Chosen by Desire (25 page)

Hefting the luggage, she walked out the door and hurried down the stairs.

Don appeared in the foyer as if by magic. “Can I help you, miss?”

“No. Yes,” she amended, setting her bags down. “I’d appreciate it if you could call for a taxi to the airport.”

“Of course. Right away.” He rushed off, returning a moment later to let her know the cab would arrive shortly.

She was waiting by the door when she remembered her things in the library. She debated leaving them behind—better than facing Francesca—but her laptop was there, as well as her notes. Neither were things she could replace easily.

Leaving her bag there, she strode to the library and pushed open the door. Francesca looked up the moment the door opened.

Carrie went to the desk and quickly gathered her things. “You’ll be happy to know I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Oh, come on. You had to be in on it, too. Yeah, that must be why you resented me so much. Not only did you have to deal with him coming on to me, but you had to pretend to like me, didn’t you?” The silence was answer enough. She hugged her papers to her chest. “Well, you have him back now. Good luck with that.”

Knowing Francesca wouldn’t pass up this opportunity to twist the knife in her chest, Carrie hurried out of there. The last thing she needed to see was the cold woman gloating. Cursing not having her messenger bag, she stuffed everything in the suitcase and left the house—and her heart—behind.

M
ax stared down at the text in his hands and then at the rolled parchments on the floor. One of them was the Book of Water—he could feel its pull. He should have been triumphant. His mentor would be appeased, and the world would remain safe.

But the only thought going through his head was that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, letting her leave.

A noise made him look at the door, hope rising in his chest that Carrie had come back. But only Francesca stood in the doorway.

Her pale eyes took in the scene, and he had the impression she saw more than he’d have liked. He wanted to yell at her to go away, but he had to know. “Is she gone?”

“Yes.”

An inexplicable pain stabbed his chest. He kept remembering the shattered look in Carrie’s eyes as she shoved the texts at him. A consummate actress would have been able to manufacture that look, but Carrie’s body language gave her away. Not even a great actress could fake trembling hands. But then, he’d known she was innocent, hadn’t he?

“Sir?” Francesca shifted closer but remained outside the door. “Is there anything I can do?”

He almost laughed at that. He wanted to tell her to bring Carrie back, but he knew she’d never come back. Not if the look in her eyes was any indication. He’d mishandled the situation. He’d completely screwed up.

Becoming aware Francesca waited for a response, Max shook his head. “There’s nothing.”

She studied him with the all-knowing gaze she’d possessed even as a child. Nodding, she turned to walk away, but then she paused and looked over her shoulder. “If I may say, this is just as well.”

He frowned at the unsolicited comment. “Excuse me?”

“She wasn’t deserving of you.”

Raising his eyebrow, he let cold ire infuse his voice. “I don’t believe I requested your opinion.”

“No,
sir
”—she inflected just enough condescension that he couldn’t miss it—“you didn’t. But here it is, nonetheless. Ms. Woods doesn’t belong in your world any more than you belonged at the monastery.”

It was like déjà vu—Sun Chi’s words in a different form. Except she was wrong about Carrie. He remembered the feel of Carrie sleeping in his arms and knew she definitely belonged.

Francesca took a step forward. “You’ve been acting contrary to yourself. She obviously didn’t bring out the best in you. You need more than her.”

Anger sparked his chi. “Your professional opinion?”

“No. The opinion of someone who was once your friend.” She took a deep breath. “I understand—”

“I don’t believe you do.” Logically, he couldn’t blame her for thinking as she did—not when days ago he would have agreed. But he’d had trouble thinking logically ever since Carrie first batted her big brown eyes at him. “Leave.”

Paling, Francesca took a step back. “Sir, I—”

“Now.”

She hesitated, swallowing audibly, and then nodded.

He watched her leave, but his mind was on Carrie. He had to fix this with her. After he dealt with the scroll.

Marching to his room, he opened his personal safe and put all the documents inside before calling Sun Chi.

It took several minutes before the monk came to the phone. “Bái H
?”

“I have the Book of Water and the journal,
sifu,
as well as the other texts taken.”

“And the woman? Did she read the scroll? The journal?”

“The journal, I don’t know. The scroll, yes.” Max ran a hand over his neck. “I plan on taking care of her.”

“I am happy, Bái H
, that you have accepted your destiny. I feel certain this is the path you must walk. May Guanyin guide your hand,” Sun Chi said, ending the call.

He knew what the Keeper expected of him—to silence Carrie.

The phone’s casing corrugated under Max’s grip, and he tossed it aside. If his mentor knew Max’s plans for Carrie, he wouldn’t be happy.

But Max knew without a doubt that this was the way. Carrie was his path. He just needed to convince her to let him walk it with her.

W
hen Carrie arrived back in San Francisco, Gabe was waiting for her as she exited airport security. She blinked a couple of times, wondering if she’d willed her friend there.

Gabe beat her to the punch. “I came to pick you up. You sounded so upset when you called, I thought you could use a friend.”

She didn’t know whether to smile or weep, so she settled on a hug. “You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did.”

“You would have done the same.” Gabe patted her shoulder and then pushed her forward. “Come on. Your chariot awaits.”

“You don’t have a chariot,” she pointed out as they went downstairs to the parking elevators. “Did you borrow Rhys’s car?”

“No. The wanker bought me wheels. Can you believe it?” Gabe shook her head in disgust, but the look in her eyes was starry infatuation. “And he didn’t just buy me any car, he bought me a Lotus. I keep telling him to take it back. I have a bus pass, what do I need a car for?”

Carrie wasn’t really up on her car models, but she could have guessed which car belonged to Gabe. It was sleek and sexy, black with shining silver trim. “Your man certainly has good taste.”

“That can’t be disputed.” She bleeped the doors open, took Carrie’s bag, and stuck them in the small trunk. “Wait till you see how fast this thing can go.”

“Oh, boy. Can’t wait.”

Gabe flashed her a look as they settled. “I’m going to chalk up the sarcasm to your extremely agitated state and ignore it. Buckle up.”

They zoomed through the parking lot, stopping only to pay, and raced up 101 to the city. Carrie sat back and zoned out, letting the purring vibrations of the car lull her. Thankfully, Gabe let her zone out. She wasn’t sure she was ready to bare her soul—the hurt was too fresh.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew they were pulling into a parking spot. Small wonder—she’d barely had any sleep last night because of all the—

Don’t think about that.
She pushed back the memory and focused on the here and now. Which wasn’t where she expected. She blinked her eyes. “This isn’t the Tenderloin.”

“There
is
a distinct lack of crack whores hanging out on the corner, isn’t there?” Gabe turned off the car and unsnapped her seat belt. “Come on. Time for therapy.”

Therapy? Yawning, she followed Gabe out. They walked for a block before Gabe detoured into a storefront.

Not a storefront, Carrie realized as she obediently trailed in behind her. A restaurant of sorts, but like out of the Victorian era with its high-backed chairs, mismatched china, and doilies. “Where are we?”

“Lovejoy’s.” Gabe smiled at the hostess. “We have a reservation for two under Gabe.”

The grandmotherly lady smiled in welcome and gestured at a table in the window. “Go ahead and take that one. I’ll be right with you.”

Carrie sat down and placed the linen napkin in her lap. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Tea and sympathy,” Gabe said as she perused the menu. “I’m exploring my new British side.”

“Rhys brought you here?” She looked around, trying to imagine the tall, virile man in this dainty shop. She couldn’t picture him here any more than she could picture Max.

Don’t think about him.

“Actually, Brian brought me, believe it or not.”

“Brian?” Brian, Rhys’s majordomo, had been in some kind of special forces. He was scary looking—bald and bulky and tattooed. Carrie was sure he had knives hidden underneath the frilly French maid’s apron he always wore.

“He wanted to ask the baker for their scone recipe. He’s such a wuss,” Gabe said affectionately, setting the menu down. “Shall I order for us?”

“Considering I haven’t looked at the menu, sure.”

Carrie expected the inquisition to begin as soon as the waitress had taken their order. Surprisingly, Gabe idly chatted about the gallery in New York that was courting her and the new series she’d started painting until they had a pot of tea on the table and their food was delivered.