Tempted by Fate (5 page)

A knowing smile curved her mouth as she ran her hand down the center of her torso and between her legs. “Is this what you want?”

“No.”

She arched her brow, but made no move to get up. “You’re thinking about your plan, aren’t you? You took care of her investigator and the mole, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s all in motion. It’s only a matter of time until you catch her.”

Yes. He just had to be patient a little while longer.

“It’s a brilliant plan, darling.” Deidre slithered over to him and knelt in front of him.

“Don’t you mean
your
plan was brilliant?”

Smiling, Deidre rewarded him by wrapping her hand around him and squeezing. “I
did
come up with it, didn’t I?”

Yes, she did. It annoyed him, but he only cared that it was successful. At this point, he’d use any means possible to bring Willow to his side.

He’d recognized that Deidre was good for a lot more than her sexual talents as soon as he’d met her at a mutual acquaintance’s soirée in Milan. Her connections alone made tolerating her worthwhile.

And so far, Deidre’s scheme seemed to be working. Willow had been lured by the prospect of information on him. The next step was to set her up so she was wanted by the police. Then he’d isolate her from everything she held dear, cut off so severely from everything and everyone that she’d have no choice but to turn to him for help.

“I just wish I understood what this woman means to you, darling.” Deidre studied him. “Any other woman would be perturbed by the competition.”

“But you’re not any other woman, are you?” He was surprised Deidre hadn’t bluntly asked who Willow was. It wasn’t like her to beat around the bush. However, she was smart—she knew how important catching Willow was to him. She wouldn’t jeopardize her position with something like jealousy. Deidre fancied herself the next Mrs. Rodgers-Dynes. He had no problem encouraging that—for as long as she proved helpful to him. If her plan worked, he might even reward her.

If it didn’t…

She eyed him as if she could read his thoughts. She sat up, reaching for another glass and the decanter on the side table next to him. She poured him a generous finger of liquor and put it in his hand. “Relax, darling. I’ll take care of you.”

Closing his eyes, he took a sip and relaxed back against the chair, picturing the look in Lani’s eyes as he drained the life from her body. He had taken her life, and soon he’d take her daughter.

W
illow woke up, feeling the pull of cypress trees. They resonated differently than other trees, like the ancient sequoias up north or the lemonwood hedges back home. Resilient and flexible, willing to adapt.

Even though it was still dark outside, she rolled out of bed and pulled on her running clothes. She took a moment to hold her scroll like she did every morning, to feel its familiar power flow through her. In it, she could feel echoes of her mother.

Walking out of her rent-by-the-week motel room, she let her senses stretch into the shadows. Nothing waited for her, but she knew better than to relax. She wasn’t in the worst neighborhood in San Francisco, but Broadway Street catered to a certain type of male clientele. A lone woman on the street could be taken as fair game, and she didn’t need that kind of trouble.

Slowly she began to jog, letting her body warm up. She wasn’t entirely familiar with the city, but she knew exactly where to find the trees.

She headed there. Around the Marina and through the Presidio.

She ran along the bluffs, aware of the small groups of homeless people camped in the sparse copse of trees, until she found a secluded spot. She let
mù ch’i
reach out to the trees and, feeling welcomed, sat cross-legged between two large cypresses.

Setting her hands on the ground, Willow felt the roots beneath her, grounded and bracing. She closed her eyes and let her energy flow out.

The trees accepted her. She breathed deeply, trying to let herself meld into the ebb and flow of their energy, the way her mother had shown her. But, like always, she didn’t feel the total connection—not the way she had when her mother guided her.

Focusing her will, she tried harder, but the trees resisted. Distantly she heard the shudder of leaves. And then she was pushed out of the flow of their life force.

She exhaled in anger, opening her eyes. Instead of feeling infused with fresh energy, she felt like she’d gone ten rounds with a Samoan.

Frustrating. She wished she were more complete in her training. She remembered the smoothness with which her mother practiced her art.

She wanted that for herself.

As it was, it felt like part of her was missing. And if that wasn’t aggravating enough, she could sense the missing part just beyond her reach—like if she just tried harder, she could grasp it. Only no matter how hard she tried, it still remained out of reach.

She pulled the flute out and began a slow, peaceful tune her mother used to play to calm her down. Today it
made her feel more sad than settled. She felt like she was letting her mom down, in more ways than one.

Sighing, she put the flute away and unwound her legs to make her way back to the motel.

Motel was overstating it. It was a dump. Calling her room threadbare was generous. But it was cheap, and the other tenants kept to themselves.

Mostly. Except for the woman two doors down who always wanted to chat.

Willow shook her head. She wasn’t a chatterer. Most people got the message, eventually, but the woman two doors down was relentless.

Willow took care to walk noiselessly down the hall to her room. She slipped the key into the lock and twisted.

The tumbler made a soft click as it unlocked.

“Shit.” She hurried to open the door and duck inside.

Behind her, a door opened. “You’re up and at ’em early this morning.”

Too late. She dropped her head, wanting to just slip inside and shut the door behind her. But for some reason, she couldn’t ignore the woman. Latent manners rising to the surface? Whatever it was, it was damn annoying.

“I thought I heard you go out, but you sneaked out quicker than I could get out of bed and pull my robe on.”

Sighing, Willow turned around.

“Oh, you went for a run.” The woman leaned on her cane in the doorway. She looked rough, like she’d had a hard life accented by alcohol and drugs. Her hair stood on end, the bleached strands brash against the dark roots. She looked close to sixty, but she could easily have been thirty. “I used to run, but now I’ve got a bum leg.”

Willow glanced at the cane but said nothing.

“You can’t tell now, but I used to dance, too. I loved to dance.” Her eyes went dreamy, probably remembering a better time.

Willow could relate, and that made her feel uncomfortable. “I need to clean up.”

The woman came back to herself, her smile slipping a little. “Of course. Silly me, keeping you here when you’re probably getting cold.”

Willow felt like she’d kicked a puppy, but she wasn’t here to socialize—she was here to find the Bad Man. She retreated inside her room, said “Good-bye,” and closed the door before the woman could make a peep.

Stripping out of her clothes, she showered, got dressed, and put on a modicum of makeup. She straightened her room, dumped everything she’d poached from the two bodies on the bed, and went through it. Again.

Her cell phone rang. She picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Morgan, her business partner since they met almost eleven years ago, although Morgan often claimed they were more like sisters, having gone through so much time together over the years. Willow had no idea what having a sister was like, but if they were at turns irritating and endearing, then, yes, Morgan would be hers.

Willow already knew the background on the man she’d hired, but Morgan would have answers about the other guy. She answered the phone. “What have you got?”

“I miss you, too. It’s delightful hearing your voice after all this time.”

The sarcasm in Morgan’s voice was so familiar, Willow instantly felt better. Not that she’d tell Morgan that. “Are you going to tell me what you found, or do we have to have tea and crumpets first?”

“You’re so uncivilized. Good thing I love you.” The light tapping of her fingers on the keyboard filtered through the line. “I ran the driver’s license number you e-mailed me last night.”

“And?”

“Joel Rocco. Six feet, one hundred ninety pounds, rents an apartment in Daly City. Average amount of credit card debt, drives a late-model Buick. One ex-wife, pays her a pittance in alimony. No children. He works as a bouncer for several clubs in San Francisco. Pretty typical, really.”

A typical guy didn’t get executed. “No criminal record?”

“He’s clean. And before you ask, yeah, I checked everything, even my underground sources.”

“He was killed. He can’t be completely clean.”

Morgan cleared her throat. “I hesitate to mention this, but did it occur to you that he was killed because of you?”

“Of course that occurred to me.” In fact, it was more than likely. She was being manipulated—she was certain of that. There was more going on than she knew. That drove her mad, but if she wanted to catch the Bad Man, she had to play his game. She just had to make sure she played it smarter than he did.

“Jesus Christ. And you’re not worried?” Morgan asked. “Because, I’ve got to tell you, I’m pretty freaked out over here. I have a bad feeling about this. I think you should come home.”

By home, she meant Paris, where they first met and were still based. But Willow shook her head. “You know I can’t.”

“Well, will you promise to be extra careful?” She
sighed. “What am I saying? Of course you won’t be careful. You’ll take crazy risks and then rely on me to bail you out when things go bad.”

“I’m not going to take risks.” Willow picked up the business card. Black, with glossy red script:
Bohemia.
She’d looked it up—it was a club somewhere off Market Street. She bet Rocco worked there.

What were the chances the club had anything to do with the Bad Man? Miniscule. Most likely, Rocco was only after the cash she was offering for information. A lot of people came forward with
information,
but no one had actually given her anything that checked out. She was as clueless about the Bad Man’s identity as she’d ever been.

But this was the closest thing to a lead she had, and she wasn’t going to rule anything out until she’d checked. She flicked the card with her fingertip. “Morgan, I think I feel like going dancing tonight. There’s a club in town that is killer.”

“Only someone who’s seen you in action would know how scary that statement truly was. Send me the club’s name and I’ll get you information.”

“Thank you.”

“I just want to state, for the record, that this reeks of a trap.”

Yes, it did. “What choice do I have?”

“Plenty, you just refuse to see them. Look for my e-mail.”

Ending the call, Willow gathered everything from her bed and returned it to the rickety dresser drawer that served as her filing cabinet. She rested her mother’s flute next to the scroll.

It rolled forward, over the photo she’d tucked away in front. She withdrew it and held it up.

She’d found the picture among some paperwork hidden with her mother’s getaway fund. In it was a man she’d never seen before. He had dark hair and piercing gray eyes that had made her skin crawl.

“The Bad Man.” She didn’t know it for sure, but inside she was positive.

If only she could ID him, but he was like a phantom. No one recognized him. No one knew who he was. Not even Morgan could dig up any intelligence on the man, and Morgan could move mountains with her computers.

Willow returned the picture back to its spot. She’d find him. She had to find him. He had to be brought to justice, and she wanted to be the one to do it.

Which meant she was going clubbing tonight. To Bohemia. Because as of right now, that was the only clue she had, as meager as it was.

Willow sauntered down the street, wearing tight black pants, a black halter top, and high-heeled boots to fade into the crowd while at Bohemia.