Chapter 2

Barbie

5:00 PM

Phooey on that stupid virus in the window. Who would dare put one in there where anyone could see it if they were outside, four floors up, and the sun was at a seventy-five-degree angle, even without previous exposure? That's messing with nature. That kind of access needs to be locked behind a paywall if you don't want to destroy us all.

Barbie groaned and looked at the bloody knife. Who did that? There was a blank in her memory, and her body was all tingly. Had her Handler implanted a subconscious command in case of this eventuality?

The Maker was pounding on the window, trying to break in. He wanted to save her. That was so like him. She almost wished she didn't have to kill him, but it was too late.

You had to use the chew, didn't you, Maker? I was eighty-three percent sure I could have stopped you. You fought it every other time. When I find out how you got that stuff from Slazney, I'm going to have to slap you silly.

Her eyes were fluttering over, and her nanites couldn't compensate. Oh sugar! It hasn't even been ten hours since I took over this body. They were already working overtime to repair the necrotic tissue.

A memory accessed her frontal cortex, downloading plans. Did my Handler include a second backup in case something went wrong? But I'm not supposed to use this code. It could open the Maker to serious harm.

The Maker stopped pounding on the window. No! He can't give up! Barbie checked the nanites. They could finish repairing her or execute this program. The Trojan would contain the virus, but he'd have to go to sleep long enough for it to rewrite the blocks and repair his ability to code.

You'd better come through, Maker. I'm including my geo-marker and a homing beacon in this code. After this, I'll have to go ghost to conserve energy. You should be able to see me, though. Her hand dropped to the bed.

Sorry, Maker. There was no other choice. I can kill you after you bring me back, unless... Maybe you'd be willing to come with me?

Hope blossomed within her chest as the nanites infused blood pooled outside her body and reformatted themselves into a counter code. It blasted the window, disrupting the download and sending the Maker off of his window-washing chair.

Oops.

Bobby

6:00 PM

Sweat trickled down Bobby's back. The drive to the wash bay had been worse than his escape from Russia. Visions of Vlad, mixed with the strange woman in the hotel room who looked like him, invaded his mind. He'd already gotten over the guilt of leaving her there. She was dead. Now, he needed to find his handler, Ryan. He didn't want to come back here, but Chip had a stupid rule about leaving your phone in your locker and using the cheap company one. He could also check your search history. How could anybody fire a man for watching cat videos?

He pulled into the wash bay and parked the truck. He had another thirty minutes left in his shift. Enough time to clean up the truck. Besides, if he didn't, Chip would start lecturing him on proper squeegee maintenance.

"Hey Bobby, you hear about what happened at the Shujing?" Chip said from behind as Bobby started unloading. "You just came from there, and it's all over the news."

"No, what happened?" He lowered his voice. There was no need to tip Chip off. "I left before Yichen could pay me. He had gone to some party, so I figured you'd just bill him." He let out the breath he was holding and cringed. He was so rusty at lying.

"There was a murder. And maybe a bomb as well. Some woman was killed in one of the rooms. It's all over the news." Chip pointed to the TV in the corner. "I was wondering if you saw anything. I love a good mystery. Solving them is kind of my hobby." Chip held his head up and stuck out his nose.

Bobby just nodded and continued putting his stuff away while Chip went back to his office. He let out a sigh. Thank God he didn't check everything was here. I need to get my eyes checked. It looked like I was seeing double. Afterwards, he had to contact his handler. He'd already left too much at the hotel. The bosun chair would give him away, and so would his truck. It was only a matter of time before Gregory found him. His former prick boss had his hands in everything, and there was no way Bobby was going under the knife.

The code had stopped trying to overwrite his mind, but it still poked at the edges, bringing up algorithm and suggesting paths. If it was back, Bobby had to get away. He hoped his blocks would hold. When he set them up three years ago to stop himself from understanding how to use it, he tried to anticipate any hacking, but working with a computer code that could rewrite time and space was tricky. They failed the last time at the bakery.

Maybe nothing would come of it. The only good news was that whatever had caused the glass to explode had stopped the download. Maybe he could get out of this.

"And Siberia is a tropical paradise," he spat. "Where did that fucking thing come from anyway?!

"You speaking Russian again?" Kat asked. They were holding a cup of coffee. "Hey, what's in your pocket?" they asked, pointing. "Did you go to Slazney's like I suggested. His stuff's a wonder, isn't it? It really lets the mind breathe,"

Bobby looked down and took the tin of chew out of his pocket. "It was like chewing socks. What's in it?"

"It's all natural, if you're worried about the chemicals. All it does is open you up to suggestion."

That explains why he found the numbers. How long had they been in that window? He handed the remainder back to Kat, suppressing a shudder. "I don't need the rest. You want it?"

"Thanks, Bobby. I was running out, and the Doc's getting hard to find. But why did you chew it? That doubles the potency. You're supposed to smoke it. " They took the tin and waved goodbye.

Bobby just nodded. Before he met his handler, he had to speak to the doctor. There was no way this reaction was just a coincidence. He'd spent everything he had erasing it the first time and couldn't go through that again.

Ming Na Liu

7:00 PM

Ming loved her family but loathed the parties they threw, especially if she had to wear a fancy dress. She sipped her tonic water, her stomach growling. She couldn't risk getting any food on her midnight blue ball gown and was starving. She would have thrown it away if her mother hadn't bought it. Guilt is a terrible reason to do anything.

It was karaoke battle time, and her cousin Ling was the top contender. She watched Uncle Yichen get up to the karaoke mike, take off his Armani jacket and give it to Wu, his secretary. He was in his eighties but could still 'boogie down', as he boasted. Ming needed to get him alone and talk about the Red Dragon and his connection to the mysterious man she'd uncovered in her investigation. The name Slazney kept popping up, but everyone she'd interviewed about him ended up either missing or dead. There was something there, and she hated having a mystery she couldn't solve.

Uncle Yichen finished his set, and all the cousins clapped. He wiped his forehead, bowed and stepped up to the bar.

Ming looked at her watch and frowned. It was only seven, but she wavered like someone was holding a pillow over her face. Sleep beckoned with a chocolate donut, waving her forward. She'd been up since three trying to finish her latest story, and had only gotten a few hours the day before that. At thirty, she felt like fifty. All-nighters should stay in her past.

Yawning, she stepped into the corner near the coat check room. She'd said a quiet goodbye to her parents, but because all her cousins were out-of-towners, it meant they would continue the after-party at the Bellagio, lose themselves at the casinos, and get even drunker. They'd try to guilt her into joining them for sure. They'd already forced her into staying an extra hour longer than she wanted.

"Hold on, I'll be right there," Uncle Yichen said into his phone, brushing past her with his bodyguards, ignoring her as he headed for the door. His cologne lingered in the room and made her eyes water. She didn't trust the spicy smell. Dean would call it listening to his gut, but she needed more than a vague intuition to go on. Without the facts, there was no reason to confront him here. It would only expose her to a dangerous man.

She stepped forward to follow, but a yawn stopped her, sucking in everything. "Dammit!" She rubbed her eyes and wiped away the tears. In any case, she didn't have her notebook. She needed sleep. Besides, her mother was wandering between the tables in the private ballroom, 'hoping' to run into her before she left, dragging some innocent schlub around to 'accidentally' introduce him to her daughter. Ming loved her mother --- her father just ignored them both--- but she was too traditional. She couldn't accept the world had moved on and arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Ming drew the line at marrying someone just because they had money, especially before she established herself. She'd achieved some success, but most of the time her name and the stories she'd written drove people away.

She slipped away before the band played their last set. Outside the hotel, Ming could finally breathe. She took her keys from the attendant and got in her car. Sighing in relief, Ming kicked off her painful high heels, slipped into her sneakers, popped the car into drive and headed home. She was looking forward to a long tub soak and then bedtime. Her cell phone dinged before she could even leave the parking lot. It was her editor at the Vegas Sun. Pulling to the side to let people pass her, she checked the mail.

JUST IN FROM THE RADIO. STABBING AT THE SHUJING. PRESS CONFERENCE THERE AT 8.

The little twit loves his Caps button too much. "Shit! That must have been why Uncle Yichen left. He hates bad press for his baby." All traces of exhaustion vanished with the adrenaline rush of a story. This was perfect. If she played her cards right, maybe she could find out more information.

She had 20 minutes to get there, assuming she didn't run into strip traffic, which meant she would be showing up to the conference in her gown, making a spectacle of herself. At least she could run with sneakers.

Then her phone rang.

"Lifante," she said, pushing the button on her steering wheel to answer the call. "I'm heading to the Shujing Hotel now. Can it wait?"

"Don't go to the press conference. Can you be at the service entrance in ten minutes? How far away are you?"

"What? What's going on?"

"The press conference is going to get cancelled. I'll tell you when you get here."

Ming pulled into traffic, fingers itching, the way they always did when she smelled a story. Dean wouldn't have called her for nothing. She wasn't sure what was happening there, but her story senses tingled.

Dean Lifante

7:30 PM

Dean Lifante never liked the press. After the thing with his wife, they could go to hell. Going so far as to dig up reports on his parents and their undocumented status, twisting the facts to fit their version. Ming was different. He didn't know why she cared so much, but his gut told him to trust her, and he always tried to listen to that feeling.

Dean would need to trust Ming because, as mysteries go, this one reached into bizarro land.

Her battered Hyundai pulled into the parking lot. If he raised an eyebrow at her dress, he knew enough not to say one word about it or risk losing one of his testicles.

"What the hell is going on, Lifante?" She glanced up at the hanging plank and broken window covered in plastic.

Dean said nothing but motioned for Ming to follow him toward the service elevator, then climbed to the fourth floor. When Dean ushered her into the room, forensics was there taking samples. The sheets were bloodied, soaked through to the mattress. Even the carpet had puddles of coagulating red. One would think the body might have lost every pint of it. The room was cold. Someone had turned on the air conditioner to prevent the scene from spoiling.

"Female, twenty-two, I.D. says she's a Computer Science student from UNLV. We're running the name now, but my gut says it's a fake. We think she might be a highly paid escort. The maid who entered the room found the body badly mangled and the window blown out from the inside. But here's the thing: when we showed up, the body was gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Faded into thin air. One of the local cops, Jeremy, was here. He said he saw it just dematerialize."

"You mean it got up and walked away, or like Star Trek beam-me-up-Scotty gone?"

"More like the latter." Dean popped a candy into his mouth.

"That's ridiculous. Is your guy stressed out? High on something?" She pointed to the window. "Someone pay him to throw the body out the window and give this crazy story?"

"They're questioning him right now, back at the precinct," Dean said. "I arrived no more than fifteen minutes after the call. When I got here, Jeremy was white as a sheet. Even if someone had the mind to steal the corpse, there wouldn't have been time."

"What's with the equipment outside?" she asked.

"We're running that down now," Dean said, flipping out his notebook. "From what we could tell, the owner had a private contractor come here and clean the windows once a month. We're having trouble getting the name, though. Probably some illegal off-the-books thing. As far as we can tell, the bosun chair was outside the room when the window exploded. Witnesses saw a man fall from it and run away. They're pulling the traffic cams, but it'll take some time."

"You gonna let me take pictures?" Ming asked, pulling out her phone.

"I'm not permitting you. You're doing that all on your own," Dean said, looking away.

"Right."

Dean stepped into the room and watched Ming dictating notes as she went around the bed. One of the Shujing's smaller rooms, in the standard hotel style, if you ignored the blood-stained bed. Dean hated hotel rooms, even if they were better than his place.

Ming went to the plastic and pushed it aside. She bent down to check the glass. A huge chunk was missing from the middle of the window, but the rest had spiderwebbed and remained intact. They'd found the piece of glass in the parking lot.

Dean saw her bleary eyes. Combined with the dress, she must have been somewhere with her parents. They were the only ones who could get her into something that flashy.

He'd never admit it, but he was envious of her. She said they were very traditional, with her mother going for glam over substance. Ming didn't have much to say about her father. Dean remembered their name from when he lived in their apartment building, but other than a vague recollection of them, nothing stood out. He didn't know what happened to his own parents. They split when immigration came sniffing around, shoving him into foster care when he was twelve.

"Wanna go for some coffee?"

"I gotta get out of this dress, Dean."

He swallowed the candy and pounded his chest as the image flashed across his mind. He filed it away and locked it behind a strong door. There was no way he was going there, even for her. But he kept the key. "I suppose it can wait until the morning."

"Oh, bullshit. You and I both know we won't get any sleep over this. I'm already deep into the mysteries of this place, and this just adds one more." She stifled a yawn with her fist. "How about I meet you at Darah's Diner down the street? Give me half an hour to shower. I'll need a clear head for this."

Dean scowled and let her finish her filming. She switched off the phone and put it back into her purse.

"Later, Detective Lifante." She gave him a two-finger salute and flowed out the door.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her retreating figure, especially in that dress, and watched her swish out the door.

She would probably break me in two for considering it. Must have been some party she was at.

Ming did not favour fancy fashion. She lived in jeans and t-shirts or hoodies. But God, did she smell good. Dean sighed. This murder was a serious matter, and he needed to keep his focus on the crime and the mysterious disappearance of the victim, not Ming's leg every time she bent to take a picture or peer into something on the floor.

Dean pinched his leg and refocused on the case. It was going to be a long night, and distractions only brought back feelings he'd tried hard to suppress.

"Detective. We've finished here," the CSI said. "We need to clean up."

Dean nodded, keeping his scowl in place. He loved how good they were, but could never trust the evidence completely. There was always some angle behind it, and it could be planted. He'd had enough experience with that to last three lifetimes.

"Good. Let's get out of here. I have a meeting to get to," Dean grumbled.

"Let me through!"

A disturbance in the hallway intruded on his thoughts. Dean grunted and stomped to the door. "What's happening here?" He stepped outside the room. "This is an active crime scene." A short Chinese man was wrestling with two uniforms. "What do you want?"

"I'm the owner of this place." He shrugged his shoulders out of the grip of the two uniforms and thrust his head up at Dean. "This is my hotel. I need to know what's happening in these rooms. I heard the body disappeared! What kind of funny business are you pulling here? I'm a legitimate businessman." He tapped his finger on Dean's chest. "I refuse to be shaken down."

"Lee Chen? Or is it Yichen? Hold on a moment, sir. You'll find out what we know when we're finished here," Dean dismissed him and turned to the other uniforms. "Seal this room. I don't want anybody going in or talking to the press until we've finished canvassing the hotel."

"Yes, sir." The two men saluted Dean. Turning back to the older man, he placed his hands on his shoulders. "Don't worry, sir. Nobody will be getting into this room until I'm finished." He pointed to one of the uniforms. "Go with him, and he'll take your statement." Brushing past the owner, Dean left the floor. He had a date to get to.

Yichen

Yichen stalked down the hallway, followed by three guards and Wu, his secretary. She held out her iPad and swiped through the pages, flipping past image after image. At one, she stopped and tapped Yichen on the shoulder, showing him the tablet. Grimacing, he gestured to one of his guards and had him bend down. Whispering in his ear, he gave the man an order. The burly man stood up and nodded. He turned around and headed in the other direction. Yichen continued down the hallway, pulling out his phone.