White Ginger (23 page)

“I know someone who can positively identify the voice on that recording by matching voice prints,” he stated.

“What's a voice print?”

“Everyone's voice is unique because of differences in vocal cavities and the way each individual moves his mouth when he speaks. Those unique speech patterns can be translated into what's called a spectrogram that can be used to positively identify a speaker. I have friends in the recording industry who can make a spectrogram of the message you just played and compare it against one of Romano's speeches. If it's a match, you'll have evidence of harassment that will stand up in court.”

She looked at Lee blankly. “What do I need to do?”

“Just forward your voice message to my phone. I'll handle it from there.”

She nodded and did as he suggested while he stood to accompany her. They were late for their downtown appointment with Race. They walked to the elevator and took the lift down to the garage.

Bai didn't often drive in the city. She preferred taxis, but the attempts on her life made her wary of being trapped in a vehicle she didn't control. As a precaution, she chose to drive her MINI Cooper Clubman. The car was parked between Elizabeth's BMW, a present from her son that, to the best of Bai's knowledge, had never been driven, and Lee's sixties-vintage, red Cadillac convertible with a white leather interior.

She fired up the MINI and hit the button on the dash to open the garage door as Lee folded into the passenger seat next to her. Bai hit the gas, and the car scooted into the alley, where she braked hard. Her finger tapped the button again to close the garage door as her foot slipped onto the gas pedal. She turned left into the alley and screeched to a halt, bumper to bumper with a black sedan blocking their way.

One of Tommy's men waved at her before starting his car to back out of the alley. She followed the car and waved back as she peeled around the corner. When she looked again in her rearview mirror, the black sedan followed.

“We have an escort,” she said, glancing aside at Lee.

“That's comforting.”

She looked at him sheepishly. “There's something you should know before we leave Chinatown.” She paused to find the right words. “I'll understand if you want to go home and sit this one out.”

“Are you going tell me it's dangerous? I already know that.”

“Tommy thinks whoever's trying to kill me will come at me in force. I fear he may be right.”

“And your plan is . . . ?”

“I'm going to find out who they are and take the fight to them.”

“Use attack as the tactic of defense. It seems like as good a plan as any. So what's the problem?”

“I just want you to know you don't have to get involved in this. I'll understand if you want out. Say the word, and I'll take you home.”

He looked at her and scoffed. “Don't be stupid. I was the one egging you on. Telling you to go to Vancouver to get the girl. If you'd gotten killed, I'd have blamed myself. There's no way you're getting rid of me now. We're in this together, whatever ‘this' is.”

She smiled and turned her head to glance his way. He sat with his arms folded, a determined look on his face.

“All right! Strap in,” she said, as she twisted the wheel to spin the car into an alley, “it's going to be a bumpy ride.”

The Works model Clubman had a supercharged engine and racing suspension. The engine roared like a lion as the car scampered around curves like a hamster on speed. She drove down familiar back alleys to avoid traffic and quickly made her way to Grant Avenue. She followed Grant through the heart of Chinatown, past the dragon gates, to turn left onto California headed toward the Embarcadero.

The trailing car stopped and turned around.

“Tommy's protection only extends as far as the boundaries of Chinatown,” she noted.

“You can't really blame him. His resources are stretched pretty thin. I imagine he has a lot of men in Vancouver to back him up.”

Bai nodded in agreement. She was grateful Tommy had spared the men to secure her home, despite her sometimes ambivalent and outspoken attitude toward the brotherhood. It seemed that being the granddaughter of Ho Chan Jiang still carried some cache within
Sun Yee On
.

A right turn at the Hyatt Regency Embarcadero brought them within two blocks of the restaurant. She made two green lights and pulled around the block to the front door of the Boulevard where she skidded to a stop at valet parking.

Stepping out of the car, she handed a man in a red jacket a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the car next to the front door and don't let anyone near it.”

The young man smiled as he pocketed the bill. “No problem. I'll make sure nobody messes with it.”

Lee joined her at the entrance to the restaurant. They stopped long enough to watch as the valet backed the Clubman to the curb next to his stand.

Bai then turned to push at the old-fashioned revolving door to enter the eatery. The restaurant reverberated with the sounds of clinking glasses and animated voices. Air, redolent with aromas of garlic and roasting meats, made her mouth water.

Boulevard Restaurant was housed in a Mansard-style building. The structure dated back to before the earthquake of 1906 that had left most of San Francisco in ashes. Ironwork, intricately tiled floors, beautiful coving, and handblown glass fixtures perfectly complemented the wood paneling lining the interior of the restaurant. White tablecloths and brick walls helped create a feeling of sumptuous warmth.

A familiar face smiled at Bai in greeting. The young woman picked up a couple of menus and gestured for her and Lee to walk past the group of people gathered around the small reception kiosk.

The hostess spoke to Bai as they skirted the crowd waiting for tables. “Your guest has already arrived,” she said as she led the way to the back of the restaurant. “I hope you don't mind that I seated him?”

Bai spoke over the subdued din of the restaurant. “Of course not, Shell, and thanks for getting us a table on short notice.”

“For you, anytime, Ms. Jiang.”

Smiling, Shell stood aside to allow them to take seats at a table where John Race stood at their approach. He leaned over to pull a chair out for Bai.

She slipped into the seat, tilting her head to look up. “Thank you.”

Race nodded a silent “you're welcome” before taking a seat across from her at the square table. Lee sat on her right with his back to the wall and a clear view of the street. His eyes moved restlessly. He appeared relaxed. She could tell he wasn't.

Diners, despite the hum of the restaurant, turned to take note of the striking trio. One look from Lee's intimidating gaze and they hurriedly turned away.

She looked across the table at Race, who met her gaze and said, “It's nice to see you again.” Turning to Lee, he added, “Both of you.”

Lee nodded back, his face bland, the tightness of his shoulders and back almost antagonistic.

Pulling a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket, Race handed it to her. “Here's the resume you asked for.”

She unfolded the paper and scanned the resume. It surprised her. The document described an experienced and highly decorated soldier, an officer. She handed the resume to Lee before turning her attention back to Race.

“It says you held the rank of captain in the Rangers, Mr. Race. What made you leave such a promising career in the military?”

“I served three tours, Miss Jiang. I've seen enough of war. It's not that I didn't enjoy being a soldier. I'd just had enough.”

“What did you think of the war?”

He looked uncomfortable with the question. “I like to win. I'm not sure there's ever a winner in a civil war.”

“Do you consider yourself a patriot?” she asked.

“I've fought for my country, and I would do so again. Why do you ask?”

“Because it's easy to know a man's face but more difficult to know what's in his heart. I need to find out what kind of man you are, Mr. Race.”

He looked at her, sizing her up. “How old are you, Miss Jiang?”

She smiled. She understood what he was trying to get across. “I'm aware that people lie, Mr. Race. I'm not naive. As to your question, have you ever heard the expression ‘A woman who tells her age is either too young to have anything to lose or too old to have anything to gain'?”

It was his turn to smile. “I would assume, Miss Jiang, you fit into the first category.”

Holding her gaze, he openly flirted with her. She found him attractive but wasn't sure that was a good thing, given the nature of their potential employer and employee relationship. She didn't want any complications, especially when she was entertaining the thought of entrusting him with her daughter's life.

Lee interrupted. “You obviously know how to handle weapons, Race, but would you be willing to use them to protect Bai and Dan? Would you be willing to kill in their defense?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Do you anticipate the need for that kind of protection?”

Bai raised her eyebrows as she pondered his question. She needed to level with him or at least provide enough background to give him a clue about what he might be dealing with. At some point, she would either have to trust him or cut him loose. She didn't have much middle ground with assassins on her trail.

“Someone is trying to kill me,” she stated bluntly. “There was an attempt on my life last night. I expect there will be more. So the answer is ‘yes,' I do anticipate the need for that kind of protection.”

Sitting back in his chair, he seemed startled by her confession.

The waiter arrived to stand at her elbow.

“A bottle of your ninety-eight Montrachet,” she said without looking up. The waiter nodded and walked away to retrieve the wine. Race sat silently across the table from her with a troubled look on his face.

Lee goaded him. “Do you have the stomach for it, or don't you?”

Race turned to him. A glint of anger flashed in his eyes before he managed to quell it. His emotional discipline served as a point in his favor. She didn't have any use for a man who couldn't control his temper.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to her while ignoring Lee. “I have the stomach for it. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“Do you own a gun?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Do you have a concealed carry permit?”

The look on his face was troubled. “I'm afraid not. I haven't needed one up until now.”

Lee spoke to him. “It's all right. You're big. You can stop bullets the old-fashioned way.”

Bai put an arm out to stifle Lee. “I'd apologize for Lee, Mr. Race, but if I started I'm not sure where it would end.”

Race looked at her and shook his head. “Is he always this irritating?”

She looked aside at Lee. “No. He's really quite sweet. He's had a bad day and feels responsible for me. He's baiting you to see if he can anger you. Lee constantly tests people, often out of curiosity. He wants to know how you'll react.”

“I'm sitting right here. You don't have to talk around me,” Lee stated.

He didn't look fazed by the subtle reproof. Instead, he turned to Race. “She's right. I need to know what will set you off. I have to know what your weaknesses and strengths are so that if we're in a dangerous situation together, I can base my response on yours. I don't want you around Bai and Dan if you're some kamikaze warrior bent on going out in a burst of flames. We already have one of those.”

Lee turned his gaze on her and left little doubt as to whom he was talking about.

The waiter arrived at the table with the French burgundy swathed in an ice bucket. He proceeded to open the bottle, a distraction that gave everyone a chance to chill. The wine proved to be delicious. The waiter left to allow them time to peruse the menu.

“This must be a misprint. There aren't any prices on my menu,” Race observed.

She couldn't help but smile at his confusion. “You're my guest. Your menu isn't supposed to have prices.”

He looked at her a moment. He seemed a little unsettled by the idea.

She turned to Lee. “Do you have a pen?”

Lee retrieved a pen from the pocket of his blazer and handed it to her.

She turned to face Race. “May I see your menu for a moment?”

He handed her the menu with a confused look on his face.

She wrote a number on his menu and handed it back to him.

“What's this?” Race seemed perplexed by her gesture.

“That's the monthly salary I'm prepared to pay you to work for me.”

Race stared at the menu again. “That's a lot of money, Miss Jiang.”

“‘If you pay peanuts, Mr. Race, you get monkeys.'”

Over coffee, the conversation turned more personal.

“Where did you grow up, Mr. Race?” Bai asked the question while lifting a cup to her lips.