Intimate Betrayal (29 page)

“You really care about him don't you?”

“Yes, I do. Is that something you're worried about?” she challenged.

Chris pursed his lips, and gently rubbed his smooth chin with his ringless left hand. Briefly he glanced at the floor before his eyes connected with her steady gaze. For the barest moment, he was halted by the stunning picture she projected—a statuesque chocolate “Venus” with startling eyes the color of warm brandy—an erotic combination. He could easily see why his friend was so enamored with this woman. She walked a bit closer and Chris realized that she didn't merely walk from one spot to another she appeared to effortlessly glide to her destination, with a slow hypnotic sway to her hips. He swallowed hard when she stopped inches in front of him, her sensual scent wafting around him. Casually he backed away and took a perch on the edge of the arm of the couch. “Max is very important to me, Reese,” he began
slowly. “He's the brother I never had. I don't want to see him hurt again like he was with Victoria. He has enough to deal with.” He held up his hand to stave off the firestorm he saw coming his way. “I'm not saying that you're like her in any way. All I'm asking is for you to be good to him and for him, and be honest with him and yourself about what it is you really want.”

Reese bit back her stinging response when she fully observed the look of sincerity glowing in Chris's gray eyes. Pushing down her anger, she understood that he only wanted the best for his friend and she knew she'd do the same thing for Lynnette. Slowly her temper began to wane and was replaced by a budding respect.

She smiled beguilingly. “Does Maxwell realize what a good friend he has in you?”

Chris chuckled. “I keep trying to tell him.”

She sighed. “Thanks for what you said. I mean, Max has told me all about Victoria and I know all of the reasons why he mistrusts journalists, but…” Her eyes implored him to understand. “I care about Max, Chris, more than I've even admitted to him. I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” He extended his hand. “Friends?” He raised his thick brown brows.

“Friends.”

A
fter more than an hour of haggling, cajoling, bargaining and strategizing, Reese came away from her conversation with Stan Tilden moderately confident. She'd finally convinced him that it would be in both of their interests to work together. She was surprised but happy to learn that he'd already put the squeeze on Frank Murphy about the software scandal. However, she revealed nothing at all about her involvement or anything related to Max's father. She wanted Stan to believe that getting to the bottom of the software scandal was what she needed for her piece in Maxwell's story. This way she and Max could still stay removed from Murphy since the pressure was being exerted from Stan. He would never guess their involvement.

Reese got up from the edge of the bed where she'd been sitting for the past hour. She arched her back and stretched her long arms over her head, then flexed her fingers—both hands being stiff from the nonstop use—one from holding
the phone in a death grip and the other from writing pages of notes.

She picked up her notebook and scanned the hastily scrawled lines. One item stood out from the rest—Victoria Davenport's telephone number. Stan had given it to her, advising her that she should contact Victoria personally for any verification.

Reese's stomach did a slow dip when she contemplated dialing the number. What would she say? What would Victoria say? She inhaled deeply and flipped the notebook shut. She wasn't quite ready to deal with Victoria yet. In time.

 

Anxiety riddled her body like machine-gun fire. Suki stood shadowed in the window of the second floor watching the black limousine pull up in front of the building. Her heartbeat accelerated when the tall, elegantly dressed man stepped from the car. Her petite hand fluttered to her breasts. He was powerfully built, with the grace of a panther—intimidating. He moved with a fluidity of motion, giving the impression of one gliding effortlessly across a surface. When he walked it was with all of his weight centered in his lower stomach—
hara
—the place of power to the Japanese. She knew him instantly. Her son.

 

Maxwell and Daisuke were dutifully escorted through the finely furnished sitting and entertainment rooms to where they would dine with Tasaka and his entourage.

Maxwell's dark sweeping eyes roamed caressingly over the suits of Samurai regalia that hung on the walls, both threatening and humbling at the same time. Each suit of armor was encased in glass and stood out in stark relief against the white walls. Century-old antiques were boldly displayed throughout the rooms and every tabletop was touched off by
pieces of jade and ivory or air-thin porcelain. It was plainly obvious that the owner of the house was extremely wealthy.

Men sat in groups or alone, conversing, eating and being pampered by the stunning array of beautiful geishas. Maxwell felt as if he'd stepped through a portal of time back to feudal Japan, as he witnesses the age-old scenes play out before him.

“Tasaka-san is expecting you,” the
maiko
said, smiling brightly. “He is in the back room. Dinner will arrive shortly.” The young woman stopped in front of a closed rice-paper door and slid it open.

All eyes turned in the direction of the newcomers. The
maiko
bowed and made the introductions.

Maxwell stepped forward bowing to the trio of men who flanked Tasaka. “This is Daisuke Uchiyama-san, gentlemen. He will interpret for me.” Daisuke repeated what was said and there were nods of agreement all around.

“Please sit,” Tasaka instructed in a husky, hushed whisper. The men took their places around the low wood table.

Then faster than they could blink a maid appeared from what seemed like nowhere with a tray laden with a platter of
Sashimi
—a striking presentation of extra thin slices of rosy raw tuna, pale sea bass, and halibut on a bed of shredded carrot and snowy daikon and accompanied by piquant wasabi paste—surrounded by steaming fresh vegetables. The first course of their meal was served with the first of many rounds of sake. Maxwell was quite aware of its potency and knew he had to keep his stomach full to offset the powerful effects of the rice wine.

During the initial hour of dining and drinking, no mention was made of Maxwell's reason for being there. He played along with the notion that he couldn't understand the language and laughed and nodded at all the appropriate places when cued by Daisuke.

To Maxwell's surprise and pleasure it was Tasaka who finally broached the subject of M.K. Enterprises. He methodically explained to his dining companions and business partners that Maxwell Knight was looking to set up his new headquarters in Tokyo. He also wanted to have Tasaka Industries' computer arm manufacture and distribute his new chip. There were nods of understanding all around mixed with deep-throat murmurs.

Maxwell kept a watchful eye on all four men to gauge their reactions, if any.

With Daisuke translating, Maxwell spoke. “I'd like to begin setting up operations within the next six months. I know that Tasaka Industries has some of the most talented computer engineers and programmers in the world. I want to see that my product is crafted by the best.”

“What do we get out of it, Knight-san?” Tasaka asked in a near whisper. He eyed Maxwell speculatively.

“If we can come to an agreement, we would become partners. I would guarantee Tasaka Industries twenty percent of the company stock.”

There was a flurry of excited, but muffled conversation as the men bent their heads and spoke rapidly among themselves.

Tasaka held up his hand and the room fell silent. He pinned his dark almond-shaped gaze on Maxwell. “I have done my homework on you Maxwell-san and your company is private. You are not on the boards, correct?”

Impatiently Maxwell held his tongue, while Daisuke translated.

“This is true, for now. Things will change rapidly within a matter of months.” Maxwell's dark eyes merged and solidified with Tasaka's.

A thin smile moved slowly across Tasaka's month.
Doru
signs began flashing in his mind. A partnership with M.K.
Enterprises with a guaranteed share in its profits would make him wealthier than his wildest dreams. He had waited patiently for the opportunity to join forces with a thriving American business. The decline of Japanese business over the past three years had caused innumerable problems. Due to the recession, for the first time in modern history, layoffs were happening in earnest. Those fortunate enough to keep their jobs hadn't seen a raise in nearly five years. In an age where speed of information was paramount, whoever had a hand in the control of cyberspace on the Pacific continent, would garner millions. Tasaka had no delusions that he would not be an integral part of that process.

Tasaka took a long, slow sip of sake. Gingerly replaced the cup on the table and folded his hands in front of him. It seemed as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Maxwell was quite aware that Tasaka was banking on his impatient occidental nature to take over and push him to say too much or do the wrong thing, thereby giving Tasaka the upper hand. It was a common practice among clever Japanese to try and trap a
gaijin
—foreigner. However, Maxwell was very comfortable to play things out the Japanese way.

Tasaka finally broke the silence. “Your offer, Knight-san, sounds worth much consideration. How long will you be staying in Tokyo?”

Maxwell nodded following Daisuke's translation then faced Tasaka squarely. “As long as it will take to come to a mutually satisfying agreement. I can use my time here to research my roots,” he said slowly, his eyes sweeping across the four men. “My mother, who I've never met, was Japanese.” A ghost of a smile haloed Maxwell's lips.

Tasaka's lids lowered nearly obscuring his eyes. To the casual observer, one would think his eyes were completely closed. Maxwell knew better. He, himself, often slipped into the same transcendental state, a place deep inside of himself
where he could be physically present but mentally removed, allowing him the peace of mind to make crucial decisions.

Finally Tasaka made eye contact with Maxwell. “We will speak again. Perhaps tomorrow?” he stated. “In the meantime, let me have one of these beautiful ladies escort us on a tour of this lovely establishment.”

Maxwell waited for the unnecessary interpretation. “I'd like that very much,” he responded in answer to both statements.

With the assistance of one of the
maiko
who had floated unobtrusively around them all evening, Tasaka rose to his feet. His entourage did the same, along with Maxwell and Daisuke. The same
maiko,
who Maxwell learned was named Honniko, led them through the rooms, pointed out works of art and notable attendees, and explained the entertainment that was taking place in various locations.

The house was much larger than it appeared from the outside, Maxwell observed, impressed by the class and elegance that permeated every inch of the building.

“Who is the
hujin
—a lady responsible for running such an exquisite establishment?” Maxwell asked. “I would be remiss if I did not extend my appreciation for her talent and taste. She must be quite extraordinary.”

“That she is,” Tasaka murmured. He leaned close to Honniko and whispered in her ear. She bowed low and hurried away. “Why don't we sit over here?” Tasaka instructed, indicating an available entertainment area that boasted a rich emerald-green paisley couch and matching chairs, which formed a comma around the black marble table. Behind the serene setting the jalousied window gave a teasing view of the garden in full bloom.

Maxwell had barely seated himself when the most exquisite looking Japanese woman he'd ever seen appeared to float into
the room. Although she was tiny in stature, her poised body language and dark searching eyes commanded respect. Even without an introduction, he knew this was the woman of the house.

She was dressed in the traditional double kimono, the top a brilliant burnt-orange silk, the color of the rising sun, the undergarment, only seen at the cuffs, was of the same material in the captivating shade of bronze that seemed to shimmer with the play of soft lighting in the room.

Maxwell rose as she moved soundlessly toward him and something vague but familiar took hold of him, gripping his stomach and accelerating his heart.

She bowed low before him and he reciprocated in like fashion.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Knight-san,” she said in a perfect melodic English.

“The pleasure is mine. You have a magnificent establishment.”

“Thank you. I hope you had a pleasant evening and all of your needs were met.”

“They were, and I did. However, you have the advantage. You know my name, but I do not know yours.” He smiled engagingly.

She stared directly into his eyes. “Sukihara Tasaka, Knight-san,” she said softly, beating back the tremor in her voice.

Maxwell felt as if he'd been hit in the solar plexis. He looked from Sukihara to Mioshi and immediately made the connection. The family resemblance was unmistakable.

“My…mother's name was Sukihara,” he said almost to himself, struggling to get his head back above water.

A shadow of a smile graced her rich mouth. “A very common name here in Japan.”

Suki fought to maintain an aura of calm, but her skin tingled and her heart raced dangerously. She swore she would
pass out. She inhaled deeply, wanting instead to gulp in all the air around her. This was her son, her baby whom she'd given away more than thirty years ago. Her large eyes began to burn with the resurgence of raw emotion that battled to claim her. She knew if she stood in that spot a moment longer, she would gather him in her arms and beg his forgiveness. He was more beautiful than she'd ever imagined, a perfect combination of the man she loved and herself.

For the briefest moment, Maxwell truly believed that she would embrace him. But, of course, it was inconceivable for a woman of her age and stature to make such a breach of etiquette. Yet he couldn't shake the sensation that she wanted to touch him, as he did her.

“Well,” she breathed, “if everything is satisfactory, I hope you will excuse me as I must check on my other guests.”

“Of…course,” Maxwell said, trying to regain control of his spiraling feelings. “I hope we meet again.”

Suki did not respond, but bowed instead and backed away. Then like a dream that vanishes upon awakening, she was gone.

Slowly Maxwell felt his breathing return to normal and the eerie feeling of familiarity loosened its hold.

Mioshi stood to the side and watched the entire scene unfold from beneath his hooded lids. Knowing his sister as well as he did, he knew that she was terribly shaken by the encounter. As cruel or painful as she may have believed the meeting to be, he knew it was necessary. They must all move beyond the past. Her patron, Murayama Hosokawa, would have to join everyone else in the present as well. Because he had every intention of solidifying this deal with his nephew as soon as possible. The alliance with M.K. Enterprises was what Tokyo needed, what he needed. And those fools who couldn't see that be damned. No one would stand in his way, not Murayama and not Suki.