Author's Note: This has points of view from both John and Meg. Be
forewarned that there is much angst-iness in this chapter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Eight
John gave the driver their destination and sat back, Mia still clinging to him. While John and Meg had experience handling bad guys with guns, and shootouts in general, Mia did not. The adrenaline rush was wearing off for all of them, but Mia was feeling it the most acutely. She was beginning to nod off.
The taxi pulled up in front of the Beijing Continental Grand Hotel in Asian Games Village. John gently shook Mia awake and paid the driver his meter rate plus the extra eight-hundred RMB. Meg dragged Mia out her side of the taxi and handed her the pilot case handle, hoping the action of wheeling it around would keep her awake. Meg's own knapsack was still securely attached to her back. John exited his side the with duffel and briefcase in tow.
They entered the lobby and approached the front desk. John registered them under an assumed name and paid cash. He accepted the key card, declined the offer of a porter, and guided them towards the elevator, which seemed miles away.
The hotel was enormous. Over twelve-hundred rooms, twenty-four restraunts, shopping arcade, beauty salon, and many other services. John pushed the button for the twelfth floor as they entered the elevator and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Having no forward motion to keep her going, Mia began to nod off again. Meg put her arm around the girl and Mia snuggled into her side. Meg froze for a second, not accustomed to such physical contact, but then relaxed, patting Mia gently on the shoulder. She glanced over at John, but his eyes were still closed. As she watched, a grimace of pain passed over his features and he unconsciously clutched at his left side where the duffel was resting. Meg frowned, but said nothing.
The elevator dinged and came to a stop. Meg shook Mia awake and followed John out when the doors opened. They came to a stop at their room and John unlocked the door, allowing them to pass through first. He closed the door behind them, locking and latching it. The room turned out to be a huge suite with a central living room area leading out to a balcony. Two sets of double doors opened to their left and right, presumably bedrooms. Meg started to lead Mia through the doors on the right, then turned back to John.
"I'm putting Mia to bed. You. Sit. I'll be right back." He looked at her questioningly, but did as asked.
Meg continued on to the bedroom, closing the doors behind them. She stripped Mia down to her chemise and panties and slid her under the covers of the king size bed. The girl was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Meg unslung her knapsack and took off her coat, hanging it in the closet. She then walked into the bathroom and removed the contacts and wig. Her hair was a mess from being confined under the wig still wet, but she'd live. She found a first aid kit in the cabinet and headed back out to the living room, shutting the door. John looked up as she entered.
"Mia is down for the count," she told him as she reached the couch. "Okay, stand up," she said abruptly. He started to rise, bringing the duffel with him, but Mia shook her head. "Uh-uh, just you, leave the bag on the couch." John rose reluctantly. Meg gasped as his left side came into view. The area the duffel had been covering was stained dark red. "Jesus," she whispered.
"Meg, it is nothing. I have been hurt worse before," John told her.
"I'm sure you have," Meg replied a little sadly. "But you haven't had me with you before. Jacket and shirt off. Now," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. While he did as told, she opened the first aid kit and rummaged through its contents, removing gauze and alcohol. She turned back to John and was even more dismayed. The lower left portion of his t-shirt was completely soaked through, a bullet hole evident in the fabric. The color contrast was striking between the bright white of the t-shirt and the blood. Meg was starting to get worried. "Off with the t-shirt, John," she told him.
John hesitated, then gingerly pulled the garment up and over his head. She sat on the couch while he remained standing, giving her perfect access to the wound. Upon closer inspection, it didn't appear to be that bad. The bullet seemed to have cauterized most of the flesh as it passed through at the outside edge above his hip.
"So, you'll have to fill me in on all the excitement since I missed it. What happened? How many were there?" she asked as she dabbed at the wound with the alcohol soaked gauze.
"Four men. We fought. They died." Quick and concise. Meg chuckled.
"Well, I asked, didn't I?" she said ruefully. She stood and slowly circled him. She told herself she was looking for other injuries, which she was, but she also wanted to take in the site of his exposed skin. John was obviously uncomfortable revealing this much, which made her think it was a rare occurrence. His skin was smooth, muscles clearly defined. Here and there were scars - some from bullets, some knife inflicted.
She recognized one on his back by his left shoulder. The shot he took in the movie theater while rescuing Zedkov's son. Along the right of his spine in the middle of his back was a pattern of discolored mottling. Before she thought about what she was doing, she'd placed her palm over the spot. Soft and warm. John immediately went still under her touch. Meg quickly removed her hand and stepped back, picking up his discarded suit jacket, dress shirt, and t-shirt.
"Um," she stammered, suddenly nervous. "You're gonna have a really colorful set of bruises tomorrow. And these will have to go," she continued, indicating the bloodied clothes. "This is a swank place, think they have room service for clothes?" She started walking backwards toward Mia's room, not exactly looking at him. "You know, I could use some stuff too. Why don't you write down your sizes on the pad by the phone and I'll order for us." Her butt hit the door and she reached behind her to open it. "Door," she said unnecessarily, pointing to it as she passed through.
She closed the door and retreated to the bathroom, grabbing a plastic laundry bag from the closet along the way. She wrapped John's clothing into a tight wad and stuffed it at the bottom of the trash bin. She then turned on the cold water faucet and splashed her face and neck liberally. Rubbing the back of her neck and then her temples, she took deep breaths and tried to stop thinking about John's body. Oops, did it again. Dammit!
Meg couldn't remember the last time a man had affected her this way. She didn't think one ever had. She sighed and turned off the faucet, checking on Mia before opening the door to the living room. She took a peek out. No John. She sat on the couch and picked up the pad. John had done as she suggested, writing down his sizes.
She dialed room service, explaining that their luggage had been lost at the airport and they needed some clothing. She ordered John a suit in navy blue ("Yes, off the rack will just HAVE to do."), a pair of sleep pants, and a pack of t-shirts. She ordered herself some underwear, and as an afterthought several different dishes of food and a pitcher of orange juice. She wasn't sure if John had eaten today, but he really should have something after losing that blood.
While she waited for room service, she wandered over to John's open bedroom door. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was on. She turned back to the living room and walked to the desk, taking the gun from her waistband and putting it in a drawer. Not a good idea to scare the waitstaff. She went back to the couch and picked up the television remote, flipping through stations until she came across an english language news channel. She recognized the Vogue building behind the newscaster as he gave an accounting of what had happened according to eyewitness reports. Basically, no one knew anything except that several Chinese men had opened fire on one another. A few people had been injured, but the only ones killed were four men found with guns. There was no mention of herself or Mia. Good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the shower, John stood under the cold spray trying to dispel the feeling of Meg's hand on his skin. It wasn't easy. As she'd backed away from him, he'd stood frozen in place. He knew if he'd moved, he would've gone to her and . . . he wasn't sure. This wasn't really the time or place for a romantic interlude. He shook his head and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower.
John was a man of action, these sort of thoughts would only serve to distract him, which is probably why he'd never considered a serious relationship before. That thought stopped him cold. Was he considering one now? Before he could analyze that thought any further, there was a knock on the door.
"John," Meg called out. "Room service came, I'm leaving your clothes on the bed, there are some things to sleep in. I borrowed a t-shirt. I also ordered some food, you should really come out and eat. I'll close the door when I leave. By the way, the news report says no one was killed at the club except the bad guys. Good job."
John toweled off and opened the bathroom door, walking to the bed. He picked up the sleep pants and pulled a t-shirt out of the already opened pack. He dressed, then hung the navy suit in the closet and tossed the rest of the t-shirt pack in a drawer. He eyed the bedroom door and considered just going to bed and avoiding Meg for one more night, but he knew he should have some food. He hadn't eaten since breakfast at the temple. The shootout, blood loss, and the day in general had drained him. Plus he needed to speak to Meg of other matters.
Meg looked up as he opened the door, following his movements as he walked to the coffee table where he'd set his briefcase. He picked it up and joined Meg at the small table where at least three different entrees and a large pitcher of orange juice were set out.
"I don't think I'm going to eat all of this," he commented as he sat down. Meg smiled.
"I didn't know what you liked, so I got a variety." She brought her feet up to the seat and put her chin on her knees. John suddenly remembered something that had been on his mind.
"When I saw you in the temple this morning, it looked like you were praying. Meng mentioned the same thing when he brought the photographs. It's a very unusual sight for an American to be praying in a Buddhist temple in China," he commented, slicing into a steak and eating a forkful. Meg looked mildly uncomfortable and very sheepish.
"Yeah, well." She shrugged and was silent for a few moments. "I started going to the temple regularly after you left," she finally said. John watched her while he chewed, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn't.
"Why?" John asked curiously. Meg appeared to think this over, then shrugged again.
"I don't think I can really put it into words. While I'm there, I feel . . . ," she shook her head. "As hokey as it sounds, I feel at peace. Safe. I like it. And Chien's a trip. Some of the things he says are so out there, but also true. It's weird." John smiled at her. And honest to goodness smile. With teeth and everything. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Before she could get all mushy about it, she frowned at him. "What? You think he has me snowed? No way. I have him right here," she told him, holding up her pinky finger. "How do you think I got him to tell me where you were?"
"Maybe you were meant to help us and Chien saw that," John said seriously. Meg's frowned deepened.
"You mean like fate or destiny?" she asked, shaking her head. "I don't like that preordained crap. Makes me feel like I have no control over my future. I came to China because I didn't want you dead. Period." John watched her a moment longer before setting down his silverware and clearing the table.
"I know." He set the briefcase on the table and opened it, taking out a folder and turning it so that she could see it. He slid a piece of paper in front of her. "This is an authorization granting you and Mia access to my account at Finsbury Bank and Trust on Grand Cayman Island." He slid two other pieces of paper in front of her. "These are similar authorizations for Credit Lyonnais and Union Bank of Switzerland. Between the three, there is about twenty-three million dollars." Meg put her feet on the floor and leaned forward to look at the papers.
"That's US dollars, right?" she asked, fingering the sheets. John nodded, but noted she didn't look particularly interested. She finally sighed and pushed the papers away from her, settling back into her seat. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I want you to take Mia back to America with you, but not to Los Angeles. She wants to attend an Ivy League American college, somewhere on the east coast. She has never been on her own, she needs someone to look after her. You will both be safe." Meg was starting to look angry. "The money should more than compensate for your time," he told her, though he was pretty sure that wasn't what was bothering her.
"That isn't the problem, John, and you know it. Where are you going to be?" John sighed and looked away.
"I must go after Koy. As long as he is alive to pay the reward, there will be mercenaries after me."
"Really? And then what?" John didn't answer right away.
"Meg, there will always be another Koy. And if I killed that person, another would take his place. It will be better if I remain alone." Meg eyed him angrily, then shook her head and got up. She left him at the table and walked out onto the balcony. John gave her a few minutes, then joined her at the railing. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the view below, all of the people going about their daily lives. They stood in silence for a long time.
"Do you have any idea what it took for me to leave you that day at the airport?" she suddenly asked, still looking over the railing. "To turn around, walk away, and not look back?" John didn't answer. He watched her profile and waited for her to continue. "I went home and packed up whatever was still in one piece. I moved my operation, set up a new office, and got on with my life. I tried to forget you." She chuckled humorlessly. "That's a laugh. I started going to that temple, I kept your pictures . . ." She shook her head and finally turned to face him. "I didn't come here just for you, John. I came for me. I had to know if it was you or just the idea of you. You know what I figured out?" This time John answered with a shake of his head. "It's you," she whispered.
John was overwhelmed, so many feelings were coursing through his body. He had never been outwardly expressive of his emotions, even with his mother and sister. He knew what he wanted to do right this moment, but his reserve kept him in check. He slowly reached out his hand and gently gripped her neck, as he had the last time he'd seen her. Meg covered his hand with her own and leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his face.
"Meg," he said softly. She placed a kiss on his palm and then backed away from him.
"You're coming with us. I won't leave you again." With that, she entered the living room and picked up her t-shirt from the couch, then walked into Mia's bedroom, closing the door behind her.
John remained at the railing well into the night, staring out at the lights and bustle of Beijing. Why was he resisting Meg? It was quite possible for him to disappear in America. He could have a life with Meg and Mia. A normal life.
But there was always the chance that someone would find them. Someone from their old life. Meg and Mia would be safer without him. It was unlikely Koy's men, or anyone who followed him, would be interested in pursuing just Mia. John was the big prize.
He finally turned and left the balcony, heading to bed to sleep.
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Chapter Eight
John gave the driver their destination and sat back, Mia still clinging to him. While John and Meg had experience handling bad guys with guns, and shootouts in general, Mia did not. The adrenaline rush was wearing off for all of them, but Mia was feeling it the most acutely. She was beginning to nod off.
The taxi pulled up in front of the Beijing Continental Grand Hotel in Asian Games Village. John gently shook Mia awake and paid the driver his meter rate plus the extra eight-hundred RMB. Meg dragged Mia out her side of the taxi and handed her the pilot case handle, hoping the action of wheeling it around would keep her awake. Meg's own knapsack was still securely attached to her back. John exited his side the with duffel and briefcase in tow.
They entered the lobby and approached the front desk. John registered them under an assumed name and paid cash. He accepted the key card, declined the offer of a porter, and guided them towards the elevator, which seemed miles away.
The hotel was enormous. Over twelve-hundred rooms, twenty-four restraunts, shopping arcade, beauty salon, and many other services. John pushed the button for the twelfth floor as they entered the elevator and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Having no forward motion to keep her going, Mia began to nod off again. Meg put her arm around the girl and Mia snuggled into her side. Meg froze for a second, not accustomed to such physical contact, but then relaxed, patting Mia gently on the shoulder. She glanced over at John, but his eyes were still closed. As she watched, a grimace of pain passed over his features and he unconsciously clutched at his left side where the duffel was resting. Meg frowned, but said nothing.
The elevator dinged and came to a stop. Meg shook Mia awake and followed John out when the doors opened. They came to a stop at their room and John unlocked the door, allowing them to pass through first. He closed the door behind them, locking and latching it. The room turned out to be a huge suite with a central living room area leading out to a balcony. Two sets of double doors opened to their left and right, presumably bedrooms. Meg started to lead Mia through the doors on the right, then turned back to John.
"I'm putting Mia to bed. You. Sit. I'll be right back." He looked at her questioningly, but did as asked.
Meg continued on to the bedroom, closing the doors behind them. She stripped Mia down to her chemise and panties and slid her under the covers of the king size bed. The girl was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Meg unslung her knapsack and took off her coat, hanging it in the closet. She then walked into the bathroom and removed the contacts and wig. Her hair was a mess from being confined under the wig still wet, but she'd live. She found a first aid kit in the cabinet and headed back out to the living room, shutting the door. John looked up as she entered.
"Mia is down for the count," she told him as she reached the couch. "Okay, stand up," she said abruptly. He started to rise, bringing the duffel with him, but Mia shook her head. "Uh-uh, just you, leave the bag on the couch." John rose reluctantly. Meg gasped as his left side came into view. The area the duffel had been covering was stained dark red. "Jesus," she whispered.
"Meg, it is nothing. I have been hurt worse before," John told her.
"I'm sure you have," Meg replied a little sadly. "But you haven't had me with you before. Jacket and shirt off. Now," she ordered, leaving no room for argument. While he did as told, she opened the first aid kit and rummaged through its contents, removing gauze and alcohol. She turned back to John and was even more dismayed. The lower left portion of his t-shirt was completely soaked through, a bullet hole evident in the fabric. The color contrast was striking between the bright white of the t-shirt and the blood. Meg was starting to get worried. "Off with the t-shirt, John," she told him.
John hesitated, then gingerly pulled the garment up and over his head. She sat on the couch while he remained standing, giving her perfect access to the wound. Upon closer inspection, it didn't appear to be that bad. The bullet seemed to have cauterized most of the flesh as it passed through at the outside edge above his hip.
"So, you'll have to fill me in on all the excitement since I missed it. What happened? How many were there?" she asked as she dabbed at the wound with the alcohol soaked gauze.
"Four men. We fought. They died." Quick and concise. Meg chuckled.
"Well, I asked, didn't I?" she said ruefully. She stood and slowly circled him. She told herself she was looking for other injuries, which she was, but she also wanted to take in the site of his exposed skin. John was obviously uncomfortable revealing this much, which made her think it was a rare occurrence. His skin was smooth, muscles clearly defined. Here and there were scars - some from bullets, some knife inflicted.
She recognized one on his back by his left shoulder. The shot he took in the movie theater while rescuing Zedkov's son. Along the right of his spine in the middle of his back was a pattern of discolored mottling. Before she thought about what she was doing, she'd placed her palm over the spot. Soft and warm. John immediately went still under her touch. Meg quickly removed her hand and stepped back, picking up his discarded suit jacket, dress shirt, and t-shirt.
"Um," she stammered, suddenly nervous. "You're gonna have a really colorful set of bruises tomorrow. And these will have to go," she continued, indicating the bloodied clothes. "This is a swank place, think they have room service for clothes?" She started walking backwards toward Mia's room, not exactly looking at him. "You know, I could use some stuff too. Why don't you write down your sizes on the pad by the phone and I'll order for us." Her butt hit the door and she reached behind her to open it. "Door," she said unnecessarily, pointing to it as she passed through.
She closed the door and retreated to the bathroom, grabbing a plastic laundry bag from the closet along the way. She wrapped John's clothing into a tight wad and stuffed it at the bottom of the trash bin. She then turned on the cold water faucet and splashed her face and neck liberally. Rubbing the back of her neck and then her temples, she took deep breaths and tried to stop thinking about John's body. Oops, did it again. Dammit!
Meg couldn't remember the last time a man had affected her this way. She didn't think one ever had. She sighed and turned off the faucet, checking on Mia before opening the door to the living room. She took a peek out. No John. She sat on the couch and picked up the pad. John had done as she suggested, writing down his sizes.
She dialed room service, explaining that their luggage had been lost at the airport and they needed some clothing. She ordered John a suit in navy blue ("Yes, off the rack will just HAVE to do."), a pair of sleep pants, and a pack of t-shirts. She ordered herself some underwear, and as an afterthought several different dishes of food and a pitcher of orange juice. She wasn't sure if John had eaten today, but he really should have something after losing that blood.
While she waited for room service, she wandered over to John's open bedroom door. The bathroom door was closed and the shower was on. She turned back to the living room and walked to the desk, taking the gun from her waistband and putting it in a drawer. Not a good idea to scare the waitstaff. She went back to the couch and picked up the television remote, flipping through stations until she came across an english language news channel. She recognized the Vogue building behind the newscaster as he gave an accounting of what had happened according to eyewitness reports. Basically, no one knew anything except that several Chinese men had opened fire on one another. A few people had been injured, but the only ones killed were four men found with guns. There was no mention of herself or Mia. Good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the shower, John stood under the cold spray trying to dispel the feeling of Meg's hand on his skin. It wasn't easy. As she'd backed away from him, he'd stood frozen in place. He knew if he'd moved, he would've gone to her and . . . he wasn't sure. This wasn't really the time or place for a romantic interlude. He shook his head and turned the water off, stepping out of the shower.
John was a man of action, these sort of thoughts would only serve to distract him, which is probably why he'd never considered a serious relationship before. That thought stopped him cold. Was he considering one now? Before he could analyze that thought any further, there was a knock on the door.
"John," Meg called out. "Room service came, I'm leaving your clothes on the bed, there are some things to sleep in. I borrowed a t-shirt. I also ordered some food, you should really come out and eat. I'll close the door when I leave. By the way, the news report says no one was killed at the club except the bad guys. Good job."
John toweled off and opened the bathroom door, walking to the bed. He picked up the sleep pants and pulled a t-shirt out of the already opened pack. He dressed, then hung the navy suit in the closet and tossed the rest of the t-shirt pack in a drawer. He eyed the bedroom door and considered just going to bed and avoiding Meg for one more night, but he knew he should have some food. He hadn't eaten since breakfast at the temple. The shootout, blood loss, and the day in general had drained him. Plus he needed to speak to Meg of other matters.
Meg looked up as he opened the door, following his movements as he walked to the coffee table where he'd set his briefcase. He picked it up and joined Meg at the small table where at least three different entrees and a large pitcher of orange juice were set out.
"I don't think I'm going to eat all of this," he commented as he sat down. Meg smiled.
"I didn't know what you liked, so I got a variety." She brought her feet up to the seat and put her chin on her knees. John suddenly remembered something that had been on his mind.
"When I saw you in the temple this morning, it looked like you were praying. Meng mentioned the same thing when he brought the photographs. It's a very unusual sight for an American to be praying in a Buddhist temple in China," he commented, slicing into a steak and eating a forkful. Meg looked mildly uncomfortable and very sheepish.
"Yeah, well." She shrugged and was silent for a few moments. "I started going to the temple regularly after you left," she finally said. John watched her while he chewed, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn't.
"Why?" John asked curiously. Meg appeared to think this over, then shrugged again.
"I don't think I can really put it into words. While I'm there, I feel . . . ," she shook her head. "As hokey as it sounds, I feel at peace. Safe. I like it. And Chien's a trip. Some of the things he says are so out there, but also true. It's weird." John smiled at her. And honest to goodness smile. With teeth and everything. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Before she could get all mushy about it, she frowned at him. "What? You think he has me snowed? No way. I have him right here," she told him, holding up her pinky finger. "How do you think I got him to tell me where you were?"
"Maybe you were meant to help us and Chien saw that," John said seriously. Meg's frowned deepened.
"You mean like fate or destiny?" she asked, shaking her head. "I don't like that preordained crap. Makes me feel like I have no control over my future. I came to China because I didn't want you dead. Period." John watched her a moment longer before setting down his silverware and clearing the table.
"I know." He set the briefcase on the table and opened it, taking out a folder and turning it so that she could see it. He slid a piece of paper in front of her. "This is an authorization granting you and Mia access to my account at Finsbury Bank and Trust on Grand Cayman Island." He slid two other pieces of paper in front of her. "These are similar authorizations for Credit Lyonnais and Union Bank of Switzerland. Between the three, there is about twenty-three million dollars." Meg put her feet on the floor and leaned forward to look at the papers.
"That's US dollars, right?" she asked, fingering the sheets. John nodded, but noted she didn't look particularly interested. She finally sighed and pushed the papers away from her, settling back into her seat. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I want you to take Mia back to America with you, but not to Los Angeles. She wants to attend an Ivy League American college, somewhere on the east coast. She has never been on her own, she needs someone to look after her. You will both be safe." Meg was starting to look angry. "The money should more than compensate for your time," he told her, though he was pretty sure that wasn't what was bothering her.
"That isn't the problem, John, and you know it. Where are you going to be?" John sighed and looked away.
"I must go after Koy. As long as he is alive to pay the reward, there will be mercenaries after me."
"Really? And then what?" John didn't answer right away.
"Meg, there will always be another Koy. And if I killed that person, another would take his place. It will be better if I remain alone." Meg eyed him angrily, then shook her head and got up. She left him at the table and walked out onto the balcony. John gave her a few minutes, then joined her at the railing. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the view below, all of the people going about their daily lives. They stood in silence for a long time.
"Do you have any idea what it took for me to leave you that day at the airport?" she suddenly asked, still looking over the railing. "To turn around, walk away, and not look back?" John didn't answer. He watched her profile and waited for her to continue. "I went home and packed up whatever was still in one piece. I moved my operation, set up a new office, and got on with my life. I tried to forget you." She chuckled humorlessly. "That's a laugh. I started going to that temple, I kept your pictures . . ." She shook her head and finally turned to face him. "I didn't come here just for you, John. I came for me. I had to know if it was you or just the idea of you. You know what I figured out?" This time John answered with a shake of his head. "It's you," she whispered.
John was overwhelmed, so many feelings were coursing through his body. He had never been outwardly expressive of his emotions, even with his mother and sister. He knew what he wanted to do right this moment, but his reserve kept him in check. He slowly reached out his hand and gently gripped her neck, as he had the last time he'd seen her. Meg covered his hand with her own and leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his face.
"Meg," he said softly. She placed a kiss on his palm and then backed away from him.
"You're coming with us. I won't leave you again." With that, she entered the living room and picked up her t-shirt from the couch, then walked into Mia's bedroom, closing the door behind her.
John remained at the railing well into the night, staring out at the lights and bustle of Beijing. Why was he resisting Meg? It was quite possible for him to disappear in America. He could have a life with Meg and Mia. A normal life.
But there was always the chance that someone would find them. Someone from their old life. Meg and Mia would be safer without him. It was unlikely Koy's men, or anyone who followed him, would be interested in pursuing just Mia. John was the big prize.
He finally turned and left the balcony, heading to bed to sleep.
