This Man and Woman (4 page)

“Margolis, I am not jumping through hoops again, even if I like you.”

“She’s my mate, Akron. You’ve got to help me find her! You’ve got to! I love her. I will not rest until I have found her again!”

There was complete quiet for a span.

“Oh, very well. Occupation?”

“Ninja.”

There was a snort and then the sound of the chair creaking again. “You know, there’s a limit to what I’ll listen to, even from you. And I’m beginning to think I’m getting pranked here.”

“
Non
. I swear to you. Look! Here are her weapons.” Jean-Pierre shoved out of the chair and emptied his pockets onto the desk top, where all the metal glinted next to the back of Akron’s laptop.

“Well. Well. That does look to be a pretty solid collection of ninja weaponry. That pointed trowel thing is called a
kunai.
That chain and sickle is known as
kusarigama
, the stars are named
shuriken.
And look, you even have a collection of hooks, darts, and picks. Impressive, Margolis. Most. But I don’t understand how the hell you got her weapons, and she still got the sword.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

“She kicked me into the lake, ruining my ensemble. And that, after calling me a freak in a circus-suit! Or other words of this ilk.”

The largest booming laugh came from the darkness, and Jean-Pierre shook his head before going back to his chair and tossing his body into it. “This is not funny.”

“Actually, I think this is very entertaining. I was due for some of that. When, exactly, did you hit the lake?”

“I didn’t hit it. I was kicked into it.”

“I need to know my time constraints. A female ninja will be easier to find if she hasn’t left the country yet.”

“Oh. Four hours, twenty minutes ago.”

“Nigel?”

There was a sound of a comlink going through and then a voice answered.

“Sir?”

“Check all travel venues. I’m looking for special baggage. A Samurai sword. Don’t ask questions. A negative answer will do. Invaris?”

“Sir?”

“Get Carlotti Brothers Menswear on the phone. Not Milan. The branch here in the city. Tell them I’ve got VAL business. And I want the paperwork on that Samurai sword you got for Margolis on my desk in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The comlink went dead.

“You’re going to help me?” Jean-Pierre felt the first glimmer of hope.

“Of course. It was time to update your style, anyway.”

“You know why I wear this. It is my brand. My own unique style.”

“It’s still dated.”

“I’ll have you know I won two contests at the disco in attire very like this.”

“What did I just say? Dated. Now go. Clean up. Use your old chambers. I’ve got work to do.” The comlink buzzed. “Yes?”

“Nigel speaking. Found a
katana
. Declared value is five-point-five million, US. Left on the 4 am flight to Tokyo, Japan. That it?”

Jean-Pierre felt his heart sink, and then his hands trembled.

“That’s the one. Was it accompanied?”

“You didn’t ask me to check—”

“Nigel.”

Akron’s voice had a theatrical quality. It didn’t take many words to get results. Jean-Pierre had seen it happen many times. This was one of them.

“Yes, Sir. Checking. Two guards.”

“Male or female?”

“What the—? Very good. Checking that, too. Male. Large types. I have them on recorded video feed. You want to see it?”

“No.”

“You want me to alter the flight plan? Delay it? Order a search and seize upon landing? Track the package?”

“No.”

“You don’t want the sword?”

“Until I’m certain of ownership…no. Shipper?”

“Takaiya Silva. Special assistant to the Japanese Ambassador. Translator. Right here in New York City.”

“Thank you, Nigel. That will be all.”

The comlink went dead, and Jean-Pierre looked over at the empty chair behind the desk. “I don’t get my sword?”

“You want the sword or the girl, Jean-Pierre?”

“Both.”

“I don’t traffic in stolen goods. The sword checks out, you can have it back. But after hearing this, I have severe doubts. We’ll find you another.”

“Fine. But I desperately want the girl. You think this is her?”

“One thing you should know about real ninjas, Margolis. They don’t do the cloak and dagger stuff. They hide in plain sight, disguised as everything from the gardener to the translator.”

“A translator with assassin skills?”

“Who better? Hmm… Looks like you’re in luck. They’re having a charity ball this evening. Black tie. Invitation only. The Japanese ambassador will be there. As will his lovely assistant. I don’t suppose you’d like to attend?”

“You need ask?”

“It’s going to cost.”

“Take it from my account.”

“I’ll have to make a sizeable donation to get you in at this late date. Sizeable.”

“You know I have it. I’ve not purchased much for centuries. Except clothing…and my house.”

“That isn’t a house. It’s a mausoleum.”

“It’s homage to the old regime. You know that. And you know why. But you forget. Below-ground it’s modern and refined.”

“I’m not touching that. We’re finished here. Donation accepted. Invitation downloading. Now, get some measurements to Invaris. ASAP.”

Jean-Pierre sat up straight, looked over at the empty desk heaped with weaponry, and then he grinned.

CHAPTER FOUR

There was something to be said for being in a roomful of dignitaries and society mavens. It was easy to be inconspicuous…especially if one styled their hair in a twist fastened with sticks, was dressed in a dark red silk
cheongsam
dress, wore minimal jewelry, and kept their eyes downcast as convention dictated. The high-collar Mandarin style dress in patterned silk skimmed the body, showing glimpses of leg when she walked. Though borrowed from the Chinese culture, she’d loved it the moment she tried it on, and besides…most Westerners wouldn’t know anything about Oriental tradition.

Takaiya followed her employer about the room, translating if needed, and then stepping back behind him, not noting any interested glances. Blending in was what she did best. Actually…she had to amend the thought. Hiding was what she was best at. Just now, at this extremely boring function, she was hiding even from herself. Her emotions were at odds with her calm, serene appearance. The flush of success battled with guilt - a combination of warring sensations that made her catch her breath more than once.

The phone call from her
Sensei
thanking her for a job well done had sent her spirits soaring. They’d received the
katana
. It was once again safe and protected and secure in the traditional place of honor. She had pleased her clan. Her teacher was pleased with her. She should be pleased.

But the way she’d gotten the sword bit into that pleasure.

Another diplomat begged an introduction. A Spaniard. Sure of his charm once he learned her last name. Her father might have been of Portuguese ancestry, but that didn’t mean she had any fondness for them. Or even looked like them. Takaiya translated the man’s effusive words, and then her employer’s reply, and then stepped back. It was all so superficial. She’d done it thousands of times before. And she really needed something to take her mind off the sick feeling in her belly. It shouldn’t matter that she’d cheated to get the sword. A Hisushu clanswoman did what was necessary to obtain the goal. Besides, nothing else worked. That man had been too cocksure and arrogant for his own good. She had to admit, though, that he had reason. He was quick, graceful, and immensely skilled. She’d never come up against such ability. She’d
had
to kick him while he was off-guard…and there was a bonus. The look on his face had been especially comical.

She smiled slightly to herself at the memory, then sobered. She also had to forget the feel of a solid abdomen against the soles of her feet. The man might be dressed like a
Mardi Gras
participant, but it hid a well-toned physique. No wonder he was so self-assured and confident. He probably spent hours toning his skills and his body. Hmm…that might explain it. She really had to stop thinking about him! She’d never see him again. She’d done what the clan required. Assignment over.

A murmur of activity sounded over at the door and she turned her head slightly to watch. Probably another celebrity arriving, much too late for the paparazzi that had lined both sides of the entrance earlier. They’d also missed the $10,000 a plate supper. That was odd. Most famous people attended these functions in order to be photographed and put in the tabloids. Or, they came to support the cause. They surely didn’t come for the supper. Because it wasn’t worth the cost.

Light glinted off a glimpse of coal black hair, breath-taking handsomeness, wide shoulders… Takaiya craned her neck farther to see, and then the crowd cut off her view.

“Hello.”

Takaiya jumped slightly at the hint of voice right at her left earlobe. It matched the width of her eyes. The man addressing her was mere inches away. She stepped back, but he had an impact even from arms length. She should’ve worn heels. He was easily over six feet, had piercing amber-shaded eyes, was handsome enough to create gasps, and dressed in a tuxedo that did nothing to disguise the physique it covered. And he had coal black hair.

Ridiculous thought, Takaiya. No one can move that fast.

“Miss Silva, I presume?”

He tilted his head and lifted a brow, tipping the color of his eyes to pure liquid gold. A dizzying buzz distracted her, coming from either the crowds starting to gather about them or her own ears. Takaiya didn’t know enough about the reaction to decipher it. He put a hand out. She didn’t glance down at it. She couldn’t. Everything about him seemed to be reaching toward her, shrinking the distance between them…while his eyes! She’d never looked into anything so compelling and fascinating. Intriguing. Mesmeric. Her lips gapped slightly to allow small pants of breath.

“Do you know this gentleman, Takaiya?”

The ambassador spoke at her other side, his words a muted throb of sound that barely dented the buzz. Did she know him? She couldn’t say. Something about him was sending a feeling akin to an electrical current racing through her brain synapses, while imagery flashed before her eyes in a lightning sequence of events. Erotic images. Tanned, naked flesh. Muscled perfection. Glistening skin. Candlelit embraces. Entwined limbs. Ancient lace…

This was impossible! And embarrassing. She was swimming in a realm that had no basis in reality. Takaiya had to stifle it and quickly! If she could just cancel out the disorienting noise, perhaps she’d have better luck against such madness. As if he knew the exact nature of her trouble, he smiled, causing little laugh lines at the sides of his eyes. Then he released her gaze, turning and bowing to her companion.

“Forgive my lapse. J. P. Margolis. Of the VA League.”

“Pleasure to meet you Mister Margolis.”

“Oh, please. Call me J. P.”

He had a stunning smile. Or perhaps she was still dealing with the effect he had on her. It was unfathomable. Unbelievable. Disturbing. Takaiya mentally castigated herself, reaching beneath the veil of allure that seemed to drape over her, into the depths of her consciousness; striving toward the portion that controlled every aspect of life, the part called
fudoshin,
unmovable mind.

“J. P. Ah…well. It is a pleasure to meet a member of your firm. I heard your donation was the largest given in years. You have my thanks.”

The man nodded, creating more fervor throughout her entire being. If anyone looked, they’d be able to spot it in the quickness of each breath making the silk of her bodice rise and fall with rapidity, the non-blinking state of her eyes as they affixed to him, the trembling of her entire frame as if she suffered palsy.

What was it about him?

He was remarkably eye-catching, but many men were. Amazingly well-formed, but again…there were many with physical attributes like his right here in this room. Takaiya’s mind whirred, and her pulse joined in.

There was something unique about him…but what?

She’d noted his hair already and was envious. Takaiya’s ancestry gifted her with dark hair, but nothing near as thick, straight, or glossy as his. He wore his tied back in a queue. The color matched the slight foreshadow of whisker on his upper lip and along the bottom of his chin. It wasn’t just his coloring, although it was amazing when factoring in the clear, perfect complexion, and gold eyes. The man was nearly too stunning to be real. She wasn’t the only one noticing, either. Takaiya blinked a bevy of faces into existence from all around them, all watching with the same expression. He wasn’t just stunning. He was jaw-dropping. She really had to find her
fudoshin
. Right now.

She concentrated on their conversation, heard in a muted fashion because of the continual high-pitched drone.

“I cannot take full credit, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t work for the VA League?”

“
Oui
. As a sub-contractor.”

French? The man spoke French with just the hint of accent. It teased her ear and her memory. But that was ridiculous. The fop she’d stolen the sword from didn’t remotely resemble this man.

Did he?

“Five and a half million dollars is always appreciated.”

“It was nothing.” He shrugged, lifting muscular shoulders his jacket defined and shadowed for anyone watching.

No. It couldn’t be him. The decadent French fellow hadn’t been this muscular; he’d had a silly mustache and pointed goatee, and a head full of white-cast curls. They’d cascaded past his shoulders.

“Really now—”

“Little more than the cost of a sword.” The man interrupted her employer, and then he turned his gaze back to her. And then he winked.

Takaiya’s eyes widened. Any ability to breathe ceased. Move. Think. Her mind was in tandem with the paralysis.
Oh…no! No. A thousand times no.

“You look exactly as I imagined,
Cherie
.”