corporate exec?”
“No. He’s nothing like Lin Yubo.”
Manning raised an eyebrow. “Government service, then? A vice minister, perhaps?”
She adopted a fey expression and turned her face away from him slightly. “I’m really not able to say. What is it you do for Lin Yubo, Jerry?”
Manning grinned. “Whatever he tells me to do.”
She clasped her hands in front of her and looked at him again. “And is that difficult?”
“It depends on what he asks me to do.”
“You said you spend most of your time in Japan? Do you live there, or…?”
He nodded. “I have a residence there, but I also live over in San Francisco. Lots of flights to Japan from here, so it makes for a good home base. I presume you live in China?”
“Hong Kong. Have you been there?”
“Of course. I enjoy it there. Hong Kong’s a bit easier for a foreigner than Japan. It’s more like New York City, only the MTR tends to run on time.”
Meihua laughed. “That it does.” She looked past his shoulder at the big mansion. The courtyard was filling up now as people made their way to the bar.
“It’s interesting that even wealth as great as this is never enough to buy happiness,” she said after a pause.
“You think Lin Yubo is unhappy with his life?”
She looked at him again but didn’t answer immediately. She smiled softly after a time and took a step toward him.
“Do you intend to stay for dinner, Jerry?”
He shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on it, nor do I think I’ve been formally invited. It seems more of a closed affair.”
“I won’t be staying either,” she said. “Ren Yun has already informed me he will not be requiring any additional translation services tonight, as he will remain here with Lin Yubo.”
“Really.” Manning met her gaze for a moment, trying to get a read on her. He presumed that her occupation was a lonely one, as man like Yun Ren required much but usually gave little in return. And for the uninitiated, America could seem a cold, forbidding place.
“Have you seen much of San Francisco?” he asked.
She only shook her head, her eyes still on his. He caught a trace of her perfume, a subtle scent that reminded him of lilacs. The aroma was suddenly arousing, leaving his senses tingling.
“We should find the opportunity to change that, then.”
Ryker stopped his Malibu beside the guard station at the end of the gated driveway and handed the invitation to the security guard on duty. The man checked it against whatever was written on his clipboard, then motioned toward the driveway.
“Valets will take your car,” he said.
“Any chance they’ll lose it?” Ryker asked dryly.
The guard smirked and stepped back into his shack. Ryker took his foot off the brake and accelerated up the winding driveway. It was a long one, and it was not lost on Ryker that Lin had likely chosen the villa for its remoteness. He pulled up at the end of a long covered walkway and stepped out of the car. A Hispanic man in a red vest hurried toward him, and handed him a small card with the number 16 on it. Ryker wondered if a tip was in order, but if it was, the valet didn’t wait for it. He hopped inside Ryker’s car and drove away immediately. Ryker put his hands in his pockets and watched the taillights fade away for a moment, then slowly turned and regarded the mansion behind him. That it was huge and impressive was not surprising. He ambled up the walkway and showed his invitation to the man at the door, and was immediately granted entry. Ryker nodded his thanks and stepped inside the gigantic mansion.
The outright affluence of the entry hall alone was enough to take his breath away. Gleaming marble floors, gold lame on the ceilings, artful wainscoting abounded. Partygoers reveled deeper in the house, and a tuxedoed butler waved Ryker on.
“You’ll find most of the guests in the courtyard, sir.” With his pallor and accent, he could only be British.
“Thanks,” Ryker said. “Is Lin there, as well?”
The butler looked at him with vacant eyes. “Mr. Lin is also present, of course.”
Ryker nodded and headed down the long hallway, hands still in his pockets. He glanced at the artwork on the walls, and found he recognized some of the signatures. It appeared that Lin favored the finer things in life, even if some of those things were mere decorations. It was not lost on Ryker that his entire net worth might not even be enough to fill a simple 6 inch by 6 inch frame.
Slowly, his reluctant feet delivered him to the sprawling courtyard where most of the revelers had congregated. Some of them regarded Ryker with expressions that ranged from near-dismissal to outright interest. From his suit alone, it was obvious he did not fly in the same rarified air as they did. It didn’t take much to determine he was an outsider.
He made his way to the bar and asked what beer was available. He barely recognized some of the names, so he settled on a gin and tonic. He walked toward the pool area, the babble of English and Chinese and even some other languages assaulting his ears. Most of the conversations he couldn’t understand; even those he could were completely uninteresting. Ryker felt lost as he sipped his drink and scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face.
He found one in Manning. The tall man met his gaze from across the courtyard, and he lifted his beer bottle in a gentle salute. He stood with a Chinese woman who looked nothing like Valerie Lin-she was too tall, too hard, and her face was perhaps a touch on the severe side. Ryker nodded back and turned away, looking out at the gleaming vista of San Francisco twinkling in the distance. It was a definite jetliner view. Despite his discomfort, Ryker found it to be a pleasant evening. The slight breeze uncharacteristically warm and dry.
“Didn’t think you’d make it, detective sergeant.”
Ryker turned and found Manning and the Chinese woman were standing behind him. She took in the view while Manning looked at him.
“My dance card was a little empty tonight,” Ryker told him.
“So this isn’t a conflict of interest? You showing up here while you’re in the middle of your investigation?”
Ryker reached into his jacket and pulled out a notebook. “I can interview people here more easily than when I’m rousting them at work or at their homes, right?”
Manning nodded. “So no play for you, eh?”
Ryker shook his head as he slipped the notebook back inside his jacket. “Unlikely.” He looked at the woman standing next to Manning. Her gaze was cool.
“Maggie Shi, meet Detective Sergeant Ryker. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your first name-”
“Hal,” Ryker said, extending his hand toward Maggie. “Hal Ryker. Pleased to meet you, Miss Shi.” He couldn’t quite pronounce the name the same way Manning had, and he wondered if that would be considered insulting.
“Good evening, Mr. Ryker. What brings you here?” Her grip was strong and firm, nothing dainty about it.
Ryker didn’t know how to answer that. “Police business,” he muttered.
“Oh? What business is that?”
“Ryker’s investigating what happened to Lin Yubo’s son,” Manning said softly.
Her expression did not change, but her eyes remained on Ryker for a long moment, sizing him up. The examination did little to make him feel at ease.
“It would be wrong of you to use this night to your advantage,” she said finally.
Ryker sipped his drink and glanced at Manning. “The law never sleeps, Miss Shi.”
“Of course not. But you should respect Lin Yubo, and not use this occasion to treat the people attending this
