Jian, with whom she’d had a romance that had begun in high school and had ended nearly six years later with the announcement of her arranged marriage that had blindsided her. She’d fled Shanghai, joined the army, and had broken off communication with her family for the next two years. She had yet to speak to her father, and only heard from her mother periodically, when her father was not in the house.
Lu Hao was the black sheep of the family. A film student and ice-to-Eskimos salesman who had emotionally corrupted and manipulated his father to invest in his film project, Lu Hao had eventually bled the family savings dry and driven them toward bankruptcy and loss of face—the greatest disgrace of all.
Grace had known of the situation—through her mother—and had tried to use Los Angeles friends to circulate Lu Hao’s script in Hollywood, but to no avail. Her second, more successful effort had been to win Lu Hao the contract with The Berthold Group. All this had less to do withLu Hao than it did her continuing feelings for his brother. She’d hoped that by trying so hard, she might renew contact with him. A hope that had yet to bear fruit.
Bringing Lu Jian’s brother home could only help her cause.
The first step was to search Lu Hao’s apartment for his accounts documents—and now, for his medicine as well.
Now. Tonight. With or without the man Dulwich said would be joining her. Grace was not waiting for anyone.
5:20 P.M.
CHANGNING DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
The man following her was a pro. Grace had changed into tight jeans and spike heels in a lobby restroom and then left by a side door eschewing the main entrance to the MW Building, home of The Berthold Group. She might have missed him completely had she not picked up a second whiff of him. But there it was, the same distinctive scent—a masculine musk, part pine, part perspiration—she’d first noticed while at an ATM, the stop used to scan the sidewalk.
She now knew he was back there—he’d passed close by her for a second time. The act alone showed nerve and confidence. While she reeled over how she might have missed sight of him in the first place, she contemplated her next move. She did not want to reveal her training, only to appear as an average citizen. At the same time, she would have to lose him once and for all.
Along with a column of hundreds of passengers crammed elbow to elbow, she took the stairs down to the platform. Glass partitions served as barriers to prevent the crowds from pushing someone onto the tracks. The hordes jockeyed for position, a regular part of any day, Grace along with them.
Flat-panel television monitors suspended from the ceiling counteddown the timing of the train arrivals to the platform.
58…57…
Her skin prickled at the sight of a tan baseball cap she remembered from a window reflection back near the MW Building.
She shivered. Had he made her earlier, or only picked up on her at the ATM? Was he that good? Or was she that rusty?
She spotted the cap again, though she couldn’t make out the face beneath it. Her nerves on edge, she moved down the line of the groups waiting to board.
26…25…
Standing among a group of women, she withdrew a black scarf from her bag and pulled it over her hair. Then she donned a surgical mask of the kind worn by many city-dwellers to protect against the Shanghai smog.
10…9…
The crowd surged toward the doors. A squeal of brakes cried from down the dark shaft.
Grace slipped out of the crowd and pressed her back against the escalator’s retaining wall.
The ball cap moved with the crowds. It jostled for position. As the train arrived, it paused. Turned toward her.
Could he have possibly spotted her transition into the disguise? Impatient passengers shoved past the hat. It appeared the man in the cap wasn’t going to board.
She turned and took the long way around the escalator, intent on leaving the station on foot.
A quick glance back: the tan cap was moving onto the
Lu Hao was the black sheep of the family. A film student and ice-to-Eskimos salesman who had emotionally corrupted and manipulated his father to invest in his film project, Lu Hao had eventually bled the family savings dry and driven them toward bankruptcy and loss of face—the greatest disgrace of all.
Grace had known of the situation—through her mother—and had tried to use Los Angeles friends to circulate Lu Hao’s script in Hollywood, but to no avail. Her second, more successful effort had been to win Lu Hao the contract with The Berthold Group. All this had less to do withLu Hao than it did her continuing feelings for his brother. She’d hoped that by trying so hard, she might renew contact with him. A hope that had yet to bear fruit.
Bringing Lu Jian’s brother home could only help her cause.
The first step was to search Lu Hao’s apartment for his accounts documents—and now, for his medicine as well.
Now. Tonight. With or without the man Dulwich said would be joining her. Grace was not waiting for anyone.
5:20 P.M.
CHANGNING DISTRICT
SHANGHAI
The man following her was a pro. Grace had changed into tight jeans and spike heels in a lobby restroom and then left by a side door eschewing the main entrance to the MW Building, home of The Berthold Group. She might have missed him completely had she not picked up a second whiff of him. But there it was, the same distinctive scent—a masculine musk, part pine, part perspiration—she’d first noticed while at an ATM, the stop used to scan the sidewalk.
She now knew he was back there—he’d passed close by her for a second time. The act alone showed nerve and confidence. While she reeled over how she might have missed sight of him in the first place, she contemplated her next move. She did not want to reveal her training, only to appear as an average citizen. At the same time, she would have to lose him once and for all.
Along with a column of hundreds of passengers crammed elbow to elbow, she took the stairs down to the platform. Glass partitions served as barriers to prevent the crowds from pushing someone onto the tracks. The hordes jockeyed for position, a regular part of any day, Grace along with them.
Flat-panel television monitors suspended from the ceiling counteddown the timing of the train arrivals to the platform.
58…57…
Her skin prickled at the sight of a tan baseball cap she remembered from a window reflection back near the MW Building.
She shivered. Had he made her earlier, or only picked up on her at the ATM? Was he that good? Or was she that rusty?
She spotted the cap again, though she couldn’t make out the face beneath it. Her nerves on edge, she moved down the line of the groups waiting to board.
26…25…
Standing among a group of women, she withdrew a black scarf from her bag and pulled it over her hair. Then she donned a surgical mask of the kind worn by many city-dwellers to protect against the Shanghai smog.
10…9…
The crowd surged toward the doors. A squeal of brakes cried from down the dark shaft.
Grace slipped out of the crowd and pressed her back against the escalator’s retaining wall.
The ball cap moved with the crowds. It jostled for position. As the train arrived, it paused. Turned toward her.
Could he have possibly spotted her transition into the disguise? Impatient passengers shoved past the hat. It appeared the man in the cap wasn’t going to board.
She turned and took the long way around the escalator, intent on leaving the station on foot.
A quick glance back: the tan cap was moving onto the
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