Kyrie shrugged. "I don't think he is. Involved in Tom's life, I mean. I think he came from New York on purpose to find Tom. I think at the request of the triad."
Rafiel's eyebrows rose.
"I think he's a lawyer of some sort," she said. "I . . . vaguely remember Tom telling me that. And I think he is involved with the triads in some way. Well, with the shifter dragon triad, most of all."
"This family just keeps getting better and better," Rafiel said. "I suppose I'll look up the elder Mr. Ormson's background. And his name is?"
"His given name? Edward."
Rafiel nodded. "I'll check him out."
"Wait," Kyrie said. She didn't know she was going to say it, till it came flying out of her mouth. "Wait. I need to ask you a favor. Please. Would you . . . Would you check on Tom?"
"Check on . . .?"
"I think he's staying with his friend, Keith, who lives in the same building, third floor. Because he left with Keith. Keith would at least know where he was going."
"But why do you want me to check on him? Isn't he a grown-up and able to look after himself?"
Kyrie frowned. She had a sense of deep uneasiness and was quite well aware that a lot of it might be due to her guilt in having misjudged him over the drug stuff. "I . . ." She waved at her house and the destruction. "Until today I would have said I was able to look after myself, too, but it is not that easy, as you see. And then he had the triad looking for him too. And apparently his father, working for them." She took a deep breath. "Last night he missed work completely. I'd like to know he's okay."
She stood up. She had some vague idea that the gesture would encourage Rafiel to go. She didn't want to be so rude as to ask him to leave, not when she was asking him for a favor. But the handyman should be here any minute. And as soon as she had locking doors—with a few extra locks—she was going to have to shower and go work. On virtually no sleep.
Rafiel got up too and she was optimistic that he would leave now. But he was still holding the hand he covered with his own when they sat at the table. And now he leaned forward and said, "You don't need to go it alone."
And before she knew what he was doing, he'd covered her lips with his and was pulling her to him.
She'd never been kissed, not even in high school. Any boy smart enough to be interested in her was, presumably, smart enough to realize this was not exactly a safe course of action. Having her lips covered by his, his hands moving to her shoulders was novel enough to stop her from reacting immediately.
His hands were warm on her shoulders, and his body felt warm and firm next to hers. And his tongue was trying to push between her lips.
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not . . . I'm not prepared. I don't think . . . Let us get through this first, and figure out what it's all about?"
He started to open his mouth, as if to answer, but at that moment a white-haired man, in impeccable work pants and T-shirt showed at the kitchen door. "Miss Smith? I'm Harold Keener. Ready to start work."
"Well," Rafiel said, looking perfectly composed as if just seconds before he hadn't been attempting to shove his tongue into her mouth. "I'll be going then, and check on Ormson."
Was it Kyrie's imagination, or had he pronounced Tom's family name with particular venom?
And what had Rafiel thought he was doing, she wondered, as she walked the handyman back to the porch to discuss the double-glazed versus single-glazed options and costs. Was he so used to any girl he came onto melting with pleasure that he didn't even bother to check for some signs of interest before jumping the gun? Or had she been giving signs of interest? She doubted that very much, as she wasn't even sure what the signs were.
On the other hand perhaps he just thought with both of them shifting to feline forms, they were perfect for each other? Was this all about creating a litter of kittens? Or was he trying to distract her from something in the conversation? Had he said anything he didn't want her to remember?
* * *
Edward Ormson had left the Three Luck Dragon feeling less assured of himself than he was used to feeling. Something in the conversation—perhaps the way these strangers spoke casually of holding Tom prisoner, of interrogating Tom, made Edward feel inadequate and ashamed of himself.
These were not feelings he normally entertained about himself, and he didn't feel right about entertaining them now.
He told himself that Tom had been a difficult child, a delinquent adolescent. But the words of Lung echoed in his mind, telling him that people who shifted into dragons had problems of that sort. That the beast often overruled the human. And if Tom had been born that way, if it was blind genetic accident, then it wouldn't be his fault, would it? He'd been difficult, but then he couldn't have been otherwise. Would parents who were more interested in him and less interested in—what? his career, himself, Tom's mother's devotion to medicine? all of those?—have done better for him? Could anything have prevented getting to this point where a criminal organization composed of shape-shifters was intending to eliminate Edward's son? And Edward could do nothing about it? Except perhaps help them?