Forty-Seven“Deliverance or destruction. It will bring one or the other.”
Sing Pak lifted his bright eyes from the elegant jade object nestled on a black velvet cushion displayed on a small desk in front of them. An anxious jolt pierced the deadening exhaustion that shrouded him as Sing Pak gazed into his face, his brow in worried lines. He’d got a few hours of restless sleep last night, after his pell-mell ride here, but it wasn’t enough. He raised and lowered his shoulder blades a few times to ease the tension.
The deep furrows in Sing Pak’s brow softened. “But you understand that already. Of course you do.”
They were bending over the desk in a tiny room fitted out like an office in one of Nevada City’s old Manzanita Ravine villas, a home that had belonged to Jong Ping’s forbearers sin
