Rabbit in the Moon Read online

  Now all she wanted was escape. As she backed away, her arms brushed a shelf of glasswear, sending a beaker crashing to the floor. Everyone turned at the echoing noise, including Dylan. By then Lili was out the door, missing Dylan’s anguished expression and Elaine’s triumphant smile.

  Macao

  The stack of chips that three hours earlier towered all around David Kim had dwindled to very few. Without counting David figured he’d won $110,000 and lost $200,000, so he was down $90,000. Still, he wasn’t panicked. Not yet.

  “Do you feel lucky, my friend?” asked the mustachioed man, pouring David another glass of champagne.

  The others at the table had already dropped out, having anted up everything they had into the pool. David downed the bubbly liquid in one thirsty gulp. It was his fourth glass and his head felt pleasantly light. He was still in control. Just. Words slightly slurred. “Whadju have in mind?”

  “A private wager. Just between us. Only corner bets. One hundred grand. Loser pays three to one.” He motioned to the Eurasian beauty who emptied the silk sack into her lap.

  Slowly, almost sensually, David thought, she counted out one thousand chips while, equally slowly, the fat man scooped them from her, then placed them on the left-hand corner of the joker nearest the banker. That meant four was his winning number.

  “Well?” The man took a long drag on his cigarillo and blew smoke across the table.

  David felt a familiar rush, the sense of excitement he always experienced at moments like this; the incomparable gambler poised on the very edge. He knew his luck was about to change. It had to. “I’ll have to write a check.” He produced his most engaging smile. “I’ve got a sweet deal going guaranteed to make millions. No billions.” He laughed, holding his finger to his lips. “Shh, it’s a secret.”

  “No checks, only cash,” the banker declared.

  David pulled a leather pouch from his pocket and removed a small case containing a pad of red ink and a stamp that constituted his legal signature. “My tojang,” he explained, pushing it toward the fat man. “My father is the president of Kim Company. In three months I take over.” He smiled. “Believe me, I’m good for the money.”

  The man blew a blue smoke ring past him. “I’m sure you are,” he said, inspecting the tojang, then nodded to the banker who handed David $100,000 in chips.

  With as much calm as he could muster, David placed his bet on the right-hand corner nearest the banker. It didn’t matter that his father would never back his bet. His number would come up. David felt it in his bones.

  All eyes were on the Eurasian beauty as she thoroughly shuffled the deck, then handed the cards to the banker who cut a large packet off the top and began counting off the cards in groups of four. When he could no longer count a complete set of four cards, the cards remaining would determine the winning number.

  David watched with growing excitement. Come on 2, he prayed.

  L.A. Medical

  Dylan caught up with Lili on the ward after rounds. “I need to talk to you!”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Well you found me.” Lili was walking so fast, Dylan could barely keep up.

  “What you saw — it wasn’t what it seemed.”

  “No need to explain.”

  “Look, I know you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset.” Lili fabricated a smile. “Forget it.” She turned the corner.

  “Do you still want Mr. Sanderson’s IV to run KVO?” a floor nurse asked as she passed the nurses’ station.

  “No, he’s stable. You can DC it, “ Lili replied. “Oh, and why don’t you move him in with Mr. Martinez? I’ve got an admission through the ER that’s going to need isolation.”

  “The Sanderson family ordered a private room,” the nurse stated.

  “Tell them Dr. Quan’s orders.” Lili grabbed the patient’s chart to write her note, then hurried down the hall toward the elevator. Dylan was still at her heels.

  When she reached it, Dylan spun her around to face him, his arms firm on her shoulders as if afraid that she would dart again. “Lili, listen to me. Elaine Morgan knew you were there. Ever since I came to L.A. Medical she’s been coming on to me. I haven’t encouraged her, but Elaine is not a lady who likes to lose. Then last night she saw us together, not to mention your one-upping her at the party.” His eyes met hers. “She set us both up.”

  Lili laughed at his earnestness. Raked over the coals by Trenton and her career in jeopardy, somehow the scene between Dylan and Elaine was not only comical, but downright irrelevant. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “So I’m forgiven?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Right?”

  “Right.” His smile reflected genuine relief. “Then we’re on for dinner?”

  “As long as you’re cooking.”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “Your place.”

  Neither Dylan nor Lili noticed Dr. Trenton standing just beyond the nurses’ station, frowning as he watched them together.

  Macao

  “Number four wins.”

  There must be a mistake.

  David’s expression reflected disbelief. Certain he would win, he’d bet everything. The lovely, lightheaded feeling became a dreadful pounding in his skull. Jesus, he thought. I’m ruined. Father will disinherit me.

  “I can’t pay,” he whispered, as much to himself as to his opponent who threw back his head and laughed.

  “Can’t pay?” It was the maniacal laugh of a man on the edge.

  Others around the table laughed with him.

  “You would tell Paulo Ng you cannot pay a debt?”

  David recognized the owner of the casino. Everyone had heard stories of the bastard son of a Portuguese sailor and the Chinese peasant girl whose family had sold her into prostitution rather than face the indignity of bankruptcy. As a child, Ng’s mixed blood had made him an easy victim. Before he was out of short pants, Ng had stored up enough bitterness to make him dangerous and volatile.

  In the back alleys of Macao, from pickpocket to self-made tycoon, Ng was reputed to have made millions smuggling anything the market would bear: gold, weapons, opium. He was also said to be ruthless.

  “I’m a little short of cash at the moment,” David stammered.

  “That’s not an excuse I can accept.” The voice was cold as ice. He turned to the Eurasian beauty. “Camille, our young friend looks like he could use a good night’s sleep. Find him a nice room upstairs. A little rest and I’m sure he’ll think of a way to settle his account.”

  The woman reached into her bag and handed David a card that read: Macao Association of Exporters and an address.

  “My villa,” Ng said. “Meet me there tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “And if I don’t?” David asked softly.

  Ng’s eyes became fierce. Anger tweaked the corner of his mouth. “Thinking of not coming?” He slowly poured himself some champagne. “Do you hear that?” he asked as the liquid bubbled from the bottle and drained into his glass. “This will be like the sound of your life running out.”

  Standing, the other men at the table followed.

  “I think I will retire for the evening.” Although Ng smiled, his words were anything but friendly: “Ten sharp or you die.”

  Long after Ng and his entourage had left the casino, David could still hear the sound of his maniacal laughter.

  Los Angeles, California

  7:00 p.m.

  “You’re really a good cook,” Lili declared as they relaxed on the couch in Dylan’s sparsely furnished living room after dinner. He’d moved recently. Everything except a few books and kitchen utensils were still in boxes. “Caesar salad. Coq au vin. Even fresh flowers on the table. I’m impressed.”

  “Next time a little more thyme in the chicken, a little less garlic.” Dylan affected a French accent. “Le sauce — she is supposed to marry, never dominate.”

 
; “Well, I’m no gourmet,” Lili admitted, “but I thought it was perfect. Even the wine is delicious,” she said, taking another sip. “Is it French?”

  “French? My dear I’ll have you know you’re drinking one of California’s finest late-harvest Rieslings — a very rare dessert wine. The grapes were grown just north of San Francisco in the Napa Valley. To get the sweet flavor, the wine maker must leave the Riesling grapes on the vine hoping for a warm, light rain that will sometimes cause a beneficial mold, Botrytis cinerea, to form on the grape skins.”

  “And what happens if the mold doesn’t form?”

  “In that case, the rainwater is absorbed into the grape roots of the wines, swelling the berries and decreasing their concentration. That yields a thin wine that would sell for far less. Of course, a really heavy rain could wipe out the crop altogether.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  “Yes,” he said raising his glass to inspect the golden-colored liquid, “but if the wine maker is willing to take that risk and he’s lucky, the result is a luscious complex sweet wine highly prized by connoisseurs.”

  “To a prize worth the risk,” Lili said, emptying her wineglass for the second time.

  “A little more?”

  Lili nodded, feeling more relaxed than she had all day. Relaxed enough to tell him about her run-ins with Trenton. Sure of his endorsement, his reaction stunned her.

  Dylan listened, then leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. “Talk about risk taking. Challenging Trenton. Especially in front of housestaff. Were you trying to commit medical suicide?”

  “Trenton’s the one that lost his cool, not me.”

  Dylan leveled clear blue eyes at her. “Lili, If there’s one thing I’ve learned about medicine, it’s that you go with the flow or drown. Trenton’s a powerful guy. Why go out of your way to upset him?”

  “Trenton may be powerful, but he’s not omnipotent.”

  “He’s well connected. That means he gets millions of dollars in grant money and that, my dear, makes him omnipotent at L.A. Medical.”

  “Don’t you think he was wrong about Mrs. Manley?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “To me it is. Corny as it may sound, Dylan, I became a doctor to save lives. It scares me to see bureaucrats like Trenton making decisions about patients based on their finances, not their health.”

  “Welcome to the age of cost containment.”

  Shaking her head. “Never.”

  Dylan sighed. “How did such a beautiful, brainy kid like you get so naïve?”

  “I didn’t go to the school of hard knocks like you,” she retorted.

  “You want to view the world as black and white, good guys and bad guys, right and wrong. It’s not that simple.”

  “It is if you’re right.”

  He shook his head. “Beautiful, naïve, and hardheaded. Just my luck. I had to go and fall for a real woman of the ’80s.” He smiled. “Dr. Quan. Could I be in love?”

  Lili was caught off guard. She searched Dylan’s face, half expecting mockery, but the blue eyes were guileless, the smile on his handsome face sincere. For a long moment she stared directly at him. Her heart was hammering. His arm was around her lightly. It tightened. He kissed her, gently at first, then with more urgency. She wanted to respond — did, then pulled away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  “Want to talk about him?”

  As if reading her mind. “What?”

  “The guy that hurt you?”

  Flustered: “How did you —”

  “How did I know? You have it written all over that beautiful, vulnerable face of yours.”

  Lili looked directly at him. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Seems you haven’t gotten over it.”

  Lili cocked her head. “Does one ever get over rejection?” she sighed. “I met Brock Hampstead in Boston. He was at Harvard studying economics, I was at Wellesley delving into American lit. We were inseparable. Even talked about marriage. Then I met his mother.”

  “And she felt you didn’t fit into the pedigree?”

  “The Hampsteads are a Mayflower family. Brock’s mother was a Daughter of the American Revolution. To my face she couldn’t have been more charming. Offered me tea and cucumber sandwiches on her best china. Then she sent me into the kitchen on some invented errand while she had a heart-to-heart with her son.”

  “I take it you eavesdropped.”

  Lili nodded. “Told him she had nothing against minorities. After all, she said, many of the people who worked in the Hampstead Mills were lovely blacks, Spanish, even Orientals. When I returned from the kitchen, Brock and I were no longer a couple.”

  “Brock’s loss.”

  She shrugged. “It never would have worked anyway.”

  “How so?”

  “Brock hated Hemingway.”

  A questioning look from Dylan.

  “He was a business major. Except for the Wall Street Journal, he read nothing but TV Guide. He thought my studying American Literature was a waste of time.”

  “I have a confession to make,” Dylan said seriously.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m a nut for The Old Man and the Sea.”

  She looked at him. “Why?”

  “A test for prospective suitors?”

  “No, I’m always curious about why people like his work.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Why? I guess because the old man wins. He gets the fish.”

  “But the sharks eat it.”

  “Still a win.”

  “You know they say that Hemingway felt man always loses in the end, but what really counts is how he conducts himself while he’s being destroyed.”

  “I see. Does that mean that I am destined to lose if I try to kiss you tonight?”

  Lili laughed.

  “You have a nice laugh. You should make a habit of it.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She didn’t move away and he pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Lili — please.” He kissed her face and her lips and her hands and she felt herself wanting to give in to her feelings. To let go. She was definitely attracted to Dylan; the idea of being near someone was appealing. Still, something made her push away.

  “I’m not afraid,” she whispered. “Not of you. It’s me. I’m not ready.”

  “I understand.”

  For a moment Lili felt a little disappointed he wasn’t persistent.

  “I understand for now. But you owe me a dinner.”

  She smiled. “That’s a promise.”

  Macao

  A casino bouncer escorted Camille and David to an upstairs suite. After showing them in, the three-hundred-pound former Sumi wrestler left the two alone. David had no doubt that the giant was still close by, probably just outside the door. Damn. It hadn’t been a good night.

  Camille headed for the oak-paneled bar at the far end of the opulent living room, turned, and smiled. “What are you drinking?”

  David’s head was spinning from too much champagne. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “The evening is still young,” Camille protested, filling two glasses with brandy. She hovered over the drinks so David never saw the white powder she poured into his glass. By the time she offered it to him, the particles had dissolved completely. “I’d like to get to know you better.” Her look was full of sexual promise.

  A frequent visitor to Macao’s brothels, David had no illusions about Camille’s trade. Still, so few girls came close to her beauty. She was strictly high-class. “Tangshinun yeppum nida.” Very pretty.

  “Kamsa hamnida. Thank you, sir.” She raised her glass. “Now what shall we drink to?”

  “Ihaehaseyo?

  “Sure I understand you. I spoke Korean and French as a baby.”

  “Oh?”

  “My mother was from Pusan, my father was from Marseilles. I also speak some Portuguese, Chinese, English, even a little Russian. It’s a big world out there,” she said huskily. �
�You never know when a word will come in handy.” She touched his glass with hers. “To money.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” he laughed, taking a long pull.

  “It sounds like you’re going to have a lot soon.”

  “Tashi malssum hae chuseyo?”

  “Money. That deal you mentioned in the casino. You said you were going to make millions.”

  “I have a big mouth when I drink.”

  She watched him from under long, thick eyelashes. “How about another?”

  He focused on her lips for several moments, fascinated by how slowly the words were forming.

  “Another?” she asked again.

  “I . . . no . . .” He was starting to feel strange — as though every sense had been heightened: the bittersweet taste of the liquid on his tongue, the melodious sound of her voice, even the beating of his own heart lub-dubbing like a drum in his chest. He loosened his tie. “It’s hot in here.”

  “Why don’t you get comfortable?” she purred, turning down the lights and flipping on soft radio music. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  The room was all bed — king-size with pale blue satin sheets and a real mink coverlet. David hadn’t removed his jacket and sat down on the bed before Camille appeared at the doorway with a second dose of her potion.

  “You know, it is hot in here,” she said, handing him the drink. Smiling, she unzipped her tight dress, slipped it off her shoulders, and let it slide down to her ankles. “That’s better.”

  She wore a strapless bra, black lace garter belt, and silk stockings, which she removed with the slow allure of a striptease while David watched, totally hypnotized. First she unhooked the bra and dropped it to the floor revealing high, round breasts with nipples the color of milk chocolate, and a waist so tiny he felt he could encircle it with his hands. Never taking her eyes off him, she put one of her fingers in her mouth, sucked on it, then rubbed the wet tip over each nipple, until both were hard and pointing.