“I thought you were on special assignment with…what’s his name again?”

“Cullen Archer,” Mei said with a sigh as she slipped past Chief Catherine Tanner.

“So what’s wrong? Why aren’t you two nosing around the nightclub where that courier was killed?”

Mei shook her head. “I don’t know.” Swallowing hard, she muttered, “No…I do know. It has to do with my family. Cullen—ah, he said to call him that—wants to start our investigation at my father’s gallery.”

Catherine frowned. “Surely Interpol doesn’t think—I mean, you don’t suspect your father in any way?”

“No,” Mei shot back quickly. “But…you know my relationship with my folks. I can’t march into my father’s office acting like the cop they never wanted me to be.”

“A cop is what you are, Mei Lu,” Catherine said with no softness in her tone. “It’s the career you chose. You took an oath to uphold the law, which transcends all other loyalties.” Catherine paused. “Tell Archer straight out about your concerns.”

Mei Lu nodded dutifully. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for. She’d really wanted Catherine to take her off the case—not just because of her father but because Cullen Archer made her feel more a woman and less a cop.

Dear Reader,

It’s always exciting to be asked to participate in a continuity within the Harlequin Superromance line. It means individual authors have an opportunity to work closely with fellow writers to develop a group of loosely connected stories. WOMEN IN BLUE is one of these.

My story, like the other five in this continuity, is first and foremost a love story about two people whose lives are enriched after their paths cross. Mei Lu Ling is a Houston cop attached to the White Collar Crimes division. Her family owns and operates a prestigious import and export firm dealing in high-end Asian art. She left the family business, electing instead to become a police officer. She went through the training academy with five other women; they formed close ties. The five friends understood Mei’s problems with her family and helped her cope with an ever-widening estrangement. So it came as a blow when an unforeseen situation (described in the first book of the series) caused the women to pull away from one another.

Suddenly the police chief (one of the original six “women in blue”) assigns Mei Lu to special duty as a Chinese-language translator for Cullen Archer. He’s an insurance investigator working with Interpol to break up a smuggling ring that’s moving national treasures out of China. Mei Lu is drawn to Cullen, but she initially has doubts that center on his ex-wife. Mei is also drawn to his adorable twins. Cullen, meanwhile, tries not to suspect Mei’s father or her brother of being involved. Throughout the story, events conspire to bring them together—and keep them apart.

I hope readers will want to read about all the individual struggles faced by these six friends, the WOMEN IN BLUE.

Roz Denny Fox

I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at P.O. Box 17480-101, Tucson, AZ 85731 or via my Web site,

www.korynna.com/RozFox

She Walks the Line
Roz Denny Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the other five authors of WOMEN IN BLUE: Kay David, Sherry Lewis, Linda Style, Anna Adams and K.N. Casper—it’s been a treat to work with you. Likewise, my appreciation to our individual editors. This continuity has been made more cohesive thanks to your extra effort.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

MEI LU LING SHRUGGED into her shoulder holster and slid it into place. She took a moment to reflect on last Friday’s ceremony, which allowed her to walk into Houston PD headquarters a full-fledged lieutenant. Only two of her four best friends from the academy, a twenty-six-week class that now seemed a distant memory, had attended her ceremony, even though Mei had invited them all.

She’d noticed Crista Santiago at the back of the room, and Risa Taylor had popped in long enough to see Catherine Tanner, the chief, do the honors. Mei was happy her new department captain had had a court commitment, and that Catherine had volunteered to replace him. It also pleased her that two of her friends had been able to slip away from their duties. Especially Risa, considering everything she’d undergone not long ago at the hands of the internal review board. Risa and Crista were the only members of their once close-knit group who knew what it was like to struggle up the department ladder without family support. And none of Mei’s family would have put in an appearance if their lives depended on it.

But, at thirty-one, after more than six years as a cop, Mei had no regrets. She was content with her life and a career solving white-collar crime in the city where she was born and raised.

Stepping back to scrutinize her full image in the bedroom mirror, Mei rechecked her dark hair, twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. When she’d entered the academy she’d been advised to cut her waist-length hair, and she had. She’d worn a pixie cut until after leaving street patrol, because the dregs of society fought dirty, and a woman couldn’t afford to have hair a perpetrator could grab. Now, though, she worked more with “civilized” crooks.

The thought of any crook being civilized prompted an involuntary smile as she donned her trim navy jacket. Satisfied that she looked okay Mei detoured through the kitchen on her way out in order to bid her dog goodbye. He was a mixed-breed shelter rescue she’d named Foo Manchu—mostly to irritate her mother. Aun Ling disliked anything that poked fun at things Chinese. She detested her son, Stephen’s, Foo Fighter tapes. Aun collected jade and porcelain figurines of Chinese Fu dogs. Mei had always loved the collection, and as a kid had spent hours dusting it. Perhaps another reason she’d chosen the name Foo.

She checked his automatic pet feeder to make sure there was enough kibble in case her day ran late, then headed outside into a beautiful March morning. At the curb, she unlocked and climbed into an aging subcompact, a sorry-looking vehicle Mei Lu prayed would last until she could find time to test-drive and buy a new model.

Her home—half of a duplex that sat two blocks off Bellaire Boulevard in a slightly seedy part of town—and her automobile were major blights on her life, as far as her affluent parents were concerned. They lived in an upscale area known for rambling homes built on huge lots. Mei preferred her eclectic neighborhood, insisting that her street was as safe as any in the city.

A fifty-minute battle through heavy traffic brought her to the police department parking garage downtown. She walked into the office early, out of habit. Few of her colleagues in her new unit were at their desks yet. Propped in the middle of hers sat a message from Chief Tanner, requesting Mei’s presence upstairs.

Mei let her mind run through cases she’d closed or passed on before leaving her old group, but she couldn’t think of one that would necessitate an urgent audience with the chief. She remained apprehensive, however, as she folded the note and hurried from the room.

It was well-known that women on the force had to take extra care to dot every i and cross every t. More so than a man working a similar case. Police departments had long been bastions of good-old-boy philosophies, so it helped that Mei and the four other women had entered the academy at a time when Catherine Tanner served as an instructor. She’d helped them avoid the pitfalls she’d had to navigate herself. Nevertheless, Mei was again reminded of Risa’s recent problems with Internal Affairs. She’d been accused of shooting her partner, which had sparked a messy investigation that had affected all their jobs. As a result, their trust in one another had shattered. Mei, Crista, Lucy Montalvo and Abby Carlton had temporarily stopped meeting for any reason. Heck, who was she kidding? The friends were still wary and scattered. Risa’s problem had caused seemingly irreparable damage to their friendship. They’d all become a lot more hesitant about confiding in peers. As well, Risa’s ordeal had left Mei Lu feeling extra worried about a summons of the type that crinkled in her pocket as she was shown into the chief’s office by Annette Hayworth, Catherine’s personal assistant.

Mei’s qualms tripled when Catherine, lacking her normal smile, rose from her desk and shut the door. Lately, everyone had sensed a greater-than-usual tension in their chief. Since Catherine made such a point of closing the door, Mei assumed this call was personal and, therefore, serious.

More uncertain than she’d ever been around the woman she considered friend and mentor, Mei hovered at the entrance. Rather than take a seat automatically, she blurted, “Has someone lodged a complaint against my promotion already?”

“What? No. Nothing of the sort.” The chief returned to her desk and motioned Mei into a chair opposite. The diamond chips in Catherine’s wedding band sparkled in the morning sun streaming through a side window. Although she’d been widowed for almost a year, the ring was one of Chief Tanner’s few feminine accessories. She was broad-shouldered but slender and her six-foot height in regulation pumps intimidated many people. Although not as a rule Mei Lu…

Mei sank into the straight-backed chair, only slightly reassured by the denial.

“I called you here to discuss a new case that’s come to my attention,” Catherine said. She picked up a yellow legal pad and thumbed back two or three pages.

“Ah. Another pillar in our community suspected of corporate crime?” Mei finally smiled. She loved digging into puzzles that, when all was said and done, amounted to fraud, embezzlement or elaborate con games. A degree in Business Administration, plus having served three years in her father’s Hong Kong office, gave her an advantage over others in her department. Mei’s background allowed her to navigate elite cocktail parties where careful listening sometimes exposed corporate wrongdoing. Many of her male colleagues stood out like sore thumbs at such events.

“This case is unusual,” Catherine continued. “It appears we have a new ring of smugglers here. Asian artifacts,” she said. “Rare pieces, I’m told.”

Mei’s stomach tightened. Her father, Michael Ling, and her brother, Stephen, bought and sold high-end Asian art. Ling Limited dealt in expensive, often one-of-a-kind, authentic Chinese works, many of them antique. Surely Catherine didn’t suspect Mei’s family of anything unethical?

“I received a call from a Brett Davis at Interpol. Cullen Archer, a patron in the Houston art world, is their local contact. Actually Archer is a notable private insurance investigator. I’m told he’s scrupulous and has a history of producing results for our foreign counterparts when it comes to tracking stolen paintings and such.”

“I’m happy to serve in any way I can,” Mei said, bowing her head. “But if Mr. Archer is so effective, how can I possibly augment his work?”

“I’m assigning you for several reasons, not the least of which is your dedication to the investigative process. I trust you implicitly and this case is classified, Mei Lu. The missing pieces are from Beijing museums. High-ranking officials stand to lose their jobs if the items aren’t located.” Catherine tore off a sheet of paper and wrote in bold, broad strokes. “This is Mr. Archer’s home address. He’s expecting you within the hour.”

“Is this more than a one-time consultation?” Rising, Mei Lu accepted the address. She felt marginally better for having heard the chief’s glowing words of praise.

“All I really know is that Archer needs a note deciphered. It’s written in Chinese. I’ll let your captain know I have you on special assignment. We’ll leave the length of time open-ended until I hear back from you or Archer.”

With her composure restored, Mei pocketed the paper and strode briskly from the office. Her last stop before leaving the station was to sign out one of the new stun guns she’d qualified on last week.

In her car, she consulted a map. The address lay within what locals called the Memorial area—elegant, older estates that screamed inherited wealth. Mei didn’t know why that surprised her. Private insurance investigators were well paid—usually ten percent of the insured value. On an item insured for a million, his cut would be a hundred grand so it stood to reason that he’d be an art patron. She hadn’t expected Mr. Archer to live this close to where she’d grown up, though. Her parents’ home was in a newer gated community. Mei Lu envisioned having to jump through all manner of security hoops to gain entry to Archer’s house.

When she found the proper coordinates and turned down a tree-lined drive, she discovered the majority of estates boasted perimeter wrought-iron fences equipped with electronic surveillance devices that allowed visitors to address someone inside via a speakerphone.

Mei pulled up to Archer’s gate and pressed the bell. A woman identifying herself as Freda answered. “Is this the home of Mr. Cullen Archer? If so, he’s expecting Lieutenant Ling.”

The woman’s response was raspy and garbled. What she repeated sounded like Lieutenant Lu. Mei assumed the woman had confused her middle and surnames which was common enough. Rather than correct her, Mei shouted, “Yes.” Like magic, the big gates swung inward on well-oiled hinges.

The house, partially hidden from the street, came into view as Mei rounded a gentle curve. She liked it immediately. It was a two-story rambling structure, the upper floors supported by stucco arches—not pillars, but wide arches forming a covered walkway that in a few months would offer shelter from the hot summer sun. The arches were repeated on a building connected to the main home by a breezeway dripping with vines. As Mei drove past a colorful bed of spring annuals, she saw a six-car garage. A similar extension directly opposite the garage was probably quarters for a housekeeper, or house manager, as many were now called.

The parklike grounds were immaculate, she noticed, worrying what the owners would think if they glanced out the tall windows and saw the wreck driven by one of Houston’s finest. Her Toyota clearly needed washing—as well as some body work, courtesy of a recent hit-and-run on her street.

Mei didn’t know if it was the opulence facing her, but something made her flip down her sunshade and check her makeup in the mirror. She wore only a smudge of shadow to accent her dark eyes, but now extracted a tube of peach gloss and swept it lightly across her lips before gathering her notebook and small square purse, which thankfully matched her tan pumps. Mei loved suits and had been happy to leave uniforms behind after her rotation on street patrol. The March weather was still pleasant enough for suits.

Vowing not to let the Archers intimidate her, no matter how old their money, Mei slid from her car. Even at that, she dragged in a deep breath as she approached the imposing nine-foot-tall, carved wooden doors.

The bell she pressed sounded muffled by distance. No surprise there. What she didn’t expect was to have the door yanked open by a freckle-faced, red-haired woman probably in her mid-fifties. Racing back and forth behind the harried-looking woman was a gap-toothed boy in bathing trunks, dripping water all over the marble entry. A second child, this one a pigtailed girl, also in swim wear, screeched in a high-pitched voice, “Freda, shut the door! Mopsy’s gonna escape!”

The woman grabbed Mei’s elbow and jerked her inside just as the boy chortled triumphantly and dropped a brightly colored bathing towel over a huge white rabbit. The girl fell to her knees and scooped up the squirming bundle, forcing Mei to leap aside once again. The children looked almost alike, except that the boy had short-cropped hair and the girl had soaking wet braids that stuck out at odd angles.

“Phew!” The adult—the housekeeper from what Mei could deduce—scraped wisps of hair off a perspiring forehead. “I’m not even going to ask which of you rascals opened that rabbit’s cage this time. You have ten seconds to put her back before I have a chat with you-know-who.” The woman rolled her eyes elaborately to the left, and the children, faces decidedly guilty, ran up a wide curving staircase amid protests and giggles.

Mei watched their progress. She saw first one, then two long white ears and a twitching pink nose peek out from under the towel both children fought to carry.

“Excuse our chaos,” Freda murmured. “Follow me please, Lieutenant. I’ll take you to Mr. Archer. He’s in his office and said to show you right in.”

The woman dashed off, deftly avoiding a pile of little olive-green men Mei identified as toy soldiers. As she walked, Freda pushed aside a doll carriage and then a big red fire engine. Mei picked her way through various rooms and hallways, noting as she did how incongruous the toys were among well-lit, clearly locked cases containing Samurai swords. On a wall, she spied at least two Renoirs. Scattered among overturned toys were pedestals on which stood Chinese vases that appeared to be the real thing.

In Mei’s childhood home, as she and her brother were growing up, neither would’ve been allowed to leave toys within sight of guests. She and Stephen had had a room designated for play. Even there, her mother expected order at all times.

Because the man she’d come to see was on the phone when Freda opened his office door, Mei had a chance to assess him.

Cullen Archer glanced up and rose politely while attempting to end his call. “Cloris, I’ll fax you a list of the people we invited to the Villareal showing last year, okay?”

Freda’s gesture toward Mei Lu appeared to suffice as an introduction. Archer acknowledged her presence with a nod. But then Mei Lu felt abandoned by the housekeeper, who left her standing awkwardly in front of a total stranger.

And when she took a second look at Cullen Archer, Mei suffered a little punch to her stomach. Not easily rocked by a man’s looks, she found it odd that her heart beat noticeably harder. Granted, he was tall, rangy and casually but expensively dressed. An abundance of black hair glinted silver at his temples.

He was distinguished, yes. But Mei had expected a much older man. Even after seeing the children, she’d presumed her host had grandchildren visiting. These homes typically belonged to Houston’s long-established residents.

Clearly, the western-cut shirt Archer wore didn’t come off any rack. Nor did his gray slacks, one leg of which had caught on the upper edge of rich-looking, hand-tooled cowboy boots. It wasn’t until he stepped around his desk and pulled out a chair he obviously intended for her that Mei drew near enough to glimpse his eyes. They were indecently long-lashed and a shade lighter than his slacks. She felt pierced through as his gaze ran the length of her body, and in a more leisurely manner cruised up to her lips, where his incredible eyes lingered.

Mei flushed, wondering if in her haste she hadn’t put her lip gloss on straight. Reluctantly, she dropped into the chair, discreetly tugging down the navy skirt that slid up to mid-thigh. Clutching her purse atop her notebook, she sat statue-straight instead of letting her shoulders touch the brown leather chair back.

ONCE HIS GUEST had taken a seat, Cullen circled behind his desk again, all the while attempting to wind down his call. “Listen, Cloris, I know you’ve had a hard time corralling the committee members for a meeting. I’ll find an hour to discuss the glitch in the program this week. Right now I have a scheduled appointment.”

Cullen turned then and stared squarely at said appointment. Heat crawled up his spine. He didn’t know what he’d thought a Houston police lieutenant would look like. Not, he decided, like the woman seated across from him as still and regal as a princess. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it had taken her to reach a lieutenant’s rank.

He’d expected from the name Mei Lu that she’d be Asian. The police chief, whom he’d never personally met, had assured him the lieutenant fluently spoke and read Chinese. Cullen had just never imagined his interpreter would be so slender, so tall or so attractive. Standing, she’d barely had to look up to meet his eyes, and he was a solid six feet. Her sleek hair was imprisoned in a knot a millimeter or so above a starched shirt collar; Cullen’s fingers itched to loosen the bonds holding the shiny black mass. Or maybe it was her blouse with its severe front tucks and pointy collar that made him feel an uncharacteristic desire to muss her up a little. More than a little, he realized, then deliberately turned and paced as far from her as the phone cord allowed. It’d been a long time since he’d been attacked by such immediate lust.

Stretched to the end of his tether, Cullen wheeled again and noticed that the woman—the lieutenant—had beautiful skin. A pale saffron. As she’d taken the chair he pulled out, Cullen had detected a faint hint of sandalwood mixed with something sweet. He found the scent a pleasing combination. Too pleasing.

“Cloris. I have to go. I’m keeping my guest waiting. Yes, I’ll call Robert and Caroline. We’ll coordinate for Tuesday, I promise.”

Absently dropping the receiver in its cradle, Cullen drew a hand through his thick hair. “Sorry about the wait. May I offer you a beverage before we begin? I believe we have coffee, tea, or bottled water in various flavors.”

“Thank you, but no.” Mei wanted to get down to business. The intense way this man studied her left her feeling at a disadvantage.

“I hope you don’t mind if I pour myself a cup of coffee. That was this year’s chairwoman of an art showing we’re trying to put together. Cloris Gaston has a way of talking on and on without taking a breath. I find I need some caffeine.”

Mei relaxed a little. “In that case, I’ll have a cup of tea.”

Cullen rounded the desk and strode toward a corner of the room Mei now saw held a coffeepot, microwave and minibar. He’d just set two cups on a tray when one of the children Mei had seen earlier, the girl, tore into the room, sobbing loudly. Cullen stepped out from behind the counter and swung the child up in a tangle of bare arms and legs.

Mei noticed that the child’s bathing suit was wetter now than it had been before. A damp stain spread across the front of Cullen’s shirt and dripped down his gray slacks when he abruptly sat, placing the girl on his lap.

Mei tensed, expecting a severe reprisal.

“These look like real tears,” Cullen said after a cursory assessment. Taking out a snowy handkerchief, he dabbed the girl’s tear-streaked cheeks.

Nodding, the child managed to sob out, “Bobby punched a hole in my sea horse float. He was playing monster, but I told him I didn’t wanna play. He wouldn’t quit even when Freda told him to stop, Daddy. Bobby knows I hate it when he makes monster noises. I slipped on the pool steps and fell and cut my knee.”

Mei watched Cullen inspect the injury. The tender manner in which the big man ministered to his child impressed her. If she or Stephen had ever interrupted her father when he was holding a meeting, they’d have spent a full day in their rooms contemplating their grievous infraction of the house rules. It wasn’t that she and Stephen weren’t loved; it was more that all things in the Ling home had an order. The adults’ privacy held the highest priority.

Mei listened as the girl Archer introduced as his daughter, Belinda, begged her father to punish the offensive Bobby. Cullen didn’t barter, which also impressed Mei. He washed her cut at a sink behind the bar, dressed her knee and gave his daughter a hug. After which, he advised her to go back and settle her differences with her brother.

“Belinda and Bobby are twins,” Cullen remarked to Mei. He filled a tea ball, which he placed in a flowered cup, then poured hot water into a small metal teapot. He set the cup and pot on his desk. “By and large they’re great kids for eight-year-olds,” he said, returning for his pottery mug. “Belinda, though, is the original drama queen. I suspect sometimes she only wants to check out my guests. If she’d really come to complain about her brother, he’d have flown in right behind her to defend himself.” Grinning, Cullen sat down again opposite his guest. “Do you have children?” he inquired suddenly.

She shook her head, but her hand quivered pouring her water. “I’m not married,” she murmured, casting her eyes down as she dunked the infusion ball. The aroma of jasmine enveloped her, instantly settling her jumpy stomach. She managed to gain a firm grip on the cup’s handle.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you by getting personal. I’m divorced with kids, and I’ve found that having children in common is often an icebreaker.” Cullen had seen the tinge of red creep up her neck. “I…uh, I’ve wasted enough of your time, not to mention taxpayer money. Shall we get straight to it?”

Mei nodded, replacing her cup without ever tasting the fragrant tea. She was afraid her unsteady hands would make her appear too flighty for a law officer. Normally, she wasn’t giddy around men, a fact her friends teased her about unmercifully. One by one, Mei had watched those same women fall in love. Risa, Lucy, Crista, and the latest, Abby, who’d twice given up her career to follow Thomas Riley. This time to North Carolina. The women had spoken over the weekend, Abby had sounded happy with her move, and Mei hoped she was.

Mei didn’t exactly envy Abby or the others. Rather, she was confused by the changes that had come over all her friends with the entry of lovers into their lives. Lately, she’d felt less connected to them. Mei tried, but she didn’t understand how the women all juggled love and their police careers. Because of that, she sometimes felt as if she stood outside their old circle, looking in.

Cullen regained Mei Lu’s wandering attention by pulling a manila file folder from his drawer and flipping it open. “I assume your chief briefed you.”

“Not really. She said you needed me to translate…something. Some document having to do with artifacts smuggled out of Beijing?”

Separating a glossy eight-by-ten photograph from papers in the file, Archer slid it silently across the desk.

Mei leaned forward to see better, and also to avoid a glare from the window. When a picture of a glazed earthenware warrior painted in exquisite detail came into focus, an involuntary gasp escaped her lips. “The Heavenly King,” she breathed, running a fingertip over the colorful statue. “Tang Dynasty, 709. Excavated in 1981 from the tomb of An Pu in Henan province.”

“Right on all counts.” Cullen was admittedly floored by the woman’s knowledge. “A member of the Houston Art Buyers’ Guild received this photo in the mail, accompanied by a typed memo—in English—asking if he might know of a buyer for the piece. The memo also said he’d be contacted within the week by a courier who would supposedly bring him the statue to authenticate. No courier came, so the dealer, suspicious anyway, sent the packet to Interpol. To an agent who, with my help, had recovered a stolen carving for him last year.”

“Then no one’s seen this statue?” Mei dropped the photo on the desk.

“No. But a second, smaller print turned up, along with this note, in a belly band worn by a man dressed in old-style Chinese garb. His body’s gone unclaimed in the morgue. Interpol was combing U.S. newspapers and chanced on a small article from Houston. It described how police, stopping to investigate a disturbance in the parking lot of an Asian nightclub, scattered a group of men. Someone in that group apparently shot our guy. I’ve viewed the body and the evidence. I think he’s probably the courier.”

“May I see the note? I assume it’s what needs translating?”

Cullen hesitated, although he wasn’t sure why. “I spent time in Guangzhou last year, tracking a forged silk tapestry. I had to work from police notes jotted in Chinese. I’m moderately familiar with what’s called grass Chinese. Very informal scribbling. Shorthand, if you will. This appears to be a formal letter, Lieutenant Lu.”

Mei’s head shot up. “Lieutenant Ling. Lu is my middle name. My surname is Ling.”

Cullen held tight to the letter. “You wouldn’t be related to Michael?” Even as he asked, Cullen wanted her to deny the connection. But then, he hadn’t expected a police translator to be so familiar with Chinese art.

Mei deliberately took her first sip of tea. “Michael Ling is my father,” she said eventually. “Stephen, my brother, also works in the family business. For a time, I headed our Hong Kong office.” Setting her cup back in its saucer, she pried the note out from under Archer’s hand.

He wanted to snatch the page back, but realized too late that she’d begun to explain what the note said. And he needed to focus on her soft voice.

“It’s a simple introduction of the bearer, named Wang Xi, to an unnamed cousin of the person who wrote this. The cousin is being asked to see to Wang Xi’s comfort during his brief stay in Houston. He’s asked to…to…help Wang Xi knock on the right doors. Complying will remove one debt from the cousin’s book.” Chewing her lower lip, Mei sat back to mull over what she’d read.

Across the desk, Cullen steepled his fingers. “What book?” he asked abruptly.

Mei shrugged. Even if she’d been inclined to fill Cullen Archer in about the book the writer referred to, she doubted he’d understand. Such books weren’t real, but figurative. In traditional and extended Asian families—including aunts, uncles, cousins and dear friends—it wasn’t uncommon for heads of households to keep unwritten lists of debts, which weren’t always paid monetarily. Favors often sufficed as payment. But that was difficult to explain to non-Chinese.

“Who do you think has the Heavenly King now?” she asked. “Are you quite sure your art-dealer friend didn’t end up with the statue?”

“Why would he notify Interpol?” Cullen asked curtly.

“To make himself appear innocent? To turn questions elsewhere after the courier—if that’s who Wang Xi was—ended up dead in a parking lot.”

“That might fly, except that a month ago, after undergoing a quadruple heart bypass, this particular dealer liquidated his business.”

Mei picked up her cup and, while she and Cullen Archer studied each other across his broad desk, drained it.

Archer drummed his fingers on the folder of notes pertaining to the case. “Why Houston? Why not San Francisco or New York City, which certainly have far greater numbers of serious Asian art collectors.”

“I’m afraid I have no theory about that, Mr. Archer.” He’d begun probing her once she’d revealed her connection to Ling Limited, and she didn’t like it one bit. Her father’s behavior was always ethical, business or life. In fact, Michael Ling was honest to a fault. Mei Lu had seen him draw up a check for fifty cents for a mail-order customer who’d miscalculated the state tax.

She kept her eyes trained on tea leaves that had filtered from the ball to settle in the bottom of her cup. Her mother made a practice of reading the leaves.

Just when Mei was sure the man who faced her with a scowl would finally tell her what was on his mind, his twins burst into the room. They were freshly scrubbed and now dressed in shorts and bright colored T-shirts. Belinda wore pink, her shining curls swept up into a ponytail held in place by a pink flowered scrunchie. Bobby’s clothes were more sedate—dark-brown shorts and a plain olive shirt. Both children wore sandals. Each dashed shy glances at Mei Lu even as they pounced on their father.

“Freda says come to lunch. She sent us to ask if the lady police person is going to eat with us.” Bobby’s voice rose above his sister’s. It was he, not Belinda, who turned to Mei, demanding bluntly, “If you’re a cop, where’s your uniform and badge? And where’s your cop car?”

Mei smiled. “I used to wear a uniform, Bobby. I drove a patrol car, too. Now I work in a different department. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.”

Bobby didn’t look so much crestfallen as suspicious. “All the policemen I’ve ever seen carry guns.”

His sister wiggled her way to the foreground, managing to put herself center stage. “I told Bobby policewomen are diff’rent from policemen. I bet you take bad guys out with kicks and stuff like Charlie’s Angels in a movie Mom let us rent.”

Mei honestly didn’t know how to answer the child. And she certainly didn’t want to admit she carried a Taser.

Fortunately, the children’s father came to her rescue and exclaimed, “Enough. Quit bugging Lieutenant Ling. Go tell Freda we’re almost finished here. Tell her to give me five minutes, then I’ll join you kids for lunch on the terrace.”

The children thundered out with a chorus of yippees and yays. Mei saw that Cullen’s eyes followed both of them indulgently and lovingly.

Turning again to his guest, he said, “I apologize for my children’s interruption. I’ve noted your translation. Thank you for your assistance. I believe that concludes our business, Lieutenant.” He stood, clearly dismissing her.

Despite her curiosity, Mei rose as well. She’d love to know what was contained in the other pages stacked in the folder Archer had shut. She also wondered vaguely about the whereabouts of the twins’ mother. Did Cullen have his kids all the time? It didn’t matter—although, he’d begun to ask about her life. Regardless, Mei sensed that her host had clammed up as soon as he’d learned about her relationship to Michael Ling and Ling Limited.

She extended her right hand, shifting the almost-empty cup she still held. Fumbling, Archer barely brushed her knuckles with his fingers.

“I understand your children are waiting for you,” she said. “In a way, I’m sorry we don’t have longer to discuss this case. Puzzles of this nature intrigue me.”

“I appreciate your willingness to drop your work and interpret for me. However, I haven’t got time to fill you in on the mostly boring details I’ve gathered to date.”

Mei Lu pasted on a false smile, and reached beneath his arm to set her cup solidly back in its saucer. “There’s a Chinese proverb my father’s fond of. ‘Never talk business before the third cup of tea.’ I’m generally too impatient to practice it, myself.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me.” Cullen wore a similar forced smile.

“Loosely translated it means, accept the first cup of tea in friendship when it’s offered. But if you aren’t offered another, it’s time to leave.”

Mei Lu turned then and left the room. She avoided various toys still scattered in the hallway, thinking what a waste this was of her first morning as a lieutenant. At the entry, she found herself glancing back at Archer’s office and again caught her breath as she looked at the man who’d stepped into the hall. Presumably he wanted to ensure she did leave his home—without filching one of his expensive vases. Mei was overwhelmed by the feeling that it was just as well she wasn’t going to be faced with seeing this jarringly handsome but patently distrustful man a second time. Still, Cullen Archer caused butterflies in her stomach.

His twins dashed out from where they’d been playing under the curved stairs. “Bye, policewoman,” Belinda called, waving madly. “Come again when you can stay and have lunch with us.”

“I’ll shut the door so I can make sure Mopsy doesn’t sneak out,” Bobby Archer declared, sounding adult and clearly not echoing his sister’s generous sentiment.

Mei Lu recognized in the boy’s eyes a coolness very similar to what she’d seen in his dad’s. Maybe Bobby resented the divorce and felt the need to protect his mother’s interests. She hurried out, wondering if the boy had perceived her fleeting attention. But that was impossible—wasn’t it?

She sensed movement at Archer’s office window and knew he’d gone back to monitor her departure. To Mei Lu’s relief her car started without a hitch. The last thing she needed now was the humiliation of being stuck in his driveway.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER RETURNING TO THE PRECINCT, Mei plunged straight into writing an official report on her meeting. Chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen, she tore up her first draft, and began again in her small, neat penmanship. What had she learned about the smuggling ring? Nothing useful. But Catherine was a stickler for reports. Comprehensive ones. Mei decided she should also include a few personal impressions such as the fact that Cullen Archer apparently liked playing the lone cowboy.

Most cops hated filing reports more than any other part of their job. Especially the men. Mei didn’t understand their objections, or their propensity for delay. She felt that writing a report while the information was still fresh—instead of bitching about it—would make their lives less stressful. But then, some cops thrived on stress.

Coffee, doughnuts and stress. And, in some cases, cigarettes.

“Well, well. I thought the chief said we wouldn’t have the pleasure of the China doll’s company today.”

Mei gnashed her teeth before looking up, knowing she’d find Captain Sheldon Murdock behind that booming observation. And talk about cigarette odor—his suits always reeked. Even now the smell preceded him into her cubicle. Still, that might be the least offensive thing about the captain, who was the only negative aspect of her promotion. Her former commander had been decent and respectful of his staff.

“Good day, Captain. As you see, I’m definitely here now.” Discreetly, Mei Lu slid a blank sheet of paper over what she’d written. Shel Murdock was a blabbermouth. It was widely known that he expended a lot of effort attempting to pick up information from underlings—information he fed to higher-ups as his own. This was a practice the previous chief had encouraged, but Mei knew Catherine deplored it, as did most younger cops. Filched evidence often contained half-truths and gave rise to rumors, which fueled distrust among peers, who should be able to rely on one another without hesitation.

“What’s that you’re hiding, sweet thang?” Murdock drawled, propping his wide butt on Mei Lu’s desk. He leaned closer, actually trying to tug away the sheet covering her report.

Mei anchored it with her elbow. She stared coolly up into Murdock’s eyes. “Sir, please call me Lieutenant Ling or just plain Lieutenant. I’ve worked hard to achieve my rank.”

“Oooh, guys, listen to her. Chilly Lilly!” The captain slid off Mei’s desk and made a mocking gesture with his hand.

“Better back off, Cap’n,” muttered the sergeant. “She’s one of the chief’s special chicks. Call her anything you want at O’Malley’s when we’re having a beer after work. In-house or at official sites she’s Lieutenant Ling. Remember how fast Jake Haslett got busted back to patrol for a little teasing he did.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Murdock hitched up his pants. “So, Lew…tenant,” he said, drawing it out. “Since you’re here, does that mean I can assign you cases in our regular rotation?”

“After I finish this report and deliver it upstairs to the chief as she requested. Then I’ll be ready to take the next case that comes in.” She emphasized next to let Captain Murdock know she didn’t want him shoving all the crappy, already-worked-to-death cases off on her like someone across the hall had tried when she first joined the white-collar crimes division. Mei was wiser now.

“Cap’n, you’d better ask old Iron Pants, er…Chief Tanner, before you assign the lieutenant. I took her call this morning. The chief said to consider Ling on special assignment until further notice.” Sergeant Chuck Marshall stood and handed Murdock a sheaf of messages. He indicated one, presumably Catherine’s.

Silence fell over the office. Only the department clerk kept typing. Her earphones were in place.

“Look, guys,” Mei said, rapping her pen sharply on her desk. She resented that this byplay was still happening at this stage of her career. She especially resented what wasn’t a slip of Marshall’s tongue. Usually she fired back at anyone who tacked rude monikers on Catherine. Today, though, Mei simply wanted to get on with her task. “I’ve worked with most of you in the past,” she said evenly. “Nothing’s changed except that I’ve received a promotion. I didn’t stand on that dais alone on Friday. Yet I don’t hear you giving Lieutenant Herrera a hard time.”

A few people, those who were good cops, returned to work. Others didn’t hide their animosity. Murdock hesitated a fraction longer, then stomped into his office and slammed the door.

Ignoring the men who continued to glare, Mei calmly gathered up her notes. It was time to find a more secure corner in which to finish her report. Mei didn’t consider her leaving a retreat by any means; she was just being practical, since Catherine had stressed the importance of the case.

The truth in this department was that no matter how progressive a spin public relations put on hiring practices, subtle harassment of females still existed, and tended to flare up following a transfer or a promotion.

Catherine worked hard to crack down on gender or racial bias. But she couldn’t cover all bases, and even she had her hands full. Some city official or other was constantly running to local reporters with allegations of internal police corruption.

An investigator from Mei’s previous unit looked up as she passed his door. He jumped up, calling her. “Mei Lu. Do you have a minute? I just received notice that Judge Burkholder authorized an appeal in David St. John’s case. Since you presented our evidence at the original trial and phase two will probably fall to me, I’d like to pick your brain if I may.”

Mei skidded to a halt. “You’re kidding! Someone granted St. John’s appeal? He’s guilty as sin. He bilked more than thirty senior citizens out of their life savings. What are the grounds for granting him another hearing?”

Her fellow investigator stood aside, then followed her to his desk where the St. John file lay open. “Same old stupid technicality, Mei. David engaged a new attorney, who claims the arresting officer brought him in, booked him and stood him in a lineup, all before giving St. John access to counsel.”

“The officer nabbed him coming out of the victim’s bank. He had her cash on him. Three former victims, and Mrs. Baxter, picked him out of that lineup.” Mei sat down and thumbed through the folder. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to let that creep walk on this one, Patrick. I couldn’t prove it but I strongly suspect he’s pulled his scam in other cities. This problem is spreading nationwide.”

Pat Wilkinson spun a second chair around and sat beside Mei. “I’ve got no doubt that you’re right. Even though St. John only drew an eighteen-month sentence, I want the bastard to serve every second. Guys who prey on old folks or kids are at the bottom of the food chain. My grandpa lost his savings in a similar scheme last year in L.A.” He shook his head. “I never thought Gramps would trust a stranger with his bank information. I guess the elderly are prime targets for fast-talking con men and women.”

“Sure. They see their savings dwindling. The con artists are often normal-looking people who come across as trustworthy. They all promise to double or triple whatever money the victim has put away. Of course, the victims want to leave something for their children.”

“According to your notes, you recommended not putting any of these victims on the stand unless absolutely necessary.”

“Right. Because in general they can be easily rattled by slick opposing counsel. Defense attorneys tend to question their failing eyesight or faulty hearing. Last year I did months of legwork and had a female con dead to rights. Her lawyer shredded our case. Her transactions were all verbal. She claimed she never said what the victims claimed they heard. But with this St. John guy—Mrs. Baxter might make a good witness.”

Mei and Patrick retraced her early work through every twist and turn. It was quitting time before he seemed satisfied that he’d gleaned enough information about the case to let her go.

She ended up dashing off a passable report on the artifact smuggling, and ran it upstairs moments before Catherine’s assistant left for the day. The chief’s office was closed and dark. “I’m glad I caught you, Annette,” Mei said breathlessly. “Can you put this report envelope on Chief Tanner’s desk? I wouldn’t ask, but she impressed on me earlier that she wants to keep this information confidential.”

“Oh, Lieutenant Ling. Chief Tanner tried to reach you before she left. No one in your department knew where you were.”

“Sorry, I should’ve told Captain Murdock I was next door consulting with Pat Wilkinson on an old case. Did the chief need something specific? Should I bother her at home or try her cell?”

“No. She’s attending a city council meeting tonight. She only wants to be called in extreme emergencies,” Annette said.

“I’d never contact her after hours without authorization,” Mei stated firmly. People at the precinct already thought she, Risa, Crista and Lucy had undue access to Catherine. The last thing Mei wanted was for another rumor to start. Not that Annette would talk out of turn… “I won’t be going straight home, either,” she added. “I plan to work out for a while at the Shao-Lin Martial Arts Studio. Chief Tanner has the number. Could you add that information to your note? In case she comes back after her meeting and wants to reach me after reading this report.”

Annette nodded. Mei waited to make sure the woman did place the envelope on Catherine’s desk. Call her paranoid, but early in her career she’d had an important report inexplicably disappear. She swore she’d turned it in, and the man responsible for handing it over to a superior was just as insistent that she’d done nothing of the sort. Since then Mei had tracked the progress of her reports.

Forty-five minutes later, having donned a loose-fitting shirt and pants to work out in, Mei was in the process of closing her locker when Crista Santiago bounded into the dressing room. Crista always did everything with a limitless energy that Mei envied. Mei was tired of avoiding her old friends. Words had flown and meanings were misconstrued after Risa was wrongly accused of shooting and killing her partner. Some of the once-close group of women had felt a need to pull back for the sake of their own fledgling careers, and hard feelings still existed. So many times she and Crista had talked about working out together again. Thinking tonight was as good a chance as any, Mei Lu shot her friend a welcoming smile.

“Qué pasa?” Crista said, unable to sidestep Mei Lu.

Mei shrugged. “Nothing’s happening in my life—how about yours? Are you upset, Crista? Or annoyed? Those are the only times I’ve heard you revert to Spanish.”

“Could be Alex’s influence,” she said, referring to her fiancé, a man she’d met when she’d investigated the drive-by shooting of his daughter. “Or it could be the fact that I had a double homicide last night on the east side, and I’m beat. Two teens vying for top spot in their gang. So senseless,” the dark-eyed woman said as she pulled on a T-shirt and sweatpants. “But I think you’re holding back, Mei. Right before I left the station I heard whispers that you tangled with Captain Murdock.” Crista lowered her voice. “Can you talk about it?”

Mei lifted an eyebrow. “Wow, news does travel at the speed of light. I wouldn’t say we tangled, exactly. You know Murdock and his cutesy names. I merely informed him I’d rather he called me Lieutenant or Lieutenant Ling.”

Crista whistled through her teeth. “Just watch your back, okay? I hear Murdock blocked another woman’s request to join his staff. It’s no secret that he favors the likes of Eddie Fontanero. I avoid Sergeant Creepo at all costs.”

“I’ve heard the rumors. But those incidents were a few years ago. Before Catherine was made chief.”

“Yeah, I know. Still…” Crista let the word trail off as she tugged on wristbands and started warming up. “Hey, does Catherine seem on edge to you?”

Mei paused in her own stretches. “How so?” She considered their morning meeting. “I saw her today. I get the feeling she’s exceptionally busy.”

Crista flung her arms from side to side. “Thursday, she and I passed in the parking garage. Cathy seemed…I don’t know…unusually distracted. She almost always has time for small talk, and she didn’t. Know what I mean?”

Mei nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t see anything unusual I could point to.”

“Me, neither,” Crista murmured as the women walked into the main gym and rolled out mats. “Not until Alex brought some articles in the paper to my attention. I have to agree with him that someone’s gunning for Cathy. Maybe someone outside the department. Alex believes it’s pressures coming from in-house. Maybe corrupt cops.”

Mei faced Crista out on the main studio floor. “Want a partner?” At her friend’s surprised nod, the two women bowed, as was customary in the martial art of Wing Chun. As was also Mei’s habit when any of her friends brought up their significant others, she abruptly fell silent.

If Crista thought that odd, she didn’t comment. Because as soon as Crista faced an opponent, her mind and body focused totally on winning her match. Which she generally did handily, especially when Mei Lu was her partner. Early on in the women’s relationship, the fact that Mei was notably inept when it came to martial arts—a skill everyone seemed to assume should be hers by birthright—had turned out to be a source of levity at the academy.

At a young age, Mei did attend wushu–kung fu classes with Stephen. She soon fell behind her more dedicated sibling, and Grand Master Chin had advised Mei to seek a new pursuit. By her third day at the academy, she wished she’d applied herself more back then. Mei would be eternally grateful to Crista for taking her under her wing. Committed to her sport, and good at it, Crista offered Mei after-hours sessions that paid off. She’d improved, and had actually moved on to intermediate level, a matter of pride for both women. Mei would settle for solid competence. Crista had her sights set on attaining her master’s level.

This afternoon, Crista landed a punch Mei should have easily blocked. After the third time Crista had to help Mei off the floor, it became apparent that Mei’s attention kept wandering to a children’s class going on in another part of the vast gym.

“Something’s up with you. Even at your worst, you never just handed me a match.” Bending, Crista picked up and uncapped a bottle of water. “You know one of those kids over there?”

“Huh? Oh, no.” Flushing, Mei grabbed a small towel and blotted sweat from her neck. “Sorry, I can’t seem to concentrate.”

“That’s evident.” Crista recapped her bottle. “Are you leveling with me about El Capitan Weasel?”

Mei Lu grinned. “I wouldn’t assign Murdock that much importance.” She reached for her own water and splashed some on her face. “My mind must be stalled on a new case I went out on today. There were these really cute, precocious kids.”

“Corporate criminals getting younger every day, are they?” Crista teased.

“The twins have nothing to do with the case. Their father is connected to…to…Interpol.”

Crista snorted. “Lucky you. At least, in your work, nobody dies.”

“Someone did, though,” Mei blurted out. Then she winced. “I shouldn’t have said that, Crista. The case is classified. I should just put it out of my mind. As far as I know, my part in the matter began and ended today after I translated a letter.”

“Oh.” Crista’s eyebrows became a slash over the bridge of her nose. “Hey, what’s this? A chink in Mei Lu’s armor? Am I hearing personal interest in…a man? ‘The man from Interpol,’” she singsonged.

Mei dropped her water bottle and hurriedly grabbed it before too much could puddle on the mat. Her heart raced again at the indirect mention of Cullen Archer. And that disturbed Mei. “Honestly, Crista. Ever since you fell in love, you see romance around every corner. I said a man died.”

“Okay, okay. You’re so touchy. Dead guys are right up my alley. You want to skip this session and talk about your case?”

Mei gathered her few belongings. “I’m really no match for you tonight. And I honestly can’t discuss the case. Catherine assigned it a high level of confidentiality. I think I’ll go on home and let you maim Sergeant Denholm. I see him looking around the room, spoiling for blood. He reminds me of that guy at the academy you had to shut up. What was his name?”

“Schwartz. Bernie Schwartz. I’m in no mood to take on Denholm. Sure you wouldn’t rather go for coffee—or tea? Sometimes it helps to unload on an impartial listener. I hope you know I’d never repeat anything you tell me off the record.”

“I know, Crista. But this really isn’t my case to talk about. Can I have a rain check on the tea and call you for a rematch?”

Crista grinned cheekily. “Sure. Although, I don’t want you going soft in your cushy new job.”

“Next week, then? Same time?” Mei said as they both headed back to the dressing room, passing Sergeant Denholm, a man more than a little flabby around the middle.

“Hey, Ling. I saw how you let Santiago whip your butt. I’ll gladly show you how a man cuts that hot tamale down to size.”

“You know, Denholm, I was on my way out,” Crista said. “But you’ve been pushing for a slaughter.”

Spinning, Mei turned back, too. “I’ll referee, just to keep you honest, Sarge.”

His grin faltered, and he tried to backpedal. The women closed ranks and, because others had heard his bragging, he ended up going along.

It did Mei’s heart good to see Crista flatten the big-mouth in three out of three tries. “You know what?” she said, calling to her friend who’d barely broken a sweat. “I changed my mind about having tea. Come on, Crista. My treat.”

“I probably shouldn’t have been so rough on him,” Crista lamented later as the friends trudged down the street toward a coffeehouse in the next block.

“Why not? He’s been asking for it. Now maybe he’ll shut the heck up.”

“If only. More like now every macho jerk in Denholm’s squad will want a piece of me, when we both know the number one rule in Wing Chun is to not let an attacker provoke you.”

Mei pulled open the door to the coffeehouse. “Quit beating up on yourself. Denholm claims he wants to learn the Wing Chun system of kung fu. Tonight was another step in his training. At least, that’s what you told me all those times you bounced me off the carpet.”

“That’s different. I like you, Mei Lu.”

Mei, who got into line first, glanced around and pulled a face at Crista. “Thanks—I think.” The women burst out laughing and jostled each other, still smothering giggles as they placed their orders. The revelry broke whatever tension had gripped them earlier. By the time they picked up their orders and found a table in the corner, Denholm’s plight and Mei’s case were taboo subjects. The two old friends chatted about inconsequential things. Harmless gossip. Half an hour later, they parted, still in high spirits.

On the drive home, Mei reflected on how much she missed the nights the five, or sometimes six, would meet for coffee, drinks or dinner. The first crack in their bond occurred when Catherine became chief. They all understood that her job brought with it weighty new responsibilities. Nevertheless, she’d been the first to pull back. Relaxed as she felt now, Mei hated recalling the next fracture that occurred, after Risa had been accused of killing her partner. Mei shuddered, and the warmth of the evening fled. The whole mess rushed to the forefront of her mind.

Maybe the situation would’ve gone differently if the friends had been more experienced in their individual fields. Instead, after working the required street patrol, they’d barely been settled into their new jobs—Mei in Corporate Crime Investigation, Risa in Sex Crimes, Lucy in Missing Persons. Crista was in Homicide, but with a different unit. Abby had worked part-time with the crisis intervention team.

At the first catastrophes their friendship had collapsed. Mei hadn’t known what to do—hadn’t known what to say—to comfort Risa. She recalled a phone conversation that had ended badly. Even after IA cleared Risa, one thing led to another and it was as if their earlier friendship ceased to exist. Some blamed it on falling in love. Grady Wilson had backed Risa, and their relationship had deepened. Jackson Davis had come into Lucy’s life at the very point when everything was so confused. Mei felt both men were exactly what her friends needed.

Mei hadn’t been as willing to admit that Alex Del Rio was good for Crista. Of course, she’d always felt more like a sister than friend to Crista. Abby, who’d already been in and out of love, suggested Mei might be jealous of Crista’s happiness. Mei Lu had given it serious thought, but honestly believed jealousy wasn’t part of her reaction. Truly, Mei had never met such a dark and brooding man as Alex. She’d been concerned for Crista. Alex was…intense. And he’d been married before, but his wife died of a brain aneurism a couple of years ago.

Looking back, Mei had no idea why his having been married was a sticking point. After all, they were of an age where many of their contemporaries were divorced and some had children. She was probably the oddball.

But boy, talk about intense. Thomas Riley, the former Delta Force officer Abby Carlton had fallen for, could be another poster boy for intensity. Still, as Catherine once said, every one of the men was sinfully good-looking. “Hot” was how she’d put it.

As Mei parked in front of her duplex just after six, she actually paused to wonder if Catherine would attach that label to Cullen Archer. Hot. In Mei’s opinion, it certainly fit. Flustered, she grabbed her purse, notebook and keys, and flew into the house. Thankfully Foo’s effusive greeting steered her priorities in another direction.

“Yes, I’m glad to see you, too, mutt.” Shedding her suit coat, Mei locked up her weapon, then hung her jacket in the closet. The next thing she did was find one of Foo’s squeaky toys to toss across the room. It was a nightly ritual. His ambling gait on stubby legs too short for his big feet never failed to make Mei laugh. The shelter had said no one there wanted to venture a guess as to the breeds in his background. Built low to the ground like a basset, his soft fur, perky terrier ears and pug-like face expelled him from that breed. To say nothing of his waving plume of a tail. But he almost smiled, and Mei had loved that about him from the minute she set eyes on him. Life held enough sorrow; she liked surrounding herself with bright colors and silly offbeat objects that always lifted her spirits.

She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and took Foo out into her compact backyard so he could chase a ball around. She supposed her propensity for lots of color and things her parents would call junk came from having lived amid such order all her life. The Ling home could grace the pages of Architectural Digest or House Beautiful. On the high-ceilinged, ice-toned walls hung rich brocade tapestries that provided splashes of color. However, her mother rarely spoke of their beauty; rather, she added up their monetary value. Mei and Stephen had grown up in a veritable museum. Stephen, Mei’s elder by two years, had slipped easily into the family habit of collecting for the sake of owning. Once close, the siblings had a clash of principles the last year Mei spent in Hong Kong at the family business. Leaving the firm had been heart-wrenching, one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. But it’d been for the best. She’d found her true niche in police work.

She heard her phone ring. Aware that Catherine’s meeting might let out around seven o’clock, Mei raced inside to scoop up the receiver before her answering machine kicked in. “Hello,” she said, still out of breath.

“Lieutenant?” a male voice inquired. A vaguely familiar one, too, but Mei couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes,” she said more hesitantly. Her home phone number was unlisted, as were most officers’.

“You sound like I caught you running a marathon or something. This is Cullen Archer.”

“Mr. Archer?” Mei found it even harder to breathe normally. “I haven’t been home long. You caught me playing with my dog.”

“Ah. Well, I’m down at the Port of Houston.” He rattled off a dock number, and Mei automatically stored the information. “We have a second corpse. A second dead courier, I’m betting.”

Mei’s thundering heart nearly stopped beating. “Oh, no! How? Why? Did you call Homicide?”

“They contacted me,” he said. “There’s a second photograph and another note in Chinese. If I might interrupt your play, I’d like you to come and have a look. I’ll see that security lets you drive straight in.”

Mei bit her lower lip.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently.

“Of course. I already turned my report in to the chief, though. I’d assumed you wouldn’t require my services again.”

“You thought wrong. Do I need to call your chief first?”

Mei realized she was squeezing Foo’s ball out of shape. She tossed it lightly across the kitchen and closed the back door after the dog streaked in and dived after the blue ball. “I’m more than half an hour away. Shall I meet you at the morgue, instead?” She hadn’t applied to Homicide because she’d never gotten used to the smell of death. The morgue, while sterile, gave her the creeps, too. She had huge respect and great empathy for what Crista and Risa did.

Her caller spoke to someone out of Mei’s hearing. He came back almost immediately. “The team says we’ll be here at least another hour trying to figure how the courier and his assailant breached security. Get here as fast as you can, okay?”

Mei pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at it. “Yes, sir,” she said in a syrupy sweet voice. “Am I to report to you, then? I don’t know your rank. Or does Interpol naturally take precedence in local investigations, kind of like the FBI?” She heard Archer clear his throat several times.

“Please come, Lieutenant. I have extensive experience in tracking down international art thieves and next to none when it comes to murder.”

She bent a little. “On that score we’re even. If you don’t mind, I’d rather leave that particular aspect of the case in the very capable hands of our homicide squad. But I’ll head out right away. I admit I’m curious about the photo and this note. See you in about forty-five minutes.” She hung up, debating only a moment as to whether she ought to change back into the suit she’d worn earlier, or go as she was. Vetoing the suit, deciding it would take too long, she did pluck her revolver from its locked box and secured it under her belt at the back of her jeans. To heck with packing a Taser. The docks were spooky at night. She felt more secure with an equalizer.

Mei grabbed a cherry-red blazer to throw on over her white T-shirt. Red might not be appropriate attire for a murder investigation in progress, but it gave her confidence. And to face Archer and a dead man, Mei Lu needed all the confidence she could muster.

“Sorry, Foo. I’m abandoning you again.”

The dog sank to his belly and put his chin on his ball, gazing up at her with soulful eyes.

“All right, come on, then. But I’ll have to leave you in the car.”

He didn’t appear to care. The little dog loved riding in cars. Mei kept a water bowl and bottled water in her vehicle because most of her trips with the dog were impromptu, whether for strolls in the park or quick visits to the grocery store.

Her Toyota choked and sputtered, but the engine finally turned over. Mei patted the dash and gave thanks to the car gods. Once she got under way she never worried about breaking down. That was her father’s everlasting concern. So many times Michael Ling had tried to buy Mei a new car. She appreciated that, but repeatedly pointed out that she wanted to succeed or fail in this job on her own.

Aun Ling had plainly never understood her daughter. Of course, Mei’s mother had gone from a huge Chinese household in a manufacturing sector of mainland China to a strange land where her arranged husband worked night and day, especially when Mei and Stephen were little. If Mei had rightly deciphered the Wong family history, her mother’s once prominent family had, like many others in China, fallen on hard times. While Aun rarely brought up her girlhood, she let slip enough things for Mei to know the Wongs had enjoyed great wealth and prestige.

Aun courted no American friends. She derived immense pleasure from her home, and from entertaining her husband’s Asian associates and their wives. Aun also felt duty-bound to arrange suitable marriages for her children. Stephen was more important, because as Aun said often, a woman’s purpose on earth was to produce a male heir to carry on the family name. Mei never was quite sure how her mother viewed her position, and she’d adroitly sidestepped Aun’s attempts to have her meet the sons of visitors from Hong Kong or, later, mainland China. Mei would have liked a closer relationship with her mother. They always seemed to be at odds, and Mei sincerely regretted that.

She found a parking space shortly after passing Security, having easily identified the proper dock from the gaggle of police cars parked nearby. Mei checked her purse to make sure she had her shield and saw it gleam in the nearly spent sun. She poured Foo’s water, lowered her windows a few inches to give him air, and slid from the car. She surveyed the scene as she locked her doors and pocketed her keys.

Mei Lu spotted Cullen Archer almost at once. He exuded a powerful presence even among seasoned men in uniform and those identifiable detectives who always wore rumpled suits. Archer stood casually, his artist’s hands bracketing narrow hips. When had she noticed his well-shaped hands? More to the point, why would she notice—especially since he stood next to what had to be the courier’s body now zipped into a body bag and tagged for delivery to the morgue?

Shaking off an edgy feeling Mei dragged in a lungful of fishy air. Shoulders back, she strode straight up to the man who’d requested her presence.

She knew two of the detectives, having been introduced to them by Risa. Mei didn’t expect to see Risa here, as she worked sex crimes, but the departments’ cases too often overlapped. Mei flopped open her holder and flashed her shiny new lieutenant’s shield. Archer grasped her elbow and pulled her aside, into a circle of light cast by an overhead dock flood that had just come on.

He extracted a plastic sleeve holding a photo and a second one displaying a handwritten note on thick, badly creased paper. “I hope you can see these well enough. The detective in charge wants them preserved to dust for prints at the crime lab. Let’s hope they find some. I told him there were none on the last set. This fellow is dressed almost identically to the previous courier. Dark, loose-fitting Mandarin-style shirt and pajama-like pants. As well as these items, his belly band contained a modest amount of cash, so if he carried the actual artifact, his killer obviously wasn’t interested in the cash. Oh, and he had the stub of a bus ticket to Houston.”

“From where?”

“Seattle.”

“Hmm. Not a place he’d attract attention, given their vast Asian community.” Mei studied the photo for a few seconds. “The earthenware vase is from the tomb of Lou Rui, unearthed in Shanxi province. So it isn’t part of the same collection as the warrior being peddled by the first courier.”

“No, but both are on a list of objects that disappeared from a government-operated Beijing museum several months ago. No one can or will say exactly when.”

“No,” she murmured. “That’s not the Chinese way.” Mei didn’t need to be told that both would be priceless to a serious collector, however. Or to a dealer—like her father. With dread forming in her stomach, she slid the picture under the letter and began reading aloud, until Archer’s cell rang. Not only did she deduce it was Catherine on the line, but following his side of the conversation, she realized he wanted her assignment extended so she could help with this case.

“Thanks, Chief,” he was saying. “Lieutenant Ling’s ties to Houston’s Asian neighborhood may be of value to me in unraveling this puzzle. I took the liberty of inviting her here to see this latest victim firsthand. Would you like a word with her?”

Mei reached for the phone with a less than steady hand. “This is Mei Lu, Chief. Yes. Yes.” She sighed. “No. I’m fine. It does make sense. Oh—but if I’m to be assigned to Mr. Archer starting tonight, you’ll need to notify Captain Murdock.” She listened while a weary-sounding Catherine told her to consider the captain informed. Mei barely acknowledged the chief’s standard closing statement to take care and to keep her updated.

Cullen accepted the phone she shut and handed back. “You don’t seem pleased with this assignment, Lieutenant.”

“It’s been a tiring day. In any event,” she added briskly, “this note could be a carbon copy of the one you have in your home file. Except that this courier’s name is Jung Lee.” Mei passed him both plastic sleeves. “I could hardly help overhearing what you said to Chief Tanner. Really, Mr. Archer, I don’t know what ties you think I have to Houston’s Asian community. I assure you they’re far fewer than you seem to believe.”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. For starters, there’s your knowledge in this field. You’ve obviously been well-trained.”

Mei recoiled visibly, automatically clenching her hands at her sides. Was it her imagination or had Archer worn a faintly suggestive smile? “As you say, sir,” she said levelly, “I’ve studied Chinese history and Dynasty art. If this is all you need from me tonight, I’ve got a long drive home.”

“Certainly. Let’s meet at my office tomorrow morning. Say, seven sharp? I like getting a jump on the day. And I promise to make you a pot of tea that holds more than one cup,” he said, showing he’d remembered her parting shot at their last meeting. “Come ready to help me work out an investigative plan. We’ll follow that with a visit to your father’s gallery. His expertise may exceed yours.”

Mei gave a short nod, then excused herself to return to her car. By the time she coaxed the cantankerous Toyota into starting, she saw that her nemesis had been swallowed by the evening fog setting in over the harbor.

As she drove off, she couldn’t help wondering about one question in particular. Did Archer have an ulterior motive for suggesting they visit her father?

CHAPTER THREE

MEI LU RETAINED just enough of her traditional Chinese up-bringing to feel shame mixed with her worry over Cullen’s subtle implication that Ling Limited and her father might somehow be involved in this smuggling case. Saving face wasn’t merely a passing fancy in her culture, but something ingrained in children from birth. While it was true that her father was far more westernized than his wife, in some ways he was wholly Chinese. Daughters had no right to be involved in the interrogation of a parent.

Foo whined and snuggled his head against her as she drove home. He was perceptive enough to know when his mistress was upset.

“Sometimes I wish you could talk,” she said, reaching down to rub his ears at a stoplight. “By the very nature of Ling Limited’s dealings, it’s reasonable that Archer might consider it a gallery of interest.”

The dog emitted a little bark, licking her hand before she eased her car from behind the vehicle stopped in front of her. Mei felt foolish confiding her concerns to a dog. For a fleeting moment, as she approached an exit that would take her to a street near Risa’s, Mei considered swinging by to ask her advice. Risa had street savvy and access to information on Houston’s criminal underbelly. Her friends on the force worked a cross section of undercover assignments. As part of her job, Risa dealt with snitches and could probably fill her in…. Mei hesitated for many reasons, including the fact that she no longer felt comfortable just dropping in now that Risa was living with Grady.

Mei was sure of one thing: smuggling rings didn’t appear overnight. Especially rings attempting to peddle the items she’d seen in those photographs found on the dead couriers. Illegal exportation of national treasures and artifacts carried hefty fines and stiff jail terms. Early Dynasty pieces ranked right up there with ivory, or trying to peddle endangered wild animals, either alive or for pelts. This was serious business.

When she’d worked at the Hong Kong firm, a clerk had been approached to find a buyer for a rare ivory hairpin topped by an intricate solid-gold phoenix set with ruby eyes. Ling’s dedicated clerk had detained the man after she’d pressed a hidden buzzer connected directly to the local police department. They came at once and hauled the would-be seller off to jail.

Mei later found out the poor man legitimately owned the piece. Or rather, his great-grandmother did. The old woman had fallen ill and he, like a dutiful grandson, had been sent to secure money to pay for her care.

The woman died while authorities fought over whether the government had the right to confiscate her property without restitution of any sort because the item was deemed a national treasure. Mei and her clerk felt horrible, and so sorry for the family. Stephen, who’d been away at the time, said Mei had handled the man incorrectly. Her brother told her next time to buy the piece to put in his private collection. He bought estate pieces in China’s rural areas and insisted that if word of her actions got out, it’d cause good citizens to be angry at the government—and to feel leery of working with gallery buyers in the future.

But her dad had personally trained the clerk. Mei was positive he’d never approve of the way Stephen chose to ignore the rules. She hadn’t discussed the incident with her father, yet it remained an issue between her and Stephen.

A second question nagged her as she drove past the ramp that led to Risa’s. Since her father was also a kind, loyal man, could he—would he overlook a flaw in a friend or fellow dealer?

Until she had that answer, she wouldn’t seek advice from Risa or anyone else. Meaning Cullen Archer, as well. If he thought she’d automatically throw open the doors to Ling Limited and allow him to interrogate her dad, he needed to think again.

At home, she brewed sweet mint tea in a black earthenware pot of the kind preferred by Chinese all over the world. A methodical investigator, Mei pulled out a chair at her kitchen table and opened her notebook. She made two lists. One contained what she knew about the case thus far. The other was a series of questions. She stopped the question list at the end of page four. On the fact side, she had only three things. The priceless items in the photographs were missing from museums in China. Houston, Texas, was being canvassed for possible buyers. Two couriers had ended up in the morgue.

Dropping her face in her hands, Mei massaged throbbing temples with her thumbs. Not even her favorite nighttime tea soothed her unrest—unrest that stemmed from the first question on her list. Why Houston? Why her city? She knew about collectors who’d pay small fortunes for the privilege of including any of those rare items in their private hoards. Not one lived in Houston.

She took a slug of cold tea, made a face and rose to go dump the contents of the pot. At her feet, her dozing dog stirred. “Come on, mutt. It’s late. I don’t have any answers, so I may as well go to bed. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to cross swords with Archer tomorrow.”

The dog yawned and staggered to his feet. He trotted at her heels after she flipped off the light. Strangely, in spite of his short legs, he beat her to the bed. Laughing, Mei played hide-and-seek with him by rolling him up in her spread and letting him find his way out. Having spent too many years of her life in solitary pursuits, she couldn’t thank Abby Carlton enough for recommending that she get a pet after moving out on her own.

Suddenly lamenting the departure of her good-hearted friend, Mei flopped down on the bed and reached for her private directory and the phone. She assumed all members of her former circle had gotten a postcard last week with Abby’s new address and phone number. It wasn’t until Mei started to punch in the area code that she realized what time it was in Houston, and how much later that made it in North Carolina. Returning her phone book to the drawer, she jotted down a note, reminding her to try calling Abby tomorrow night.

Finally, as his mistress folded back the spread and gave every appearance of heading to bed herself, Foo took that as his cue playtime was over. He curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed. His dark, liquid eyes were closing as Mei shed her clothes and pulled a nightgown over her head.

Her nightly routine was simple. Clean her face, brush her hair and teeth. Adjust the window-mounted air conditioner and turn off the light. It took barely fifteen minutes. Then she lay in bed watching the play of a streetlight across her ceiling as her curtain fluttered in the breeze created by her window unit.

She remembered how Crista had poked fun at her over her man from Interpol. Rolling onto her stomach, Mei settled in, wishing she had time to do some investigative work on Archer. Although, Catherine said he came with excellent credentials…

Mmm. He came with a good physique, too, Mei mused. Cullen, who’d also changed clothes between their morning and evening encounters, had switched to snug black jeans, a black windbreaker and white sneakers. He looked as if he’d been called out to the murder site from a more relaxed activity. The sneakers had grass stains on the toes. Maybe he’d been playing tag with the twins in his massive yard. She sincerely doubted that his grass stains resulted from anything as plebeian as mowing his lawn. She drifted off to sleep smothering a laugh.

A STRIDENT AND IRRITATING ALARM brought Mei awake seven hours later. She rarely slept late enough for it to ring, and therefore had trouble finding the shut-off button. Yawning as she climbed out of bed, she couldn’t believe how well or deeply she’d slept. Generally, starting a new case left her sleepless.

Foo hadn’t budged all night either. At the alarm, his head had emerged from under his blanket, then he’d hidden again until the noise abated. Now he bounded out and zoomed straight for the door.

Mei drew on a robe and hurriedly unlocked the door leading from her bedroom to her minuscule back patio. The brick was chilly on her bare feet. She saw the day was going to be overcast, and decided to wear a pantsuit instead of a skirt.

What she liked best about Houston was that there were so few gloomy days. The fall storms that blew in from the gulf she considered more dramatic than depressing. Those storms brought thunder, lightning, and dumped a lot of rain, but blew through fast. Frequently the sun reappeared directly afterward. Today looked bleak, and matched her feelings about meeting Archer again.

“Foo, hurry up.” Mei spotted him sniffing around the bottom of the oak barrel that held a mimosa tree she’d bought the first month after moving in.

Mei could hear her neighbors on the other side of the solid wood fence. The Shigiharas were an elderly Japanese couple who spent a good part of every day puttering in their backyard. Mei loved going over there just to see what wonderful new things they’d done. They had a waterfall, a pond filled with koi, and lush bonsai trees displayed to perfection amid a plethora of bright flowers. To add to her gardening acumen, Mrs. Shigihara was a fabulous cook. The old couple liked having a police officer and her dog living next door, and Mitzi Shigihara was forever bringing over lovely wok concoctions or melt-in-your-mouth tempura dishes for Mei to try. In turn, Mei watered their yard and kept an eye on their duplex whenever they flew east to visit their son. She had to be careful not to rave about or even mention the Shigiharas to her folks. Well, not to her mother, anyway. Aun, like many from mainland China, had never forgiven the Japanese invasion. So Mei’s neighbors were another contentious issue.

Mei thought her Japanese neighbors’ culture as rich and interesting as her own. But she had to remind herself that she lived in a different era from that of her mother. Her dad, because he was American-born and because he’d traveled extensively, had more tolerance.

Later, as Mei sat in traffic on her way to Cullen’s, she wondered once again what might possess a cosmopolitan man like her dad to virtually buy a bride steeped in the old ways. An arranged marriage—an exchange facilitated by a Dingzhou matchmaker—meant, to Mei’s belief, anyway, that Michael Ling had bought himself a bride.

Why she chose to brood over it today, she didn’t know. Unless it had to do with Cullen’s insistence that they kick off the morning’s investigation by visiting her father. What did Cullen hope to accomplish?

Did he know her father’s history? Michael Ling’s parents had met in Washington, D.C. Her grandfather taught Asian dialects to American interpreters, and his future wife, an American-born Chinese woman, had been in his class.

Mei knew little else except that they’d split their time between the U.S. and Hong Kong until they’d perished in a typhoon. Stephen remembered them vaguely, he said. Mei had no recollection at all. To her they were faces in an album. When their only son, her dad, was in his teens, they’d opened Ling Limited in Hong Kong, adding branches over the years, which her dad inherited on their deaths. They’d had one, much younger daughter. She and Michael remained close.

Mei’s Aunt Tam had married a military pilot from Houston. The childless couple maintained a residence in the city, but mostly traveled. Mei had never asked, but now she supposed it was her aunt’s interest in Houston that had prompted her grandfather to open a gallery here.

As a child, she hadn’t questioned why so few Asian students attended her school. In the last few years their number had grown exponentially. New Asian businesses were springing up along Bellaire Boulevard, Mei reflected as she identified herself through the speakerphone at the gate hiding Cullen Archer’s home.

Freda answered. This time, though, when Mei entered the house, the toys were gone, the floors gleamed and the housekeeper looked less harried.

“I’m here for an early meeting with Mr. Archer.”

Freda cast a glance up the stairs. “Mr. Cullen’s already in his office. Please talk softly for a while. Then I might get some housework done before the cyclones wake up. It’s not like them to sleep late when they’re visiting their dad.”

“The children are visiting their father?”

“Well, I suppose visiting is the wrong word. Cullen and Jana have joint custody. The twins live with her in Austin during the school year. They spend summers here, and some holidays—and any time their mother flies to Dallas or Kansas City for shopping, or otherwise goes globe-trotting.” The woman uttered a disgusted snort. Then, as if she realized she’d overstepped her bounds, she rearranged her features and hurried down the hall toward Cullen’s office, leaving Mei to follow.

Freda thrust open Cullen’s office door and announced Mei Lu. Just as on the previous day, she then made herself scarce.

“You’re prompt,” Cullen said. “I like that in an associate.”

Mei unbuttoned the single button on her jacket and sat in the same chair she’d occupied yesterday. His casual use of the word associate didn’t escape her. She sincerely doubted it held the same meaning for him as it did for her, and decided to test the waters now. “I see you have a photocopy machine.” She avoided looking directly at him as she kept her gaze on the notebook she flipped open. “Since we’ll be splitting tasks, wouldn’t it be wise if we started with the same facts?”

Raising her eyes a little at a time, Mei added, “I’m sure you see the logic of giving me all the evidence you have up to this point.”

She’d quite clearly caught Cullen off guard. He said nothing, then coughed, then rapidly clicked his ballpoint pen—a habit Mei had noticed whenever he seemed deep in thought. As if on cue, Freda breezed into the office bearing a tray filled with steaming dishes. A pot of tea. A small carafe of coffee. On the tray, as well, was a variety of breakfast items. Fluffy scrambled eggs. Buttered homemade breads. Sausage patties and crispy bacon. And an assortment of cold fruit. Freda set the large tray in the center of Cullen’s desk. From an apron pocket she produced silverware wrapped in blue linen napkins.

“Scoot your chair right on up here, dear,” she told Mei Lu. “Eat while it’s hot. The plates are still warm. You’ll find two under the meat platter.” Beaming into Mei’s surprised face, the housekeeper, who seemed to do everything at a dead run, turned and vanished.

Cullen passed one plate and a silver service to Mei. “Correct me if I guessed wrong. But I’m reasonably sure that you haven’t had breakfast.”

Mei attempted to hide a telltale expression.

Cullen had sharp eyes. “That’s what I figured. Last night after I got home from the morgue and told Freda what time to expect you, she pointed out that you wouldn’t have time for breakfast.” He shrugged. “I mistakenly assumed you lived with your parents. I have no idea why I thought that. Thirty-something women rarely live at home. Dig in.” He motioned toward the eggs with his fork.

Mei complied, but hadn’t managed to halt one eyebrow from spiking toward her hairline.

“What? You think it’s rude of me to bring up a lady’s age?” Cullen filched a piece of bacon off the meat platter, grinning as he bit into it.

“I’m only questioning how you know my age. And why.”

“For the record, I’m thirty-six.” Cullen saved his scowl for the small amount Mei put on her plate. “Interpol assembles dossiers on everyone involved in one of their cases.”

“So, I can request your dossier? I mean, if we’re going to work together and you have mine. Isn’t turnabout fair play?”

He paused to sample his coffee. “I’ll request one for you. How’s the tea? I’ve heard tea-drinkers are fussier than coffee slobs. As a rule, we’re happy with anything that’s not total sludge.”

Mei peered into the pot, poured tea into her cup, then tasted it while Cullen watched. “Lapsang,” she announced, pleased. Lapsang didn’t usually come from a bag.

“I’m glad you like it. After you left yesterday, and before the call from Homicide, I discovered we were out of tea. I stopped at the market on my way home. I have to admit their selection boggled my mind.”

“Thank you for your consideration, but there’s no need to feed me at our meetings. I’m quite used to hitting the ground running. We’re not here to socialize, but to lay out a plan for finding the people trafficking in stolen treasures. Or worse. Although the dead couriers are Homicide’s problem.”

Cullen knew he’d been put in his place. “Normally I don’t work with a partner. Tracking lost or stolen art is usually a solitary pursuit. So forgive me if I’m unfamiliar with partnership protocol. I felt…hoped things would go more smoothly if we got along.”

Ah, they were finally getting somewhere. Mei set her plate back on the tray and poured herself more tea. She leaned back, studying him over the rim of the cup. “That’s where we differ, Mr. Archer. I always work with a team initially. But once all the team members understand the scope of the situation we’re investigating, we go our separate ways, touching base once a week to update the others on our progress.”

“I think we should start by using first names. Call me Cullen. Do you prefer Mei or Mei Lu?”

She waffled a bit, having had this same discussion with Captain Murdock yesterday. And the way her name sounded as it fell musically from this man’s lips took her mind off the matter at hand. “In any investigation undertaken by our department, staff would call me Lieutenant. Last night you didn’t tell me whether you have a rank at Interpol. If so, I think that would be the most professional approach. I admit I’m surprised to find an agent of theirs living in Houston.”

“I’m a civilian on a list of private insurance investigators that all insurance companies can access. They call someone on the list whenever an insured item is stolen or goes missing. If I’m tied up on another case or decline their offer, they go to the next name. As to living here—” he waved a hand airily “—that’s a result of my great-grandfather’s toil and a bit of luck. Matt Archer was a wildcatter who hit black gold. His wife, Sophia, sheltered their newly acquired fortune in land, cattle and fine art. His son, my grandfather, was something of an entrepreneur. My father, who was ambassador to Indonesia for many years, helped develop an art-exchange program. When Mom died, he married a woman from Djakarta. Never had a desire to come back here.” He paused.

Mei murmured for him to continue.

“I attended university in England. After graduation, you might say I fell into a job with a prominent gallery in Paris, as a broker of European art. I saw high-end paintings ship but fail to reach their destinations, and I wanted to know where such pieces went. It turns out I had a knack for getting them back. As a matter of course, I attracted the attention of our insurers, like Lloyd’s of London. I soon discovered they paid better for what I’d been doing for a pittance. At times my path crossed Interpol’s. Art recovery became an ongoing passion, one I was able to continue even after I moved home to manage my grandfather’s estate following his death. Now you have most of what’s in my dossier,” he said wryly.

Maybe most, but not all. Mei thought he’d neatly skirted the facts surrounding both his marriage and divorce. “You certainly have an interesting, eclectic background. You’re no doubt aware that the extent of my investigative experience is local, or in some cases tracking leads into bordering states. I look forward to learning how you hunt criminals and question potential witnesses in other countries.”

Cullen glanced over her head and made no comment, but waited for Freda to enter and collect the tray from his desk.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I wanted to give you a heads-up about the children beginning to stir. It seems that no matter how hard I try to keep them from invading your office when you’re working, they manage to finagle their way around me.”

“That’s fine, Freda. Belinda, especially, needs to start her day with hugs.”

The woman asked if either of them needed anything else; when both Cullen and Mei said they were fine, Freda cleared the desk and left in a rattle of dishes.

“Your children are lucky you’re so easygoing,” Mei Lu remarked in the ensuing silence.

“Yes. Well, kids lose enough stability when parents part ways.”

“From the little I saw of them, they seem remarkably happy and well-adjusted.”

Cullen shifted in his chair, acting almost flustered by the compliment. Mei wondered if fatherhood was an area the coolly competent Mr. Archer had reservations about. If so, she’d find that hard to believe.

Cullen rearranged his features quickly. “Two of the homicide detectives last night were also present when the first courier was found. To date they’ve turned up no leads. Both men said trying to get information out of witnesses near the nightclub parking lot was like hitting a brick wall. Witnesses either don’t speak English or pretend they don’t. I hate to say this in front of another of Houston’s finest, but I felt solving these murders isn’t a high priority.”

Mei returned her teacup to its saucer. “Do you consider the officers derelict in duty, or have they truly exhausted every lead?”

“I wasn’t at the first site initially. I joined the case several days later. I can’t fault how the team swept the dock for clues last night. They were thorough. I saw one officer walk along the row of parked cars and take down the license numbers of two that still had warm engines. He planned to pay the owners visits this morning to see if they saw or heard anything significant.”

“It sounds to me as if they plan to work the case.”

Cullen let out a breath. “You’re right. I’m just a man who likes speedy results. It’s difficult to accept that if people saw a man killed before their eyes, they’d stonewall the cops.”

“Sometimes cops are the last ones witnesses want to speak with.”

“I know. But I’m sure you know that in the past our police department—or I should qualify and say some cops in the city have been as underhanded as the crooks.”

Mei stiffened automatically. It was an accusation of long standing, one she’d heard Catherine gripe about often enough. “On a force our size, there are bound to be a few bad apples.” Mei found herself quoting the chief. “Chief Tanner cleaned house after she came on board. She outright fired officers proven to be on the take. She reprimanded and demoted others.”

“Hey, I’m not accusing your chief. I occasionally run into the city manager at community events, and he says she’s tough. Yet murder is on the rise.”

“And Homicide is a division that’s spread thin. I have a good friend who works in the Chicano section. That’s another area of the city where witnesses clam up and suddenly become deaf and blind. I’ll be glad to ask Crista for some tips on how she interrogates. She has a high degree of success.”

Cullen opened his folder and turned to a new page in his notebook. “All right. That would be good. I’d like us to go around to the nightclub and talk to people who might’ve seen our first courier before he was killed. How many dialects are you conversant in?”

“I’m fluent in Mandarin and passable in Cantonese.”

“That’s great. I told you I spent some time trying to work a case in Guangdong province. I took a crash course in Cantonese. The taped kind, of course. I learned little and retained less. Luckily, I found that the Asians I came in contact with were very tolerant of my frequent goofs.”

Mei laughed. “Our language is one of the more difficult. So few foreigners make an effort, and they were probably pleased you did.” The knot in her stomach loosened a bit as they talked. She’d been so sure the first thing out of Cullen’s mouth would have to do with her father.

“They understood my pathetic attempts far more easily than I was able to decipher what they said. Maybe I have a bad ear, but many of the words sound alike to me.”

“It’s not you at all. Chinese is a tonal language. Words have different pitch patterns, but none of the emotional rise and fall you get in English or other European languages.” Changing the subject, she said, “I’ll be happy to go poke around the nightclub after it opens today. Just give me a list of people the homicide crew interviewed. If nothing else, the bartender may be able to provide some other leads. Is the bar open all day, or only nights? Where is it located?”

Cullen absently read off the address. “Doug Whitsell said they open at noon.” He glanced up and narrowed his eyes as he watched Mei jotting it down in her notebook. “Listen, I don’t want you going into that part of town alone. Not even in daylight. It’s too dangerous.”

At first Mei thought he was teasing. But the minute she stopped writing and looked up, she realized he was dead serious. “Cullen.” His name rolled easily off her tongue. Too easily. “The address you gave me is two blocks north of the market where I do my grocery shopping.”

“Impossible. I’ve been there, remember. This area is run down. According to the lead investigator, it’s a high-crime neighborhood.”

Mei pursed her lips. “Honestly! Now you sound exactly like my parents.”

He seemed taken aback by her vehemence. “Let’s forget the nightclub for a moment and discuss your parents. Your father, anyway.”

Mei tried to control her nerves. It was clear that Cullen intended to say more. But his office door banged open and two excited children came thundering in, shouting and trying to see who could gain their father’s attention first.

“Daddy, Daddy.” The twins ran past Mei’s chair. Instead of grappling a white rabbit as they had on her previous visit, they were now in a tug-of-war over a portable phone.

“It’s Mom!” Belinda screeched loudest, but her brother succeeded in wresting the instrument out of his sister’s hands.

“She’s calling from way far away,” Bobby declared importantly. “Freda said Bangkok.”

“Yes, and Freda said Mom wants to talk to you before Bobby and me get to say a word.” Cullen’s daughter slipped anxiously between the desk and her father’s chair and somehow managed to drape herself over his arm. “Hi, police lady!”

Bobby, too, said hello, and Mei smiled at them both.

When she looked at Cullen again, he had the phone pasted to one ear.

“Jana?”

Mei shut her notebook and stood, fully prepared to give the family privacy.

“What’s so important that you have to speak with me before you talk to the twins? You missed calling from your last stopover.” Cullen combed his fingers through Belinda’s over-long bangs and gazed at his son, who raptly awaited news.

Teetering on the balls of her feet, Mei wasn’t sure if she should leave or stay. Ultimately she decided to return her teapot and cup to the Archer kitchen. She’d almost reached the door when she heard Cullen say explosively, “You want me to wire how much? I know what a pearl and jade necklace is likely to cost. Why not pay with one of your credit cards?”

Mei let the door close on his next comment, but she thought it sounded as if he was questioning how she could max out three cards. There was no mistaking his fury when he virtually bellowed, “All of them? Dammit, Jana, what kind of junk did you buy?” As quickly as he’d flared up, he appeared to calm down, and he promised to phone his banker on his cell while she spoke with the twins.

Mei actually might have lingered at the door to eavesdrop longer had Freda not bustled out of a room at the end of the hall.

“Ms. Ling. Er…Lieutenant. Have you come looking for more tea?”

“No. I figured while Mr. Archer’s on the phone with his wife, I’d return my dishes to the kitchen and perhaps find the bathroom.”

“Ex-wife.” The housekeeper stared over Mei’s shoulder at the door behind which they could hear the children’s excited chatter. “It’s a crying shame that woman can reach out from across the world and turn this household upside down.” Freda relieved Mei of the dishes and pointed her toward a bathroom.

“Will he be long?” Mei asked before the woman rushed off.

Freda shrugged. “Hard to say. Ms. Jana was clearly in a state about something. I’m sorry the kids broke up your meeting. I answered down here, and they happened to pick up on the upstairs extension. They’ve been waiting for their mother’s call for days. They expected to hear this weekend, and they’ve moped since Friday.”

“Um, well, their father may need some extra time with them. I’ll just run back to headquarters and check my morning messages. Could you tell Cullen, uh, Mr. Archer that I need to talk to Chief Tanner so I’m clear on how much time she wants me to devote to this case?” Truthfully, Mei needed to ask how Catherine thought she should handle the situation with her father. She couldn’t barge into his gallery, introduce Cullen Archer as an insurance investigator helping Interpol, and watch Cullen start throwing out questions about smuggled Chinese artifacts. Good Chinese daughters didn’t act that way. Not even if the daughter was a cop. Such discourse moved slowly in her culture and rarely involved women. Westerners didn’t understand that there was an order to things, a process to work through to answer even the simplest questions.

Mei felt comfortable explaining that to Catherine. Not to Cullen Archer.

Normally Mei Lu didn’t hesitate when it came to dealing with influential men. Actually, she’d dealt well with many of them when she ran the Hong Kong gallery.

So, admit it’s this particular man. He only had to look at her with those gray eyes and her stomach turned cartwheels.

Mei knew if she was going to continue to work with Cullen, it was a reaction she needed to quash. Besides, it was a reaction that made no sense. Ask anybody who knew her well. Mei Lu Ling didn’t lose her composure over men.

“Suit yourself, dear,” Freda was saying. She still held Mei’s teapot and cup. “I’ll give Mr. Cullen your message. Can’t say as I blame you for hitting the road. Ordinarily you can’t find a more affable man. But after weeks of phone calls from ‘her nibs,’ he’s a bear. Ah, there I go, running off at the mouth again. Sorry. I should keep my thoughts on that subject to myself. It’s not as if Mr. Cullen doesn’t frequently remind me—and himself—that Ms. Jana is the mother of his children.”

By now Mei was getting used to Freda’s slips of the tongue. And to the way she darted in and out like a hummingbird. As she left the house, Mei began to wonder if there was another reason Cullen might want to steer the investigation toward Ling Limited. If he had a high-maintenance ex-wife and a lifestyle to keep up among Memorial’s upper crust, might smuggling be a lucrative way to increase his cash flow? After all, he wouldn’t be the first of his stature to succumb to the lure of easy money. She’d exposed more preposterous crimes in Houston’s white-collar community. And Archer had an ex running around Thailand. How simple would it be for a man with his connections to arrange contacts in the Asian underworld? As simple as it’d be for him to shift the blame—for instance, to an unsuspecting Houston art dealer.

If nothing else, her stomach stopped fluttering over Archer’s looks. She had a whole lot more to keep herself occupied on the drive downtown. Such as…which of these musings was she duty bound to share with Catherine?

CHAPTER FOUR

MEI LU FOUND A PARKING PLACE in the precinct’s always-busy garage. One thing she loved about the main police station was the amount of activity going on day and night. Men and women rushed in and out of the historic building, some in uniform, others in street clothes, a few in disguise. If their disguises were good, no one except close friends recognized them. The ones easily seen through provided fun for weeks.

Police work, the nitty-gritty part of keeping a city the size of Houston safe from crazies, derelicts and all-around bad folks, took an emotional toll on the psyches of everyone on the force. Laughter was the best cure. Everything, from the smallest oddity to the most bizarre occurrence became fair game to pass around from department to department. After the weeks at the academy, during which Mei Lu took such a drubbing over her deficiency in martial arts, she was careful to avoid being the butt of their jokes.

As a result, no matter how harried or hurried, she sauntered through the building, occasionally stopping to chat, but leaving in her wake an aura of calm efficiency. At least that was her objective.

Cops on all the floors used to stare at her anyway. Partly because at the time she went through the academy, Mei was one of only three Asian Americans with the Houston PD, and the only Asian female. Gradually, no doubt due to the recent influx of Asian immigrants, department numbers had begun to reflect the recent diversity.

Chief Tanner, always big on women walking their own path, used to give Mei Lu pep talks about how she had a golden opportunity to be a model cop. So what if she happened to be Chinese? Except that her minority status had made her the go-to authority anytime there was a disturbance in the Asian quarter. And she didn’t always feel like an authority. At times she felt quite removed.

It was Crista who helped her see and come to accept that there would always be cops to whom race mattered a lot. Everyone could name them. Crista confronted them, while Mei did her best to steer clear. It was increasingly evident, however, that as the Asian community expanded, unrest rose among those cops who’d rather everyone of color simply went away.

As she sat outside Catherine’s office waiting for the chief to wind up a mid-morning meeting, she considered the various things that could trigger an upsurge of racial violence in the city. Reports of a suspected rapist at large, or a serial killer, or gang activity. She worried that if news of this smuggling operation broke or, worse, became widely known, patrols would triple along Bellaire. Families in Mei’s neighborhood, law-abiding for the most part, would be subtly harassed.

Suddenly, Catherine’s door burst open and two men in suits and ties stormed past, causing Mei to glance up and forget the concerns running through her head. The shorter of the chief’s visitors had a red face and bulbous nose. He was chunky around the middle. The other, taller and leaner, had a pasty complexion. He sported a bushy mustache that made his angry eyes overpower a weak chin.

Mei wondered who they were and what Catherine had said to annoy them. Because they clearly were annoyed, as evidenced by their grim expressions and choppy strides. Their body language said they couldn’t wait to put this experience behind them.

“Lieutenant,” Catherine’s assistant, Annette, said after hanging up her phone. “The chief asks if you can give her five minutes to make a couple of callbacks. Then she has ten minutes to spare. I forgot, she’s due to address a Kiwanis luncheon today, and we’ve already rescheduled it once.”

“I don’t want to rush her. I can come back this afternoon.” In fact, she’d like an excuse to not have to see Archer again today.

“Not good, either.” Annette frowned. “She goes from the luncheon straight to a groundbreaking ceremony for the new detention center they’re going to build near the intersection of the Brazoria and Galveston County lines. The folks in charge have planned a whole host of events. I doubt she’ll make it back here today.”

Rising slowly, Mei crossed to stand in front of the administrative assistant’s desk, which beat shouting across a noisy room. “I didn’t realize the chief had so many duties outside of police stuff.”

“No one tells you these things before you take the job, either,” Catherine remarked from her doorway. Screwing up her face, she flung the back of her hand to her forehead in a “woe is me” gesture.

Mei and two of the office clerks shared a chuckle.

“Come in.” Catherine gestured to Mei Lu. “I assume Annette told you I’m pressed for time. Now that I think of it, what are you doing here? As of last night, I thought you were on special assignment with…what’s his name?”

“Cullen Archer,” Mei said with a sigh as she slipped past Catherine.

“Is the man a problem?” Catherine turned away from her visitor and began sorting papers and loading them into a worn briefcase. “Yes? No?” Pausing, Catherine turned and fixed Mei Lu with searing blue eyes.

“He’s a little overbearing—” Mei stopped abruptly, feeling a flush creep along her neck. “That’s unfair of me.” Mei clasped her hands tight around her ever-present notebook. “He was thoughtful enough to buy me Lapsang tea. Oh, he said I shouldn’t go alone to the nightclub where the first courier was killed, but he probably spoke out of concern for my welfare rather than any real chauvinism.”

“So then, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you two nosing around the club?”

Mei shook her head. “I don’t know.” Swallowing hard, she felt the beginnings of another flush. “No…I do know,” she said decisively.

“Then spit it out. This isn’t like you, Mei Lu. I’ve rarely seen you act wishy-washy.”

“It has to do with my family. Cullen, uh—he said to call him that—is bent on starting our investigation at Ling Limited.”

“Goodness, Mei Lu.” Catherine frowned. “Surely Interpol doesn’t think…I mean, you don’t suspect your father in any way…?”

“No,” Mei shot back quickly. “But…you know my relationship with my folks. I…can’t march into my father’s office acting like the cop they never wanted me to be.”

“A cop is what you are, Mei Lu,” Catherine said with no softness in her tone. “It’s the career you chose. You took an oath to uphold the law, which transcends all other loyalties, even filial. You know the rules about recusing yourself if evidence should ever point to anyone in your family.”

“It won’t. But of course I understand.” Mei edged toward the door. “My greater concern revolves around how Archer and I could differ over investigating anyone in the Asian community. Not specifically my family. I’m unsure how to enlighten Cullen, since it’s essentially his case. I know if we barge in throwing our weight around, expecting normal interrogative techniques to work, people will close ranks and give us nothing.”

Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m fully aware yours is a culture that demands treading carefully.”

Mei released the breath she’d been holding. “And lightly. And slowly.” She’d known all along that Catherine would understand what she was trying to say.

“Tell Archer straight out. If the man is sensitive enough to buy you Chinese tea, Mei Lu, trust him to be open to suggestions that come from your experience.”

Mei nodded dutifully. It wasn’t what she’d hoped for. She really wanted Catherine to take her off the case. But she couldn’t admit part of her reason was that Cullen Archer made her feel more a woman and less a cop.

“Chief, I know you have no one else in the department to translate Chinese, but… Shoot, I’ve never been so uncertain about how to proceed.” Mei hit on something she could admit. “On the other hand, I’ve never worked with anyone from Interpol.”

Catherine eyed her young lieutenant long and hard. “I hope that’s all it is,” she said, collecting her cell phone before walking to the wall to turn off her lights.

As the chief drew nearer, Mei noticed lines around her mouth that she didn’t recall seeing there before. And come to think of it, Catherine didn’t seem her usual cheerful self. “Is everything all right with you?” Mei asked, taking care to lower her voice. “Did those two men you met with upset you?”

Catherine dropped her ring of keys, knelt and scooped them up just as fast. “What makes you ask?” They walked out of her office, and with a sure hand, the older woman locked her door.

“I thought their movements appeared angry when they passed me.”

“Did they say anything?”

“No. Nothing. The way they were dressed—well, I wondered if they were lawyers. Maybe part of the team going after Myron Addison?” The thought had only now occurred to her. Mei knew it was a dicey case. Myron was a sixteen-year police veteran accused of transporting drugs across the border. He’d been off duty at the time, and he was hollering setup. The papers were having a field day. The story seemed to grow more legs every day.

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