Three things happened at once: A presence stepped up behind her, a hand covered her mouth, and a sinister voice said in her ear, “Don’t move. Don’t scream.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. Her mind blanked completely, shock a barren white void. The danger pulled her backward into the alley, the hand on her mouth tensing its fingers into her soft cheek as they walked away from safety. When he’d dragged her all the way to the back wall, he spun her around roughly.
“Tell me what you’re doi—Yukying??”
The man scrambled back. Yukying stared.
“Tinseng? What . . .” Her hand went to her cheek. The pressure of his silencing hand had sunk into her skin like dough. “What’s going on?”
“Fuck, there’s no time for this. Just stay here, okay?” He moved forward to the lip of the alley. She watched him for a moment, still stunned. She didn’t know who he had been just a moment ago. Ignoring Tinseng’s command, she snuck forward until she was just behind him.
“I’m not kidding, Yukying, go back,” Tinseng said without taking his gaze away from the café.
“Do you know that man Shan Dao is with?” she asked. “Tinseng, why did you—”
“It’s fine, jiejie. Stand behind me, at least. Jesus. How long have you been here?”
She bit her lip. “I’ve been following him since the beach.”
“Since the . . .” he chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear his side of this.”
“Tinseng.” The voice in her ear was not the one laughing now. The hand around her mouth had not been her gentle brother’s. She’d been helpless. The fear had curdled and sat, churning, in her stomach.
“Tinseng,” she said again. Tinseng finally turned back. He took the time to really look at her—her arms hugging her torso, her wobbling lip, whatever he found in her eyes—and crumbled, taking a step toward her.
“Yukying, I didn’t mean to be so rough, I really didn’t. I thought you were . . . did I hurt you?”
She sighed. “No, but . . .”
“But I scared you,” he surmised. Horrifyingly, she felt tears prickling the corners of her eyes. “Yukying, I’m sorry. What can I do? What do you need?” he asked, even as he looked over his shoulder to check on Shan Dao and Mr. Grodescu.
“I need to know how Shan Dao knows that man.”
“He’s just an old friend. Nothing to worry about.”
Tinseng expected her not to call his bluff; he expected the Yukying of three years ago, who would have let him get away with it. But if he could change, so could she.
Instead of capitulating, she swallowed and asked, “Is that why Shan Dao was in that man’s room last night?”
“What . . .” Tinseng turned back to her with a narrowed gaze. “Whatever you think is happening, it’s not.” At her pinched frown, he added, “I know I haven’t always made the best decisions. But I promise I know what I’m doing. And I trust Shan Dao with my life.” He looked over his shoulder again, clearly desperate to give his attention back to the café. “Now, will you go back to the beach, please?”
She almost said yes. She considered walking back to the beach, pretending to pay attention to the conversation around her, checking her watch every few minutes and wondering when Tinseng would be back, what news he’d have. She thought about waiting patiently. She was so good at that; she’d been doing it her whole life. As expected from someone like her: A woman fragile from childhood illness shouldn’t be in this alley.
But neither should her little brother. He should be back at the beach, too, laughing in the sun, not here doing—whatever this was.
She raised her chin. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
A noise came from the square. They both turned in unison. Tinseng fidgeted.
“Fine, fine, fine, but if your mother rises from the dead to kill me, it’s your fault. They should be almost done anyway.” She heard him muttering an apology to their mother under his breath as they situated themselves so they could both see the table.
“This is a good spot, by the way,” he said. “You have a good eye. Ugh, I hate his face. Why couldn’t you choose a place where I could stare at Shan Dao instead? He looks interested, though, that’s good.”
They watched for long minutes until Grodescu waved at the server. “Hah, paying the bill. Generous of him,” Tinseng said dryly. “Oh, he’s leaving. Okay. Okay. Okay,” he said again, reassuring himself. “That looked okay.”
“Should we go over to him?” she asked.
“No. We should go back to the beach; Yingtung will worry where you’ve been.”
“I told him I was shopping in town. Oh, I don’t have . . .” She looked down at her empty hands.
“There’s a shop on the way back,” Tinseng said. “I saw it earlier. Come on.”
An awkward silence pulled between them as they walked to the pharmacy and bought a basket of trinkets and snacks. Tinseng had always hated silence in the past. Now, instead of filling it with chatter, he stayed an aisle away. In the years he’d been gone, it seemed he’d decided distance was a better weapon than distraction.
When they’d made their purchases and were once again side-by-side on the sidewalk, she tried again.
“I hope you know you can tell me anything, didi,” she said in her softest, saddest voice. She wasn’t above a little manipulation right now.
Tinseng wrung his hands, keeping them clasped as if not allowing himself to reach out. “I would. Believe me, I would. But this is bigger than just me. Please, you can’t tell Yingtung or anyone else. Not even Cheuk-Kwan.”
“Are you or Shan Dao in trouble?”
Tinseng shook his head. “No, no trouble.” He put a hand on his heart. “I promise I’d tell you if I was.”
“Then why was Shan Dao in his room last night?”
“Ahh, ha-ha, hmm. Well, you see . . . a purchase for . . . Shan Dao’s uncle in Hong Kong. This man, Grodescu, is an antiquities dealer. He has a lead on a piece Shan Dao’s uncle wants. Grodescu doesn’t exactly keep his nose clean, and he’s paranoid, so he’s careful about meetings.”
