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Someone had broken into her residence. Luckily that’s all that had happened. So far.
Fuck. It meant he couldn’t put Kimani behind him, no matter how much he wanted to shove her into the past and have her stay there.
“Was it Jake?” Ben asked.
“Chin was with Jake. The guy spent the night at some woman’s place.”
“Doesn’t mean Jake wasn’t behind it.”
Bataar got to his feet and nodded. “I know.”
“Did this Moe catch the guy in her house? Did he see what he looked like?”
“If Moe had tried, he would have exposed himself. He decided his priority was making sure Kimani didn’t get hurt. I’ve got someone trying to hack into the SFPD to pull up the report. Maybe Kimani noticed something and told the cops.”
Feeling his anger recede, Ben started to walk, his mind turning. The gawkers stared in puzzlement as Bataar hurried alongside him as if nothing had happened.
“I want you on Kimani,” Ben said after a few minutes. “Not some new untested guy.”
“Bill worked for the Secret Service. FLOTUS detail. I don’t think we’re going to find anyone better.”
“Don’t give me excuses.”
“You’re my charge. That hasn’t changed in over seven years.”
“It’s changing today.”
“Look, I know you’re worried about her because—”
Ben stopped and turned to Bataar. “You want me to aim for your nose this time?”
“I’ve had my nose broken three times. You’re welcome to make it four, boss.”
Ben’s hand curled into a fist, but he couldn’t punch Bataar just for the hell of it. Sparring was one thing, but breaking Bataar’s nose wouldn’t serve a purpose. He uncurled his hand.
“It’s not optimal for me to shadow her, especially without her spotting me,” Bataar explained. “I’m a big Mongolian. Even here in Japan and China, I stick out. Bill’s a white guy. He can move about without notice much better.”
Bataar returned Ben’s stare for a few seconds before adding, “If anything happens to her, I’ll save you the trouble and beat the shit out of myself.”
Ben released his breath. They walked in silence back to the hotel. If Bataar had been a woman, he would probably comment or make inquiries as to what his boss’ anger implied about certain feelings for Kimani. While the masculine and feminine both reside in an individual, Bataar had rarely demonstrated the latter quality save in his mother bear protection of Ben. Although privy to all of Ben’s personal affairs, Bataar had always kept his nose out. He was a sparring partner, not a drinking buddy. He never tried to be anything but the head of Ben’s security detail, not even a friend.
Ben decided to chalk Bataar’s uncharacteristic toe-dipping into the arena of feelings to the motive of giving Ben a hard time just for the hell of it—a normal masculine activity. If Ben didn’t have the tolerance for talking about Kimani with May, his confidante since they were children, he sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about her with Bataar.
If asked, he would admit that Kimani had been fun to hang out with, fun to fuck. Her arse was sweeter than eight-treasure rice. And he should have helped himself to more of it when he’d had the chance. He also felt responsible for her. He had taken her off Jake’s hands, had become her Master. If he hadn’t ticked Jake off so much, Jake might not have taken his aggression out on her because he was too much the pussy to confront the true source of his insecurity.
It all might have turned out better if he had never bought her in the first place. He wouldn’t bet high on that, but what was supposed to have been just a week of harmless sex had turned into a messy complication involving depositions with the Trinity County District Attorney’s office and an earful from his cousin Jason’s father, who had charged Ben with looking after Jason.
“According to our attorney, Jason has nothing to worry about,” Ben had told his uncle.
“The fact that we need an attorney in the first place is unacceptable,” Jason’s father had responded.
Ben couldn’t dispute that. He had failed to keep Jason away from trouble. It didn’t matter that Jake had been Jason’s friend to begin with or that Ben had initially opted out of the Scarlet Auction. Everything got fucked up because he had to have Kimani.
Back at the hotel, Ben decided that swimming laps in the pool might help calm his agitation. Even though he had decided he didn’t like Kimani—not after what she had done—he didn’t want her to come to any harm as a result of his spat with Jake. He didn’t want that on his conscience.
Looking forward to his swim, Ben was taken aback to find his hotel room occupied. Not by the hotel maids or the twins, whom he had bid goodbye to in the morning, but by a slender woman in a hip-hugging scarlet dress. Even sitting down on his bed, she looked all legs. Standing, she would be six-feet tall. Her baps were larger than the last time Ben had seen her, so she must have gotten a second augmentation. Her long black curls were styled like some actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, a skinny Chinese version of Rita Hayworth.
“Eumie,” he greeted, unsurprised that she had gotten access to his hotel room. Women of her beauty—she was aptly named Eu-meh, which meant “especially beautiful”—could get almost anything. He was surprised that she knew he was in Tokyo.
