Saffron Nights (9 page)

T
he day after they toured the ginseng farms and processing businesses, Mrs. Mei-Lei—Lotus—wanted to take them shopping. Hong Kong was one of the best places to shop in the world. It was hard to tell Lotus that Maeve simply wasn’t a shopper, so most of the designer names—Givenchy, Chanel, and so on—were lost on her. She ordered most of her clothes and books online. Downloaded her music from the Internet. She hated the shops and the crowds, which were worse here than she had ever seen in New York.

One shop sparked her imagination. “Suki’s Little Shop of Aphrodisiacs.”

“I knew you’d like this place,” Lotus told her, with a sly smile. Jackson preferred to stand outside the shop and wait for them. Ji stood behind her, holding shopping bags full of Lotus’s new jewelry and Maeve’s new lingerie.

The shop was tiny and dark, and she could swear Ji brushed up against her a few times, and she felt an unspeakable heat emanate from him through her almost sheer skirt. Huge jars of powdered mixes and all colors of liquid—golds, ambers, blues, purples—lined the walls.

“This is one of our biggest sellers,” the lady behind the counter said in English. “It is a ginseng mixed, supposedly, with rhino horn. Of course, rhino horn is illegal. But it is very strong. Only very sexually powerful and healthy people can handle it. And if you eat too much, you can have a heart attack. I tell all my customers, just a little.”

“I’ll take some,” Maeve said and pulled out the publisher’s credit card. The shocking total for one pound? One thousand dollars. Maeve shrugged. “Can I have a small bag for me and can you please send the large bag to this address?” She wrote Alice’s address down, with a note—“Ginseng and ‘rhino horn.’ Yours, Maeve.”

While she was filling out the paperwork, she heard Lotus chatting and squealing with an old friend she ran into.

“Do you mind”—she turned to Maeve—“if we do more shopping with her?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I am a little tired. Perhaps you two could go and Ji could take us home?”

Ji offered to take Maeve and Jackson on a drive through the countryside. They agreed.

As he was driving out of the city, past all the lights and the ultramodern-looking architecture, toward a mountain, Ji turned the music up louder. “This is Victoria Peak,” he said, looking directly at Maeve in the mirror. “I’ll take you to the places tourists don’t know about, eh?”

“Am I even here?” Jackson whispered to her.

Of course you are, which makes it all the more delicious,
she wanted to say. Instead, she shrugged.

Maeve dug around in her purse and found the Baggie of aphrodisiac. She drew in a deep whiff of the stuff. Interesting. She wet her finger by putting it in her mouth, then plunged it into the bag. Then she licked it.

“Mmm,” she said. “It has a bite.”

Ji looked at her and kind of growled. “Careful,” he then laughed, turning off the country road, then stopping the car. Maeve sat still in the huge backseat next to Jackson. Her heart raced as she thought of the one kiss she shared with him. A sudden longing came over her. She looked at Ji. Gorgeous. But the intense pull in the center of her was focused on Jackson. Her eyes met his.

“Come,” Ji said, after he parked the car. “I will show you something. My special place. Not many people know it’s here, so close to the city.”

Maeve slid out of the car, her skirt riding a little high on her thigh. Ji saw it and ate her with his eyes. Jackson cleared his throat and nudged her. She followed him up old stone steps and could smell jasmine heavy in the air. When they arrived at the top, she saw an old temple or church with an expansive view of the city, beyond a lush forested mountainside. Crickets were chirping loudly.

“Ji,” she gasped. “This is stunning. Thanks for bringing us here.”

It was barely light, but she could see carved images in the walls, statues of ancient gods and goddesses looking over them. A very round ass there. Breasts. A huge phallus there. It was a feast for Jackson and his camera.

Ji looked at Jackson and whispered to Maeve. “Another lifetime, perhaps.”

His words sent shivers through her, just before she heard a loud popping noise and the next thing she knew Ji was on the ground and Jackson was pulling her behind a temple doorway.

“What the fu—”
What was happening?

“Shhh! Stay down,” Jackson said, as Ji crawled to the doorway. He was bleeding through his white jacket. His whole shoulder was red—and it was spreading by the minute.

“Not that bad,” he whispered, pulling out a gun from inside his jacket somewhere and handing it to Jackson, who oddly enough took it and held it with confidence. He pulled on the safety—or at least that’s what she thought it was. And the gun was ready to be fired.

What did he know about guns?
Maeve tried to look around the place to see anything—light, shadow, movement—but it was difficult while plastered to the old, hard cracked concrete of a floor, tucked in between an ancient door and a wall.

Another shot rang out—the bullet hitting the edge of the doorway.

“Jesus,” Jackson said, eyes wide.

Maeve felt every drop of her blood rush through her veins.
Just breathe.

“Calm down. Listen,” Ji said. “Take aim over there. That’s the direction it’s coming from. Shoot twice. That way they know you mean business.”

For a man who had just been shot, he had a clear mind, even though he was wincing in pain.

Jackson aimed the gun, shot once, then again. The scent of a just-fired gun stung the air. They heard the unmistakable sound of a body going down and a loud cry. A man. In the forest. Shot by Jackson. The next thing Maeve knew, he was gone, bounding toward the noise.

“Foolish man,” Ji managed to say. “Brave, but foolish.”

T
here are times in every man’s life when it all comes together. When it gets as clear as it’s ever going to get. The sharply honed focus. The cool gun in his warm hand. His camera on the ground. Jackson took off and didn’t feel the weight of his feet as he lurched forward into the forest.

For the first time in his life he was grateful for his thug of a father, who taught him from the age of nine how to shoot a gun, who insisted on target practice almost every Saturday until he was about sixteen, when the old man finally took off with one of his women, his family never to see or hear from him again. So Jackson knew guns. But he had turned away from them and everything his father’s life represented to him. Violence. Drugs. Gambling. Not for him.

Years ago he replaced his weapons with his camera—and had been grateful for every opportunity to get away from the old neighborhood in the Bronx. As he found the man on the hillside, with a sprawling Hong Kong in the distance, his first thought was of mercy. The man had been shot in the chest; he was gasping for air. Jackson leaned down on his knees and had started to help the man when he felt a sharp thud on the back of his head and everything went black.

The next thing he remembered was a bumpy ride in the car, Ji beside him—his face a bloody mess. Maeve at the wheel. “Are you okay, Jackson? Jackson?” She was saying, trying to keep her eyes on the road and navigate a city she did not know.

“Great,” Jackson managed to say before the blackness came again.

He could hear voices.

Maeve. “What do you mean another concussion? He’s just had one.”

Male voice. “We are sorry. Yes. We can see that. Barely healed. He needs to stay here.”

“Here? We are scheduled to be in Italy in a few days.”

“I understand, but he’s not going anywhere,” a more forceful male voice said.

Pain shot from his neck to deep in his back, then his head. Man, someone really hit him. He tried to open his eyes to ask what the heck happened, but the heaviness in them took over.

 

His eyes fluttered open to a soft light and a figure standing in front of a window. Once he focused, he saw it was Maeve. “Hey,” he said.

“Jackson? You’re awake?” she said, rushing to his bedside.

“Looks like it. What happened?”

She grabbed his hand, held it in both of hers. “You’re okay. That’s all that matters. “

“Jeez, I must have been pretty bad to cause all that drama.”

“Don’t be an ass,” she said, smiling. “You’re my partner. Of course I care about you.”

But her eyes said more to him. And it both scared the shit out of him and excited him.

“I could use some water,” he told her. “I’m so thirsty.”

Just then a nurse came to him and fussed over him, taking his temperature, then getting him water.

“So spill. What happened on that hill? I only remember being hit . . . and shot at . . . and . . .”

“Yes, you went after the man who you shot. Do you remember?”

He nodded. The light was playing on Maeve’s skin. She looked almost luminescent. He was having a hard time concentrating, but he tried to focus on what she said.

“His partner dropped a huge rock on your back and head. That’s what you’re doing here in the hospital,” she smiled. “Where did you learn to handle a gun like that?”

“Long story,” he said. “I’ll tell you some other time. But what about Ji?”

Her face drained of color. “I have no idea,” she whispered. “I’ve not seen him. The Mei-Lei family fired him.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s very strange, Jackson. I don’t know what to make of it,” she said.

“What about the guy I shot?” Jackson suddenly remembered. “He looked like he was in bad shape.”

“The police found them both wandering in a daze on the mountainside, evidently. They are being questioned. So far, I don’t know a thing, except they were hired men of some kind. You and I are supposed to be on a plane to Italy tomorrow.”

“Does Alice know about all this?”

“I don’t know. I can’t reach her. I suppose I’ll leave without you and we can meet there, once you are healed.”

His mind felt as if it had cotton in it. Things were not really making any sense. Pieces were starting to click.

“But isn’t it strange that Alice is missing? That we were shot at? What the hell is going on?”

“We don’t know she’s actually missing. She may just be busy. Let’s not get paranoid. But I’ve been trying to piece it together, myself. Someone definitely wants something from us and whatever it is must be valuable,” Maeve said.

Jackson felt like shit, but he liked watching Maeve’s eyes light up as she tried to solve a puzzle—of any kind. One eyebrow lifted when she was really intrigued by something.

“Okay. What do we know?” Jackson asked.

“We know it started in Mexico.”

“Then in Hawaii and now this,” Jackson said.

“And there’s something else. I mean, there’s Alice. She’s been acting so strange. I’ve been feeling like she’s hiding something from us. But what?”

“She doesn’t want to upset us, probably. Wants us to stay focused.”

“Yes, I get that. But in the meantime, we are in something. I don’t know what.”

“I think this has to do with Chef’s murder,” Jackson said.

“But what? We have nothing of Chef’s, except—”

“The book,” Jackson said.

Maeve took a deep breath, then clapped her hands. Her eyes widened. “You know, you may be on to something. That book would be very valuable to some people. But would cookbook collectors be willing to kill for a handwritten book by Chef?”

Just then the nurse walked in the room and told Maeve she needed to leave. Jackson needed his rest.

“You need to catch the plane. Truffle season and all that,” Jackson said.

“Alone?” she said, her face pale, eyes watering. There it was, her carefully constructed shield was down. She was a tangled mess.

“I think it’s for the best,” Jackson said, as the nurse lifted his arm to take his blood pressure. But as he looked at her, Jackson realized he’d never seen her looking so vulnerable. He wished he could wrap his arms around her, protect her, but as it was, he couldn’t even protect himself.

M
an, another eleven hours on a plane. This business travel was wearing on her. The breakneck pace was one thing—the other thing was Jackson. Maeve hated to leave Jackson alone in Hong Kong, but she had no choice. Truffle season was fleeting. The man she was going to meet and stay with was expecting them—and he was an old friend of Paul’s and knew Alice well, too. Better that at least one of them showed up.

She sank into her seat and flipped open the lid of her laptop. She scrolled through her e-mails. None from Alice. Still. A few from Martin. Hmm. Here was one from Jackson.

Chef Paul, Maeve keyed in, then Snake. Was Chef a gambler? Did he owe this guy money? Okay. So, if he did. Why would they come after Maeve and Jackson? They didn’t inherit any money. Yvette inherited all of his money—or at least that’s what Maeve assumed. Should she e-mail Yvette? She felt kind of funny about that. She’d just lost her husband. How to approach this? Um, did your late husband owe a bunch of money to this Snake guy that he’s trying to mistakenly get out of Jackson and me? Nah.

But at the same time, they were in danger. She thought about Yvette and what a kind woman she seemed to be.

A man walked past her seat and headed for the bathroom. A woman’s laugh rippled out into the cabin. A baby squealed. Maeve stared at her laptop. Jackson was still in the hospital. Alice was unreachable.

Send.

She glanced across the aisle and made eye contact with a blond woman who was made up as if she would soon be appearing on Broadway. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face as her brown eyes searched the cabin, making eye contact with Maeve briefly.

The man who walked up the aisle was now heading toward them, back to his seat. She glanced up at him—their eyes met briefly before he snapped his face toward the other direction. Yowzah! Was that who she thought it was? Snake? The hair on the back of her neck stood alert and her stomach twisted. Was she on a plane with Snake? Or was she just seeing things? Did the man merely look like Snake? Or was it really him? Jesus. Now what?

A flight attendant walked by and Maeve grabbed her.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, suddenly sweating like a pig.

“Yes.”

“I need to know if you have a Sam Everidge on the plane.”

“I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry,” she said with a British accent and smiled in a condescending way.

“But I think I saw him, and he’s a dangerous man.”

Her smiled faded. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, we’re pretty sure he robbed my friend in Hawaii, and he followed us to Hong Kong, where we were shot at while we were at this really ancient site.”

“We?”

“My partner, Jackson Dodds, and I.”

“
The
Jackson Dodds?”

Maeve nodded. Gosh, was her partner that popular across the world?

“Just believe me. He is dangerous. Can you at least check on him? Like run a check, whatever you do when someone suspicious is on a plane?”

“Yes,” she said. “I can do that. Thank you. And please keep this matter to yourself. I’ll get back to you.”

Maeve never saw that particular flight attendant again. She e-mailed Jackson, Jennifer, and Alice about thinking Snake was on board with her. But she didn’t see him again, either. Maybe it wasn’t really him. Maybe.