Drawn in Blood (25 page)

“Which the police would have no reason to do, since they’re concentrating on the burglaries as a whole.”

“Exactly. But Sloane’s an art dealer’s daughter. She knows prices. So she zeroed in on it right away.”

“Intriguing twist.” Rich’s interest was definitely piqued. “They camouflaged their real targets by ripping off a bunch of high-priced stuff they could fence on the streets. Between the two, they made a mint.” He glanced at Derek’s desk. “Do you have those police reports? I never did see the ful list of stolen paintings. You just ran a few of them by me.”

“Yup.” Derek passed them across to Rich. “Take a look.”

Rich scanned the sheets one at a time. “Sloane’s right,” he concluded. “There’s a definite pattern here. A few valuable paintings, a few average-priced ones. The odd part is that not al the valuable paintings are wel known. Some are pieces whose value only an art connoisseur would recognize.”

“Sloane said the same thing. Which, to me, says that Xiao Long is working for someone. He’s a power-hungry street thug. His cold-blooded aggression and inborn street smarts are what made him a Dai Lo. The Red Dragons are a hundred percent loyal to him—and a thousand percent terrified. I’ve seen what he does to gang members who screw him over. It isn’t pretty. But refinement? A knowledge of fine art? Xiao wouldn’t know a Renoir from a finger-painting.”

“But whoever’s paying him does.” Rich lowered the reports to Derek’s desk. “I agree. Your Xiao Long case is looking more interesting by the minute. First the tie to the Rothberg, and now a string of robberies that scream art theft.”

Derek nodded. “I wonder if whoever’s paying Xiao to steal these paintings is the same person who hired him to kil Cai Wen and steal the Rothberg.”

“Funny, I was wondering the same thing.”

“It would make sense. He can’t fence wel -known paintings on the street. He’s sending them somewhere, and to someone. I’d be wil ing to bet that someone is in China. Further, I’d be wil ing to bet he’s a triad leader. It would explain a hel of a lot about how Xiao got his start, and where he’s getting his financing to move up to the big-time.”

“Al our leads point back to the Rothberg.”

Derek nodded. “Let me know as soon as you hear who that Dutch col ectors’ dirty dealings were with.
And
if any of them were Chinese.” A pause. “In the meantime, I don’t trust Burbank’s partners. And that doesn’t just apply to the possibility that one of them aided in the break-in at his apartment. Even if it turns out that none of his pals helped the Red Dragons get inside and grab the Rothberg file, my gut tel s me that one or more of them is involved in something shady. Whatever that is, I need to know. Sloane’s in enough danger from Xiao Long—and she knows he’s the enemy. The last thing she needs is to be victimized by someone she considers a friend.”

“I understand. And I’l get you what you need.” Rich got to his feet. “Just find me my gun dealer. Then, give me a couple days to verify names of our Dutch col ector’s dirty contacts. After that, I’l cal Fox, Johnson, Martino, and Leary. We’l have plenty to talk about. I’l ask each of them to come in—separately—for a fol ow-up interview.”

“That’l throw them for a loop.”

“Which is precisely what I want.”

Lee Wong Kee, the skinny Red Dragon kid who’d attacked Sloane, awaited his fate.

For what seemed like forever, he’d hung in complete darkness, the back of his jacket impaled on a meat hook inside a walk-in refrigerator in Wah Chang’s butcher shop. He was paralyzed with fear.

At the outside wal of the refrigerator, Jin Huang reached up, flipped on the light, and opened the heavy door for his boss.

When Lee saw Xiao enter, his insides clenched. He stammered yet another apology, and begged forgiveness from his Dai Lo for his failed mission. Xiao didn’t reply. He just donned a pair of gloves, then reached into his coat pocket and extracted a piano wire with a bamboo block attached to each end.

He nodded to Jin. In response, Jin grabbed Lee’s head, gripping it tightly in his big hands. Lee cried out in pain, then screamed for mercy. Xiao ignored his pleas. Silently, he wrapped the piano wire around a side of beef that was hanging inches from Lee’s face, and pul ed.

The powerful motion severed the carcass in two. A huge slab of meat thudded to the floor.

Xiao turned to Lee, reaching out to pat his Adam’s apple. “Next time you fail, I use your neck instead.” He grasped Lee’s col ar, and pul ed the wire through a fold in the fabric to wipe off the bloody residue.

Pocketing the thin but lethal weapon, the Dai Lo nodded to Jin, turned away, and walked out. Without a word, Jin lifted the kid off the meat hook, took out a switchblade, and cut the ropes binding his hands.

Lee dropped to his knees. Jin stepped over him. As he left, he could hear the sound of the Red Dragon kid retching uncontrol ably.

Cindy was in an excel ent mood as she headed off to her next appointment. She’d just secured her first six-figure town-house renovation project, thanks to the debut party at Wal ace’s.

She’d e-mailed him right away, brimming with enthusiasm over the news. He’d responded in kind. Everything was on track.

She would cal her
A Sook
about this new development right away. He’d be so pleased by her escalating accomplishments—al of them.

The package he’d sent had already arrived. Now there was twice as much reason to gift it to Wal ace.

Tuesday night’s date promised to be an evening to remember.

BRONX, NEW YORK

The brown sedan cruised slowly down the street. It was barely dawn, and the flow of traffic was light. The local shops were stil closed. The markets were putting out their first produce.

Only the bakery had a fine stream of patrons who’d come out to buy their fresh breads and rol s.

To be on the safe side, the driver of the sedan circled around the block and cruised back down the street. Satisfied by what he saw, he pul ed over to the curb and parked beside a smal brick residential building. Two stories high, it was old and worn, like the rest of the neighborhood, with a short flight of stairs leading to the front door. A green canopy shadowed the doorway, and the front of the building was partial y blocked from view by a broad oak tree and an unusual amount of shrubbery. The house across the street, visibly un-lived in, was undergoing major construction, and there were piles of two-by-fours, cardboard boxes, and plastic garbage bags strewn al over the sidewalk, half covering the house.

The area was shabby. But more important, it was deserted.

The two Red Dragons jumped out of the car, pausing only to grab their duffel bags. Then they made their way around to the back of the brick building.

One of the Black Eagles opened the downstairs door for them instantly. No words were exchanged. And none were necessary. Language barrier or not, al the parties involved knew why they were here.

The six of them gathered in the basement.

Xiao’s men unzipped their duffel bags and took out the contents. Maps. A series of diagrams. Intricate floor plans. And a staggering amount of cash, neatly packaged in rubber-banded stacks of ten thousand dol ars.

They handed everything over to the Albanians and waited while the cash was counted and the other contents were reviewed.

The four recipients wasted no time. Two of them counted the money. The other two, including the team leader, spread out the maps and diagrams and unfurled the floor plans, studying them intently. They muttered a few things to each other, pointing to certain spots on the designs. With a nod of comprehension, they rol ed the plans back up and put the maps and diagrams aside. The leader raised his head, gazing at his other two men and waiting for a signal.

He got it.

Speaking to one another in rapid Albanian, they compared totals. Then, one of them looked up and gave the okay. The payment due them was correct. The final instal ment would come afterward. Everything was in order.

The team leader turned to Xiao’s men and gave them a hard nod, accepting what they’d delivered and dismissing them al at once. He gestured for one of his men to show the Red Dragons out.

The entire transaction took less than half an hour.

Xiao’s men exited quickly and quietly, scanning the street as they headed toward their car.

No one was around except an old man walking an equal y old dog, who was currently peeing on one of the cardboard boxes across the street.

No threat there.

They tossed their empty duffel bags into the backseat of the sedan, hopped into the front seats, and drove off.

The old man glanced up, scowling as he watched the brown car disappear around the corner. “This neighborhood is going to hel , Al egro,” he informed his dog in a thick Italian accent. “It’s enough that the Chinese took over Little Italy. But now they’re invading Arthur Avenue. Say good-bye to the good old days when it was just us. Good neighbors. Decent.

Honest. Now, the whole street wil be corrupt, no better than the garbage you’re peeing on.”

He shook his head, tightening his grip on Al egro’s leash. “Like I said, this neighborhood is going to hel .” Sloane jerked awake and sat up as Derek sank down beside her on the sofa.

“How’re you doing?” His knuckles caressed her cheek.

She blinked and looked around, realizing that, once again, she’d fal en asleep.

“You’re home,” she noted groggily. “What time is it?”

“Seven-fifteen.”

“Dammit.” Sloane tried to clear the cobwebs from her head as she struggled to sit up. “The poor hounds. They must be starved. And their evening run…”

“Relax.” Derek gripped her shoulders and eased her back onto the cushions. “The hounds are fed, wiped out from a two-mile run, and snoozing by the fire. The only reason I woke you is because I think you should eat something before you take your meds.”

“I’l take the antibiotic, but I’m not taking that damned Percocet,” Sloane muttered. “I’ve been like a zombie al day.”

“‘That damned Percocet,’ huh?” Derek repeated in a teasing voice. “Would that be the same damned Percocet you were demanding at the hospital?”

“That was then. This is now. The pain’s a lot better. And I don’t have the time to lie around like a disoriented druggie. I have work to do.” Gingerly, she moved her arm, first up and down, then from side to side. “It feels fine. And I’m not losing any more time because of a stupid scratch.” Derek didn’t bother contradicting Sloane’s absurdly downplayed description of her wound’s severity. “Then don’t take the Percocet. But you have to eat a decent meal. When I cal ed earlier, Jerry said that al you’d eaten was tea and toast.”

“Speaking of Jerry, where is he? He’s supposed to provide security, not home health care. Besides, I’m not hungry. I’m nauseous.”

“That’s the meds.” Ignoring her protest, Derek rose and walked over to the kitchen counter. “I sent Jerry home. I’m now security and nurse’s aide rol ed into one. So, back to food. I figure you should start with something light. I picked up chicken soup and a turkey sandwich. If you eat every bite and take your antibiotics like a good girl, then we can talk investigation—which I know you’re dying to do.”

Sloane shot him a disgruntled look. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“I prefer to think of it as an incentive.” Derek carried over the brown bag. “There’s a plastic spoon and napkins inside. Knock yourself out.”

“What about you?”

“I grabbed something at work.”

“Real y?”

“I promise. Jeff got takeout for the squad. I ate a pint of lo mein and a ton of ribs. So I’m set.”

“Okay.” Sloane started with the soup, then began nibbling on the sandwich. She had to admit Derek was right. The food was not only easing her nausea but also clearing her mind and fueling her strength.

She began to eat with more enthusiasm. “Thank you,” she said between bites. “This was real y sweet of you. Especial y considering how bitchy I’m being.”

“You’re entitled. You went through a harrowing experience. But I see signs of the nonbitchy-but-type-A Sloane shining through. You’re on the mend.” A corner of Derek’s mouth lifted. “As for my being sweet, what can I say? I’m just an amazing guy.”

This time Sloane didn’t banter back. She simply leaned forward and softly kissed him. “Actual y, you are.” He deepened the kiss for a few seconds, then reluctantly broke it off. “Get better fast. I miss you.”

“Me, too. And there’s no need to wait.” Her eyes twinkled. “Injury or not, I’m very creative.”

“Don’t remind me of your creativity. I need a cold shower as it is.”

“Why? I just told you—”

“Forget it,” Derek interrupted. “I’m greedy. I want al your stamina back, and ful use of both your hands.” She gave an impatient sigh. “That’s the disciplined Army Ranger talking. Fine, we’l wait—one night. I’m a quick healer. By tomorrow, I’l be better than new.”

“In that case, we can spend the whole weekend in bed.”

Sloane’s brows rose. “That’s right. It’s Friday. Are you working tomorrow?”

“Nope. I’ve set everything I need to in motion, and I’l keep my cel phone on. So I’m al yours.”

“I like that,” she admitted. “I feel as if we’ve been operating at warp speed, but at cross-purposes, since you moved in. We’ve barely had a private minute to talk, except about Bureau business. We haven’t had a quiet dinner alone, or even just hung out and listened to music. I was worried that living together would hurt our relationship by cramping our independence, but instead we never see each other.”

“It’s time we changed that.” Gently, Derek lifted Sloane’s right hand and kissed her palm. “We deserve a weekend to ourselves. How about a DVD and popcorn tonight, and the next two days in bed—or wherever we happen to be when the mood strikes?” He gave her that sexy grin that made her insides melt.

“Sounds like heaven.” And it did. Nonetheless, she knew Derek, knew the way his mind worked.

She gave him a you’re-not-fooling-me look. “Of course, besides sharing alone time, intimate conversation, and hot sex, this is also about your acting as my weekend sentry.” She reached over and popped one of her antibiotic capsules out of the foil packet, swal owing it with the water she’d kept on the coffee table. “And I don’t mean a caretaker to change the bandage on my arm.”