Samurai Game (GhostWalkers #10)(90)
Author: Christine Feehan

Confusion burst through her. Azami gripped Frankie tightly, fisting his belt, as shock poured through her. The man wore Whitney’s face, but no way was that him. She’d recognize his scent and would recognize the energy surrounding him anywhere. The real Whitney felt “mad” to her. Insane. This man had to be a patsy, a double, someone placed here to draw her out, and she’d nearly fallen for it. She continued to stumble along with Frankie, bile in her throat as she realized she’d nearly blown everything in her eagerness to kill Whitney.

The men’s room was looming close. Now she had to get back to her table and recover her purse and get the original job done. Furious with herself, she flicked a slight kick to the back of Frankie’s knee as he took a step forward. He stumbled and both of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Azami cried out, a pitiful sob, and rolled away from Frankie. She was going to have to incapacitate him without appearing to do so, return to the table, collect her purse, and ensure Melanie’s death without drawing any suspicion to her.

She glanced toward Whitney’s table. He was talking to the bodyguard on his left. Her heart jumped again. Could she be wrong? She hadn’t seen him in years, not since the trauma of her childhood. In profile this man looked exactly like Whitney, even to the curious reptilian way he moved his head. She couldn’t make a mistake and kill an innocent man. He might be duped into posing as Whitney without knowing just what Whitney was like. Most people didn’t know.

Several waiters rushed toward the couple on the floor. Frankie moaned and started to sit up, the effects of the drug making his mind slow and fuzzy. He looked very drunk. She sat, trying to look dignified and offended. The bodyguard Whitney had spoken with loomed over her, offering his hand.

“Frank, on your feet, now.” His voice was filled with authority. “And start drinking coffee.” He pulled Azami to her feet and dusted her off before the waiters got to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Are you all right?”

“She’s a f**kin’ escort,” Frankie hissed, slurring his words.

“Most of the women in here right now are,” the man snapped. “Go back to your table and we’ll deal with this later.”

Whitney would never have sent someone to rescue a woman, especially one he would consider a whore. She tugged her dress down and smoothed back her hair, trying to look as if she was affronted.

“I’m leaving. I just need to get my purse,” she said, loud enough for the waiter to hear. “I’ve never been treated like this before.” She pushed through the little knot of men and stormed past Whitney’s table without glancing at him. She was certain the man was nothing more than a double.

“You’d better handle this, Frank,” the bodyguard commanded.

Frank stumbled after her, apologizing as he caught up with her. “I don’t know what got into me, Lila,” he said, but his eyes burned with anger. “Stay and finish your dinner at least.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, loud enough for Melanie and Sheila to overhear. “And I want to leave.”

Frank caught her wrist and twisted hard. “You little bitch,” he hissed. “I paid for you. You’re going to sit in that chair and eat your food and smile at me and when we leave here, I’m going to teach you a lesson you’re never going to forget.”

She knew Melanie and Sheila overheard him. Both of them giggled like schoolgirls. Azami teetered back toward their table, stumbling when Frank yanked her, knocking into Melanie as she did so.

Melanie shoved her hard back toward Frank. “You’re not much of a man if you can’t handle that,” she taunted, deliberately fanning Frank’s anger.

Azami moved with blurring speed, sliding one hand over Melanie’s arm as she stumbled back into Frank, her hands so fast, neither Melanie nor Sheila saw her.

Melanie scowled and rubbed her forearm. “Women like that give me the creeps.”

“She’s just making a living, Mel,” Sheila pointed out. “Just like us. If you hadn’t helped me, that could have been me.”

Melanie nudged her with a little grin. “But you like sex. You would have gone into the men’s room with him.”

Both women burst out laughing. “Bitch,” Sheila said.

Azami settled into her seat and brushed back her hair with a shaking hand, looking up at Frank imploringly through long lashes. “I just wish to go home.”

“Well, you’re not going home. You’re going to do what I tell you to do.” He pulled out his cell phone and, staring into her eyes, spoke into the phone. “Yeah, buddy. It’s me. You feel like partying with a little china doll tonight?”

Azami thought it was a miracle she managed not to roll her eyes. She was Japanese, not Chinese.

“Yeah, I got one that needs a little lesson in manners. I want her f**ked up and begging to do anything I tell her by the time we’re through. Are you in?”

Azami took a sip of her wine. She thought about making another scene, throwing the wine in his face, and stalking out. She knew she could get away with it, and it was what she should do. The poison absorbing into Melanie’s skin right now would take time to work. She’d be long gone when Melanie died, and no one would connect her to the woman’s death, but now Frankie boy had just managed to bring her nasty little temper out.

There were several women in the room from the escort service she’d used for her cover. Any one of them could have drawn Frank as their customer for the evening. She knew it was a hazard of their business, but still, the man was in serious need of a lesson in manners.

“We’ll meet you out in the alley behind the restaurant. It will be fun.” Frank snapped his phone closed and grinned at her. “Won’t it, little china doll? We’ll have a fun time partying. You’ll like my buddy, Ross. He’s has a thing for women like you.”

Sheila nudged Melanie. “They’re going to hurt that girl,” she whispered.

“So what?” Melanie shrugged. “She’s probably used to it. She wouldn’t be in that business if she didn’t like it a little rough. You just told me Sam Johnson is coming home in a coffin and yet you’re all sad about a little ho. Are you going soft on me or what?”

Sheila shrugged. “I guess it reminds me of my childhood.”

“Well, stop. You’re so far above that little whore,” Melanie stated. “Do you want coffee and dessert or shall we call it a night? They have that chocolate volcano thing I love.”