Free Jade Island by Elizabeth Lowell

chicken embryos,” Kyle said, “but I can nosh on poached chicken digits with the best of them.”
    “Great. I’ll give mine to you.”
    “What about the hundred-year eggs?”
    “In a word? Yuck. But the rest of the food is very good.”
    “Then I’ll last until after the auction.”
    Kyle stacked their empty plates on a waiter’s tray, tucked her hand over his arm, and led her back to the atrium.
    “You don’t have to go,” Lianne told him.
    “Look at more jade?”
    “No. To the Tang party.”
    “The food is good and you wouldn’t want to disappoint your best clients, would you?”
    Clients.
    Lianne tried to think of a simple, brief way to explain her long, complex relationship with the family of Tang. None came to mind. It was just one of the many awkward moments she had endured as the unacknowledged daughter of Johnny Tang.
    “No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them,” she said finally.
    Then Lianne smiled sadly. What a joke. She had disappointed them since the instant of her birth, living proof of Johnny Tang’s liaison with a foreign woman.
    “Mind if I ask a question?” Kyle said. He felt the sudden tension in Lianne’s hand on his arm and looked down at her. “Professional, not personal.”
    “About the Tangs?”
    “No. About that tiny little purse of yours.”
    Lianne looked down at the slim silk envelope that swayed at the end of its long, thin strap. The purse weighed so little she had forgotten she was carrying it.
    “What about it?” she asked.
    “Most of the serious traders here tonight are making notes at each exhibit.”
    She nodded.
    “Your purse is too small to hold a notebook,” he said, “but it just might be big enough for a high-tech recorder. Verbal notes, as it were.”
    “I’ll take your word for it. My purse is empty except for a car key and business cards.” She didn’t feel it necessary to add that she also had a small vial of pepper spray tucked away.
    “Does that mean you aren’t a serious trader?” Kyle asked.
    “No. It means that I have a photographic memory.”
    “Good. Then you should have no problem describing the guy who’s following you.”

Chapter 5
    L ianne thought about denying that she was being followed. Then she thought about facing the night alone if Kyle called her bluff and walked out.
    “Caucasian, about five feet ten inches,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even, “medium weight, clean-shaven, brownish hair, white shirt, black tuxedo that doesn’t quite fit across the stomach, street rather than dress shoes, and an uncanny ability to melt into a crowd.”
    Kyle whistled softly. “Sounds like you’ve seen a lot of him.”
    “I saw him once, tonight, for about three seconds when you boosted me above the crowd.”
    “Photographic memory,” he muttered.
    “Yes.”
    “How long has he been following you?”
    “Him personally? I don’t know. Several times in the past few weeks, I’ve been certain that someone was following me.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Kyle looked at Lianne as she walked next to him. Her chin was up in a stubborn line and her spine was very straight above the inevitable swaying of her hips. Jade jewelry glowed against white silk like spring against ice.
    “Try again,” he suggested softly.
    Lianne’s chin tilted up even more, but she couldn’t conceal the frisson of unease that went through her body. “It’s the truth. I don’t know why I’m being followed.”
    “Guess.”
    “The jewelry, maybe.”
    “Have you worn it in the last few weeks?”
    “No.”
    “Then guess again.”
    She tried to take her arm out of his, only to find herself held in place.
    “I don’t feel like playing Twenty Questions,” Lianne said roughly. “If you’re so worried about that man, all you have to do is walk away from me.”
    “Did you dump a lover recently?”
    Her eyelids flickered as she remembered Lee Chin, now called Tang. But she hadn’t seen him except in passing for two years. In any case,