The Fabergé Entanglement

By Elle Brookes

Sabinne ‘Saber’ Darrieux’s father, the billionaire CEO of Frontenac Global Security has been kidnapped. His ransom is not cash in a numbered offshore account, or a briefcase of Bearer Bonds but something utterly unique, incredibly valuable, and until recently, hidden away from the world.

The kidnapper seems to know Saber very well, and knows that the next day, through her work as an elite translator she will be in the same location as the Object. She must steal the Object and deliver it to the kidnapper to ransom her father.

Adrian Steele, a British Intelligence agent has just come off of two harrowing missions. Upon returning to London for a well-earned rest, he learns that his friend and fellow agent, has been murdered in Moscow, but not before he made use of a unique Object as a mobile ‘drop site’ for the valuable intelligence he was carrying.

The drop site is traveling from Moscow to England. Steele insists on completing the mission to honor the death of his friend, Gerry Cornell.

At an ultra-chic quasi-diplomatic gathering in a mansion in Windsor, England, Saber and Steele meet and find themselves faced with a powerful, undeniable attraction. But at the moment, this compelling attraction is very inconvenient.

In reality they are at the mansion to check out the security arrangements — for their own reasons — to steal the Object, a Fabergé egg worth thirty million dollars. But who will get to the egg first?

Fabergé eggs are very famous for their unique surprises. Saber and Steele are about to be very surprised, indeed.

And when Saber clashes with Steele; more than sparks will explode!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Brookes
• Release date: Jul 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311271457

Elle Brookes

Elle Brookes grew up in Los Angeles, California, but lived in Jamaica for three years when she was a Peace Corps Volunteer. She moved to San Francisco and studied at the California Culinary Academy, and went on to become a private chef to a well-known L.A. based television production company.From an early age Elle was a voracious reader of adventure stories and from elementary school through high school, she tried writing her own stories of places foreign and exotic. She studied Art History and continued writing in college, focusing on short stories.A dedicated and passionate traveler, Elle has explored river caves in Jamaica and Costa Rica, hiked glaciers in New Zealand and Iceland, and done dogsledding in Greenland and Iceland. She's danced a fa'a Samoan haka and slept in a fale on the island of Savai'i in Samoa, hiked in the northern mountains of Thailand along the border with Myanmar in the Golden Triangle, and in Haiti, she witnessed a white goat ceremonially sacrificed to Erzuli Freda by a powerful Houngan. For a time she did Performance Driving in Southern California, and has years of study and experience dedicated to fencing, theatrical combat, archery, and horsemanship.Elle currently lives in the central highlands of Costa Rica with her dog Pixie, and her hedgehog, Quiller.

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THE FABERGÉ ENTANGLEMENT by Lesley Meryn & Elle Brookes

All rights reserved. No part of this e-Book may be reproduced in whole or in part, scanned, photocopied, recorded, distributed in any printed or electronic form, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without express written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

THE FABERGE ENTANGLEMENT

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CHAPTER ONE: THE FAMOUS BUNS

CHAPTER TWO: MONK-EY BUSINESS

CHAPTER THREE: PAPA AGAIN

CHAPTER FOUR: CRITICS

CHAPTER FIVE: KINGYO NO FUN AT ALL

CHAPTER SIX: A LITTLE BIT LIKE ALICE

CHAPTER SEVEN: SURPRISE

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE BRAVE LITTLE TOASTERS

CHAPTER NINE: FATE ACCOMPLISHED

CHAPTER TEN: ALMOST LIKE HOME

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OH SHIT!

CHAPTER TWELVE: RITUALS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BACK IN LOS ANGELES

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: REALITY BITES

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: LONDON DOWN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: SMILE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE PIRATE

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SHE

CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT

CHAPTER TWENTY: LOVE FOR TENDER

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: LOSS AND LUST

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: APRÈS FETE (AFTER PARTY)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: LES VIRAGES DANGEREUSES (DANGEROUS CURVES)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TRUE NOT TRUE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: HEATHROW

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: LONDON CALLING

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: FLYING THE FRIENDLY THIGHS

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: THE CHAT-UP

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: ALL OUR SINS

CHAPTER THIRTY: MACH 3

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: ARRIVAL ON TIME

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: A NEW MAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: DESPERATE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: FOCUS

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: THE AFTERMATH

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: L’ECOLE DIPLOMATIQUE (THE SCHOOL OF DIPLOMACY)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: THE SHADOW KNOWS NOTHING

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: IMMIGRATION AND CUSTOMS

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE CALL

CHAPTER FORTY: STEELE REBORN AGAIN

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: THE VAGABONDAGE MOTEL

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: ELVIS INSANE

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: FOLLOWING

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: HATCHING THE PLOT

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: OUT OF THIS WORLD

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: JUST LIKE OLD TIMES

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: LIMBO

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: JAMES BOND AND THE KIDDIE CRAP

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: LIGHT MY FIRE

CHAPTER FIFTY: WELCOME TO PAIR A DICE

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: YOU CAN PUT IT IN THE BANK

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: VENI VICI VISA

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: A SORT OF PLAN

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR: SPARKY

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE: INTERCEPT

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: …OUR SATISFIED GUESTS

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: THE CHOCOLATE BUNNY BETRAYAL

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT: THE TRAP

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: PENETRATION

CHAPTER SIXTY: NO OASIS

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE: BOOM!

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO: SPIKED

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: THE SILENCE OF THE SURREAL

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR: AN ILLUSION

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE: JUST A LITTLE QUICKIE

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX: LOST

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN: THE PRISONER OF THE DEN OF DELIGHTS

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT: ALL TITS AND DAY-GLO

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE: DISTURBING PRESENCE

CHAPTER SEVENTY: ME AND EUPHEMISMS

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE: TRUE CONFESSIONS"

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO: IRONY AND STEELE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE: ANYTHING BUT ANGELIC

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR: FATE ACCOMPLI

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: PERVERSE AND PERVASIVE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX: POSTER BOY

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN: ELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT: AN INTERESTING FANTASY LIFE

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE: THE INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF HUH?

CHAPTER EIGHTY: FATE ACCOMPL, REDUX

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE: HIGH NOON, GOODBYE NOON

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO: MAKE ME ONE WITH EVERYTHING

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE: EVAPORATION

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR: THE HELICOPTER

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE: THE LONG WALK

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX: DRESS TO IMPRESS

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN: CHERCHEZ LA FEMME (FIND THE WOMAN)

CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT: THE END OF THE BEGINNING?

CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE: LAISSEZ LES BONS TEMPS ROULEZ! (LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL!)

CHAPTER NINETY: NOUS ON NE PAS AMUSES (WE ARE NOT AMUSED)

CHAPTER NINETY-ONE: IN NEW YORK IT WOULD BE ART

CHAPTER NINETY-TWO: YEAH, HE’S WITLESS

CHAPTER NINETY-THREE: A GILDED CAGE

CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR: IS IT TRUE WHAT THEY’RE SAYING?

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE: DEJA VOUS, POUR VOUS, MA CHERIE (DEJA VOUS FOR YOU, MY DEAR)

CHAPTER NINETY-SIX: ACCESSORIES ARE EVERYTHING, YOU KNOW

CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN: J’AI FAIM (I’M HUNGRY)

CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT: ALLEZ ALLEZ (LET’S GO LET’S GO)

CHAPTER NINETY-NINE: L’HOMME C’EST UN BARBOUZE (THE MAN IS A SPOOK)

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED: STEELE ON THE HUNT

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-ONE: THE INEVITABLE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-TWO: TO THE EDGE OF CHAOS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-THREE: REVELATIONS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-FOUR: NO EXTRA CHARGE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-FIVE: LITTLE GIRLS GROW UP

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-SIX: …JUST POINT

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-SEVEN: THE ROSES

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-EIGHT: OH RIGHT, HE IS CRAZY

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-NINE: THE BACK DOOR

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-TEN: AND SOMETHING ELSE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-ELEVEN: OF MAPS AND OLD MEN

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-TWELVE: TO DISTRACTION

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-THIRTEEN: PRESENTS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-FOURTEEN: MORE KISSES TO COME

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BIOGRAPHIES

DEDICATION

This novel is lovingly dedicated to Lesley’s Aunt Sophia Francesca Alphyn-Des Ferres Halliwell, a fearless writer who gave Lesley the encouragement and confidence to walk her own path as an author.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We want to offer many thanks to our fabulous Beta Readers, Sue Martin and Randi Killian for their excellent suggestions and unflagging support. We also wish to thank Robert Carr for his invaluable computer-related input. Our thanks also go to Carol Thompson, Editor, to Carol Webb of Bella Media Management for her formatting expertise, and to the designers at Damonza for our awesome explosive cover.

Additionally, Lesley would like to especially thank Jax Hambrey, George Dahlgren, and Miles Sherwood. They know why.

CHAPTER ONE

THE FAMOUS BUNS

Cyrelle bent in close to Saber, whispering.

"Look, that’s him, that guy, the one on the left! Hasn’t he got the cutest butt?"

This is awful, Saber hissed faintly through her teeth. "Why do you keep doing this to me? And more frightening, why do I keep letting you?"

I knew that it would appeal to your perverse sensibilities. Cyrelle smiled widely, her eyes fixed on the stage in front of them. "I’m your friend. I know what you are."

"I have never, ever, been this perverse. In fact, this entire episode is revealing a rather questionable and unflattering side to you."

Cyrelle’s smile curled a bit tighter, she was already miles away.

But the thing that irked Saber the most was the guy back two rows and off to the right, the one she saw just at the periphery of her vision, the lights of the stage glinting off greasy dark blond curls and the blade-sharp wedge of an arched nose that tilted slightly in her direction. He’d been watching her, not the performance on stage, and the creepy prickle at the nape of her neck merely confirmed it.

In a corner of her mind was the usual outrage at what this might mean. Her father. Again.

Actually, I think we’re the best part of the show, Saber remarked obliquely, glancing again to the man to the side.

"That’s the best part of the show." Cyrelle nodded to the stage where a parade of gleaming oiled pecs, and a line of perfect taut muscular behinds, swayed to the music.

And there are the Famous Buns.

Cyrelle sighed dramatically. "Evan is soooo adorbs."

Saber slid her eyes to the side without tilting her head. The man was still there, leaning back, arm draped negligently across the back of the seat next to him. Still watching her.

And then, mercifully, after a time, a long time, the show was over.

CHAPTER TWO

MONK-EY BUSINESS

"That had to be the worst thing I’ve ever seen, Saber muttered as she and Cyrelle walked through the street exit of the funky ‘Theatre Scream’ and onto Melrose Avenue. It had to have been a night of bad sushi to come up with that one. A new-age-nudist-musical called ‘No No Nostradamus?’ What were they thinking? What’ve they got up next, ‘Bye Bye Bridey’?"

She caught sight of herself in the bright reflection of a storefront window. Shocked, she tugged down at the creeping hem of her black mini-skirt, tugged up on the wide faux leopard-skin cuffs of her thigh-high stiletto heeled boots. She looked down at the swell of creamy pink bosom pushing up from the low-cut, tightly laced, sleeveless leather bodice. On her left upper arm was a tattoo, albeit temporary, of a jaguar coiled sinuously, lethally, around a sword. It itched, and she unconsciously reached up with her right hand to scratch it.

You could have at least warned me, Saber muttered.

Cyrelle waved her hand expansively. "What else could you possibly expect from the city of valet-parking supermarkets and clothing-optional coffee houses?"

So you’re not taking this seriously?

The play? Oh no. You’re right, it was awful. Cyrelle paused a moment, licking her lips. "But I do take Evan seriously. Deliciously seriously. He’s so sweet and hot at the same time. Those small-town boys are all like that. I really like him. A lot."

Saying his name, Cyrelle’s cheeks flushed almost as deeply red as her dark auburn hair.

She blushed, she glowed, she was transported. All five foot eleven Amazon inches of her had been transmuted into a goofy combination of a Post-apocalyptic Glinda the-Good-gone-bad, dressed in a cloud of pink and powder-blue tulle, corset and garter belt, silver spangled earrings dangling from her ears. Actually, she looked more like the decoration on the top of a West Hollywood wedding cake. Evan and his Famous Buns worked fast. Only three weeks. In all the time Saber had known her, Cyrelle had never cracked quite this quickly.

He must be, er, is very talented. After watching the performance Saber knew it wasn’t as an actor. And she was certain that before tonight’s performance, the closest Evan had ever gotten to a real role had to have been a Kaiser at Art’s Deli. But even so, she was impressed with his ability to make such an undeniable impression on Cyrelle.

He tries. You look really great in that outfit, you know. Cyrelle nodded approvingly at her. I think it suits you.

I look like a Tim Burton version of ‘Times-Square-Hooker-Barbie,’ and you know it. Saber bit her lip as she tugged uselessly down on the miniskirt.

That’s the whole idea... Cyrelle laughed, delighted. It had been her idea to play naughty-dress-up. An idea made all the easier since she owned a funky/sex/fetish/retro clothing boutique called ‘Pere Diem.’ Oooh, I bet your stuffy proper papa wouldn’t even know you like this.

"Sans blague (no kidding), you know seeing me in this would send him straight into the cardiac ward." Saber’s conservative papa made no secret of his disapproval of Cyrelle’s influence on Saber. To him, Los Angeles was the West Coast Babylon.

Anyway, around here, you look like everybody else. Cyrelle gestured broadly to the tattooed and pierced love children of the New Millennium who clomped past them in their scuffed Doc Martens. You want to come with us? We’re going over to Lotta Latte for coffees. Evan’s asked the ‘Horny Monk’ to come with us.

Who?

That guy just to his left with the cute butt, twinkly eyes. That’s Darren, Evan’s friend. C’mon, it’ll be fun, Cyrelle nodded, giving her more encouraging nudges with a bright pink fingernail.

Saber shook her head.

Look, maybe next time. I’ve got an early flight tomorrow morning, London, and I haven’t even begun to pack. And I still haven’t gone over Hennessey’s strategy notes.

Saber tried tugging down the hem to the mini-skirt again, finally gave up, muttering, Not that it ever really matters when we have our little chats with Shinoji-san. But I still have to keep up appearances.

Oooh, that’s right, you’ve got an assignment with Hennessey this weekend! Cyrelle, pulled back to reality, grabbed her enthusiastically. You’ve got to bring this with you, that’ll get him going!

"Cyrelle, I don’t want him going anywhere, especially anywhere on me."

Saber gently pried Cyrelle’s fingers from her arm.

Oh, but he’s hot for you. He sends you flowers, you told me. Roses. Red ones. Cyrelle, whether in lust, or love, or whatever else she was, wanted everyone else to be too. That was the way she was. But she meant well. She lowered her voice with dramatic emphasis. "Red ones. It’s romantic, so romantic. That’s what they’re supposed to do, that’s what you want."

It’s just like any other assignment, Cy. What I do is help him to make more money, that’s all. And it’s the money that gets him off, Saber muttered in denial. But Cyrelle was right about Hennessey having an interest in her other than business. That was so obvious she didn’t need a sixth sense to tell her. "Money and power. Not me, and certainly not romance. You have no idea how many women he goes through in a month. This trip is just to do with Japanese trade contracts at another fancy-schmancy reception in some faux-foo house in England. All Standard Operating Procedure. So stop it."

But he’s a man, and he does want you. The tall redhead looked down at her petite friend, open admiration in her sea-green eyes. They all do, y’know. You must realize that. If I were a guy, or another kind of girl, I’d want you too. Look at you in that outfit, you’re much too yummy to let it all go to waste.

"If you don’t get backstage soon, Evan’s going to think you don’t want him."

Oh yes. Cyrelle smiled a darling smile, showing off her adorable dimples that were only a small part of her attraction to men: her larger attributes being more convex in nature.

Mmm...Yes. Saber nodded encouragingly, prodding her gently away. She wanted to go home.

But Cyrelle wasn’t finished yet.

"You really should go for it with Hennessey. I think it’s different with you. He actually respects you. He’s rich, he’s gorgeous, oh more than. There are no words. And he’s — She rolled her eyes dramatically. He’s economic royalty f’god’s sake. He makes Bill Gates look like a snot-nosed kid counting pennies into a glass jar. How do you say ‘He’s richer than God’ in Japanese? He owns everything. And nearly everybody, so I’ve heard."

But not me. Hennessey’s just not my type, Saber replied lamely, distracted. Whatever he may think it might be or wants it to be, we have a working relationship, and that’s all it’s ever going to be. In any language.

What d’you expect with you putting it all out there, of course he’s going to want to take it. How long do you think you can keep him at arms length? You really can’t help it, I know, that’s just the way you are. Cyrelle’s lips quirked slightly. What makes you think you’re different from anybody else? Mmmm...

Ahh, Cy, please. Don’t start.

"Well, I never thought one of my friends would be as tight-assed as Snow White," Cyrelle sniffed haughtily as she puffed up the flounces of tulle on her dress.

It wasn’t the first time Cyrelle had asked her that question or the first time she wondered about it herself. More like the hundredth, probably more. Saber had lost count long ago.

Cyrelle was right, men were drawn to her; the charming, but scruffy, unemployed actors in Los Angeles, the wealthy, well-groomed playboys of the Cote D’Azure, and everything in between. Then there were the men she met through her work as a translator, the sash ‘n’ cash crowd, as Cyrelle had drunkenly dubbed them after consuming nearly a full bottle of Perrier Jouet all by herself. The ‘sashes’ were the genteel diplomatic assignments. The ‘cashes’ well, they were the high-powered business types like Hennessey.

Like Hennessey, rich, powerful, manipulative. This realization brought a sudden unwelcome flash of memory. No picture, just emotion. She felt a sudden rise of nausea, fear catching in her throat.

She swallowed it down, shook herself away from these thoughts. She was alarmed that what she had believed so long buried had risen, the unwelcome specter from the past.

Evan’s waiting for you isn’t he? Saber said quickly, changing the subject, forcing herself to smile at Cyrelle. Now all she wanted was escape.

Oh, all right, then. I can take a hint. Have a great trip. Cyrelle gave her another kiss on the cheek. Call me when you get back, mmm?

CHAPTER THREE

PAPA...AGAIN

Saber walked to her car slowly, deliberately, her stiletto heels clicking hollowly on the uneven pavement. Now there was no mistaking it. The man was definitely shadowing her.

A car took the corner, fast, with a squeal of tires, headlights swinging across him, illuminating his face briefly, an ordinary face, but one she recognized from the arched nose and the blond curls. The same one who’d been in the sparse audience at that gawdawful play. Served him right, she sniffed.

He was sloppy, though, if he’d been any good, she wouldn’t have made him. But then, maybe she was meant to.

She flushed hot with an angry realization. Her crazy, overprotective, controlling father had put another man on her again? No, he wouldn’t, not so soon after she’d dealt with the last one, that wasn’t the pattern. He usually waited at least three weeks, sometimes as much as a month, when Saber’s temper had cooled down. After she’d come back to his offices in Paris for a visit and made the decision to stay in LA for a while, he’d started his obsessive overcompensating. Several years of not knowing where she was, exactly, had made him over react, sending his men to watch over her. No, he usually had better trained shadows on her. This guy was so obvious he was practically handing her an engraved card:

Hello, I am following you. I guess I’m not as sneaky as I think I am

What was going on?

CHAPTER FOUR

CRITICS

The man with the greasy blond hair watched and waited until Saber slammed the car door closed and started the engine. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his cell phone all the while moving closer to an IN-N-OUT stand on the corner. The air was heavy with the smell of grease and cigarettes and car exhaust from street traffic. He hit the redial button. It rang once.

So?

Yeah, it’s me. She’s just left the theater and gotten into her car.

Good work, Bobby.

‘You want me to keep an eye on her, keep her busy for a bit?" Bobby wouldn’t have minded. This was the first time he’d been told to keep his eyes on a target worth watching. Under other circumstances he could think of several ways he would enjoy distracting someone like this one.

Negative, we’ll be clear before she gets too close.

Yeah, okay. Y’know that was the lousiest play I’ve ever seen. I mean, really, what were they—

Shut up and get your ass back here. Everyone in this town is a fucking drama cri —

Bobby pressed the disconnect button, cutting him off. He slipped the phone into his pocket and stared wistfully at the entrance of the cult-status hamburger stand. He’d been hungry enough before he’d followed the woman into the theater. But after nearly two hours of very bad new-age musical, he seemed to have lost his appetite.

CHAPTER FIVE

KINGYO NO FUN AT ALL

Saber threw the gearshift into first and shot her dark blue Miata from the curb insinuating herself into the late-night stream of traffic moving slowly along Melrose Ave. For the next few blocks she checked the rear-view mirror. The greasy man had made no attempt to follow her, but she knew that meant very little in the sort of game she might be playing. There could easily be someone else, a ‘kingyo no fun’, a goldfish poop, trailing her, her own name for the men her father sent to keep watch on her. Saber felt the literal translation of the phrase was far more accurate and entertaining than the English translation. Some words and phrases were just better in their original language.

Saber pushed forward, maneuvering the Miata deftly around slower cars, playing the lights, but could not see any cars picking up the relay and following her. This would have been standard procedure for one of her father’s by-the-book trained shadows. They were good, had to be, to stay working for a demanding and difficult man like her father. But she knew that book, chapter and verse, she’d cut her teeth on it. So much for the cat-and-mouse affairs of the family business.

She turned off Melrose moving north along Fairfax, then made a right turn on Sunset Boulevard. She took her time, making a few more random turns, keeping it simple, not giving away anything, still checking her mirrors, but as far as she could tell, she was clean. But it didn’t make her feel better.

She sighed, popping the clutch, the car leaping forward and up into the Hollywood Hills. Maybe it was just the Happy Hooker outfit, after all, she thought.

Just another momentary paranoiac episode.

But then again, maybe not.

CHAPTER SIX

A LITTLE BIT LIKE ALICE

Saber paused a moment her eyes searching the night shadows of the tree-lined brick walkway that led up the hill to her little house in Laurel Canyon. A cozy bungalow in the Craftsman style, it was very classic California, and she’d always loved it for its shabby simplicity. Her head canted slightly as her eyes flickered over the dark leafy shadows of the ficus and oak trees leaning over the single story house. The light, slightly medicinal fragrance of eucalyptus wafted in the faint cool breeze. Her eyes flickered over the potted plants on the tiled porch, unable to see anything that might be amiss. Nothing had been moved or shifted, from what she could tell.

During her silent inventory she’d been listening, listening carefully for any sound outside of the usual. But the sounds of the night were all of the usual kind, the chirping of crickets, the howling of city-bound coyotes, overlaid by the low sea-like roar of the city of Los Angeles that unfurled from the foothills, a magic carpet of colored lights.

She checked her front door carefully; there was nothing there that was out of the ordinary. Deep breath as she slid her key into the magnetic lock, turned it and opened the door.

She ran her palm along the wall, catching the light switch, then strode quickly to the touchpad of the Frontenac Bio2TC security system, keyed in the eight digit PIN number, watched as the red light flashed, arming the gas canisters. There was no auditory warning as a digital readout started counting down from twenty seconds. She pushed another key on the touch pad and leaned in close.

Nan da? Omae tsukeuma saret ‘ru zo. (What’s this? You’re being tailed!)

The voice recognition panel light changed to green, and there was a slight metallic click as the canisters were disarmed.

Tense and very still, she scanned her somewhat messy living room, not that she really cared if it were messy or not. Saber was many things but she was decidedly not the domestic type. But messy or not, she knew what should or shouldn’t be there.

She inventoried the prosaic and eclectic elements of her life spread before her with exuberant disorder, the scattered debris of an interior cyclone. She took her time. Her gaze moved first from her prized collection of vintage swords hung on the walls, to the sword bag that held her competition weapons.

Books and magazines lay in untidy piles on most level surfaces. In a simple black frame was a woodblock print by the Japanese artist Hiroshige. Leaning against a bookcase was a pair of renchiba getas, tall Japanese clogs, each carved from a single piece of wood and only worn by oiran, the highest class of geisha.

On the elegantly shabby couch was her carry-on bag for her flight the next morning, open and exploding with a pastel foam of panties and