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At a young age, Mei did attend wushu–kung fu classes with Stephen. She soon fell behind her more dedicated sibling, and Grand Master Chin had advised Mei to seek a new pursuit. By her third day at the academy, she wished she’d applied herself more back then. Mei would be eternally grateful to Crista for taking her under her wing. Committed to her sport, and good at it, Crista offered Mei after-hours sessions that paid off. She’d improved, and had actually moved on to intermediate level, a matter of pride for both women. Mei would settle for solid competence. Crista had her sights set on attaining her master’s level.
This afternoon, Crista landed a punch Mei should have easily blocked. After the third time Crista had to help Mei off the floor, it became apparent that Mei’s attention kept wandering to a children’s class going on in another part of the vast gym.
“Something’s up with you. Even at your worst, you never just handed me a match.” Bending, Crista picked up and uncapped a bottle of water. “You know one of those kids over there?”
“Huh? Oh, no.” Flushing, Mei grabbed a small towel and blotted sweat from her neck. “Sorry, I can’t seem to concentrate.”
“That’s evident.” Crista recapped her bottle. “Are you leveling with me about El Capitan Weasel?”
Mei Lu grinned. “I wouldn’t assign Murdock that much importance.” She reached for her own water and splashed some on her face. “My mind must be stalled on a new case I went out on today. There were these really cute, precocious kids.”
“Corporate criminals getting younger every day, are they?” Crista teased.
“The twins have nothing to do with the case. Their father is connected to…to…Interpol.”
Crista snorted. “Lucky you. At least, in your work, nobody dies.”
“Someone did, though,” Mei blurted out. Then she winced. “I shouldn’t have said that, Crista. The case is classified. I should just put it out of my mind. As far as I know, my part in the matter began and ended today after I translated a letter.”
“Oh.” Crista’s eyebrows became a slash over the bridge of her nose. “Hey, what’s this? A chink in Mei Lu’s armor? Am I hearing personal interest in…a man? ‘The man from Interpol,’” she singsonged.
Mei dropped her water bottle and hurriedly grabbed it before too much could puddle on the mat. Her heart raced again at the indirect mention of Cullen Archer. And that disturbed Mei. “Honestly, Crista. Ever since you fell in love, you see romance around every corner. I said a man died.”
“Okay, okay. You’re so touchy. Dead guys are right up my alley. You want to skip this session and talk about your case?”
Mei gathered her few belongings. “I’m really no match for you tonight. And I honestly can’t discuss the case. Catherine assigned it a high level of confidentiality. I think I’ll go on home and let you maim Sergeant Denholm. I see him looking around the room, spoiling for blood. He reminds me of that guy at the academy you had to shut up. What was his name?”
“Schwartz. Bernie Schwartz. I’m in no mood to take on Denholm. Sure you wouldn’t rather go for coffee—or tea? Sometimes it helps to unload on an impartial listener. I hope you know I’d never repeat anything you tell me off the record.”
“I know, Crista. But this really isn’t my case to talk about. Can I have a rain check on the tea and call you for a rematch?”
Crista grinned cheekily. “Sure. Although, I don’t want you going soft in your cushy new job.”
“Next week, then? Same time?” Mei said as they both headed back to the dressing room, passing Sergeant Denholm, a man more than a little flabby around the middle.
“Hey, Ling. I saw how you let Santiago whip your butt. I’ll gladly show you how a man cuts that hot tamale down to size.”
“You know, Denholm, I was on my way out,” Crista said. “But you’ve been pushing for a slaughter.”
Spinning, Mei turned back, too. “I’ll referee, just to keep you honest, Sarge.”
His grin faltered, and he tried to backpedal. The women closed ranks and, because others had heard his bragging, he ended up going along.
It did Mei’s heart good to see Crista flatten the big-mouth in three out of three tries. “You know what?” she said, calling to her friend who’d barely broken a sweat. “I changed my mind about having tea. Come on, Crista. My treat.”
“I probably shouldn’t have been so rough on him,” Crista lamented later as the friends trudged down the street toward a coffeehouse in the next block.
“Why not? He’s been asking for it. Now maybe he’ll shut the heck up.”
“If only. More like now every macho jerk in Denholm’s squad will want a piece of me, when we both know the number one rule in Wing Chun is to not let an attacker provoke you.”
Mei pulled open the door to the coffeehouse. “Quit beating up on yourself. Denholm claims he wants to learn the Wing Chun system of kung fu. Tonight was another step in his training. At least, that’s what you told me all those times you bounced me off the carpet.”
“That’s different. I like you, Mei Lu.”
Mei, who got into line first, glanced around and pulled a face at Crista. “Thanks—I think.” The women burst out laughing and jostled each other, still smothering giggles as they placed their orders. The revelry broke whatever tension had gripped them earlier. By the time they picked up their orders and found a table in the corner, Denholm’s plight and Mei’s case were taboo subjects. The two old friends chatted about inconsequential things. Harmless gossip. Half an hour later, they parted, still in high spirits.
On the drive home, Mei reflected on how much she missed the nights the five, or sometimes six, would meet for coffee, drinks or dinner. The first crack in their bond occurred when Catherine became chief. They all understood that her job brought with it weighty new responsibilities. Nevertheless, she’d been the first to pull back. Relaxed as she felt now, Mei hated recalling the next fracture that occurred, after Risa had been accused of killing her partner. Mei shuddered, and the warmth of the evening fled. The whole mess rushed to the forefront of her mind.
Maybe the situation would’ve gone differently if the friends had been more experienced in their individual fields. Instead, after working the required street patrol, they’d barely been settled into their new jobs—Mei in Corporate Crime Investigation, Risa in Sex Crimes, Lucy in Missing Persons. Crista was in Homicide, but with a different unit. Abby had worked part-time with the crisis intervention team.
At the first catastrophes their friendship had collapsed. Mei hadn’t known what to do—hadn’t known what to say—to comfort Risa. She recalled a phone conversation that had ended badly. Even after IA cleared Risa, one thing led to another and it was as if their earlier friendship ceased to exist. Some blamed it on falling in love. Grady Wilson had backed Risa, and their relationship had deepened. Jackson Davis had come into Lucy’s life at the very point when everything was so confused. Mei felt both men were exactly what her friends needed.
Mei hadn’t been as willing to admit that Alex Del Rio was good for Crista. Of course, she’d always felt more like a sister than friend to Crista. Abby, who’d already been in and out of love, suggested Mei might be jealous of Crista’s happiness. Mei Lu had given it serious thought, but honestly believed jealousy wasn’t part of her reaction. Truly, Mei had never met such a dark and brooding man as Alex. She’d been concerned for Crista. Alex was…intense. And he’d been married before, but his wife died of a brain aneurism a couple of years ago.
Looking back, Mei had no idea why his having been married was a sticking point. After all, they were of an age where many of their contemporaries were divorced and some had children. She was probably the oddball.
But boy, talk about intense. Thomas Riley, the former Delta Force officer Abby Carlton had fallen for, could be another poster boy for intensity. Still, as Catherine once said, every one of the men was sinfully good-looking. “Hot” was how she’d put it.
As Mei parked in front of her duplex just after six, she actually paused to wonder if Catherine would attach that label to Cullen Archer. Hot. In Mei’s opinion, it certainly fit. Flustered, she grabbed her purse, notebook and keys, and flew into the house. Thankfully Foo’s effusive greeting steered her priorities in another direction.
“Yes, I’m glad to see you, too, mutt.” Shedding her suit coat, Mei locked up her weapon, then hung her jacket in the closet. The next thing she did was find one of Foo’s squeaky toys to toss across the room. It was a nightly ritual. His ambling gait on stubby legs too short for his big feet never failed to make Mei laugh. The shelter had said no one there wanted to venture a guess as to the breeds in his background. Built low to the ground like a basset, his soft fur, perky terrier ears and pug-like face expelled him from that breed. To say nothing of his waving plume of a tail. But he almost smiled, and Mei had loved that about him from the minute she set eyes on him. Life held enough sorrow; she liked surrounding herself with bright colors and silly offbeat objects that always lifted her spirits.
She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and took Foo out into her compact backyard so he could chase a ball around. She supposed her propensity for lots of color and things her parents would call junk came from having lived amid such order all her life. The Ling home could grace the pages of Architectural Digest or House Beautiful. On the high-ceilinged, ice-toned walls hung rich brocade tapestries that provided splashes of color. However, her mother rarely spoke of their beauty; rather, she added up their monetary value. Mei and Stephen had grown up in a veritable museum. Stephen, Mei’s elder by two years, had slipped easily into the family habit of collecting for the sake of owning. Once close, the siblings had a clash of principles the last year Mei spent in Hong Kong at the family business. Leaving the firm had been heart-wrenching, one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. But it’d been for the best. She’d found her true niche in police work.
She heard her phone ring. Aware that Catherine’s meeting might let out around seven o’clock, Mei raced inside to scoop up the receiver before her answering machine kicked in. “Hello,” she said, still out of breath.
“Lieutenant?” a male voice inquired. A vaguely familiar one, too, but Mei couldn’t quite place it.
“Yes,” she said more hesitantly. Her home phone number was unlisted, as were most officers’.
“You sound like I caught you running a marathon or something. This is Cullen Archer.”
“Mr. Archer?” Mei found it even harder to breathe normally. “I haven’t been home long. You caught me playing with my dog.”
“Ah. Well, I’m down at the Port of Houston.” He rattled off a dock number, and Mei automatically stored the information. “We have a second corpse. A second dead courier, I’m betting.”
Mei’s thundering heart nearly stopped beating. “Oh, no! How? Why? Did you call Homicide?”
“They contacted me,” he said. “There’s a second photograph and another note in Chinese. If I might interrupt your play, I’d like you to come and have a look. I’ll see that security lets you drive straight in.”
Mei bit her lower lip.
“Well?” he demanded impatiently.
“Of course. I already turned my report in to the chief, though. I’d assumed you wouldn’t require my services again.”
“You thought wrong. Do I need to call your chief first?”
Mei realized she was squeezing Foo’s ball out of shape. She tossed it lightly across the kitchen and closed the back door after the dog streaked in and dived after the blue ball. “I’m more than half an hour away. Shall I meet you at the morgue, instead?” She hadn’t applied to Homicide because she’d never gotten used to the smell of death. The morgue, while sterile, gave her the creeps, too. She had huge respect and great empathy for what Crista and Risa did.
Her caller spoke to someone out of Mei’s hearing. He came back almost immediately. “The team says we’ll be here at least another hour trying to figure how the courier and his assailant breached security. Get here as fast as you can, okay?”
Mei pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it. “Yes, sir,” she said in a syrupy sweet voice. “Am I to report to you, then? I don’t know your rank. Or does Interpol naturally take precedence in local investigations, kind of like the FBI?” She heard Archer clear his throat several times.
“Please come, Lieutenant. I have extensive experience in tracking down international art thieves and next to none when it comes to murder.”
She bent a little. “On that score we’re even. If you don’t mind, I’d rather leave that particular aspect of the case in the very capable hands of our homicide squad. But I’ll head out right away. I admit I’m curious about the photo and this note. See you in about forty-five minutes.” She hung up, debating only a moment as to whether she ought to change back into the suit she’d worn earlier, or go as she was. Vetoing the suit, deciding it would take too long, she did pluck her revolver from its locked box and secured it under her belt at the back of her jeans. To heck with packing a Taser. The docks were spooky at night. She felt more secure with an equalizer.
Mei grabbed a cherry-red blazer to throw on over her white T-shirt. Red might not be appropriate attire for a murder investigation in progress, but it gave her confidence. And to face Archer and a dead man, Mei Lu needed all the confidence she could muster.
“Sorry, Foo. I’m abandoning you again.”
The dog sank to his belly and put his chin on his ball, gazing up at her with soulful eyes.
“All right, come on, then. But I’ll have to leave you in the car.”
He didn’t appear to care. The little dog loved riding in cars. Mei kept a water bowl and bottled water in her vehicle because most of her trips with the dog were impromptu, whether for strolls in the park or quick visits to the grocery store.
Her Toyota choked and sputtered, but the engine finally turned over. Mei patted the dash and gave thanks to the car gods. Once she got under way she never worried about breaking down. That was her father’s everlasting concern. So many times Michael Ling had tried to buy Mei a new car. She appreciated that, but repeatedly pointed out that she wanted to succeed or fail in this job on her own.
Aun Ling had plainly never understood her daughter. Of course, Mei’s mother had gone from a huge Chinese household in a manufacturing sector of mainland China to a strange land where her arranged husband worked night and day, especially when Mei and Stephen were little. If Mei had rightly deciphered the Wong family history, her mother’s once prominent family had, like many others in China, fallen on hard times. While Aun rarely brought up her girlhood, she let slip enough things for Mei to know the Wongs had enjoyed great wealth and prestige.
Aun courted no American friends. She derived immense pleasure from her home, and from entertaining her husband’s Asian associates and their wives. Aun also felt duty-bound to arrange suitable marriages for her children. Stephen was more important, because as Aun said often, a woman’s purpose on earth was to produce a male heir to carry on the family name. Mei never was quite sure how her mother viewed her position, and she’d adroitly sidestepped Aun’s attempts to have her meet the sons of visitors from Hong Kong or, later, mainland China. Mei would have liked a closer relationship with her mother. They always seemed to be at odds, and Mei sincerely regretted that.
She found a parking space shortly after passing Security, having easily identified the proper dock from the gaggle of police cars parked nearby. Mei checked her purse to make sure she had her shield and saw it gleam in the nearly spent sun. She poured Foo’s water, lowered her windows a few inches to give him air, and slid from the car. She surveyed the scene as she locked her doors and pocketed her keys.
Mei Lu spotted Cullen Archer almost at once. He exuded a powerful presence even among seasoned men in uniform and those identifiable detectives who always wore rumpled suits. Archer stood casually, his artist’s hands bracketing narrow hips. When had she noticed his well-shaped hands? More to the point, why would she notice—especially since he stood next to what had to be the courier’s body now zipped into a body bag and tagged for delivery to the morgue?
Shaking off an edgy feeling Mei dragged in a lungful of fishy air. Shoulders back, she strode straight up to the man who’d requested her presence.
She knew two of the detectives, having been introduced to them by Risa. Mei didn’t expect to see Risa here, as she worked sex crimes, but the departments’ cases too often overlapped. Mei flopped open her holder and flashed her shiny new lieutenant’s shield. Archer grasped her elbow and pulled her aside, into a circle of light cast by an overhead dock flood that had just come on.
He extracted a plastic sleeve holding a photo and a second one displaying a handwritten note on thick, badly creased paper. “I hope you can see these well enough. The detective in charge wants them preserved to dust for prints at the crime lab. Let’s hope they find some. I told him there were none on the last set. This fellow is dressed almost identically to the previous courier. Dark, loose-fitting Mandarin-style shirt and pajama-like pants. As well as these items, his belly band contained a modest amount of cash, so if he carried the actual artifact, his killer obviously wasn’t interested in the cash. Oh, and he had the stub of a bus ticket to Houston.”
“From where?”
“Seattle.”
“Hmm. Not a place he’d attract attention, given their vast Asian community.” Mei studied the photo for a few seconds. “The earthenware vase is from the tomb of Lou Rui, unearthed in Shanxi province. So it isn’t part of the same collection as the warrior being peddled by the first courier.”
“No, but both are on a list of objects that disappeared from a government-operated Beijing museum several months ago. No one can or will say exactly when.”
“No,” she murmured. “That’s not the Chinese way.” Mei didn’t need to be told that both would be priceless to a serious collector, however. Or to a dealer—like her father. With dread forming in her stomach, she slid the picture under the letter and began reading aloud, until Archer’s cell rang. Not only did she deduce it was Catherine on the line, but following his side of the conversation, she realized he wanted her assignment extended so she could help with this case.
“Thanks, Chief,” he was saying. “Lieutenant Ling’s ties to Houston’s Asian neighborhood may be of value to me in unraveling this puzzle. I took the liberty of inviting her here to see this latest victim firsthand. Would you like a word with her?”
Mei reached for the phone with a less than steady hand. “This is Mei Lu, Chief. Yes. Yes.” She sighed. “No. I’m fine. It does make sense. Oh—but if I’m to be assigned to Mr. Archer starting tonight, you’ll need to notify Captain Murdock.” She listened while a weary-sounding Catherine told her to consider the captain informed. Mei barely acknowledged the chief’s standard closing statement to take care and to keep her updated.
Cullen accepted the phone she shut and handed back. “You don’t seem pleased with this assignment, Lieutenant.”
“It’s been a tiring day. In any event,” she added briskly, “this note could be a carbon copy of the one you have in your home file. Except that this courier’s name is Jung Lee.” Mei passed him both plastic sleeves. “I could hardly help overhearing what you said to Chief Tanner. Really, Mr. Archer, I don’t know what ties you think I have to Houston’s Asian community. I assure you they’re far fewer than you seem to believe.”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. For starters, there’s your knowledge in this field. You’ve obviously been well-trained.”
Mei recoiled visibly, automatically clenching her hands at her sides. Was it her imagination or had Archer worn a faintly suggestive smile? “As you say, sir,” she said levelly, “I’ve studied Chinese history and Dynasty art. If this is all you need from me tonight, I’ve got a long drive home.”
“Certainly. Let’s meet at my office tomorrow morning. Say, seven sharp? I like getting a jump on the day. And I promise to make you a pot of tea that holds more than one cup,” he said, showing he’d remembered her parting shot at their last meeting. “Come ready to help me work out an investigative plan. We’ll follow that with a visit to your father’s gallery. His expertise may exceed yours.”
Mei gave a short nod, then excused herself to return to her car. By the time she coaxed the cantankerous Toyota into starting, she saw that her nemesis had been swallowed by the evening fog setting in over the harbor.
As she drove off, she couldn’t help wondering about one question in particular. Did Archer have an ulterior motive for suggesting they visit her father?
CHAPTER THREE
MEI LU RETAINED just enough of her traditional Chinese up-bringing to feel shame mixed with her worry over Cullen’s subtle implication that Ling Limited and her father might somehow be involved in this smuggling case. Saving face wasn’t merely a passing fancy in her culture, but something ingrained in children from birth. While it was true that her father was far more westernized than his wife, in some ways he was wholly Chinese. Daughters had no right to be involved in the interrogation of a parent.
Foo whined and snuggled his head against her as she drove home. He was perceptive enough to know when his mistress was upset.
“Sometimes I wish you could talk,” she said, reaching down to rub his ears at a stoplight. “By the very nature of Ling Limited’s dealings, it’s reasonable that Archer might consider it a gallery of interest.”
The dog emitted a little bark, licking her hand before she eased her car from behind the vehicle stopped in front of her. Mei felt foolish confiding her concerns to a dog. For a fleeting moment, as she approached an exit that would take her to a street near Risa’s, Mei considered swinging by to ask her advice. Risa had street savvy and access to information on Houston’s criminal underbelly. Her friends on the force worked a cross section of undercover assignments. As part of her job, Risa dealt with snitches and could probably fill her in…. Mei hesitated for many reasons, including the fact that she no longer felt comfortable just dropping in now that Risa was living with Grady.
Mei was sure of one thing: smuggling rings didn’t appear overnight. Especially rings attempting to peddle the items she’d seen in those photographs found on the dead couriers. Illegal exportation of national treasures and artifacts carried hefty fines and stiff jail terms. Early Dynasty pieces ranked right up there with ivory, or trying to peddle endangered wild animals, either alive or for pelts. This was serious business.
When she’d worked at the Hong Kong firm, a clerk had been approached to find a buyer for a rare ivory hairpin topped by an intricate solid-gold phoenix set with ruby eyes. Ling’s dedicated clerk had detained the man after she’d pressed a hidden buzzer connected directly to the local police department. They came at once and hauled the would-be seller off to jail.
Mei later found out the poor man legitimately owned the piece. Or rather, his great-grandmother did. The old woman had fallen ill and he, like a dutiful grandson, had been sent to secure money to pay for her care.
The woman died while authorities fought over whether the government had the right to confiscate her property without restitution of any sort because the item was deemed a national treasure. Mei and her clerk felt horrible, and so sorry for the family. Stephen, who’d been away at the time, said Mei had handled the man incorrectly. Her brother told her next time to buy the piece to put in his private collection. He bought estate pieces in China’s rural areas and insisted that if word of her actions got out, it’d cause good citizens to be angry at the government—and to feel leery of working with gallery buyers in the future.
But her dad had personally trained the clerk. Mei was positive he’d never approve of the way Stephen chose to ignore the rules. She hadn’t discussed the incident with her father, yet it remained an issue between her and Stephen.
A second question nagged her as she drove past the ramp that led to Risa’s. Since her father was also a kind, loyal man, could he—would he overlook a flaw in a friend or fellow dealer?
Until she had that answer, she wouldn’t seek advice from Risa or anyone else. Meaning Cullen Archer, as well. If he thought she’d automatically throw open the doors to Ling Limited and allow him to interrogate her dad, he needed to think again.
At home, she brewed sweet mint tea in a black earthenware pot of the kind preferred by Chinese all over the world. A methodical investigator, Mei pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and opened her notebook. She made two lists. One contained what she knew about the case thus far. The other was a series of questions. She stopped the question list at the end of page four. On the fact side, she had only three things. The priceless items in the photographs were missing from museums in China. Houston, Texas, was being canvassed for possible buyers. Two couriers had ended up in the morgue.
Dropping her face in her hands, Mei massaged throbbing temples with her thumbs. Not even her favorite nighttime tea soothed her unrest—unrest that stemmed from the first question on her list. Why Houston? Why her city? She knew about collectors who’d pay small fortunes for the privilege of including any of those rare items in their private hoards. Not one lived in Houston.
She took a slug of cold tea, made a face and rose to go dump the contents of the pot. At her feet, her dozing dog stirred. “Come on, mutt. It’s late. I don’t have any answers, so I may as well go to bed. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to cross swords with Archer tomorrow.”
The dog yawned and staggered to his feet. He trotted at her heels after she flipped off the light. Strangely, in spite of his short legs, he beat her to the bed. Laughing, Mei played hide-and-seek with him by rolling him up in her spread and letting him find his way out. Having spent too many years of her life in solitary pursuits, she couldn’t thank Abby Carlton enough for recommending that she get a pet after moving out on her own.
Suddenly lamenting the departure of her good-hearted friend, Mei flopped down on the bed and reached for her private directory and the phone. She assumed all members of her former circle had gotten a postcard last week with Abby’s new address and phone number. It wasn’t until Mei started to punch in the area code that she realized what time it was in Houston, and how much later that made it in North Carolina. Returning her phone book to the drawer, she jotted down a note, reminding her to try calling Abby tomorrow night.
Finally, as his mistress folded back the spread and gave every appearance of heading to bed herself, Foo took that as his cue playtime was over. He curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed. His dark, liquid eyes were closing as Mei shed her clothes and pulled a nightgown over her head.
