Forbidden Fire (28 page)

Lilli offered him one of her warm smiles. “I know that.”

Marissa awoke very slowly, the drug seeming to take a long, long time to fade. She was aware first of a sweet scent in the air. Then she came to realize that she was lying upon silk. She could feel the elegance, and the softness, and for long moments, the feel of that silk was deceptively comforting.

It was difficult to open her eyes. When she finally managed to do so, she was stunned to realize that she was looking up a very long way at a very fat man.

His hair was straight and black, and he had a long, straight black beard, and a mustache that fell over the beard with the same astounding length. He wore a Chinese coat and dark trousers, and he studied her, rubbing his bearded chin so that the long strands of hair shook.

“Green eyes,” he murmured. Then he turned to someone behind him. “Yes, she is worth much. But you are overanxious—and greedy. We will discuss the price. I will send for tea and a pipe, and we will finish our business.”

The price. They were talking about her. She wanted to leap up and rip out that black beard by the handful. She still couldn't move. She could barely keep her eyes open.

She decided to close them and try to fight off the sick dizziness that remained. She heard whispers.

“The price doesn't matter! We've already been paid!”

“Right, damned right, so whatever we make now is pure profit, and I want some of it!” came the response. The first voice had been deeper. Marissa was certain that it belonged to the dark-haired man who had seized her. The second voice had been higher, more youthful. The blonde.

And then the large Chinese man returned. She heard him ordering someone around, and heard the sound of liquid being poured into cups. She smelled something, a cloying, sweet scent, and she wondered if it was opium.

The Chinese man gave her two abductors an offer for her. Apparently, it was shockingly low. “You must be insane! Not only has she green eyes, but she has golden hair! She's young and beautiful. She has superb lines, wonderful breasts—” the blond man began.

“And the word is on the streets as to who she is. The police are seeking her already.”

“Ah,” interrupted the darker of her abductors. “But you have the resources to get her on a ship within the next hour. And once she is gone …”

The Chinese man haggled. Marissa slitted her eyes, desperate to survey her surroundings.

She was in the corner of a large room. There were only two windows, and those were beyond the men who were haggling at a low round table. Straight across the room from her sat a woman, her head low, her back bowed in absolute submission. She was beautiful, a little China doll. She was there to serve the tea, to light the opium pipe, Marissa thought.

She would not be difficult to elude.…

But the men were there. If she tried to rise, to escape, they would be down on her in seconds. Carefully, unobtrusively, she tried to gain strength, flexing her fingers, then her toes. The feeling was coming back to her. She stiffened an arm, then a leg, then relaxed them. She started to inch over to the window. They weren't paying the least bit of attention to her. If she were not too high up, perhaps she could jump out. And if she were high up …

At least she could scream. She had to do something!

They had come to some kind of an agreement. The men were rising. “They will take her to the ship right now. You will wait for your payment below until she is safely on the ship,” the heavy Chinese man said.

Now … right now. They were coming for her now. They might drug her again, and she would be helpless, unable to protest.

Marissa could afford no more finesse. She leaped to her feet and raced for the window.

The blond man shouted and jumped. He was almost upon her. She turned and kicked him with all her strength. He bellowed in pain and fell to the floor. Marissa reached the window. She tore open the drapes.

She was high, very high. On the third floor. If she jumped, she would kill herself.

But the streets were crowded. The citizens of Chinatown pulled their little wagons through the street, or walked quickly, some with their papers, some with carts of vegetables and meats.

Some were criminals.

And some were good people.

A hand touched Marissa's shoulder.

She leaned out the window and screamed. “Help! Help me! Oh, dear God, somebody help me!”

She was wrenched into the room with such force that she fell, stunned, upon her back.

“Perhaps we should renegotiate, gentlemen,” the heavy-set Chinese man said. “You neglected to inform me that she is an incredible amount of trouble!”

Ian had toured the streets, one by one, stopping to ask questions, growing ever more determined and desperate. Passing by a market, then a known opium den, Ian saw a man called One-Eyed Charlie who was a notorious—and extremely slippery—criminal. Charlie dealt in hashish, the best, and in female flesh, the most pathetic. He'd been taken downtown to jail a score of times—he had always managed to avoid conviction. Evidence disappeared, just as women disappeared.

Seeing Charlie, Ian didn't hesitate. He shouted the man's name. Charlie cast his one good eye in Ian's direction, then started through the narrow alleyways, plunging through the crowds. Ian shouted again, leaping from the horse, and racing after Charlie.

He caught up with him in the middle of a narrow alley where clothing and animal carcasses hung in profusion. He catapulted onto the man's back, then dragged him to his feet, nearly strangling him as he shook him by the collar. “Where is she, where the hell is she, Charlie? If she's gone, you aren't going to get off this time! I'll break your neck here and now if I don't get something!”

Charlie burst into a spate of Chinese. Ian shook him, and Charlie switched to English as he began to turn blue. “I don't know, I don't know what you're talking about—”

“My wife, Charlie! The whole damned city knows, and you're going to tell me that you don't?”

“I don't have her, I swear, but I'll find her! Put me down, I'll find her. She could be in a few places. I'll find her—”

“Ian!”

He heard his name shouted as he held Charlie by the throat. He looked at the street and saw Lee Kwan coming toward him quickly. “Ian, we've got something. Drop Charlie. We've got something!”

Ian looked at Charlie then dropped him. Charlie sprawled on the ground, then picked himself up and dusted his loose trousers, staring at Ian suspiciously.

Then he bolted and ran like a rabbit.

“Lee, what?” Ian demanded anxiously.

“Lilli called. She said she sent feelers out, and she was able to get an address. She said to warn you that it could be dangerous.”

“The address, Lee, give me the address.”

“I've called the police—”

“And they might be too late! Give me the damned address!”

She had scratched, she had clawed, she might have cost a few of the heavy Chinese man's helpers a new dynasty of children, but in the end it had done her little good.

Marissa was carefully trussed and wound into a carpet. She could scarcely breathe, and she was afraid that she would lose consciousness when she most desperately needed her senses.

She was thrown over the shoulder of a man who bore the imprint of her nails from his brow to his chin. She could see nothing. Her arms were caught to her sides by the carpet, and she thought she would die if she couldn't breathe soon. But she could hear clearly.

Her assailants were gone, and she had been left to the mercy of the Chinese flesh merchant. She could understand nothing of the language, but she knew that she was being sent to a ship. She was leaving the house in Chinatown, and the man she had so ignominiously wounded was making no effort to be gentle as he carried her downstairs. Her face, wound in the heavy carpet, thudded hard against his back again and again. She could not brace herself for she could not move her arms.

She heard the shouts as they reached a rear alley. She was pretty sure the man who carried her was flanked by three others, wiry, strong young men who carried sharp knives and knew how to use them. She had fought them all until she had felt the blade of one of those knives at her throat. And the heavy Chinese man had warned her then that her value would not decrease too dearly should she bear a scar or two here or there in discreet places.

It was impossible to contemplate what was going to happen to her. She'd been warned but she hadn't wandered into any dangerous neighborhood. She'd been taken anyway. And now God alone knew where she would end up, she thought bleakly.

Did it matter? She would lose everything of importance to her. This life, Uncle Theo, Mary, Jimmy …

Ian. Love.

All her life she had been searching. Even when she hadn't known it. And she had finally found everything. God had given her not just a way to survive. He'd given her far more than gowns and beautiful things. He'd given her Ian. He'd given her love.

Perhaps this was justice. Perhaps she'd been given too much. Perhaps, like Icarus, she had wanted to fly, and so God had seen to it that her wings were melted and that she came crashing to the ground.

No! Tears stung her eyes. She could not accept defeat so easily!

She began to slam her body back and forth. Someone had to notice the movement! The carpet began to loosen around her.

“Stop!” Hands clamped down upon her brutally. She ignored them, squirming like a worm. It would do her no good, she thought desperately.

Then she heard the voice.

“You! You there! Stop this instant.”

It was Ian. She could have sworn it. Her heart began to hammer, and she writhed with greater determination to make the package of carpet and herself move more visibly.

The man carrying her did stop. Marissa felt him whirl around, and then she was dropped carelessly to the ground. There was a challenge spoken, and then she heard a thunder of footsteps.

Frantically, she rolled out of her carpet and staggered to her feet.

They were in the alleyway, Ian, the man who had held her and the others. The others, with their horrible, wicked knives.

The man who had carried her roared like a lion. Then he bore down on Ian like a steam engine. Marissa screamed, but Ian paid no heed. He was assessing his enemy. He stepped aside just before the man could butt him, then slammed his joined fists down upon his attacker's back. The man crumbled at his feet.

But the others were encircling him now. The eternal fog was settling upon the city, and the streetlights were winking on. The knives were caught in that glow, twinkling as their owners twisted and turned them in warning.

There was another cry and one of them broke from the group, leaping for Ian, his knife high and poised. Marissa screamed a warning again. Perhaps she was in time; perhaps he had already known. He caught the man's arm. They plummeted to the earth together and began to roll. The two other men ran after them. Marissa gathered up her tattered skirts and did the same. In the fog, she could see nothing but the entwined figures thrashing upon the ground.

And then one man was up.

Ian.

“Ian!” She shouted his name.

“Get out of here, Marissa! Get the hell out of here!” he shouted to her.

She couldn't go. The other two men were taking no chances. They were approaching him together. He backed away, a careful eye on the deadly knives. One rushed him. The second started to do the same.

“No!” Marissa shrieked. She ran forward, leaping upon the man's back. She grasped his face, blinding him. She heard a growl burst forth from him. His hand was upon her, groping, trying to dislodge her.

His knife went clattering down to the cobblestones. She felt herself wrenched free. In the night she saw his murderous dark eyes. And then it was as if she was flying as he hurtled her aside to deal with Ian.

Somewhere in the night, she heard a police whistle. She tried to rise, and she staggered against a wall. She heard a gasp, and the sound of steel ripping into flesh. She screamed, doubling over.

Ian!

Then there were footsteps everywhere. The police had arrived.

Suddenly arms wound around her, lifting her swiftly. She cried out, then her eyes widened. Ian, his face blackened with the grime from the street, blood streaming from a cut near his eye, looked at her. “My God!” she breathed, “I thought it was you!”

“No,” he said softly. “Don't look back.”

But she had already done so. One man lay in a hideous arch over his own knife. Police officers were hurrying around his body and the others.

“Mr. Tremayne!” One of them called after him. “Mr. Tremayne, we've questions—”

“And you can ask them tomorrow!” Ian answered. “I'm taking my wife home now.”

She smiled and leaned against his chest. He carried her out to the street. Lee and John Kwan were in a carriage there. Lee helped her up, and Marissa leaned against her while Ian tethered his bay to the rear of the carriage. Then Ian held her again.

“How did you ever find me?” she asked.

“We moved quickly. Darrin saw them take you. Still, I would never have known where to look if it weren't for Lilli,” he admitted.

Marissa nodded. “Then I must thank her,” she murmured.

The rest of the ride home was made in silence. It didn't matter. Marissa felt so very comfortable. So loved. She was home with John and Lee.

And she was cherished by Ian. He had fought for her. Risked his life for her. Killed for her. She would never question his feelings or his past again.

Darrin and Lilli were waiting outside the house. Marissa descended from the coach and hugged the boy first. Then she looked at the woman.

“I just wanted to see that Ian brought you home safely,” Lilli said. Her dress was subdued. She wore no makeup. She had carefully chosen her attire to come to the house, and now she was speaking very shyly.

Behind her, Ian didn't say a word.