Jade Island Page 6

  “Joe? Harry? Johnny?” Kyle asked.

  “Joe Ju Tang is Wen’s oldest son. Harry Ju Tang is the second oldest. Johnny is his youngest.”

  “You know them well?”

  “Yes,” Lianne said, no expression on her face. “The Tang family is very interested in jade. They are among my biggest clients.”

  Kyle kept his face as blank as Lianne’s while he guided her toward the tables of hors d’oeuvres. As he handed her a plate, he asked casually, “What does the Tang family have to say about the Jade Emperor’s Tomb?”

  She shrugged. “The same thing everybody else is saying.”

  “Which is?”

  Lianne gave him a look, but his attention was on the spectacular variety of hors d’oeuvres, as though the conversation was merely polite rather than pointed.

  “A combination of curiosity and naked greed,” she said, reaching for some miniature pot stickers. The aroma lifting from the spicy morsels of sausage wrapped in thin dough had her mouth watering. “The collectors are dancing in place, dying to know whether their personal collections will be enhanced or diminished by the tomb goods.”

  “You think that fine blade might have come from the Jade Emperor’s Tomb?” Kyle asked.

  “I…don’t know. Anything is possible, I suppose.”

  He put a tiny, incredibly delicate spring roll in his mouth and chewed, watching Lianne without seeming to. It wasn’t exactly hard duty. Her cheekbones would have made a model weak with envy. Light shimmered and flowed like a lover’s breath over her black hair. Her lips were full, ripe, inviting.

  And she was lying through her white, even teeth about the Neolithic blade. She had a good idea where it came from. Kyle was as certain of this as he was that her heart had beaten very quickly beneath his hands when he lifted her above the crowd. He wondered if her response had come from fear or desire. Or both. Then he wondered if he would find out Lianne’s truth before he found out the truth of the Jade Emperor’s grave.

  Lianne popped one of the pot stickers in her mouth and made a murmurous, humming sound of pleasure that drew Kyle’s body tight with a hunger that no amount of hors d’oeuvres would ever satisfy.

  “God,” she said, almost shivering with pleasure. “Food like this must be against the law. Are the spring rolls nearly as good?”

  “You tell me.” He tucked one of the crispy morsels between her lips and watched while she chewed and swallowed.

  “Incredible,” she said, then added in dismay, “but I’ll never be able to taste all of it before I’m full.”

  The look of distress on Lianne’s face as she eyed the table of hors d’oeuvres would have made Kyle laugh, but he wanted too badly to lick up the tiny crumb of roll that was clinging to the corner of her mouth. The need twisted inside him with startling force. Even as he told himself he had been without a woman too long, he felt an unsettling certainty that he could have just crawled out of bed with a female and he still would want Lianne Blakely.

  “You can stuff my pockets,” he offered.

  “Don’t tempt me.” She laughed, then looked at the table again and sighed. “If only we had some decent wine…What a feast.”

  “I know the chef. She understands wine. Obviously none of the wines here tonight were her choice.”

  Lianne’s hand paused on the way back from an hors d’oeuvre plate. A small, ginger-spiced shrimp hovered on a bright toothpick next to her open lips. “You know the chef?”

  “Yeah. Now eat that shrimp before I do.”

  The unsubtle threat in Kyle’s voice surprised her more than the excellent food. Hastily, she offered the shrimp and several other tidbits besides.

  “You should have told me you were starving,” Lianne said when Kyle instantly polished off every scrap she gave him. “We could have come to the buffet first. Who’s the chef?”

  “Mei O’Toole. Her husband works for Donovan International. She and her sisters got tired of hearing about fusion cooking that ignored Asia and decided to show Seattle how Pacific Rim cooking should be done. They opened the Rain Lotus two months ago.”

  “I should have guessed,” Lianne said, seeing for the first time the discreet card indicating which restaurant had donated the table of food. “I’ve been trying to get into that place since I heard about it. They’re booked solid for the next six months.”

  “How about tonight after the auction?” Kyle asked. “Or were you planning on staying for the dance?”

  “No, I wasn’t, and what about tonight?”

  “A late supper for two at the Rain Lotus.”

  Lianne simply stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. All part of the stuffed-elephant escort service.”

  “I’d love any kind of supper at the Rain Lotus—early, late, or middle.”

  He smiled at her eagerness. Whoever said that the way to a woman’s heart was a diamond bracelet hadn’t met Lianne. Maybe he could feed her until she begged for mercy, and then he could quiz her on the Tang family and the Jade Emperor’s stolen art.

  “It’s a deal,” Kyle said. “I take you to supper and you tell me what you’ve heard about the Jade Emperor.”

  She shook her head. “Not you, too.”

  “Me what?”

  “Part of the Jade Emperor craze.”

  “Why should I be immune to the hottest jade rumors since Chiang Kai-shek creamed mainland China’s treasures on the way to Taiwan?”

  “Unlike Chiang Kai-shek, there’s no proof that the Jade Emperor ever existed, much less that he had a tomb filled with jade from all previous eras of Chinese history,” Lianne pointed out.

  As she spoke, she filled her plate with an anticipation and hunger she didn’t bother to conceal. Idly Kyle wondered if she approached sex that way—directly, openly. When she tucked a bit of crab between her lips, then licked her fingertips, his curiosity took on a more urgent edge.

  “Assume the Jade Emperor existed,” Kyle said, turning away and filling his own plate at random. Anything that came from Mei O’Toole’s kitchen was fine with him. “And assume his grave was found.”

  “When?” Lianne said, chewing and swallowing quickly. “Before or after Mao?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “If the goods left mainland China before Mao, the problem of rightful ownership is sticky but not insurmountable.”

  “Like your fingers?”

  Caught with her tongue in mid-lick, Lianne managed to look both guilty and defiant. “There aren’t any chopsticks, and the toothpicks are too slippery.”

  Kyle laughed and wished he knew Lianne well enough to lick those elegant, saucy fingertips himself. “But provenance is insurmountable after Mao?” he asked, watching her closely.

  She nodded, hesitated, then calmly finished licking hoisin sauce from the side of her finger before she put another hors d’oeuvre in her mouth. Slowly her eyes closed while the flavors and textures melted through her.

  “Unbelievable,” Lianne said, and reached for another sliver of duck in a tiny nest of shredded raw vegetables. The second bite was even better than the first. She savored it as she reached for a third tidbit. “Addictive.”

  Kyle forced himself to look away from her intriguing sensual pleasure. “Why are things stickier after Mao?” he asked after a moment.

  “Because it became illegal to export anything more than fifty or a hundred years old from China. Except people,” Lianne added wryly. “They aren’t considered cultural treasures.”

  “Since when has provenance become such a problem for collectors? An avid collector is the last one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Of course. But when the U.S. and China started to do the trade dance, provenance became a hot-button topic. You can still buy, sell, and own anything your morals are comfortable with; you just can’t display black market goods publicly anymore.”

  Kyle wondered where Lianne drew the line on collectors and ethics, but he didn’t ask. That would have been as rash as sucking sauce off her fing
ers.

  A large group of Japanese men approached the buffet tables. Despite the clots of people standing around the food, the men proceeded to go through the buffet as though no one else was in the room. There was nothing intentionally rude in their actions. They were simply accustomed to being at the top of the cultural pecking order.

  “Good thing we filled our plates,” Kyle said, guiding Lianne away from the sudden crowd. “So when was the Jade Emperor’s Tomb found?”

  “Who said it was found at all?”

  “Lots of people.”

  Lianne didn’t bother to argue. She was too busy enjoying a mouthful of lobster in a sauce that tasted like a rainbow with just a tiny bite of lightning at the finish.

  “I’ve heard that the tomb was found during the civil war, before Mao was in power,” she said, swallowing. “I’ve heard that the tomb was found twenty years later. And I’ve heard that it was dug up last year.” She shrugged. “What have you heard?”

  “I’m new to the jade game. I’ve just heard a few rumors. But if the tomb exists, it holds the result of a lifetime of collecting by a man whose bank account was as big as China and whose whim was law. Can you imagine it?”

  “I try not to. I especially try not to think what he might have collected from the Warring States period, which is my special jade passion.”

  “Passion or obsession?”

  “I don’t have the money to be obsessive.”

  He smiled. “And I try not to think about what the Jade Emperor would have collected from Neolithic times, which is my passion. Yet I can’t help imagining what it would be like to discover the greatest collection of Chinese jades ever assembled on earth.”

  “Dream on.”

  “Hey, it’s free. But if a collection like that was found and smuggled out of China, how would it be sold?”

  “That’s what makes me think it hasn’t been found,” Lianne said simply. “There hasn’t been a sale of that size.”

  “Maybe you weren’t invited.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It would be impossible to hide a concentration of previously unknown jade artifacts of that quality. Nobody gossips like collectors.”

  Kyle finished off his plate of hors d’oeuvres and started stealing from Lianne’s. She threatened him with a scarlet toothpick. Since she gave him plenty of time to evade, he didn’t take the threat seriously.

  “How about stealing a few pieces at a time?” he asked.

  “Are we talking about my food or the mythical emperor’s jade?”

  He smiled but didn’t quit snitching her hors d’oeuvres. “Jade.”

  “Breaking up the collection would diminish its value, but…” Lianne beat Kyle to the last spring roll on her plate and chewed thoughtfully, considering the possibilities. “It would explain why no one is able to pin down the rumors.”

  “Want more?” Kyle gestured toward the Rain Lotus’s buffet table.

  “Am I breathing?”

  His laughter made her laugh in return, but what she liked best was the way humor took the calculation out of his eyes, leaving only a beauty that appealed to her as much as jade. For a few moments she felt like a woman on a date with a very interesting man. With a pleasure that had nothing to do with anticipating more food, she watched him load their plates.

  Then, Lianne saw Johnny Tang approaching her. Pleasure evaporated, replaced by a cool, yearning kind of reserve.

  “Hello, Johnny,” she said. “Come to check up on the Jade Trader exhibit?”

  “Naturally.”

  She waited, but he didn’t say anything more. “What did you think of it?” she asked.

  “Excellent, of course. With Tang family jade and your feel for American tastes, how could it be anything else?”

  “I didn’t ignore Chinese aesthetics in the Jade Trader exhibit,” Lianne said stiffly.

  Johnny waved his hand, dismissing her instant defense of her knowledge and taste.

  “The Tangs are known to the Chinese,” Johnny said calmly. “It is the Americans who must be cultivated, especially since Hong Kong is no longer independent. Speaking of cultivating—”

  “Kyle,” Lianne interrupted swiftly, seeing him approach behind her father, “this is Johnny Tang. Johnny, Kyle Donovan.”

  Relief loosened Johnny’s face for an instant, but when he turned to Kyle, nothing showed except polite interest.

  “Mr. Donovan,” he said, offering his hand.

  Lianne took a plate from Kyle so that the men could go through the small, necessary social ritual of shaking hands.

  “Did Wen come with you?” she asked Johnny.

  “No. He’s saving his energy for tonight.”

  “Ah, yes. The family gathering.”

  Kyle noticed the slight, biting emphasis Lianne put on the word family.

  If Johnny noticed, he didn’t show it. “My father would, of course, be happy to have you join us for our little party after the auction. Please bring Mr. Donovan with you.” He turned to Kyle. “We Tangs admire the family of Donovan. I’m sure there will be much of interest to talk about.”

  Lianne hoped her expression was as bland as Johnny’s. She had wondered what it would take for her to be invited to a Tang family gathering. Now she knew.

  She didn’t like it.

  “Thank you,” Kyle said, “but it’s up to Lianne where we go after the auction.”

  “Then we will see you,” Johnny said with satisfaction. “Lianne wouldn’t disappoint Wen.”

  After another minute or two, Johnny excused himself and merged with the crowd that was slowly edging toward the auction room, as though sheer impatience could hurry the pace of the evening.

  “Finished?” Kyle asked.

  Lianne looked at her plate. It was as clean as her fingernails, yet she didn’t remember eating even half of the hors d’oeuvres. “More importantly, are you?”

  “Will there be food at the Tang party?”

  “Oh, yes. Mountains of it. It’s a necessary part of entertaining guests.”

  “Is the food any good?”

  “That depends. Do you like traditional Asian cuisine as well as the fusion kind?”

  “I’ll pass on the hundred-year chicken embryos,” Kyle said, “but I can nosh on poached chicken digits with the best of them.”

  “Great. I’ll give mine to you.”

  “What about the hundred-year eggs?”

  “In a word? Yuck. But the rest of the food is very good.”

  “Then I’ll last until after the auction.”

  Kyle stacked their empty plates on a waiter’s tray, tucked her hand over his arm, and led her back to the atrium.

  “You don’t have to go,” Lianne told him.

  “Look at more jade?”

  “No. To the Tang party.”

  “The food is good and you wouldn’t want to disappoint your best clients, would you?”

  Clients.

  Lianne tried to think of a simple, brief way to explain her long, complex relationship with the family of Tang. None came to mind. It was just one of the many awkward moments she had endured as the unacknowledged daughter of Johnny Tang.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them,” she said finally.

  Then Lianne smiled sadly. What a joke. She had disappointed them since the instant of her birth, living proof of Johnny Tang’s liaison with a foreign woman.

  “Mind if I ask a question?” Kyle said. He felt the sudden tension in Lianne’s hand on his arm and looked down at her. “Professional, not personal.”

  “About the Tangs?”

  “No. About that tiny little purse of yours.”

  Lianne looked down at the slim silk envelope that swayed at the end of its long, thin strap. The purse weighed so little she had forgotten she was carrying it.

  “What about it?” she asked.

  “Most of the serious traders here tonight are making notes at each exhibit.”

  She nodded.

  “Your purse is too small to hold a notebook,” he said
, “but it just might be big enough for a high-tech recorder. Verbal notes, as it were.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. My purse is empty except for a car key and business cards.” She didn’t feel it necessary to add that she also had a small vial of pepper spray tucked away.

  “Does that mean you aren’t a serious trader?” Kyle asked.

  “No. It means that I have a photographic memory.”

  “Good. Then you should have no problem describing the guy who’s following you.”

  Chapter 5

  Lianne thought about denying that she was being followed. Then she thought about facing the night alone if Kyle called her bluff and walked out.

  “Caucasian, about five feet ten inches,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, “medium weight, clean-shaven, brownish hair, white shirt, black tuxedo that doesn’t quite fit across the stomach, street rather than dress shoes, and an uncanny ability to melt into a crowd.”

  Kyle whistled softly. “Sounds like you’ve seen a lot of him.”

  “I saw him once, tonight, for about three seconds when you boosted me above the crowd.”

  “Photographic memory,” he muttered.

  “Yes.”

  “How long has he been following you?”

  “Him personally? I don’t know. Several times in the past few weeks, I’ve been certain that someone was following me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kyle looked at Lianne as she walked next to him. Her chin was up in a stubborn line and her spine was very straight above the inevitable swaying of her hips. Jade jewelry glowed against white silk like spring against ice.

  “Try again,” he suggested softly.

  Lianne’s chin tilted up even more, but she couldn’t conceal the frisson of unease that went through her body. “It’s the truth. I don’t know why I’m being followed.”