Saffron Nights by Liz Everly Page B

she was shaking him to wake up.
    “We are here,” she said, holding her cell to her ear. “It’s Alice. She wants to talk to you.”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    “We’re making this trip shorter than expected. So you’re going to have to hit the ground running. Are you up for it?”
    “Yeah, sure,” he said.
    “Cutting it short because the truffle season is starting and we need to get you to Italy.”
    “Italy? Christ. We just landed in Hong Kong. I thought India was next.”
    “So we’re scrambling it up a bit. Be on your toes,” she said.
    What an odd thing to say.
    “What’s going on?”
    “We’ve gotten some threats,” she said. “The mushroom Chef had was one that he was allergic to. Someone who knew him, knew of his allergy, fed it to him. You don’t need to share that information with Maeve right now.”
    “Okay, yeah, sure,” he said. Great. Now he was keeping secrets from Maeve.
    “While you’re there, don’t go off with anyone. Stick to the itinerary.”
    “Sure.” What the hell?
    He handed the phone back to Maeve and rolled his eyes.
    But damn, that was a bombshell. Whoever had killed Chef knew he was allergic to the mushroom. Jackson didn’t like the way this was playing out. Chef was killed. Murdered. And he’d been beaten up. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Or could it?
    Alice’s voice had an edge to it. She knew more, perhaps, than what she was telling him. Of course. He was the monkey-photographer—hired to take pictures. She wasn’t going to tell him everything, just enough to worry him. What was it she had said? Keep on his toes?
     
    He and Maeve waited for the line in the aisle to thin out before getting off the plane. The airport in Hong Kong had these huge, futuristic glass domes, reminding him of the Dulles Airport in Washington, D.C. When they came down from the plane on the large tube-like pathway there was a sea of people. Mass confusion. Odd, acrid smells. As they walked through customs and immigration, Maeve pointed to one dark-uniformed man. He was larger than many of the people there, watching them intently. As they dragged themselves through one more security check, they saw him holding a sign with Maeve’s name on it.
    For a moment, Jackson thought he’d seen a blond woman looking at him. She was standing next to the curb one minute—the next she was gone. Was that the same woman he had seen in Hawaii?
    Maeve was pulling on him to direct him to the chauffeur and their limo.
    Jackson was not into men—at all—but God, he was spectacular! Who was he? A movie star?
    “Hello,” Maeve said to him, sparkling from head to toe. “I am Maeve Flannery.”
    Could she be any more obvious?
    “Hey,” Jackson said, shaking his hand. “Jackson Dodds.”
    “Greetings. I am Ji,” he said in a crystal clear voice with a slight Chinese accent. His dark hair fell in his eyes and loosely framed his face. His eyes didn’t leave Maeve as he shook Jackson’s hand.
    Jackson cleared his throat and frowned, looking directly into Maeve’s blushing face. She looked quickly away from him.
    Ji placed their bags in the trunk. Evidently they had gotten there before she had.
    They slipped into the backseat of the long limousine’s white leather seats. A chilled bottle of champagne awaited them, along with chocolates and cookies. Ji sat in the front and placed a chauffeur’s cap on his head. “You are staying with the Mei-Lei family. Correct?”
    “Yes,” Maeve said.
    This man shot her a look full of magnetism.
    What the fuck? Jackson was becoming more than slightly annoyed.
    “Please,” he said. “Help yourself to the refreshments.”
    She uncorked the champagne. “Care to join us?” She poured a glass and handed it to Jackson.
    “No, Madame. I am your guard, your chauffeur. A hired man. It is inappropriate.”
    “Oh,” she said, sipping from her bubbly. “Too bad,” she added. “The champagne is quite good. The chocolate . . . well,” she bit into it, sucking out the