She Walks the Line

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.