Authors: Casey Wyatt
“No!” They both shouted nearly in unison.
Luca palmed the cookie off the table, the wrapper crinkling. “How about we learn what this red paper means first?”
“Red paper? That’s not a normal fortune color. I’ll factor that into my research.” Gabriel said. “I’d go to the cookie’s manufacturer. If it’s sealed inside, then the paper was put in during packaging.”
“How do you know so much about fortune cookies? Sounds like you’ve spent time in China.” An innocent way to fish for more information about Gabriel without asking him directly about his past.
He laughed. “Not exactly. Fortune cookies are an American invention. I used to live in San Francisco. There was a factory on the outskirts of my neighborhood. When the cookies are still warm, a machine puts the paper inside. ‘Course in my day, they used manual labor. Little Chinese ladies with chopsticks.”
Cripes, how old was this guy?
Gabriel studied all the photos again. “The take-out cartons all appear to be from the same restaurant. Golden Dragon.”
“A possible connection?” I asked, leaning across for a closer look. Maybe the press wasn’t so crazy after all.
Luca added, “There are several locations downtown. Allen Chen owns them. Ashworth Industries has business dealings with him.”
“Right. He ran for Mayor last autumn. Lost, if I recall,” Gabriel said.
I remembered his campaign.
A vote for Chen is a vote for justice.
The poor man didn’t have a chance to win against the good-old-boy establishment firmly entrenched in the city’s culture. “Well, it’s a place to start. Maybe he can tell us the name of his fortune cookie supplier.”
“Good thinking,
annwyl
.” Luca gathered the photos then shook Gabriel’s hand. “Thank you, Gabriel.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find something.” He flashed his baby blues at me, amusement in his voice. “Come back and visit me anytime, Radiance. Feel free to leave the grouch behind.”
Luca grumbled something unintelligible as he ushered me onto the sidewalk.
“Somebody’s jealous,” I teased, adjusting my coat collar. The sun had gone down and chilled air tickled my neck. Funny, when we were in Soul Kitchen, bright afternoon sunlight had filtered inside.
“Am not,” Luca insisted, fists clenching and unclenching.
“Then how come you look like you want to hit something?”
Or someone
.
The limo glided alongside the curb. Luca held open the door for me. He settled next to me, grumpiness practically oozing out of him. The car door thudded shut.
He was on me in an instant. Large, gentle palms cupped my face. Broad thumbs stroked my cheeks. His focused gaze captured mine before rough, needy kisses landed on my cheeks and forehead.
Fire raced through my blood. Every fiber in me screamed—
surrender
.
“Let me kiss you,” he rasped, his warm breath searing my skin.
Warmth flooded my body at his simple request. I throbbed. I ached. His lips trailed down the hollow of my throat.
“Luca,” I panted, trying to form a coherent thought. “Give me a minute—”
“No.” His tongue darted to the sensitive spot behind my ear.
Damn
. That was good.
“Don’t think.
Feel
.” He eased away, staring at me, gaze hooded. The timbre of his voice dragged a thousand tiny jolts of pleasure across my skin.
Well, when he put it that way…
With a tilt of my head, I leaned forward, closing the distance between us. Luca held my body close to his, his mouth slanting over mine. He tasted of cloves and cinnamon. I threaded my fingers through his hair, softer and silkier than I’d imagined.
Pleasure pulsed through me. He lifted me into his lap. I eagerly straddled his hips, rubbing against his hardness, our tongues dancing, unable to get enough of each other. Too many layers of clothing separated his skin from mine.
Luca growled. As if reading my thoughts and without breaking our kiss, he dragged my coat off my shoulders, dumping it onto the car’s floor. Strong, firm palms skated up my ribcage, skimming under my shirt. His thumbs skimmed under my breasts, then darted away to caress my back.
Inflamed by his touch, I wiggled on his lap, undoing shirt buttons, until I found bare flesh. God, he felt better than good. Hard muscles under silken skin glided beneath my palms. For weeks, I’d known how chiseled he was from our various workouts, but touching him this way was divine. I tweaked his tight nipples, overcome with the urge to nip him.
Luca purred, “Careful,
cariad
, I might bite you back.”
At the mere suggestion, dampness soaked my panties. Anticipation surged through me. “Promise?” I bit my bottom lip, ready to—
A loud knock against the limo’s partition stayed my hands.
“Devil’s balls!” Luca kissed the tip of my nose. “Regretfully . . .”
“I know. I know. Duty calls.”
Chapter 6
The smallest deed is better than the biggest intention
.
“Is Mr. Chen expecting you?” The receptionist, a smooth-faced Asian man, barely looked up from his tablet computer. His casual indifference to our presence reminded me of Julian. He had that same close-faced lack of emotion—the classic poker face.
“No.” Luca’s short, clipped answer gave the assistant pause. “Please let him know a representative of Ashworth Holdings is here.” Then Luca said something in Chinese. I couldn’t speak the language, but even I could tell it was a threat.
The man’s face paled. The desk chair spun in his wake as he bounded down the hall.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Luca shook his head. A moment later, a well-dressed man approached. His almond-shaped eyes flicked between Luca and me, recognition finally settling on Luca. It was a suit-to-suit moment—each of them in expensive, tailored outfits –sizing each other up. It was as if I didn’t exist to Chen. I hated to think that because I was a woman, he assumed I was inferior.
“I’m Allen Chen. Please pardon my assistant’s rudeness, Mr. St. Crow. Right this way.”
As he led us down the hall, I whispered to Luca, “You have a last name?”
“Only when dealing with mortals. When we get in his office, feel free to touch all the items you can. Discreetly.”
I snorted. “Don’t you worry. I’ll touch away.” Mr. Chen had already discounted me as being unworthy of notice and I planned to use that against him. I may not have liked having the touchy feely thing going on, but, hell, I might as well take advantage of it. Plus it was nice to know that Luca thought my control had evolved.
“Sit down, Mr. St. Crow. Can my assistant bring you anything?”
Wow. I really did not like Allen Chen. He was a rude, chauvinistic jerk wad. Luca looked amused. Good for him.
“No, thank you.”
While they chatted about businessy things, I wandered around the fringes of Chen’s office. Sleek modern desk furniture dominated the room. Black-lacquered shelves were loaded with all kinds of figurines. Some jade, others metal. There were a lot of porcelain vases and teacups.
As unobtrusively as possible, I touched each object with my fingertips. While some of the impressions were interesting, like the gold Buddha had once belonged to an Imperial scribe,—I sure as hell didn’t need to know that the last person to drink out of the blue willow teacup had also given Chen a blowjob. Eww. In short order, I finished a circuit of the room, not learning anything significant. But, I would have paid cash for a bottle of brain sanitizer.
Smooth as glass, Luca wrapped up the conversation and escorted me out of the office. Whatever he’d said to Chen must have relaxed the guy because his face had lost its pinched concern. Or it could have been that he was relieved to see us go.
Once we were out on the sidewalk, Luca said, “So?”
“Nada. Unless you want to know some of the more sordid details like Allen’s recent blowjob.”
“Thanks. I’ll pass on that.”
“How about you? Learn anything?”
Luca grinned broadly. “I secured us a tour of the fortune cookie factory.”
The limo pulled up to the curb. Warm delicious thoughts ran through my head.
Funny, I hadn’t thought about our backseat make out until now. The power of denial at work. What the hell had I been thinking anyway? I seriously needed to get to the bottom of the Luca lust thing. And stat. “When’s the tour?”
“Right now.”
The factory was on the outskirts of the city, down in the older industrial district. There weren’t many businesses left, most having moved overseas. Ironically, fortune cookies were not a hot commodity in China, so the company—Shaw’s Happy Fortune—stayed in the United States. According to Luca, Tien Shaw was the latest in a long line of Shaw’s that owned the company. Family roots went deep.
I could understand that. The Ashworth family had been in California for at least three hundred years. One of these days, I’d find the family archives and take a look at the old family tree. Rumor had it that Sebastian had a secret office located somewhere in the mansion. As kids, Selene and I had spent many a boring family gathering searching for the fabled inner sanctum. We never did find it.
“This place smells yummy,” I said, inhaling the piping, sweet aroma of fresh-baked cookies. As we approached the plant’s entrance, the door buzzed and unlocked.
“Same as before. I touch, you talk?”
“Yes,” Luca said, holding the door open.
Inside the vestibule, a man clad in all white—hairnet, coveralls, and shoe booties—greeted us with a polite handshake. Yellow earplugs dangled from a long black cord strung around his neck.
“I’m Tien Shaw,” he said with a white toothy grin.
Tien was a handsome guy. High cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, but instead of brown they were vivid green. He offered to shake my hand first. This guy was closer to my age and he didn’t ignore me. I liked him already.
“I’ll need you both to suit up if I’m going to take you to the factory floor.” He motioned to cubicles against the wall. “Health code requires it. Not to mention, no one likes hair in their food.”
Once we were dressed in enough white to make even a bride cry, we were allowed to enter the plant proper. Tien motioned for us to put in the earplugs, then opened the door with his pass card. The factory floor was a sea of motion. Row upon row of heavy machinery whirred and clacked. A cluster of industrious employees manned each station, either watching the production line or moving the ejected contents through to the next part of the process.
Tien gave us the nickel tour. “This line’s function is to pour the batter into circular disks. As you can see, a conveyor takes them through an oven where they are lightly baked.”
The smell of the batter was sugary and delightful. He removed a warm cookie, tore it into three pieces, handing one each to me and Luca. “Delicious, right? But they have to remain soft. It’s impossible to fold a crispy cookie.”
We walked further down the line into another area. Machines intercepted the dough, their mechanical spider arms folding the bendable cookies into their signature shape.
“Where do the fortunes come from?” I shouted.
Tien led us to large rolls spooling out the papers in one continuous strip. “They’re cut right before the fortune is folded into the cookie.
Luca and I exchanged a look. There was no way someone could just slip random fortunes into this high-speed machinery. Maybe this wasn’t the right company. Unless . . .
“Do you handle special orders?” I asked.
We were ushered off the main floor and into a smaller area. Narrow tables filled most of the room. Wire racks were loaded with plastic storage bins and miscellaneous kitchen tools. In the far corner sat an industrial mixer, large metal bowls, and a flat griddle—almost like a waffle maker without the dimples. At the moment, the room was empty.
Tien motioned for us to remove the earplugs and flicked on more lights bathing the room in a harsh fluorescent glow. “All of our custom orders are handled here.”
“By custom, do you mean non-commercial clients?” Luca asked.
“Mostly weddings, birthdays, office parties.” Tien retrieved a fat binder from one of the shelves and flipped it open. He thumbed through the pages. There were oversized cookies, chocolate-coated ones, and even bright-colored dough. But nothing with red paper.
The special cookie sat in my coat pocket. Even though I wanted to show it to Tien, until we knew more it was better to keep it under wraps. No pun intended. Without straying too far, I placed my palm on the table and opened my mind. No surprise, there were too many vibes to get a handle on any one specific moment. At least nothing felt sinister.
Tien looked up from the book and stared at me pointedly.
I withdrew my hand and gave him a small, apologetic smile. “How about the fortunes? Do you customize those as well?”
“Of course. We print them here”—he waved toward a machine draped with a plastic cover—”and then we insert them by hand and wrap them.” He closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. “Would you care to join me in my office for some tea? And you can sample some of the cookies. Mr. St. Crow mentioned that you are having a party soon. We’d be thrilled to provide favors for the illustrious Ashworth family.”
My eyebrows arched in surprise. Party? What was he talking about?
“Yes,” Luca answered, eyes broadcasting for me to play along. “We’d love some.”
Of course, another chance for me to use my magic hands. I almost whimpered when we entered Tien’s office. Cluttered didn’t begin to cover it. The man had enough crap that I wondered if he needed a hoarder’s intervention. If I had twenty years, I
might
be able to inspect everything.
“Pardon the mess. We are cleaning an old warehouse and I’m storing my family’s possessions here.” He beckoned us to take a seat at a round table. The only junk free oasis situated in the middle of a cardboard box sea. There was no way I could wander around freely in such a packed space.
As soon as he left to make hot water, I touched as many things as I could.
“What party, Luca? That’s only a cover story, right?” My stomach twisted when he didn’t immediately assure me that was the case.
“We can talk about it later. Please concentrate. We have a limited window of opportunity.”
I waved off Luca’s concern. “He’s boiling water. That takes time.” I expected Tien would be gone at least ten or fifteen minutes. He returned in five. I jumped into the nearest chair and attempted to act like I’d been chilling out.
“I brought some of our more popular items. And a few of our special-flavored cookies for the more adventurous palates.”
We spent the next half hour sampling cookies and sipping tea until I thought I’d go nuts. All the boxes closed in on me. I stopped paying attention to the polite conversation about the Euro, global warming, and the current state of world trade. Was there no topic that Luca couldn’t discuss intelligently?
I gazed around the room, seeking an escape when I saw
it
through a space between the boxes. A luminous jade jar in a glass display case barricaded by behind the cardboard blockade. From my narrow vantage point, the jar’s milky green surface appeared dull compared to the other lacquered and ornately decorated objects sharing the shelf.
I shifted in my chair, stretched, then angled my shoulder and arm over the chair’s back. When I was sure Tien’s attention remained on Luca, I extended my hand toward the vase. Creepy vibes tripped my psychic alarm system before I even touched the surface. I hesitated, unsure if I should attempt it.
“Please,” Tien admonished, “I’d rather you didn’t touch that.”
Oops. Snagged. Chagrined, I brought my arm to my side. “Sorry. It’s a lovely shade of green.”
Luca raised a brow at my lame explanation.
Tien’s stony expression told me he wasn’t buying it, but he was too polite to refute me. “It is priceless. That is an ancestral burial jar. To disturb the dead is to invite a vengeful spirit. A
Jiang Shi
.” He shuddered. “You do not want to wake one.”
When neither of us commented, Tien shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You are not Chinese.”
I wanted to say
, Buddy, you have no idea what we’d believe in.
As far as I was concerned, any angry Chinese spirit that wanted to kick my ass would have to wait its turn.
Little did I know that the
Jiang Shi
would skip to the head of the line.