"Thank God," sighed Lindsay. "I'm tired of explaining that I was so excited by the bronzes that I looked only at them. And I'm sure Stone is very tired of hearing it."
Yi's dry laughter was almost lost beneath the shrilling of the phone. "Come to Xi'an, daughter," he said. "It is not what you lost, but it is more than most people will ever know."
Before Lindsay could answer, Yi bowed slightly and walked out of sight down the hall.
The phone rang with mechanical urgency. Impatiently, Lindsay picked it up.
"Don't worry, it's not that awful man Mr. Stone," Sherry said breathlessly. "It's Sam Wang on line two." Then, before Lindsay could cut her off, she added, "If you still don't want Sam, throw him my way, huh? He's "
"As persistent as Bradford Stone," Lindsay finished tiredly. She heard the rawness of her own voice and took a deep breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."
"Hey, it's Monday."
"Yeah. All day. Give me a minute, then put Wang through."
Lindsay sat back in her chair and tried to call calmness to herself through the discipline of tai chi. She was only partially successful. All the days had been Mondays since Catlin had walked out of her life. He had been right about the emotional seesaw she would go through as she went back to her normal life. He had been right about the difficulty of regaining her reputation despite the best efforts of Bradford Stone and the People's Republic of China to publicly and profusely thank her for her part in uncovering the "fraudulent" bronzes. Catlin had also been right about how quickly her real life would reclaim her. In fact, he had been right in everything he had said, save one.
And it was the only one that mattered.
Lindsay continued breathing deeply, slowly, until the phone rang once more. She punched in the second button and lifted the receiver.
"Hi, Sam," she said, her voice clear, her expression taut. Hearing Wang's voice brought back the auction where she had seemed to betray Wu and the warehouse, where she had indeed betrayed him. "Did you get a line on that Shang bronze that Mr. White wanted?"
"Not yet. I heard something interesting when I was out in San Francisco last week, though. Thought you should be the first to know."
Lindsay's fingers tightened on the telephone. "Oh?"
"First Lee Tran disappears without a trace and now the honorable Hsiang Wu has decided to give up international politics and confine his efforts to the buying and selling of Asian objects d'art. Funny, huh?"
Eyes closed, Lindsay prayed that her voice wouldn't give her away. She hadn't mentioned Wu no matter how hard Stone had pressed for names. "I wasn't aware that Wu was actively interested in politics," she said politely.
Sam Wang's laughter came clearly over the line. "Come on, Lindsay. We're friends, aren't we? We both know that the only reason Hsiang quit spying for Taiwan is that Catlin came down on him like a falling mountain."
"This is the first I've heard about it," Lindsay said flatly. "Why would Catlin do that?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing. The usual procedure in cases like Hsiang's is to turn the guy into a double agent."
"What?"
"Simple," said Wang, laughter curling through his voice. "You catch one of the other side's spies dirty and tell him that he can spy for your side or suffer some terminal inconveniences. Catlin knows how the game is played hell, sometimes I think he must have invented it yet he let Hsiang Wu off the hook. Now Hsiang Wu's an upstanding citizen instead of a newly recruited double agent. I don't mind telling you that Stone would be pissed off about it if he knew. He's dying to get his hands on a reliable Taiwanese double."
"Sam," Lindsay said, trying to keep her voice light, "I'm having a hard time following this conversation. Despite the affair of the Qin charioteer, I'm not the Mata Hari type. And how do you know Stone, anyway?"
"Who said I knew Stone?"
Lindsay felt like banging the telephone receiver on the desk in hope of improving the connection. She knew that it wouldn't work. Sam Wang lived in a different world than she did. They might speak the same language, but the meaning of the words was very slippery.
The sound of laughter floated up from the receiver. "I wish I could see your face, Lindsay. Catlin was crazy not to take advantage of you while he could. They don't make them like you anymore."
"Fools?" she retorted. "I disagree. I have it on the highest authority that there's one born every minute, which should give you a lifetime guarantee of full employment."
"Speaking of Catlin "
"I wasn't," Lindsay said quickly.
"Ever see him any more?" finished Wang, ignoring her interruption.
"What does that have to do with Mr. White's early Shang bronze?"
"Nothing," Wang admitted. "But it has a lot to do with asking you out to dinner. If you're Catlin's, I don't want the kind of trouble he can deliver."
"Last time I checked, my rabies certificate didn't list an owner," she said evenly. "Does yours? Or wasn't there room for a triple entry?"
"Triple?"
"Stone, Chen Yi and adrenaline."
There was a long silence followed by laughter that was more rueful than humorous. "You're one of a kind, Lindsay. You really didn't like the game, did you?"
"No, I really didn't."
"Too bad. There's a whole world to play it in. We could have done it all."
"You go ahead. It's not my world."
"The world is whatever you think it is, remember?" Wang asked ironically.
Lindsay recalled the extraordinary bronze dragon and smiled in spite of herself. "Like I said, we live in different worlds."
"Anyone who could look at my dragon and see that reality is a construct, not a fact, can live in any world."
"I've been meaning to ask you," Lindsay said, determined to change the subject, "What did the lab tests say on your dragon's age?"
"It never went to a lab, and it's not my dragon anymore."
"There's one born every minute, right?" Lindsay retorted, unable to keep disapproval out of her tone.
"Not this one. The man who bought it knew exactly what he was getting."
Lindsay's relief showed in her voice. Despite their differences, she didn't like to think of Wang as an out-and-out crook. "Good. He must have had a very fine eye for art to buy your dragon for what it was, rather than what it was not."
"He had a rare understanding of reality," Wang agreed. "Like you. Thanks for seeing through my dragon's deception to the true art beneath. It cost me a bundle, but it was worth it. Every artist has a raging need to be appreciated especially the artist who can't sign his own name. Ciao, Lindsay. I won't lean on you again."
Before Lindsay could speak, the line was dead. She sat motionless, phone in hand, realizing that it was Sam Wang who had created the extraordinary dragon. Slowly, she replaced the receiver, wondering what made an artist of Wang's caliber spend so much of his creative efforts in a shadow world of lies. Then she wondered if Wang had been trying to recruit her for one of his bosses, or if he had been on a personal fishing expedition for fun and profit.
Lindsay shook her head impatiently. It didn't matter whether Wang had been angling after her in the name of Yi, Stone, himself or a bizarre combination of the three. The answer was still no.
Automatically she glanced at her watch, then at the calendar. She realized that it still showed last Friday's date. Not that it mattered. Weekend or weekday, she worked. It was better than remembering. She had been alone before she met Catlin, but she hadn't been lonely. It was different now. She understood loneliness the way the ancient Chinese had understood bronze. Intimately.
With an abrupt movement Lindsay tore three pages off her calendar, adding them to the minutes and hours since she had sat in a hotel room in San Francisco and felt as though her skin were being pulled from her in thin strips, wanting to cry but unable to because it hurt too much even to breathe. Catlin had been right about so many things why hadn't he been right about the pain? Why did she remember every moment they had spent together with such cruel clarity?
You're the most woman I've ever known.
Catlin's words returned to her, haunting her, hurting her. She hadn't been enough to hold him. He hadn't believed that real love could have been born from a world ruled by adrenaline and lies. He had given her no chance to prove him wrong.
Lindsay went to the window and stood without moving, watching office buildings bleed their population into the late afternoon streets. She tried not to think, not to remember, and most of all she tried not to feel. Yet her eyes searched the streets ceaselessly, looking for a man who moved like a tiger gliding through twilight. She didn't know what she would do if she saw Catlin again. She only knew that she wanted to see him with an intensity that left her weak.
Finally Lindsay forced herself to step away from the window and go home. She continued to search the faces of the city as she left the Museum of the Asias. Catlin wasn't among the people streaming down the sidewalk. He wasn't among the people milling around the bus and taxi stands. He wasn't standing in the foyer of the apartment building. He wasn't outside her apartment door. He wasn't inside - Lindsay froze in the doorway, staring into her apartment with disbelief. Sam Wang's bronze dragon was crouched on her coffee table, radiating vitality. Slowly she walked closer. The slanting after-noon sunshine picked out every swell and flow of the dragon's muscles, every sinuous line of power, every metallic gleam of gold and silver. Her fingertips traced the timeless designs that spoke silently of intelligence, creation and endurance, and of the truth that reality is a work of art that changes even as it is viewed, containing all possibilities.
Magnificent, luminous with light and life, the dragon watched Lindsay out of hammered gold eyes as old as time and as modern as the future.
Behind Lindsay the front door shut with a distinct click. She spun toward the sound. Catlin stood motionlessly, watching her as the dragon had, golden eyes intent, fierce with life. She tried to say Catlin's name, but could not. She wanted to run to him but was afraid to believe that he was real rather than the creation of her own need.
"I wanted you to have the dragon," Catlin said matter-of-factly, as though it had been three minutes rather than three weeks since their last conversation. "I had business in DC so I brought it to you. How are you, Lindsay? Have you settled into your old life again? Is the nightmare gone?"
The questions didn't even register on her consciousness. She was too intent on looking at Catlin, memorizing him, noting all the changes from her memories. He was even bigger than she had remembered, harder, darker, with an almost overpowering aura of leashed danger. Dragon.
But the taut lines of his face reminded her that he was not immune to pain.
"Lindsay?" Catlin asked, his voice deep, as searching as his eyes.
She trembled as memories washed over her. He had always touched her so carefully, as though he were afraid that she was a dream that would awaken. She understood that fear now. She was frozen, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to awaken.
"It's too soon, isn't it?" Catlin said sadly. "You haven't forgiven me. You look at me and you see the man who led you into hell." He let out his breath with a harsh sound. "Sorry, honey cat. I didn't mean to upset you all over again. I waited as long as I could. It wasn't long enough."
He turned to leave, shocking her into speech.
"What were you waiting for?" Lindsay asked, her throat aching. "Me to stop loving you? That will take more than three weeks. That will take " Her voice broke. "How long will it take, Catlin? You're the man with all the answers. Tell me how long!"
Lindsay watched the change sweeping over Catlin as he spun back toward her. It was as though he had been standing in shade and had stepped out into the sunlight. The lines of his face eased and his eyes no longer were like hammered metal. No more did he seem predatory, tightly leashed, dangerous. He crossed the room in two strides and lifted her off her feet in a hug that was both powerful and gentle. The familiar warmth and strength of him burst through her in a single shattering instant. Her arms closed around him and she shook with the force of her emotions.
"Don't cry, love, don't cry," Catlin said. He felt the shuddering of Lindsay's body, heard the ragged breaths. "Oh, God, stop, you're tearing me apart." He turned his head, searching for the softness of her lips, finding the taste of her tears. "I'm sorry, love," he said softly, repeatedly. "I didn't want you to be hurt. That's all. I didn't want you to be hurt."
"Then you shouldn't have left me!" Lindsay said, holding on to Catlin tightly, afraid that he would leave her again. "I said I loved you and you talked about adrenaline and lies and you walked away as though my name were Mei and I knew nothing about love. That hurt me more than all the rest, Catlin. That hurt until I "
Catlin knew he had to stop the words that were too painful for Lindsay to speak or for him to hear. He took the softness and hunger of her mouth, filling her with his presence, being filled by her in return.
"It wasn't you I didn't trust," he said finally, giving her tiny, biting kisses between words. "It was me. I wanted you too much to trust my own judgment. I still do. I shouldn't be here. When I walked out of that hotel room I told myself I'd wait six months before I tried to see you again."
Lindsay made an involuntary sound of denial and her arms closed even more tightly around him. Catlin laughed roughly and kissed her again, felt her soften against his body, cling to him, and everywhere she touched him he knew again the sweet, consuming fire he had found with her.
"By the time I got to the hotel lobby," he said, kissing her eyelids, the hot trails of her tears, the corners of her mouth, "I'd decided that four months would be enough. By the time I was at the airport, I'd convinced myself that two months was plenty. Somewhere over Kansas I opted for two weeks, ten days, a week three days three hours turn around and fly back now, you fool. Don't give her time to come to her senses. Don't let her get away."