Dangerous Journey (2 page)

“Lock him up,” Burnham said.

No!
 Her mind spun.
They can’t do that!

Since the border patrol was asking the stranger about Alan and the White Dragon, he must know something. He wouldn’t tell them, but maybe he would tell her, a fellow American. He had to tell her! He was her only lead.

She chewed her bottom lip, uncertain what to do or how to find a way to talk to the stranger.

She was still considering her options when she heard a slight shuffling sound; then a tall, thin man was pushed into the large office from the small side room. He stumbled once before he regained his footing. He wasn't merely being questioned. To her dismay, she saw that he was handcuffed. He was a prisoner.

His jeans and dark green T-shirt were torn, and layers of dirt clung to his clothes, face and arms. Yet, despite the handcuffs at his back, he held his spine straight and his head erect.

His long, sun-bleached, light brown hair was pushed straight back from his forehead. His face was bearded with prominent cheekbones, a patrician nose and high forehead. A jagged scar cut across his left eyebrow, and his skin was deeply bronzed by the sun.

The defiant look he wore made her think that capturing him had probably not been one of the border patrol’s easier missions. Considering how she felt about the authorities in Luchow, the thought gave her perverse pleasure.

She took a step forward. He raised his eyes to hers, and their glances met across the large room.

His eyes were a startling green. She had seen that exact shade in the jungles of Malaysia where her brother had last been living, on the uppermost leaves of the rain forest when it was flooded in sunlight. As she felt herself ensnared within their depths, they reminded her further of the jungle—beautiful, yet frightening; enticing, yet threatening.

She hadn’t meant to stare, hadn’t meant to lock her gaze with his, but was unable to break away.

A slightly questioning look flickered across his face for a moment; then he gave a rakish grin and turned again toward the captain. The grin startled her at first, but then she realized that it had only added to the self-assured demeanor of the man. He had the look of a feline playing with its prey. He was, in a word, magnificent.

In that same instant, she knew what he saw when he looked at her, and why, far too suddenly, he had turned away. She was a woman who was “a little too”—a little too tall, a little too clumsy, and, she had to admit, a little too bossy. Her hair was too mousy-brown to be pretty, and styled too simply--shoulder length with a side part--to be chic. Her mouth was too big, and her eyes too pale a gray. She was, in a word, plain. Being able to captivate a man with her beauty wasn’t her long suit. Not even when the man was already a prisoner. That knowledge didn’t make approaching him any easier, but she had to find a way to speak to him. As she studied him, a plan formed. He didn’t seem like a criminal, she thought. Or not quite. And the authorities were so hopeless. Dare she chance it? If it failed, what was the worst that could happen to her?

She didn’t want to contemplate the answer.

Okay, C period, J period, Perkins. You’ve always said you’re tough—now’s your chance to prove it.

She swallowed hard as she braced herself to take the plunge. She bolted around the counter and across the room. “Wait!” she shouted.

The men turned to look at her.

“You found him!” she cried. “You found my brother!”

She stopped in front of the prisoner and put her hands on his arms. “Alan! Thank God! We were so worried.”

He accepted her greeting without the slightest twitch, although her own body was trembling so badly that she was convinced she would give herself away. Understand, her eyes pleaded with him. Please understand! Putting her shaking arms around him, she pulled his head against the side of her face. He stiffened at first, then bent toward her without complaint.

She patted his back with sisterly affection. “Oh, poor Alan. What happened to you out there? It must have been terrible. Don’t worry, I’m here now to take care of you. I’ve got your papers, and we’ll be home in Columbus in no time.” She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t stop. “Mom and Dad have been so worried.”

He straightened and stared at her. As she stroked his hair back from his face, her eyes met his. The power his gaze had exercised over her from across the room was insignificant compared to this, and her hand faltered, then dropped to her side as her stomach did a triple somersault.

She tore her gaze from him to the captain, forcing a smile. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

Burnham’s eyes narrowed as his head snapped from one to the other. “This is your brother?” Incredulity dripped from his voice.

“He must have been robbed and beaten. That’s obviously why he looks this way,” she said. The stranger lifted one eyebrow at her.

She began to pat his shoulder, hoping to distract him from protesting, hoping to signal her distress, and praying for him to go along with her.

“Let me see his papers again,” the captain said.

She handed over the identification papers she had found in Alan’s room in Malaysia. His passport, however, was not among them.

“Six feet tall, two hundred pounds, dark brown hair, brown eyes,” Burnham read, then eyed his prisoner as he rubbed his hand against his chin. “Six-two, I would say. Twelve, thirteen stone, at most—that’s a hundred seventy or so pounds to you,” he said to C.J. “Hair is brown, sort of. But the eyes…”

She felt flustered. The prisoner cocked his head at her with “Now what?” on his face. She raised her chin. “So he lost weight in this godforsaken part of the world! Who wouldn’t?” That was when she noticed that the captain’s stomach stood quite a bit nearer to her than did his feet.

She grabbed Alan’s papers from Burnham’s hands and stuffed them quickly back into her purse, her words tumbling out ever faster. “You know men don’t worry about little things like inches. They’re all six-footers or they’re short, that’s all. There’s no other height they worry about. And his eyes, I ask you, how many men really think about the color of their eyes? I’m sure ninety percent of the men in the world say their eyes are brown.”

“Ninety percent of the men in the world
do
have brown eyes.”

“My point exactly, so what’s a little—”

The prisoner stepped forward. “If these are my papers and she is my sister, then what charge am I being held on?”

C.J.’s mouth fell open; she couldn’t believe the authority in the man’s voice. Even Burnham looked surprised.

“
If
those are your papers, there is no charge at the moment. Not from us, in any case. If you are, in fact, Alan Perkins and this is your sister, you have far greater problems than the border patrol could provide.” Burnham scowled. “And there are still some questions—”

“And I told you, I have no answers. Now, I suggest you remove these handcuffs and let me out of here, or you’ll be facing a false arrest charge.”

C.J. got ready to run when she saw the rage slowly well up in Burnham’s face and threaten to explode at any second. “I suggest you both leave Luchow immediately, and that you do not return. I have enough trouble with Chinese Communists just across the border. I don’t need more from you Americans.”

“What would the free world do without you?” the prisoner said as his handcuffs were removed and his bedroll was handed to him. As C.J. stood bewildered by all this, he clasped her elbow. Before she knew it, she was standing on the street outside the station.

The busy street was narrow and lined with small shops displaying all manner of edibles and household necessities, a crush of people went about their business. Some were dressed western style, while many wore loose fitting pants and tunic tops. Shoppers haggled over prices, mothers disciplined wayward offspring, radios blared the latest Cantonese tunes, and cars, carts and animals all added to the cacophony of sound that greeted C.J. as she stood there, unsure what she should do next. Dust flew everywhere and the strong smells of roasted and fried foods, ginger, garlic and soy hung in the air.

In the midst of this, the stranger took her hand and kissed the back of it, his eyes bright. “Thank you, fair damsel. You’re a friend indeed. Goodbye.” He turned smoothly and started walking down the street.

Goodbye?
She stood immobile as she watched him melt into the sea of pedestrians. “Wait!”

He neither stopped nor slowed down, simply continued to ease his way through the thick crowd as if he belonged there. C.J. had to struggle, and felt almost rude as she pushed her way through the mass of people who were as unwavering in their purpose as she was in hers.

Finally she reached him, but he barely glanced at her.

“Wait! I need your help,” she cried. “I didn’t get you out of there for nothing!”

“I know. Your brother, Alan Perkins.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“You do? That’s more than the police will admit to,” she said bitterly. “You’ve got to help me find him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I have nowhere else to turn.”

“You mean nothing to me but trouble.”

“Trouble?” What could he mean? She was the one who’d gotten him out of trouble.

He hurried on.

She ran to catch up. “Please.” Her voice cracked; she was close to tears. Chasing a man down the street wasn’t a usual part of her routine.

A look of weariness came over him. He sighed, and turning to her, looked her straight in the eye. “I’d like to find your brother, too. In fact, a lot of people would. But it’s just not worth it to me. And it’s not the kind of thing for a woman to get mixed up in. Do you understand?”

All the worry and frustration she had felt for a whole week welled up in her. “What do you mean not the kind of thing for a woman? It’s my brother we’re talking about! Whatever’s going on, I’m already mixed up in it—the ‘blood’ kind of mixed up. I care. Can’t you understand that? I love him.”

He regarded her a long moment before continuing on his way.

Embarrassed, she wiped away the angry tears that trickled down her cheeks, then ran and caught his arm, refusing to release it until he spun angrily in her direction. “Why won’t you tell me what you know?” she demanded. “Why won’t you help me? Haven’t you ever had a brother—or someone—you cared about so much you’d do anything for them? Haven’t you?”

His eyes darkened. “Once,” he replied, his voice low and harsh.

Something in his look made her drop her hand. He paused momentarily, then continued walking. She dogged his steps. The crowds thinned as they left the busiest part of the colorful marketplace. She had no idea where they were going. He’s so obstinate, she thought; he even looks obstinate. How could I have thought him handsome?

His face was an intriguing mixture, though. His eyes were surrounded by dark hollows and deeply set. His profile reminded her of engravings she had seen of Roman emperors on old coins, but at the same time, there was a ruggedness about him.

She glanced at him again and noticed his wariness, a sense that he was alert to everything nearby and could strike like a rattlesnake at any hint of danger. She shuddered slightly.

“Cold?” he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“No. I was just wondering how the police managed to pick you up. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for them to catch anyone.” Least of all you, she added silently.

He looked at her quizzically. “You don’t have a very good impression of the police here, do you? Anyway, it was the border patrol, Burnham’s group, that picked me up. Not that that’s any justification. It was my own fault. I was too tired. A man makes mistakes at such times.”

“You were arrested because you had no papers?”

“Apparently.”

“But why?”

“Must have misplaced them.”

“I see.” She gulped, realizing she didn’t see at all, and that she might not
want
to see.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, realizing that she still had to talk to him, no matter what.

“Nowhere.”

“I have a car. I can drive you wherever you want to go.”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Look, I really must—”

“Go home.” He turned a corner.

She turned as well. “I won’t give up, and I won’t let you simply disappear on me!”

He nodded wearily. “I seem to be getting that message.”

“I’ve told the police you’re my brother! I’m responsible. What if Burnham comes to find—”

The look he gave her stopped her. They both knew that wasn’t the point.

She gritted her teeth. The man did look ready to drop with exhaustion. “If you need to rest, I’ve got a room.”

“Oh?” His right eyebrow rose ever so slightly as his glance swept appraisingly over her body. A dangerous man all right, she thought.

“I’m only talking about a little while! Just long enough for you to lie down, I mean…um…take a nap.” There was no way she could make it sound right.

“Nap?” His incredulous expression told her that he probably hadn’t heard that word since kindergarten.

She tried to ignore the warm rush of color that filled her cheeks as she continued, desperation spurring her on. “You can get something to eat, too. You must be hungry. And after that we can talk. Look, there’ll be no need to worry about the police, or, or anything. Just eat, sleep, and then tell me what you know about Alan. Okay?” She paused, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t object.

“Come with me,” she continued when he didn’t reply. “My room’s not here in Luchow; it’s on the edge of Kowloon. I’ll drive, and we’ll be there in no time at all.”

His steps slowed, as if by allowing himself to think about the needs of his body, the energy he had called upon earlier vanished.

“It’s got a nice, soft bed,” she added, “with fluffy down pillows.”

“Is it a double?”

“I thought you were tired! Best of all, it has a bath with hot, running water.”

“You win.” He stopped walking, looking as if he could barely take another step. “Which way is heaven?”

Chapter 2