Shan closed her eyes and swallowed, her whole body and mind focused on the sensations of that one hand touching Ian.
Ian was comfortable with his skills and knew his limitations. He deserved to be treated like the intelligent adult he repeatedly proved that he was. If she allowed him to come, her mission would be easier in many ways. The invitations, the cover story. But was it selfish of her to say yes? Was she giving in to Ian, putting his life at risk, in order to help her restore the legacy of the Jade Circle? Or, even worse, did she simply want him nearby for the high of an occasional caress or the bliss of yet another kiss?
"Okay," she said quietly.
"Okay?" Ian turned to Buckley. "You heard her say it, right?"
"Don't bring me into this. I don't speak Chinese, and I don't hobnob with the rich. I'll be happy to sit this one out."
"What?"
"Excellent," Shan said. "But you still need to stay safe until this is over. I think you should hide out in my martial arts school in Los Angeles."
Buckley grinned. "Ah, Hollywood. Failed actresses with boob jobs, too desperate to hold out for that big break or the leading man, ready for the dashing archaeologist to sweep them into bed. Or onto the carpet. Or into an elevator. That's more my style."
Shan rolled her eyes. "You'll have to curb your carnal instincts for a while and lay low at the school. Lydia will help you."
"Lydia?" Buckley said. "Sounds like failed actress material to me."
"Lydia owns the school where I teach," Shan said firmly. "She's one of my best students. I have no doubt she'll be able to handle you."
"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Buckley grinned. Shan could only shake her head.
"How is it that you teach, but she owns the school?" Ian asked.
Shan didn't want to get into the details. Those were for Lydia to divulge, if and only if she wanted to. "She saw me in action once," Shan said carefully. "She had the money to buy the property, and I agreed to start the school. It was excellent timing for both of us." Especially for Lydia, Shan added silently. Without Shan's arrival in that darkened parking lot behind the strip mall, Lydia would have been gang raped. Now, the two of them were almost as close as sisters. And their school, The Way of the River, was teaching more and more people how to defend themselves every day.
"I'll do it," said Buckley. "You guys can drop me off in Paris and continue up to the Dashell estate, or whatever the hell pretentious name they've given the place."
"Dashell Manor," said Ian. "I'm hurt that you've forgotten."
Shan looked from Ian to Buckley and back again. "You guys are kidding, right? Your parents live in France?"
"Oh, no," said Ian, adopting an exaggerated aristocratic air. "France is so last century. My parents are both Anglophiles, so nothing but jolly old England would suit them for a home."
"Yeah," said Buckley, "you're going to love their place. All zillion acres of it."
Shan gulped. "Uh, maybe you should go alone, Ian. I, uh, have to protect Buckley."
"Oh, there's no way I'm going to visit my parents without one of you as a shield," Ian said. "You either come with me or we forget about the auction."
Shan sighed heavily, making sure he could see. "Fine. Have it your way. You big baby."
In the front seat, Buckley laughed. "I see that my presence is having a good influence on you, Shan. Excellent."
"Yeah," groaned Ian. "It's bloody great."
"Lydia will pick you up at the airport," Shan said over the roar of vehicles in the departures area of Charles de Gaulle Airport. "Don't call or write to
anyone
. Got it?"
"Gotten," Buckley said. "I'll stay in public areas at all times, I'll buckle my seat belt, and I'll drink my milk. Anything else?"
"And don't give Lydia a hard time," Shan added.
"And keep your hands off her, too," grinned Ian. "We wouldn't want you to alienate the woman responsible for your safety, now would we?" Ian and Buckley did the guy hug, complete with back slapping. Shan snuck in and gave Buckley a hug of her own in order to avoid that whole French cheek kissing thing. She was more of a chin kisser anyway, but only with the right chin. Shan smiled to herself.
"And you're sure I can't take the crane to L.A. with me?" Buckley asked for the third time.
"Absolutely," Shan said. "It would just make you more of a target than you already are. And besides," she hefted the messenger bag that had been over her shoulder for the last few hours, "I'm kind of attached to the statue myself. The only way they're getting this is at my funeral."
"All right, then. Be good, kids," he said, and he was off, winding his way through hordes of travelers like a seasoned pro.
Ian scrunched back into the car as Shan lowered herself gently into the front passenger seat. Damn ribs. She closed her door, buckled in, and they were once again driving off into the unknown.
This time, however, the unknown scared the hell out of her. Growing up in an underground secret organization, then moving to America and being raised by a relatively clueless father did not make for a savvy socialite. It wasn't that Shan was a total tomboy--the Jade Circle had encouraged well-rounded women, and most of the older members had been wives and mothers. But Shan had never really "lunched with the ladies" or "dressed to the nines" or any of those other phrases she only marginally understood. Oh, yes, she was definitely terrified of Dashell Manor.
They drove in silence for a while, heading for Calais and the Channel Tunnel that would take them to England. Shan rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window and lost herself in the scenery. For sixteen years, she'd lived in the United States and searched for signs of the jade animals: on the news, in magazines, at museums, by word of mouth, on the Internet. Suddenly, one goofy archaeologist publishes an interview and all hell breaks loose. The security guard at the university died. The Fortiers had been held captive. Ian and Buckley were on the run. She'd dragged so many people into her fight. Her mother would never have permitted such a thing to happen. Her mother, the great protector, the greatest martial artist the Jade Circle had ever known. A
true
leader.
"If it makes you feel any better," Ian said suddenly, "you'll probably like my parents. Most people do."
"Just not you?"
"It's complicated," Ian said, staring straight ahead as he drove. "I definitely love them, but sometimes the liking part is a bit harder. We see the world through such different eyes."
"Sometimes that's a good thing," Shan said. She and her father had both been obsessed with finding Shan's mother, neither one of them wanting to give up, or even pause to gain perspective. Maybe they should have.
"I suppose," said Ian. "And I certainly get along with them better than my sister does."
"Sister?"
"Oh, yes," said Ian. "Her name is Isabelle, which rhymes nicely with 'Spawn of Hell.' I think she's in Tokyo right now. She should be in college, but we haven't found one strong enough to keep her yet."
Shan smirked. "Sounds like my kind of woman."
Ian glanced over at her, his face thoughtful. "You know, I think you two would probably hit it off. Interesting."
"Does that make me a hell-spawn, too?"
"Most definitely," Ian laughed. He looked at her again, his face warm. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and intimate. "You should try to sleep," he said, "even
your
body needs rest once in a while. I don't suppose we have time to grab a couple of hotel rooms?"
Shan smiled. How carefully Ian chose his words, making it clear that he didn't expect to share a bed with her.
"Your mother is expecting us for dinner, and we need to get the invitation and rejoin Buckley." She said all this to convince herself more than Ian. The hotel room sounded like heaven, and even the strength of the tiger occasionally wavered.
"That's what I figured," Ian said. "But in that case, I think you should sleep now. I've driven this route plenty of times, so I shouldn't need your help with the map."
"Deal." Shan reclined her seat and used Ian's puffy ski jacket as a pillow. She smelled the synthetic material and caught a hint of something distinctly Ian. Shan smiled and breathed in through her nose. Mmm. With the quiet rumble of the car beneath her and Ian's comforting presence beside her, Shan fell asleep.
"Shan, wake up."
"Uhh?" Shan opened her eyes slowly. She would much rather have kept them closed. Or at least have had a nice cup of tea shoved into her hands before she was required to think. Or speak. Or be even remotely pleasant.
"We're in Calais. I'm heading toward the Channel Tunnel. From there, it'll be a quick thirty-five minutes or so on the shuttle train before we're in Folkstone, England."
"So I'm awake because...?"
"Because I think we're being followed."
"Oh," said Shan, sitting up faster than she should have. Her hand went to her ribs. "That's a pretty good reason."
Ian navigated their car down a street packed with cars, bicycles, pedestrians, and an occasional dog. For the umpteenth time, Shan was grateful that Ian was driving, and that he seemed so at ease with the chaos. She still got angry driving to the grocery store in L.A.
"How long?" Shan asked.
"I noticed him right after you fell asleep, but I lost him so easily that I figured I was just being paranoid. Then he showed up again twenty minutes ago when I took a wrong turn and doubled back--"
"Wait a minute..."
"What?"
"You took a wrong turn?" Shan grinned. True, she should be worried about whoever was tailing them, but opportunities to tease Ian were hard to come by. He was way too perfect most of the time. Adorably so.
"Oh, laugh it up, kung-fu queen," Ian countered. "If you drive cars like you ride snowmobiles..."
"Okay, okay, you've made your point," Shan laughed. "Please, finish the story."
"You're sure? You don't have another jibe tucked in there somewhere?"
Shan folded her hands on her lap and shook her head.
"Good," said Ian in a tone of voice that Shan imagined he used with his students. "As I was saying--oh! There he is again! Four cars back and one lane over."
Shan twisted in her seat, ignoring the pain in her side. Sunlight glared rudely from every car hood and roof. Finally, she spotted a black car that seemed to be keeping pace with them.
"The driver's wearing a hat," she said. "I can't see if it's a man or a woman."
Ian checked his mirrors. "Well, whoever it is, they're backing off again. They must have seen us looking."
Shan watched the black sedan disappear out of sight. "Maybe One-eye remembered the crane and is just waiting for a good opportunity to attack."
"I don't think so," said Ian. "I pulled off to get gas a while back, and the place was almost deserted. He could have taken me easily."
Shan marveled at how Ian could say things like that. Martial artists, herself included, were not prone to admitting their weaknesses.
"Well," said Shan, "we really can't lead them straight to your parent's house. I'm not up for a repeat of what happened with the Fortier's."
"I'm not excited about that either," said Ian, "but Dashell Manor is a fortress. They've got every state-of-the-art thingy-mabob that money can buy. Apparently all the mansions got an update after that George Harrison stabbing in 1999. And besides," he grinned at Shan, "he's working with a lot fewer henchmen--hench
people
--than he was before, thanks to you."
Shan sighed. "That's all true, but I'm still worried. They probably didn't plan these security systems with evil martial arts badasses in mind. We're an unpredictable lot."
"You don't say?" said Ian.
Shan tried to frown at him, but her mouth twisted into a smile against her will.
"Well, we're almost at the Channel Tunnel," said Ian. "We'll be in England and at Casa de Dashell in no time. Excited?"
"Thrilled," said Shan, trying to keep her smile from fading too visibly.
You're doing it for the Jade Circle, she told herself, but it wasn't entirely true. For a long time now, Shan's responsibility to the Circle had been eclipsed by her mother's legacy. Shan needed to prove herself worthy of her lineage, worthy of her mother's sacrifice. And if she needed to face an entire army of Ian's parents in order to do it, well...
Shan gulped. Well, she'd probably run away screaming.
The grounds of Dashell Manor were, if possible, even bigger than Shan had imagined. Minutes ago they had passed a stone obelisk engraved with the estate's name.
Minutes ago
. And only now were they actually approaching the house. They drove around a sharp bend, and Shan gasped.
Shan wanted to describe the mansion as nestled in the trees, but nothing so huge could actually nestle, in her opinion. "It's...it's..."
"Obscene," Ian finished for her. "Ludicrous. Outrageous. A colossal waste of money."
"Beautiful!" Shan gasped.
And it was. Two stories of pure old England charm surrounding by rolling, snow-dusted hills. The building itself was shaped like a shoebox, but somehow that just made it seem more exotic.
"There's nothing like this in China or Los Angeles," Shan said, still in awe.
"And thank god for that," Ian said. He stopped the car in front of the mansion, near a wide stone staircase leading up to a pair of huge wooden front doors. The whole scene would have made even Cinderella green with envy.
Shan looked down at her clothes. Dirt and blood stained her shirt and pants in irregular patches, and a nice blood-caked rip still adorned her pant leg from the fight at the university. She hadn't showered in two days, or changed her socks or underwear. Some first impression she was about to make. The Dashells would probably have her hauled off to a mental institution by tea time tomorrow.
Ian switched the car off and unlocked his seatbelt. "Come on, let's get this over with, shall we?"
"Over with. Sounds good," Shan said dully. She removed her seatbelt and opened the door. It's like a bandage, she thought. Rip it off quick and the pain will fade before you know it. Shan stood and tried to brush off some of the grime on her shirt. Her hand grazed her ribs, and she winced.
"Don't worry," said Ian. "My mother is used to me showing up under all sorts of circumstances. I used to pop over for visits during my field work sometimes. At this point, she gets worried if I
don't
look like a drowned rat."
"How comforting," Shan said. She managed a small smile, and Ian laughed.
"Brave until the bitter end, I see."
Shan had been hoping for another kiss before the whole "meet the parents" debacle, but Ian seemed to be keeping his distance. It made perfect sense, of course. The only thing more difficult than dropping in on your parents, covered in blood, was doing it with a new... A new what? Did they even deserve a label after only two real kisses? You couldn't really introduce someone to your parents as a potential lover or girlfriend, now could you? No, it would be far simpler to just avoid the whole issue, even if it meant keeping her distance from Ian during their stay. Shan hugged the messenger bag carrying the crane to the unwounded side of her body. She could use a little of its grace and balance right about now.
They climbed the massive stone steps to the front door. Shan noticed video cameras hidden in the awnings and plants, covering the entire front of the house. The gate at the front of the property hadn't impressed her much, but it would certainly stop vehicles from entering the property without permission, given the huge numbers of rocks, tree, and shrubs scattering the acres of yard. She guessed that the windows and doors were also wired, given Ian's insistence that the place was secure. If One-eye intended to stroll up to the front door and knock, he was in for a surprise.
Of course, that's what
they
did. Strolled right up to the door and knocked. After a minute or so, the huge door swung open and the butler stood before them. At least Shan assumed it was the butler, judging from his nice but wholly inappropriate clothes. Who else would wear a waistcoat on a beautiful day in late spring? The man looked to be in his mid-thirties with a football player build. Maybe he worked part-time as a bodyguard or a bouncer.
"Geof!" Ian said, and gave the man a brisk handshake and a half-hug. "Good to see you again."
Geof smiled warmly. "Likewise, sir."
Ian motioned to Shan. She took a step toward the butler and held out her hand. "Geof, this is Shan. Shan, Geof."
"A pleasure to meet you, miss," Geof said, shaking Shan's hand. His grip was loose, his hands enormous. "May I take your bags to your rooms?"
"Oh, no bags this time," Ian said without apology. "But we'll need to find some fresh clothes for Shan."
Geof looked Shan up and down, clearly calculating. Then he nodded and said the very British, "As you wish, sir."
"Thanks a bunch," said Shan. If she let Ian do all the talking, it might become a habit, and she had no intention of playing to the shy little Chinese girl stereotype on this trip. Though, to be honest, she'd rather fight off a group of gang members than try to figure out which fork to use with a salad. Yet another reason why chopsticks were a superior utensil.
"It will be my pleasure, miss," Geof said simply. Shan looked for insincerity in his voice, but found none. The man seemed to take great pride in his job. Geof turned to Ian. "After you freshen up, you'll find Mrs. Dashell on the veranda with the dogs."
"Excellent," Ian said. "Come on, Shan, let me give you a quick tour." He looked at her hand, which seemed to gravitate to her ribs when she wasn't thinking about it. "Of the first floor," he added.
By the time Shan's eyes adjusted to the dark, castle-like interior of Dashell Manor, they were standing at the base of a huge, sweeping staircase in a cavernous foyer. Which was, she guessed, roughly five times the size of her room over the school in L.A. Maybe six. Portraits lined the walls, all the way up the twenty- or thirty-foot high ceiling. Pedestals squatted against the walls at regular intervals and sported various antiquities. Shan recognized one as a Ming-style vase. If it was authentic, the Dashells were even wealthier than Buckley had said.
As Ian gave her the tour, Shan made all sorts of
oohing
and
aahing
noises, sometimes without trying. This wasn't a house; it was a palace. And Ian had said that her parents lived here alone, except when they were entertaining. How could two people possibly need or use this much house? It was so thoroughly un-Chinese, and so very Los Angeles. Likewise, she was both awed by its glory and sickened by the waste of space.
Shan saw the contradiction in Ian now. His love of artifacts as priceless things of beauty, versus the simple life he had chosen for himself as an archaeologist and professor. His mind was a more complicated landscape than she had suspected.
Ian marooned her in one of several bathrooms on the first floor and went off to find another one for himself. After Shan finished the requisite admiration for the decor and size, she settled into the much more intimidating task of making herself presentable. She scrubbed her face with decorative soaps and found a full set of accoutrements in one drawer labeled "For guests" in a flowing script. With gusto, Shan helped herself to a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, then worked her way through the rest of the items. There was really no hope for her red silk shirt, her jeans, or her shoes, though she did attempt to wipe the dirt off them one more time before putting them back on. By the time she opened the door to leave, Shan was feeling almost entirely human again.
Happily, Ian was waiting for her on a padded wooden bench just a little way down the hallway. He stood when he saw her, a huge grin on his face, like some goofy groom watching his bride-to-be walk down the aisle.
"You clean up pretty well," he said.
"Wish I could say the same for you," Shan countered, "but I guess archaeologists and dirt go hand-in-hand."
"Speaking of hand-in-hand..."
Ian reached for her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. Shan's whole body relaxed at his touch. She felt like she'd been running a marathon and had finally crossed the finish line. Another huge grin came unbidden to her face, and she let it linger. Ian made her happy, and he deserved to know it.
"I talked to Geof about our mystery follower, by the way," Ian said. "He's going to alert the servants and security staff."
"Oh, good," Shan said. "Thanks." She swung Ian's arm back and forth, testing the distance. It felt good, natural. Ian led them through the house and toward the backyard. His hand fit so well with hers that she couldn't even summon panic about meeting his mother.
Ian opened the door to the veranda, and Shan once again found herself gasping at the sight. Beautiful gray stone tiles covered the huge patio area like the pebbles at the bottom of a river. Gnarly old trees made little islands, with comfy looking chairs and tables underneath their branches. The yard itself extended back until it disappeared into a thick copse of trees. A partially shaded pool with trickling fountains sat off to the left. The air was cold, promising snow, but only a few small drifts of the stuff clung to the shadows.
"Beautiful," Shan breathed, for possibly the hundredth time on this trip.
"Yeah, the landscapers outdid themselves, didn't they?" Ian looked left and waved. Belatedly, Shan remembered his mother. She followed Ian's gaze and saw a lone woman sitting in one of those comfortable chairs, two huge piles of fur at her feet and a fire blazing in a round stone hearth nearby.
"Let's do this," Shan said quietly. Ian kept waving at his mother, but he looked at Shan.
"You're dazzling."
Her heart thumped loudly in response. Dazzling? But Ian was already walking toward his mother, and pulling her along with him.
Dazzling
?
Ian's mother wore a trim pair of pale slacks, a turtleneck, and a red and green sweater. Her light brown hair was cut stylishly short and seemed designed to show off the sparkling stud earrings she wore. Her face was long and a bit angular like Ian's, but still feminine. Mrs. Dashell had to be in her late fifties or sixties, judging from Ian's age, but she wore the years extremely well.
As they approached, Mrs. Dashell and her dogs stood up to greet them.
"Ian!"
"Mother." Ian released Shan's hand to pull the older woman into an awkward hug. "Mom, this is Shan. Shan, this is Janet."
Shan shook hands with the woman and smiled. "Thank you so much for letting us visit on such short notice."
"Oh, it's nothing, dear," said Janet Dashell. "Please, have a seat and join me. No doubt Geof is already on the way with drinks."
Ian offered a chair to Shan, then took one himself. One of the huge dogs waddled toward Shan. "It's a Chow Chow," Shan said, surprised. She let the plush, cinnamon-colored dog sniff her hand. It panted, letting its notorious black tongue hang out of its mouth.
"Be careful, dear," Janet Dashell said, "Ginger is probably sizing you up as a threat."
"Thanks for the warning," Shan said. "We used to have several of these dogs in the...where I grew up. They make excellent guardians and are extremely loyal." Ginger apparently decided not to push Shan over and go for her jugular. Instead, Ginger sat down on her haunches and allowed Shan to bury her hands in the thick fur of the dog's head.
"Mom and Dad used to breed Chow Chows," Ian said. "Now it's just Fred and Ginger." Fred, an even more densely furred dog, lifted up his head when he heard his name and waggled his crescent-shaped tail.
"They're my little babies," Janet said. "They're all Henry and I have, since we haven't been blessed with any grandchildren." Mrs. Dashell smiled sadly at Shan, clearly trying to get sympathy from a fellow woman.
"Gee, Mother, I think that was a record. You waited a whole minute before pulling out the grandkid card." Ian's voice said he was joking, but his eyes were anything but jovial.
Mrs. Dashell reached a hand over her chair arm and stroked Fred. "Well, you aren't getting any younger, and neither are we," Janet said firmly. "I'm not telling you what to do; I'm just telling you how your decision affects your father and me. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"No, of course not," Ian answered. "Oh, look. Here comes Geof with our drinks."
Shan got the distinct impression that this exchange happened frequently, but that fact didn't make her any more happy about the waves of tension washing over the three of them. Respect for one's elders was a virtue instilled in most Chinese from an early age, and Shan had certainly had cause to respect the older men and women she had known in the Jade Circle. By twelve, Shan had found it impossible to disobey her mother, let alone argue with her about personal issues in front of a stranger. Americans raised their children so differently.
Geof placed a tray of steaming mugs and bowls on the table. Shan said yes to the mulled cider and the barley soup. Homemade food was a marvel to her. Her normal diet consisted of far too many protein bars, and since she'd been on the road, they'd been stopping at fast food joints so they could keep driving.
"Geof, come and sit with us for a while," Mrs. Dashell said. It's going to be a beautiful night."
"Yes, Geof, join us," Ian added. Shan guessed they both wanted more of a social buffer than she was currently providing.
"Thank you, but I've got a few more items to take care of before dinner." He turned to Shan. "Does the lady have any special eating requirements?"
Shan paused, a spoonful of soup on its way to her mouth, as everyone looked at her. She shook her head, "None that I know of."
"Very well," Geof said. Shan watched his well-tailored back disappear into the house.
"Do you play tennis, dear?" Janet asked Shan.
Shan swallowed a mouthful of food abruptly. "No, I've never played before."
"Oh, well you look like a tennis player. Very athletic. I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, excuse me?" added Ian.
"Oh, do let me have my fun, Ian. Henry and I so rarely get a chance to play doubles anymore. You're far better than we are, so you and Shan versus your father and I will be even teams."
"We'd love to play," Ian said quickly, "but Shan...took a nasty fall recently and hurt her ribs. She shouldn't be moving around that much."
Janet Dashell never missed a beat. "Well, in that case, you absolutely must see my doctor while you're here, Shan. He's very good."