Sweet Seduction Sayonara by Nicola Claire Page A

office and snort. There is nothing harmonious about what has been done here.
    Instead I see this as a threat.
    Is Momoko the snow? Are they trying to tell me not to walk on the snow? That they’ll find me? And then what?
    This is a message from the Triads, I’m sure. I knew those CCTV cameras would come back to haunt me. Just not from the avenue I had thought.
    The 14K Triads know I helped Momoko escape them. Maybe they see themselves as the snow, and I’m leaving my dirty, interfering footprints in them.
    Why do they want her?
    I shake my head. I’m getting nowhere with this. And although I’ve been vandalised, there is nothing in this room worth taking. All my confidential case files are at the office. These idiots have just gone through the last seven years’ worth of tax returns.
    Still, I should report this. But if they know I was there on High Street, and they could only know that through the CCTV system used by the police, maybe staying quiet for now would be wisest.
    I’ll sound Momoko out tomorrow, see if she reacts to a couple of hints.
    And I’ll visit Nick at ASI. It probably wouldn’t hurt to get some home security. If the woman I’m after is being chased by the Triads, I’d better start covering our arses.
    It doesn’t occur to me to drop this. Drop her. I can’t. She’s in my crosshairs now, my finger hovering over the trigger.
    And perhaps that analogy sums up everything.
    For now, though, I’m beat. And there’s a certain deposit on my bedspread that needs dealing with.
    By the time I’ve finished throwing out my linens, remaking the bed, and tidying up the office - not to mention scrubbing the fucking ink off the walls - I’m knackered.
    I don’t even eat dinner, but fall into bed, having checked the locks and windows about a dozen times, and sleep fitfully. When the morning sun blasts through a crack in my curtains and nails me in the eyes, and birds are singing in the trees outside my bedroom window like fucking banshees, I’m a wreck.
    I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. And I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t just tuck tail and run. But once I’m showered, bombarded with caffeine, and walking out to the car, I feel a million miles better.
    Momoko’s giggles filter through my mind. Followed up by how spectacular she looked in that silk dress trading punches with a Triad.
    The house disappears in the rearview mirror as I drive down the street, excitement at the day ahead setting my stomach fluttering with anticipation. One last glance at my bungalow and I push it from my mind. Push the entire night from my mind and look toward the day’s horizon.
    But just as I turn the corner, losing sight of my home, I see them. I’m being followed.
    It takes a while to determine I am. Remuera is busy this time of day. But the black SUV continues to follow me as I take shortcuts down side streets and weave back toward my house and then the office on Queen Street.
    It’s definitely following me. No sane person would take this route into the city.
    I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I make Shore Road, unsure what to do about this. My gut tells me to go to the police. My head tells me the police, at least those with access to the CCTV system, can’t be trusted. My heart just pounds away inside my chest like a fucking drumbeat.
    I slam my hand down on the steering wheel with force and consider my options. I am not a coward. Not many successful lawyers are. If you go into bat for the underdog and want to win, then you gotta grow some balls. I’m not afraid of confrontation. I relish it. Give me a good argument and a subject I can get behind and I’m all over that puppy.
    So instead of doing the sane thing, like calling the police or driving straight to the office, I turn the car toward Viaduct Basin and Momoko’s florist store. I know where it is, I looked it up over the weekend, but I’ve never seen it before. As I cruise past the frontage and then do a loop and cruise back