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“Yes.”
“Have you reached out to the owner? Matsudo’s his name? Is he willing to sell it?”
Rafe frowns, and his tone grows stern. “It’s not his to sell.”
“Do you think he’ll give it back?”
“I’ve reached out to the Matsudo family through an intermediary, though I didn’t expect much from a family like theirs.”
I hear some bitterness in his voice. I suppose I would find it hard to be unemotional given what happened to Rafe’s family.
“I’m told the figurine is his most prized possession,” Rafe continues.
“Then how would you...are you going to steal it?”
“I plan to take back what belongs to my family.”
“How?”
“I haven’t decided yet. How would you try to steal it?”
“First, I’d want to know where he keeps the figurine. Is it in a bank vault or a safe in his home?”
“He wears it around his neck, even when he sleeps.”
“Really?”
“At least that’s his plan when he arrives in San Francisco. He’s staying at the penthouse at The Montclair. The jade figurine is the only piece not being handled by museum security. The hotel offered to make accommodations to keep the figurine of Madam Yang safe, but he declined their offer.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know a lot about Matsudo. I know he rarely deviates from his breakfast of grilled mackerel, miso soup, and tsukemono. He bets high when he gambles. And he likes petite blonds. Kind of like you.”
“Oh. Is he not married?”
“Heismarried. To a Japanese actress. But that doesn’t stop him from indulging in his fetish for blonds.”
“If he has the figurine on his person the whole time, that makes it hard. Does he have a bodyguard?”
“Three of them.”
“You have more men than that. You could take down three bodyguards.”
“I could. It would have to be done discreetly, though. I’m not looking to make a big show of things.”
“Since you don’t have a problem taking people’s lives, why don’t you just...you know, and get the jade figurine when he can’t put up a fight anymore?”
“Because I want him to suffer the agony of losing his most prized possession.”
“As revenge for what his father did?” I ask.
“Not just that.” The dark undercurrent in his tone makes me afraid to ask. Rafe looks at the food between us. “Have you tried your mac and cheese yet?”
I shake my head and dig my fork into the creamy pasta. “Omigod,” I say after taking a bite. “This is other-level mac and cheese.”
Rafe smiles. A genuine smile. Wineglass in hand, he sits back and watches me eat.
“Aren’t you going to have any?” I inquire after several mouthfuls.
