The Red Heart of Jade (10 page)

“Miri,” he breathed.

“No,” she murmured. “I don’t want to know. Not yet.”

Dean understood. He couldn’t take much more of this, either. He picked up the rag from the floor and wiped her face, smoothing away her tears, the blood still around her mouth. Miri touched his chest, the spot above his heart. Dean caught her hand.

“I didn’t imagine that,” she said.

“No,” he said, feeling sick about it.

They both heard a groan. Miri jumped, gazing at the open bathroom door. A tremor ran through her body, but after a brief moment, her mouth tightened into a hard line, and it was old times again, seeing that stubborn light in her eyes. And then she turned that piercing gaze on him and it was like being pinned spread-eagled under a scalpel and a hot lamp.

“You’re just like
him, “
she said, her voice breaking on the words. The crease deepened in her forehead, her hands curling tight against her thighs. She looked at him and all he could see was pain, the bright heat of tears. “You can’t be real. You can’t be my Dean. This is a trick.”

My Dean
. He blew out his breath and said, “I’m not like that man out there, Miri. I’m not. But everything else? Maybe. And maybe
you
aren’t real. “ Though, if this was an illusion, then good God he wasn’t saying no.

“But you were dead,” she whispered hoarsely.

“
You
were dead,” he said, and touched his forehead. “Dead here, Miri. Dead everywhere.”

She knew what he meant; he could see it in her eyes. Dean stood and helped her up. “If there’s anything you need, grab it now.”

“Where are we going?” Her eyes were wild but her voice was calm, steady, like her hands.

Dean said, “Out of this building. It’s not safe here. There are more men waiting downstairs for you. I don’t know what you’re into, Miri—”

“I’m an archaeologist. I’m not
into
anything.”

“Yeah? Well, someone wants you, and bad. There must be a reason for it, too. That kind of thing doesn’t just happen for nothing. “

Nor did he like the implication of having a shape-shifter serial murderer setting on fire and
eating
the very men who just so happened to have Miri’s photograph and location. Men who might, at any moment, get tired of waiting downstairs in the lobby for a woman who was most certainly not going to show up.

Dean peered out the bathroom door, but Miri grabbed his arm and pulled him back in close, tight. He felt her warmth run over his body, pool low in his gut, and every coherent thought in his head went screaming out of his ears. Standing so close to her, feeling her hand through his jacket sleeve, was practically an invitation to some kind of explosion. His brain hurt.

“That man out there told me his name is Robert,” Miri explained quietly. “He said he was hired to kidnap me and steal something. An artifact.”

“What kind of artifact?”

“A four-thousand-year-old piece of red jade, extracted
just this morning
from the body of a mummified woman. But, Dean, I don’t have it. My friend does. And he may be in danger. He may already be... “ She did not finish. Dean tugged on her hand.

“Later,” he said. “Tell me when we’re out of here.”

He left the bathroom. The man—Robert—was still on the floor, the pillowcase over his head. There was blood everywhere, but it was not as fresh as it could have been. Dean imagined the man’s shoulder was already beginning to heal. He saw metal inside the flesh; the bullet. He thought it moved, told himself it was his imagination, but after a moment he glimpsed a twitch, and realized with dull horror that the man’s body was rejecting the bullet. In fast motion.

Gee
, he thought, totally disgusted.
Where have I seen
this before
?

Dean crouched beside Robert. He felt Miri behind him, staring.

“Dean,” she said, and her voice was so low, so hard, he knew she could see the bullet, too. Robert made a sighing sound, and rolled his shoulder.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” he said, his words muffled, the white pillowcase puffing out around the area of his mouth. “I am like that dreadful television commercial, the one with the ugly rabbit. I just keep going and going.”

“Isn’t that special?” Dean drawled. “Of course, you’re the only one in this room tied up like a pig, so I don’t know if you eating a bullet is all that much to brag about.”

“I noticed you had much the same ability.”

“And I noticed you shot me in the heart, you son of a bitch. At least I didn’t try to kill you.”

“Oh, if only,” said Robert, and then, more softly: “Dr. Lee? Are you there?”

“Don’t you talk to her,” Dean warned.

“I’m here,” Miri said, ignoring him.

“You’re in danger,” Robert said. “You need to go now. You need to find that jade that is so cleverly not in your possession, and you must run.”

“I think you lied to me, Robert. I think you know more about what’s going on here than you said.”

“No, my dear. But if you run, that’s just another chance for me to find you again. But if you get caught by the others...”

“What others?” Dean asked, though he already had his suspicions. “What do you know?”

“Only that there are more things in heaven and earth, Mr. Campbell, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Dean’s breath caught. “You know my name.”

“I know who you work for,” Robert said, his disembodied voice floating up from the pillowcase. “What a shame that you do not know as much.”

Dean stood. His body hurt. His mind felt worse. This was not something he wanted to hear, not anything at all he felt capable of contemplating.

Why are you surprised? It was only a matter of time. You knew all the agents of Dirk & Steele had been exposed.

Knew it because his best friend and colleague, Artur Loginov, had recently been kidnapped and tortured by a group calling itself the Consortium—a corporate crime syndicate run by psychics, just like Dirk & Steele. Only ruthless, hungry for power, wealth. And, apparently, from what had happened to Artur, quite eager to recruit from the ranks of the agency, by any means necessary.

Real charmers. Dean felt warm and fuzzy just thinking about them. It didn’t matter, either, that Artur and his new wife, Elena, had managed to ruin the Consortium’s power base. Another, even more mysterious, organization remained—and its intentions toward Dirk & Steele were still as yet unknown. It couldn’t be good, though. Dean did not feel that lucky.

And now this. He was painfully aware of Miri standing close behind him, and turned to look at her. She met his gaze, eyebrows raised, and he could see the question rolling across her face, a loud and singular
What
the hell is going on
?

He wished he could tell her. He wished a lot of things were different.

“Who hired you?” Dean asked Robert. “It wasn’t the Consortium, was it?”

“The Consortium?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “I would never work for them. I have some standards.”

Dean grunted. Dirk & Steele’s agents had been sheltered like babies. “Who, then?”

Robert did not answer. The bullet popped out of his shoulder and rolled onto the floor. Miri stifled a gasp and took a step back.

Priorities
, Dean told himself, staring at that slug.
Forget questions. You need to get Miri out of here. Now
.

Dean crouched. “Fine. Don’t tell me who’s paying the bills. But you come after Miri again and I’ll finish what we started. I don’t care how many bullets it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”

“You don’t have enough bullets to get your way,” Robert said. “You don’t have enough life in your body to take her from me. I have a job to do. You have no idea what that means.”

“I don’t consider that a problem. “ Dean backed slowly away, guiding Miri to the door. She did not fight him, only paused to grab her purse. She opened the door just a crack, listening, and after a moment slipped from the room. Dean followed, flipping off the main light switch as he left. Robert disappeared into darkness. No protest, no movement. But there was a promise in his silence.

The hall was very quiet. Dean did not like it. “There should be more people. We were shooting guns, for Christ’s sake.”

“Robert told me this floor was empty,” Miri said. “That his employer had rented it out. He said I could scream and no one would hear.”

Dean wanted to do some screaming of his own, but behind them, out of sight and down the curving hall, the elevators chimed. The air was silent enough to hear soft soles scuff marble. No echoing clicks of heels or flats; their footfalls hit the carpet, disappearing into a muffled ominous silence.

And then, voices. Men. Too soft to understand, but Dean heard a click, the ratchet of a gun chamber loaded, the sounds of locks sliding and a door opening—
a key, they got a fucking key
—and he grabbed Miri’s hand and tugged her hard. She did not hesitate, did not argue or ask questions; her color was back, her gaze focused, strong.

They entered the stairwell at the end of the hall. Dean carefully shut the heavy door and pointed down. They went quietly at first, on light feet, but after two floors, gave it up, risking bones and twisted ankles and heart failure as they raced down the stairs. Only once did he catch Miri looking at him, and it was just like when they were kids, the two of them running with the wind in their blood, something bad on their tails. Bullies, thugs, his uncle.

Careful. You don’t know her anymore. She doesn’t know you. She has a whole other life you ‘re not part of.

Maybe. Probably. Only, there was a miracle running beside him and he could afford to throw out a line, reel in the possibilities. Anything was possible now. All he had to do was hang on. Hang on tooth and nail. Fuck everything else. Figure out exactly what was going on and take care of the problem. Take care of Miri, even if it killed him.

Which, he hoped, it would not.

“How did you find me?” Miri asked, and he heard the rest of it, unspoken, a quiet
How did you find me after
all this time
?

“Accident,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

“Must be. I still don’t believe this. I still don’t know if I can trust you.”

“You trust me. You wouldn’t be here right now if you didn’t.”

“It’s just survival. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late, babe. “ He remembered that he had a hotel room in this building, though it was long gone above them. He could hide Miri there, keep her safe until he called the home office and found out what the hell to do next.

But that man up there knew your name. He knew Dirk & Steele. You think any place is safe?

Fat chance, and no way he was going to risk it. Out of the building—that was what his instincts were screaming. Get Miri far and away. He did have other options, after all. Just not ones he had used in a very long time.

“You said there are other men looking for me?” Miri asked, breathing hard.

“In the lobby. They’re organized.”

“Is there another way out of here?”

“Basement garage,” Dean said. He wanted to say more, but words seemed cheap, inadequate. Instead he settled for stealing glances—and found Miri doing the same.

No one pursued them. They ran themselves all the way down to the garage, which was universal in its flickering perfect-for-a-murder lighting, painted concrete walls, and stuffy humid air. Security personnel, men in bright orange jackets, lounged in chairs at various intervals in the garage, giving Dean some worry, but all the old men did was smoke their cigarettes and drink from tall, thin cans of mango juice, watching Dean and Miri like disapproving parents seeing their kids off for a first date.

They were on the first level of the garage; it was easy to access the street, and they did so, breathless and sweaty, on the far side of the hotel away from the main glass doors and glittering lights of the Far Eastern Mall. An old man with a tiny white dog walked past them; Miri almost clobbered him trying to get to the road. She hailed a cab.

“Why do I get the feeling you already know where we’re going?” Dean glanced up at the sky to see if Koni was anywhere nearby. Nothing, not unless he was hiding. A small yellow car swerved toward them.

“Because I do,” Miri said, and there was a challenge in her voice, a dare. Dean did not take the bait. He did not need to. He trusted her.

They got into the cab and drove away.

Everything is relative
, she thought, and then,
Owen. Owen, hold on. Wherever you are, I’m coming to help you
.

If she could even help herself, which seemed unlikely. There was an ache in her heart, a rumble beneath her skin, like she was on the edge of jumping out of her flesh; screaming, screaming. Delayed reaction, maybe. Gung-ho chick at the hotel, shriveling down to nothing but an old adrenaline stain, less than a leftover flake of deodorant.

In fact, the only thing holding her together was Dean, and even that was rocky. Looking at him made her feel like the victim of an aneurysm or some odd exploding eyeball disease. Not the way she would have imagined a miraculous reunion—which she had, all those years ago when it was so difficult to believe he was dead. Dreaming of him holding her again, laughing in her ear, in the kitchen with her grandmother with his hands greasy from dumplings and pork, poking her with chopsticks, making her crazy and crazy with love.

Miri, pressed up against her side of the cab, stole a glance at Dean, studying his loose posture. His profile was older now but still her friend, still familiar. Strong cheeks, strong mouth, strong eyes. That soft blond hair, tousled. He sat with his hands resting on his thighs, drumming his fingers as he stared out the window. He looked good, almost better than she remembered, which was also unsettling.

He turned his head and caught her staring.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” she replied, and then, because she had to say something, anything, added, “This is crazy.”

“Yeah,” he said, and seemed to fumble for a moment, mouth opening and closing, hesitating on his next words. But in the end he said nothing at all, and gave her only a weak smile that was unabashedly shy.

How did you survive
? she asked him silently.
Was it magic that saved you? The same magic I saw tonight? All those things you used to do, turning into something new
?

Something that could stop a bullet? Miri closed her eyes. This was insanity, pure and simple. She had lost her mind, and even if she hadn’t, the coincidence of him being here was too much. She almost asked him, almost opened her mouth to pin him down with questions, but she stopped herself at the last moment. She was afraid of what he would say. Or what he wouldn’t tell her.

It’s all a conspiracy: Men breaking into my room, men coming back from the dead, men who won’t stay dead...

And yet, here she was—with a man she had not seen in twenty years. A man she might not be able to trust. This Dean was not the boy she had known and loved. Not this strange man who carried a gun and who appeared out of the blue to wave around that weapon and... save her. That was just weird. Weird and frightening.

Too late
, she told herself.
You can’t run now. Besides, if he can still do those tricks with his mind, you need him. You have to find Owen
.

And if Dean refused to help her? It had certainly taken him long enough to track her down.

He told you it was an accident; he thought you were dead.

Maybe. If only.

The cab stopped on one of the side streets near the archaeology building and Dean paid the fare. There was a breeze as Miri stepped out of the car, but it did not help her breathing. She saw some girls walking down the sidewalk, holding hands, surgical masks covering the lower portions of their faces. A good idea. The night air was too hot and sticky, filthy with smog. Terrible for the lungs.

Dean joined her; the girls walking toward them stared and put their heads together. Their eyes crinkled.

“Where are we going?” he asked. The girls continued past, still staring, and Miri heard one of them say “
Shuai ge. “
Handsome brother.

Dean heard; he glanced at them, and said, “
Xie-xie. “

They giggled and pranced off, still hand in hand. Miri stared at him. He tried to look innocent.

“What? Girls tell a man he’s hot and he has to say thank you.”

Miri’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going to the archaeology department,” she said. “If Robert was telling the truth, then Owen was taken from there. He might even still be close. We can find him.”

“And you want me to... “ He stopped, wiggling his fingers around his head.

“You don’t mind?”

Dean frowned. “When did I ever? It’s what I do,
bao bei. “

“And you still trust me?” she pressed. “Even after all this time?”

His frown faded, smoothing into the hint of a smile. “I always trusted you, babe. Even when we were kids, you were the only one I believed in. I never held anything back from you.”

“Nothing,” she murmured, remembering. “Not even when life got so weird.”

“The headaches,” he said quietly. “The blindness. I missed so much school, and then those social workers got involved. Assholes made my uncle take me to the doctor. What a load of crap. They just made it worse.”

“Because there was nothing wrong with you.”

“Yeah. Developing psychic powers aren’t exactly on the list of physical ailments. “ He shook his head, scuffing the ground with his sneaker, and smiled grimly. “Everyone thought I was a liar, a lazy good-for-nothing piece of shit. Except you.”

Miri shrugged, suddenly shy. “I knew the truth.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Dean said. “I remember how those teachers tried to pressure you to stay away from me. They thought I was trash. Twelve years old, and they wrote me off. But you always took up for me. You fought for me. Jesus, Miri, you got in fucking screaming arguments with those old ladies when you thought I wasn’t being treated right.”

“You were my friend,” she said simply. And despite her misgivings, suddenly recalled everything with heart-breaking clarity. For eight years she’d had two anchors in her life, two people—one young, one old—giving her a real family, keeping her from drifting away. She would have done anything to protect that.

And she wondered, looking into Dean’s eyes, if she was in danger of feeling that way again.

They started walking, remaining silent until the first edge of the archaeology building came into sight. It was difficult to see—some of the streetlamps were not working properly—but even in the midnight darkness the square lines were very distinct. Dean made an odd sound, low in his throat.

“This could be dangerous,” he said.

“Gee, no. Never would have guessed.”

“You want a gun?”

Miri stopped walking. “Do I want a gun? What kind of question is that? You know I hate those things.”

“No,” he said, startled. “I don’t know. You never hated them before.”

But even as he said those last words, his eyes changed, and Miri knew he understood. They were standing under a streetlamp; she pulled aside the neck of her tank top. Dean leaned close, his breath warm on her skin. Goose bumps ran up her arms as he studied the puckered scar above her heart.

She watched his face, and saw the echo of some terrible pain pass through his eyes, an awful sorrow that made her breath catch, her heart pound just a little harder. His hand twitched. She covered herself before he could touch her.

Dean said nothing for a very long moment. And then, slowly, he pulled down his own collar. The T-shirt was old; the material stretched easily. There was a thin gold chain around his neck, but Miri peered past that at his skin and saw a scar that mirrored her own: a circle, the shadow of a hole. She thought of the bullet that had struck him that night, twenty years past, and remembered the bullet that had slammed into him tonight.

Bad memories. She touched his scar. Dean sucked in his breath, but did not move. He held very still as she explored it—her curiosity morbid, surreal. She glimpsed something else just below the mangled flesh, and tugged his collar a little lower.

“You’re hurt,” she said. The cut was ugly, fierce. Something about it, however, seemed familiar.

“It’s nothing,” he said, but she barely heard him. She was finally looking at the chain, following it down to something small and round, a pedant, a locket—

She leaned close, not touching, but peering at the familiar round lines, the shape and glitter of the gold. He still had it. After all these years, he still wore the damn thing around his neck.

“Dean,” she said, and there were no words, nothing to explain what it meant to her to see that locket still with him.

Dean finally touched her, wrapping his warm hands around her wrists. His voice was low, rough; she looked up into his eyes and found them dark, and very, very, close.

She tried to step back, but Dean did not let her go.

“Do you remember?” he said quietly. “Do you remember that night? I was going to teach you how to drive, and then we got distracted in the big backseat of my uncle’s car.”

Miri remembered. It was supposed to be best night of her life. Their first time together, naked and ready to do something more than just hug and kiss. Something special. Mind-blowing, like all those books said it was meant to be.

And maybe it would have been... if you hadn’t been interrupted by that asshole with the gun.

Bang, bang. Miri closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this, Dean.”

He let go. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. There’s a lot to remember. “ She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to look him in the eyes. Only for a second, though. Her gaze slid back down to her hands, clenched tight in his collar. She did not know why she was still holding his shirt, and forced herself back. Tiny lights danced in her vision; she felt sick to her stomach. Her heart burned.

“We’re wasting time,” she said. “I need to help my friend. If you’re worried about it being dangerous, you don’t have to come with me.”

“Now you’re being insulting. What kind of man do you think I am?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Oh,” Dean said. “Oh well. Thanks a lot.”

“What did you expect me to say?”

“A compliment wouldn’t have hurt. My ego needs stroking.”

“Stroke it on your own time,” she muttered. “We need to go now.”

A crow cawed. The bird was close, its voice so loud and unexpected, Miri jumped. Dean, scowling, grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the light.

“Fine,” he said. “You sure you want to do this? I could go in by myself. I’m a bad man, after all. Totally off-the-wall dangerous.”

“I didn’t say that. Besides, I don’t care about the danger. I have to do this, Dean. You know how it is. “ How it is, how it was, all to commit to one thing for the sake of another. Because if you had a friend in trouble, you went balls out, or else you had no balls at all.

“Rule numero uno,” Dean said, just like he could read her mind. His mouth crooked into a smile. “The Lee and Campbell book of survival. Yeah, I remember.

I just don’t recall bone diggers ever being quite this popular, except on television. You’re not channeling Indiana Jones on me, are you?”

“If only. I’d feel better with a whip and fedora.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Dean asked, and they started walking again. He made them take a circuitous route, cutting behind bushes and trees, hugging the shadows. She understood why—might have done the same on her own— but the slow pace was monstrously annoying.

The area around the building was quiet, and the few late-night students walking nearby did so with the oblivious weariness of the hard-core studier. They saw no guards, no suspicious loiterers, no unusual activity. Only once, from the corner of Miri’s eye, did she glimpse another kind of movement: swift, large. Her stride faltered. She looked.

The shadow was flesh and blood; a tall, powerfully built man dressed in black, standing only a stone’s throw away. Ordinary, simple. Nothing to be afraid of. But seeing him sent a shock through Miri’s stomach that she could not explain, and she tugged on Dean’s hand.

“What?” he whispered, and she pointed.

The man was gone. Miri stared, turning around and around, but she saw no trace of him.

“Someone was here,” she told Dean. He said nothing. He made her walk faster.

The large glass double doors of the archaeology building were still unlocked and, inside, the halls were empty and even more still and silent. Some of the lights had already been turned off, and Miri’s chest tightened when she saw the darkness, the shadows. Danger, calling.

This is crazy. You should be running away, calling the cops.

And then what? Get taken in for questioning by a bureaucracy that would not help Owen quickly enough, or worse, would not believe her at all? Besides, the local police would be coming after her soon enough, what with all the blood in her hotel room and a man tied up on her floor. If, that is, Robert stayed there long enough to be found by hotel management. Somehow she doubted it, given the sounds of those men who had gotten off the elevators just after she and Dean left the room.

“How did you know there were other men waiting for me at the hotel?” Miri asked, as she led Dean down a long corridor to a narrow stairwell. Bathrooms were nearby; they smelled like the
ai-yi
hadn’t cleaned the dirty toilet paper out of the wastebaskets for days.