She felt tears welling up at his kindness, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and she could only nod.
When she had dried her eyes and dared look again, she found him still standing in front of her, waiting patiently. He smiled and extended his hand.
“Come, Shizu. It’s time to go.”
She let him lead her out of that place and off to a different life.
10
Now
Concerned that Roux wasn’t taking things seriously enough, Annja woke the next day determined to get some answers. She knew there was more going on than met the eye. If Roux didn’t want to talk, there was still one other person who might be able to tell her what she needed to know.
Garin Braden.
She had his cell number—or one of them, at least—and used it to call him that morning.
“I need to see you,” she told him when he answered the phone.
He laughed, a low, throaty chuckle. “Just how much of me would you like to see?”
He sounded like the cat who’d just eaten the canary, positively delighted that she’d chosen to call him and propose such an unusual request. She, however, didn’t have time for his antics.
“Cut the crap, Garin. Roux is in trouble and I need to talk to you about it immediately.”
As she snarled at him she did her best to ignore the mental image his response had called to mind. Seeing more of Garin wouldn’t be such a bad thing, at least in an aesthetic sense….
But Garin apparently didn’t hear her reprimand or he simply chose to ignore it. He was still laughing when he said, “I’m free for lunch, if that will suffice.”
It was good enough. They agreed on a place and time, with Garin suggesting he send a car and Annja firmly stating she’d get there on her own.
She had the concierge arrange a cab and she settled into the back, prepared to enjoy the ride. Paris had always been one of her favorite cities and it was particularly lovely on a spring day like this one. The streets and open-air cafes were full of Parisians enjoying the day, and the ride, short though it was, cheered her in a way that she hadn’t expected.
As it turned out, the restaurant Garin had chosen was only a few blocks from her hotel. It was also one of the most popular luncheon spots in all of Paris, judging by the line that waited at the door to get inside. She began scanning the crowd for a sign of her host even as she exited the cab.
“Ms. Creed?”
She turned to find a good-looking, curly haired man dressed in a sharply pressed gray suit standing nearby.
“I am Michel, the maître de’” he said. “If you would be so kind…” He indicated the entrance with the sweep of his hand.
Ignoring the daggerlike looks she received from those waiting in line, particularly the women, Annja walked to the front doors, stepped inside and then allowed Michel to take the lead.
“This way, please,” he said, and then headed across the dining room floor. He led her to a small, private dining room in the far corner of the building, opened the door and ushered her inside.
Garin was waiting for her at the room’s only table. He stood, a smile on his face, as she entered and took her seat, then he sat across from her.
“It’s good to see you again, Annja,” he said, after Michel left the room.
“The dining room would have been perfectly fine,” she replied, uncomfortable with the situation. This wasn’t a date, for heaven’s sake.
“Nonsense,” Garin replied. “You wanted to talk about Roux and this way we are free to do so without fear of being overheard.” He poured her a glass of wine from the bottle on the table, the red liquid a sharp contrast against the perfectly pressed white linen tablecloth.
“Now what’s on your mind?” he asked.
Annja looked at him over the top of her glass and spoke without preamble. “I’m worried about him.”
“Oh?” he said, leaning back and enjoying a sip from his own glass.
She told him everything she had told Roux the night before, from the discovery of the origami figure to her belief that the intruder at Roux’s estate had been none other than the Dragon himself. She brought it back to Roux, saying, “He’s acting like the attack on his estate was an afternoon lark, rather than a possible attempt on his life. He refuses to involve the authorities and ignores me when I try to discuss it with him.”
Garin laughed. “I’m surprised at you, Annja. The man’s home has been invaded, and with it his pride, and you act as if he should be happy to chat about it. With a woman, no less! That is not the Roux we know and love.”
He had a point; she knew that. But given the possibility that the intruder actually was the Dragon, Roux should’ve been able to set aside such things in favor of protecting himself and, by extension, those around him.
She said as much to Garin. “For an old soldier, he’s not acting with much tactical sense. If the intruder wasthe Dragon, Roux could be putting himself, and those around him, in serious danger,” she concluded.
Garin waved one hand in dismissal. “One does not need tactics to deal with a pack of common thieves,” he said, but Annja saw it for what it was—a poor attempt to distract her from the truth.
She’d seen him stiffen when she’d mentioned the Dragon, just as Roux had. They knew something, something she did not. This time she wouldn’t be distracted so easily.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.
He tried to brush it off with a laugh. “I don’t have any idea what you are talking about, Annja.”
She wasn’t buying it. She had a sudden suspicion that Garin knew far more about what was going on than he wanted to admit. “That’s a load of bull and you know it. Spit it out, Garin, or so help me, I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” he teased, still smiling. “Skewer me in a public restaurant?”
Without a second thought she called forth her sword and poked him with it beneath the table. “Damn right, I will. Now talk!”
He glanced down to where the tip of the blade rested against his thigh and shook his head at what she assumed was her audacity. She didn’t care, as long as he told her what she needed to know.
“All right, all right. Calm down and put away the pig-sticker. No need to get unfriendly.”
With a quick thought the sword was back in the otherwhere, where it would be ready when she needed it again. “What do you know about the Dragon?” she asked again.
Garin leaned back, staring at the wineglass in his hand, as if the answers they sought might be found in the depths of that ruby liquid.
“What do I know?” he repeated. “Nothing. I knownothing. But I do have certain suspicions that I am willing to share.”
The waiter came in at that moment and their talk was put on hold as Garin ordered for both of them. Normally this would have annoyed Annja to no end—she could order her own lunch, thank you very much—but she cared more about what Garin had to say than eating at this point and so she let it go.
When the waiter left the room, Garin continued. “A man in my position, a man with business interests as diverse as my own, is always conscious of security to one degree or another. Political leaders are not the only ones who get assassinated, you know.”
Annja rolled her eyes.
“Given that, I employ people to keep me abreast of developments in certain areas. And it was through them that I first learned of the Dragon.