The Dragon’s Mark by Alex Archer Page A

the way a doctor might, turning them this way and that, looking into their eyes, asking them to open their mouths and feeling their teeth.
    When he got to her, he stopped and looked her over, just as he had the others. But rather than ask her to do any of the things she’d seen so far, he spoke to her in passable Japanese instead.
    “What is your name?” he asked.
    Afraid, she did not speak.
    “Come, come, girl. I’m not here to hurt you. What is your name?”
    This time she told him. “Shizu.”
    “Would you like to leave this place, Shizu?”
    Daring to meet his gaze, she said, “Very much.”
    “Would you like to go away with me, Shizu?” he asked, softly this time.
    She felt tears welling up at his kindness, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and she could only nod.
    When she had dried her eyes and dared look again, she found him still standing in front of her, waiting patiently. He smiled and extended his hand.
    “Come, Shizu. It’s time to go.”
    She let him lead her out of that place and off to a different life.

10
    Now

    Concerned that Roux wasn’t taking things seriously enough, Annja woke the next day determined to get some answers. She knew there was more going on than met the eye. If Roux didn’t want to talk, there was still one other person who might be able to tell her what she needed to know.
    Garin Braden.
    She had his cell number—or one of them, at least—and used it to call him that morning.
    “I need to see you,” she told him when he answered the phone.
    He laughed, a low, throaty chuckle. “Just how much of me would you like to see?”
    He sounded like the cat who’d just eaten the canary, positively delighted that she’d chosen to call him and propose such an unusual request. She, however, didn’t have time for his antics.
    “Cut the crap, Garin. Roux is in trouble and I need to talk to you about it immediately.”
    As she snarled at him she did her best to ignore the mental image his response had called to mind. Seeing more of Garin wouldn’t be such a bad thing, at least in an aesthetic sense….
    But Garin apparently didn’t hear her reprimand or he simply chose to ignore it. He was still laughing when he said, “I’m free for lunch, if that will suffice.”
    It was good enough. They agreed on a place and time, with Garin suggesting he send a car and Annja firmly stating she’d get there on her own.
    She had the concierge arrange a cab and she settled into the back, prepared to enjoy the ride. Paris had always been one of her favorite cities and it was particularly lovely on a spring day like this one. The streets and open-air cafes were full of Parisians enjoying the day, and the ride, short though it was, cheered her in a way that she hadn’t expected.
    As it turned out, the restaurant Garin had chosen was only a few blocks from her hotel. It was also one of the most popular luncheon spots in all of Paris, judging by the line that waited at the door to get inside. She began scanning the crowd for a sign of her host even as she exited the cab.
    “Ms. Creed?”
    She turned to find a good-looking, curly haired man dressed in a sharply pressed gray suit standing nearby.
    “I am Michel, the maître de’” he said. “If you would be so kind…” He indicated the entrance with the sweep of his hand.
    Ignoring the daggerlike looks she received from those waiting in line, particularly the women, Annja walked to the front doors, stepped inside and then allowed Michel to take the lead.
    “This way, please,” he said, and then headed across the dining room floor. He led her to a small, private dining room in the far corner of the building, opened the door and ushered her inside.
    Garin was waiting for her at the room’s only table. He stood, a smile on his face, as she entered and took her seat, then he sat across from her.
    “It’s good to see you again, Annja,” he said, after Michel left the room.
    “The dining room would have been perfectly