d just done. Then the doorbell rang. I frowned and glanced at the wall clock. Who would ring at this hour? I briefly considered the remote possibility that it might actually be Marco. But it had only been about forty-five seconds since he’d hung up. I went to the window and looked out.
Shit
. There was his S.U.V.

“Marco?” I called in a loud whisper.

He stepped away from my door and looked up with one hand in a pocket. The other tipped an invisible hat in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” I said sotto voce.

“Staking out your apartment,” he whispered back.

“I looked earlier but didn’t see your car.”

“That’s the whole idea behind a stakeout.” He gave me a cheeky grin. “Are you going to invite me in?”

In that moment, my decision was made. I didn’t care what happened tomorrow. I didn’t even care what happened an hour from now. I wanted him and that was all that mattered.

“Sure. I’ll buzz you up.” One could only hope, I mentally added with a smile.

I touched a code into the security pad on the wall, letting him in the foyer, then opened the top door by hand. At the bottom of the stairs, the cast-off glow from the street served as a backlight for his striking figure. The humidity had turned his thick hair into loose brown coils.

He wore skintight jeans that hugged lean hips that fronted what I knew to be a great ass, though I couldn’t see it now. On top he wore a loose-fitting, white linen shirt.

I couldn’t wait for him to reach me, so I descended and met him halfway. One step above, I was taller than him for the first time.

He looked up and down my petite form, breaking into a lopsided grin. “Beautiful,” he murmured. He put both hands on my muscular hips where my small waist curved in at a sharp angle. His fingers pressed into my flesh, then smoothed over the mint-green tank top I was wearing.

At the same time I put both hands on the narrow stairwell walls, trying to resist the nearly overwhelming urge to molest him here and now.
Doing it on the stairs couldn’t be easy. But by lifting my arms, I inadvertently raised my breasts closer to his face, and my back arched in a provocative pose.

He moved one hand up and over my tight rib cage, smoothing the cotton material with his thumb as he went. Studying my torso with almost analytical intent, he moved his hand up until it cupped one breast. As his thumb swooped up over the heavy fullness encased in his hand, he looked up into my eyes with the keenness of a hunter who has cornered his quarry.

I leaned forward ever so slightly and felt his breath on my neck. Yes, I silently told him, you’re doing exactly what I want.

His forefinger dipped over the fabric and moved downward, his fingernails brushing my skin as he followed the V cut of the tank top. I reached out and grabbed his shoulders, digging my fingers into his flesh, bone and muscle, all perfectly proportioned in his
GQ
physique.

“Oh, Marco, make love to me.”

He pressed his hips against my leg and the hardness I felt confirmed he was thinking along the same lines.

“Should I?” he whispered, kissing my breastbone.

“Yes.”

With one fell swoop, he lifted me in his arms and, like Clark Gable in
Gone With the Wind
, he carried me up the stairs into my bedroom. Obviously he didn’t have as many stairs to climb as Rhett Butler
and I was no Scarlett O’Hara. But in the movie that scene faded to black and I was going to get to enjoy this one to the scintillating end. For once, I was experiencing my life in living color. And it was glorious.

“Hey, Baker, guess what?” he said a few hours later, pulling me partially out of a deep sleep.

“Mmm?” I stirred enough to nestle closer in his arms.

“I found out something interesting about that gun we pulled off of the R.M.O. assassin outside of Lola’s apartment.” He gently smoothed a strand of hair off my cheek and tucked it behind my ear.

“Hmm?”

“It’s the latest creation from Trimara Corp, the weapons makers from Ireland, which has oddly given the weapon the whimsical trademark name of Radioart, as in radioactive artillery. Cute, huh?”

“Yeah, it sounds like a toy.” I reached up and smoothed my hand over his cheek. I wanted every part of me touching every part of him, though I still didn’t want to wake up.

“The damned thing shoots out a concentrated and specific beam of radiation so precise there’s only a one-millimeter margin of error.”

I managed to crack open one eye. “So the only person exposed to the radiation is the one who is shot?”

“Yes.” He kissed my temple. “The radiation compound we saw glowing in the gut of the rifle is so powerful that only one shot guarantees the victim
will suffer from radiation poisoning, eventually leading to a variety of fatal diseases. It kills so slowly that the assassin who pulls the trigger can’t be connected to the death. I guess the R.M.O. uses it on people whom they want dead eventually.”

“Sounds wicked.”

“The bad news is that the R.M.O. is the first and only group to have access to the weapon. The good news is that not even the R.M.O. has yet to come up with a way to protect their own people from the radiation—should it fall into the wrong hands. That R.M.O. assassin you blasted on Howard Street will be checking himself into the hospital in the not too distant future.”

“Can we play with the new toy?”