Free Black Karma by Thatcher Robinson Page A

she looked at him with interest. His steady gaze belied his age. She smiled at his coolness.
    â€œTrust me,” he said, and made the words sound sexy.
    She almost batted her eyelashes. “Where have I heard those words before?”
    â€œAren’t you asking me to trust you?”
    â€œHow old are you?” she asked.
    â€œI’m twenty-five. My baby face is misleading. I know I look a lot younger.”
    â€œYou seem to be full of surprises.”
    His tone offered a challenge. “I believe in fate. What about you?”
    She relented, more than a little taken by his disarming charm. “All right, I’ll go out with you. How do you want to play this?”
    â€œFollow me and keep your head down. I’ll badge in and kick the door wide. Just stay close and tailgate me through the entrance. I won’t look back. Once you’re in, you’re on your own. I won’t be able to help you if you’re caught.”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” she asked.
    â€œMichael Chin.” He smiled at her. “Let’s trade numbers. I’ll call you later. A deal’s a deal.”
    She handed him her phone, and he transferred their cell numbers.
    â€œMy name is Bai Jiang.” She held out her hand to shake. “A deal is a deal.”
    He held onto her hand as he spoke. “I wait tables in the lounge up top.” He pointed with his free hand, a gesture that suggested he wasn’t sure she knew which direction was up, and winked at her. “I’ll call you later, Bai.”
    He turned and walked toward the service entrance. She did as instructed, staying close as he badged his way through the back door. Once inside, Michael went right, toward a service elevator, while she turned left to the stairwell leading into the bowels of the hotel. If Wen Liu had taken refuge in her room, she’d have to eat. And if she ate, the kitchen would have a record.
    The room service kitchen was in the midst of lunch rush. Cooks yelled in English, Spanglish, Chinglish, and something that sounded a lot like Russian. The banter hummed like a giant engine amid clattering plates, sizzling food, and mechanical dishwashers that spouted steam in cloudy bursts. Garlic, curry, bacon, and a dozen other odors mingled. In the hub of the uproar stood a woman in kitchen whites with an electronic notepad in her hand and a blue scarf around her neck. She yelled instructions and fielded questions, like a ringmaster at a circus.
    Bai stood in the hall and yelled, “Room number for Liu, L, I, U, first name Wen.”
    â€œRoom 626,” the woman in kitchen whites replied. “What the hell? That order should have gone out thirty minutes ago. Who has the order for 626?”
    Bai had what she wanted and turned to leave.
    Standing behind her stood a large man in a blue blazer with a frown on his face. He was Caucasian with a square jaw and short hair, cut military style; his voice oozed contemptuous authority. “May I ask what business you have at this hotel?”
    â€œI’m certainly glad to see you,” she said enthusiastically. “I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to the mezzanine level?”
    He reached out and held her arm. She wrapped his arm with hers and brought her hand up under his armpit, applying pressure to his elbow. Smart enough to let go, he stepped back warily.
    She scolded him. “You can look, but you can’t touch. Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”
    She thought he’d make another attempt to physically detain her, but he surprised her and took a quick step back. “Our security manager is on his way. He’s asked that you wait for him, Ms. Jiang.”
    The use of her name halted any thoughts of her running. “Oh crap, that doesn’t sound good. Who, exactly, is your head of security?”
    â€œGary Yan.”
    She nodded in understanding and looked up at the blinking camera mounted on the ceiling, one of