Sweet Seduction Sayonara (6 page)

“
H
ey
,” I say, as I shut the door behind me. Dom only shuts the door to his office when he’s got a high profile client in here or on the line, or when he’s talking dirty to Gen.

I’m guessing the latter. He’s too damn smug right now for it to have been a case.

“Did I interrupt?” I ask.

“Perfect timing,” he says, still smiling.

I smile back, because long ago Drew and I decided we’d pretend that only ADK-type legal things happened behind Dom’s closed door.

Denial is a beautiful thing.

"How was your weekend?" he asks, moving to his desk and taking a seat.

I sit in the chair opposite, making myself comfortable. My weekend? I stall. My weekend was long. And lonely.

I left Momoko on Saturday morning, my phone number locked into her cell. I haven't heard from her since and it's driving me crazy.

I've never been crazy for a woman before.

"My weekend was fine. Yours?"

"The Wiggles at the Aotea Centre and Auckland Zoo."

"Is Samantha old enough for the zoo?" I ask.

"You're always old enough for the zoo," Dom replies equably.

"But she won't remember a thing," I protest. Sam's two and barely talking. Unlike her irrepressible older brother.

"It's all about the journey, Finn. Not the destination. You'll see," he adds, sounding confident. "When little Drakes are running around, all you'll want is for them to be happy."

I frown. Unsure if little Drakes will feature on my horizon anytime soon.

"I think you need a wife first," I offer.

"Wife. Girlfriend." He shrugs his shoulders, looking too damn pleased with himself. "It'll happen."

I suck in a breath. It's now or never. Dom's actually making it easy for me. But that's Dom. He sees everything.

Not that coming in for a chat on a Monday is unusual, but he's sensed something. Maybe it's not something new. Maybe he's seen how unhappy I've been. I don't want to know. I'll just take the hand of friendship he's offering.

"How do you know?" I say. "When a woman is interested?"

Yeah, my oration skills leave a lot to be desired lately.

"She doesn't say no when you kiss her," Dom says drily.

"Not
that
interested," I say with a wave of my hand. "Interested interested."

"Oh, interested interested. Why didn't you say?" he teases.

I roll my eyes at him.

"Who is it?" he asks.

"No one," I immediately reply.

"Ah, an elicit liaison. How intriguing."

"Not really," I hedge. It's the most intriguing thing to have happened to me in my life.

"Did she say no when you kissed her?" Dom asks.

"Of course not."

"Then you're off to a positive start.”

I frown at him. And then man up.

"I spent Friday night with her, left Saturday morning, and haven't heard from her since," I admit. Then wince. I'm sure I saw a movie about this once. It didn't end well.

"Ah," Dom says. "Was she enthusiastic?"

"Extremely."

"How many enthusiastics?"

I hold up three fingers and grin like a Cheshire Cat. Dom stifles a laugh.

"Give her time, Finn. It's only been what? Fifty hours since you saw her last. She's recovering. I should think you are too. You
are
knocking on forty."

"Speak for yourself, old man. Kids age you."

"Kids keep you young."

"Whatever."

"Yes, an argument that never fails in litigation."

I smile at him. He smiles back.

And then he sobers.

"Honestly?" he says.

"Yeah?"

"You like her? Really like her?"

"Yeah," I say, swallowing.

"Then chase her. Make her yours. It's what I did. And look how that turned out?" His grin is infectious. I can't help smiling back.

All right. I'll do it. I'll chase her. How bad could it be?

I almost laugh. But I'm too excited to stop grinning.

And a little scared shitless, as well. Because Momoko is Koki Tanaka's little sister. And
he's
batshit crazy dangerous.

I spend a few more moments with Dom, shooting the breeze, then attack my appointments. It's with a brighter outlook on life that I leave the office at six-thirty and head home to my empty house.

I'm still a little excited, truth be told. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. About her.

I'm sure my clients noticed.

And the prospect of a cold, dark home doesn't faze me. Because tomorrow I'm going to swing by Momoko's shop. Maybe I'll buy her some flowers.

I'm chuckling to myself as I roll my car in under my garage door. The soft hum of the Lexus reverberating off the walls. Everything makes me smile. Even the sound of my 5.0 litre, 467 horsepower RC F.

It's not until I'm out of the car, approaching the internal door to the house, that I notice.

Someone's been in here.

My toolbox hasn't been pushed over or anything as obvious as that. But it has been moved. I know this, because I bumped into it this morning, rounding the hood of the car. I then took the time to place it on the bench, beside the back door.

But now it's on the floor again. Pushed up against the bench, as though shoved there in a hurry. Had it fallen from its perch, it would have spilled open; the latch doesn't work and it's top heavy.

I stare at it for a long moment, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Everything else looks in order. The back door bolted shut.

But I swear someone has been in here.

My eyes dart around, but nothing else seems out of place. I begin to wonder if I might have made a mistake.

Shaking my head, I push through the internal door and walk toward the kitchen.

Nothing's out of place here that I can see. Not that I remember clearly where everything was when I left this morning. Unlike the toolbox, I didn't pause to shift anything on my way out of the house.

I put my keys on their hook and throw my briefcase on the centre island bench, then peer inside the fridge for inspiration.

A creepy feeling rushes down my spine and I whirl away from the miserable contents of my refrigerator and stare out across the room.

This is ridiculous.

But I pause for a carving knife from the block by the sink before I head toward the dining room.

Everything looks in order here. Dust motes float on the air in the fading light through the window. Nothing makes a sound; you could hear a mouse fart, it's so quiet.

I roll my shoulders and walk into the lounge, the knife out before me like a shield. I grip it almost too tightly.

The lounge is empty; I'm strangely disappointed. My palm is sweating where it holds the handle on the knife. I flex my fingers, scanning the room for any changes.

The TV remote is on the floor, but I could have left it there last night. Sports mags are scattered over the coffee table; I never stack them. The cushions on the couch are scrunched up, as though I just got up and didn't fluff them

An intruder would look under cushions, wouldn't they?

I let out a slow breath of air, glad Momoko can't see me now; afraid of shadows.

By the time I make it my bedroom, I think I might be imagining things. But this time, there's no mistaking I've had a home invasion.

Someone has taken a dump on the middle of my bed. I scrunch my nose up, surprised I didn't smell it before I made it into here. But I cleaned the main bathroom across the hall on the weekend and the bleach is still permeating the air out there.

I stare at the pile of shit just sitting there and then I start to laugh.

Who does this kind of thing?

I check the rest of the bedrooms, leaving the clean-up in the master until later - I've already decided to roll the duvet and bedding up and chuck the whole thing - and everything appears in order.

But not so when I make it to my home office.

It's been trashed. The laptop. The stereo. The wall mounted TV. The filing cabinet is on the floor, scratch marks indicate where they've broken the locks on the drawers. Folders are scattered everywhere. Ink from broken fountain pens has been splattered across the walls.

My diploma has been torn out of its frame and ripped into shreds, then set alight in an ashtray.

I'm dumbfounded. Silent. The knife forgotten at my side.

I walk over to the desk - the only piece of furniture still standing - and stare at the lettering carved into the leather insert on top.

It's in hanzi or maybe kanji. In my current state, I can't tell the difference.

For a horrible moment, I think this message is from Koki.

But then sanity returns and I get out my cell phone. It takes a few minutes to determine the characters are Chinese.

It takes longer to translate them.

If you walk on snow, you cannot hide your footprints.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? It sounds like a proverb. Another quick search on the Internet shows it’s one meant to convey harmony. I scan the destruction of my office and snort. There is nothing harmonious about what has been done here.

Instead I see this as a threat.

Is Momoko the snow? Are they trying to tell me not to walk on the snow? That they’ll find me? And then what?

This is a message from the Triads, I’m sure. I knew those CCTV cameras would come back to haunt me. Just not from the avenue I had thought.

The 14K Triads know I helped Momoko escape them. Maybe they see themselves as the snow, and I’m leaving my dirty, interfering footprints in them.

Why do they want her?

I shake my head. I’m getting nowhere with this. And although I’ve been vandalised, there is nothing in this room worth taking. All my confidential case files are at the office. These idiots have just gone through the last seven years’ worth of tax returns.

Still, I should report this. But if they know I was there on High Street, and they could only know that through the CCTV system used by the police, maybe staying quiet for now would be wisest.

I’ll sound Momoko out tomorrow, see if she reacts to a couple of hints.

And I’ll visit Nick at ASI. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get some home security. If the woman I’m after is being chased by the Triads, I’d better start covering our arses.

It doesn’t occur to me to drop this. Drop her. I can’t. She’s in my crosshairs now, my finger hovering over the trigger.

And perhaps that analogy sums up everything.

For now, though, I’m beat. And there’s a certain deposit on my bedspread that needs dealing with.

By the time I’ve finished throwing out my linens, remaking the bed, and tidying up the office - not to mention scrubbing the fucking ink off the walls - I’m knackered.

I don’t even eat dinner, but fall into bed, having checked the locks and windows about a dozen times, and sleep fitfully. When the morning sun blasts through a crack in my curtains and nails me in the eyes, and birds are singing in the trees outside my bedroom window like fucking banshees, I’m a wreck.

I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. And I’m beginning to wonder if I
shouldn’t
just tuck tail and run. But once I’m showered, bombarded with caffeine, and walking out to the car, I feel a million miles better.

Momoko’s giggles filter through my mind. Followed up by how spectacular she looked in that silk dress trading punches with a Triad.

The house disappears in the rearview mirror as I drive down the street, excitement at the day ahead setting my stomach fluttering with anticipation. One last glance at my bungalow and I push it from my mind. Push the entire night from my mind and look toward the day’s horizon.

But just as I turn the corner, losing sight of my home, I see them. I’m being followed.

It takes a while to determine I am. Remuera is busy this time of day. But the black SUV continues to follow me as I take shortcuts down side streets and weave back toward my house and then the office on Queen Street.

It’s definitely following me. No sane person would take this route into the city.

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I make Shore Road, unsure what to do about this. My gut tells me to go to the police. My head tells me the police, at least those with access to the CCTV system, can’t be trusted. My heart just pounds away inside my chest like a fucking drumbeat.

I slam my hand down on the steering wheel with force and consider my options. I am not a coward. Not many successful lawyers are. If you go into bat for the underdog and want to win, then you gotta grow some balls. I’m not afraid of confrontation. I relish it. Give me a good argument and a subject I can get behind and I’m all over that puppy.

So instead of doing the sane thing, like calling the police or driving straight to the office, I turn the car toward Viaduct Basin and Momoko’s florist store. I know where it is, I looked it up over the weekend, but I’ve never seen it before. As I cruise past the frontage and then do a loop and cruise back again, I watch the SUV that follows twenty metres behind me.

I don’t really take in much detail of Momo’s shop, which is ironic. No, my attention is all on the SUV that follows and the passenger in the front who’s nothing more than a dark shadow, but the flare of light on a camera lens is obvious.

As he takes pictures of me stalking Momoko Tanaka.

Well now, that just creeps me the fuck out, doesn’t it.

Is this her over-protective father? It’s not an ASI SUV, I know their licence plate numbers. And Koki rides a Honda CBR 650. I’m betting Mr Tanaka senior isn’t aware of me yet. Koki hasn’t got that much of a vindictive streak. If he wanted me to back off, he’d say so to my face.

No, this has to be the Triads. Which makes no fucking sense at all. Because if the Triads are after Momoko, then why aren’t they following her?

I drive past her shop again and this time flick a glance toward the front window. Flowers of every colour and hue are displayed in stands, but not like any other florist I’ve ever seen. These ones are in wooden barrels with bamboo hoops circled around them at strategic intervals. They’re very Japanese. Rustic looking, but against the plethora of colourful blooms they look striking.