Drawn in Blood (18 page)

“That’s conjecture,” Derek pointed out. “The Dragons could have dropped the earring when they fled.”

“Maybe. But even if they’d already ransacked the bedroom, that doesn’t explain how they took care of the kitchen and living room—yanking apart an entire entertainment unit, and making off with its contents and the rest of their haul—in under seventeen minutes. Not unless the office was a done deal.” Sloane gave an emphatic shake of her head. “And let’s not forget that those seventeen minutes also included an unexpected battle with my mother. She fought them like a tigress. They had to drag her into my father’s office and tie her up, then knock her out. Add that to the mix, and there’s no way. Not even the Flash could have pul ed it off in such record time. The only explanation is that those guys knew exactly where every room and every thing was—including the Rothberg file. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

“And you’d be right,” Derek replied, his brows knit in concentration. “Because you’re timing it only to the end of the robbery when they reached your parents’ front door. After that, they stil had to haul out a flat-screen TV, a painting, and a bunch of bulky art pieces, and get them downstairs and out the delivery entrance. I agree. Something here is off.”

“They had help.” Sloane met Derek’s gaze. “It’s the only answer that makes sense. Someone scoped out the place for them. Whoever it was gave them the same access and the same information that Eric Hu provided for the other robberies, and then some. The question is, who?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cindy’s debut was a smashing success.

Nearly everyone Wal ace invited dropped by and ended up staying for a while. Many of them brought guests—dates, friends, or col eagues—who were interested in meeting this rising architectural star who could transform their homes into unique residences that would be the talk of the town.

Al the attendees had one thing in common—they had considerable wealth to spare.

When the party first began, Wal ace stood beside Cindy near the doorway, welcoming his guests and introducing them to Ms. Liu. It took about twenty minutes for Cindy to take over her own introductions, and about twenty more before she was swarmed by interested patrons scrutinizing her portfolio of completed projects, while she gave out her business cards hand over fist.

Wal ace’s initial work was done.

With that knowledge, he turned his attention to his own situation. He began mingling among the guests, and was both relieved and gratified to see how many of them were clustered around and admiring the more valuable paintings he’d displayed. A number of guests stopped him to ask detailed questions, frankly informing him that they were in the process of deciding which painting or paintings to buy.

Considering how successful the evening was turning out to be—and how busy—Wal ace was glad he’d asked both of his handpicked assistants to help out. The front desk was fil ed with the welcome sight of American Express cards and leather-bound checkbooks. Fine art sold wel even in tough economic times, especial y when there were bargains to be had.

“You’ve done a wonderful job of introducing Cindy to prospective clients. I’m very appreciative. I’m sure Mr. Liu wil be, too.” Wal ace turned to see Peggy Sun standing beside him. He’d met the attractive fortyish woman just before tonight’s party and was impressed by her knowledge of art and her loyalty to Cindy. Having spent a fair amount of time in China, plus having done business with Johnny Liu for years, Wal ace understood his cultural y established values, including Peggy’s role in Cindy’s life, even now that Cindy was an adult. After al these years, and given the Lius’ commitment to honor and tradition, Peggy was stil looking out for Cindy, acting as her friend and constant companion. So it was only natural that she’d be by Cindy’s side at an important event such as this.

“No appreciation is necessary,” Wal ace assured Peggy. “Al I did was provide the venue, the invitations, and the refreshments. Cindy’s doing al the rest herself.” He smiled, gesturing in Cindy’s direction.

Oblivious to the scrutiny, Cindy was drawing a rough pencil sketch on the back of a cocktail napkin for the wife of a former col eague and current racquetbal partner of Wal ace’s. Cindy’s enthusiasm was contagious, and her-soon-to-be client was listening intently, her whole face aglow.

“She real y is something,” Peggy agreed, fol owing Wal ace’s gaze. “Her love for her work, her way with people, and of course, her extraordinary talent—once she’s completed a few projects, and word of the results gets around, she’l be bombarded with clients.” Peggy’s smile was fil ed with pride. “Cindy is a rare gem. Beautiful, intel igent, gifted, and overflowing with a love of life few people possess.”

“I agree.” Wal ace continued watching Cindy, listening to Peggy’s description as he did. Beautiful, intel igent, gifted, overflowing with a love of life…She might as wel have been describing Meili.

At that moment, Cindy laughed at something one of the guests had said, simultaneously tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

That particular gesture…Wal ace felt his chest constrict.

Meili. She’d been a bright light in his life at a time that was anything but bright. He and Beatrice were clashing daily, fighting over their vastly different views of what being a parent meant. Given how long and hard they’d tried to conceive, Wal ace wanted to make Sophie the center of their world. He’d assumed Beatrice would abandon everything—her weekends at the spa, her evenings out with her girlfriends, her marathon shopping sprees—to be a ful -time mother. It never occurred to him that she’d turn out not to have a single maternal bone in her body.

The situation had escalated to talk of divorce. At barely two years old, Sophie very much needed her mother. Wal ace would have gladly traded places with Beatrice and raised their daughter. But it wasn’t feasible, not financial y. Wal ace earned several mil ion dol ars a year, and Beatrice earned nothing. She’d resigned from her job as a fashion buyer as soon as she married Wal ace. That hadn’t bothered him—until now. He was fifty-four years old and way too entrenched in a career that made no al owances for throttling back. Beatrice was thirty-nine, six-plus years out of the fashion business—and therefore out of the game—with no motivation to return to the rat race, and equal y little motivation to play in the sandbox with a toddler.

Wal ace tried to make up for Beatrice’s attitude toward their daughter in any way he could. But he traveled so often, and worked such long hours, that it made it very difficult. So he’d compensated by hiring the most qualified and loving nannies money could buy, and augmented that by spending every waking hour he was home with Sophie. Adult companionship, intimate or otherwise, was shelved. For a vital, passionate man like Wal ace, it was a very lonely life.

When he’d met Meili in Hong Kong, he was at his most vulnerable and lowest point. As it turned out, so was she. But to him, she was the epitome of joy—free-spirited, fiery, young, and ful of life. She was also beautiful—petite, with fine, delicate features and an equal y delicate figure. Looking back on it now, their love affair was like a real-life
Pretty Woman.

Except for two things.

Thankful y, Meili’s pride would never al ow her to resort to prostitution.

And there’d been no Cinderel a ending.

The first time Wal ace laid eyes on Meili was in the lobby of the Conrad Hong Kong hotel in July 2002. He and his art partners were there on business, the first time they’d returned to Hong Kong since the sale of
Dead or Alive
—even longer stil since al five of them had been in this city together. Matthew, Leo, and Phil were apprehensive as hel about returning. But it couldn’t be helped. The group was negotiating the purchase of a valuable painting from an elite art gal ery. The owner refused to make the sale unless he met with the entire partnership. The profit made it worth the trip. Besides, they were staying in Hong Kong’s affluent business and shopping district, nowhere near Kowloon, where Cai Wen’s office had been.

As the established art connoisseur of the group, not to mention the investment banker with the most economic experience, Wal ace made the preliminary visit to the gal ery alone to view the painting and to meet with the gal ery owner. While he was in the area, he stopped into a few other high-end gal eries to check out the works being displayed.

He returned to the hotel to see Meili sitting in the lobby.

She clearly didn’t fit in with the wealthy business crowd who frequented the Conrad. She looked like a beautiful, misplaced waif, sitting on a plush chair, wearing a pseudosophisticated suit he suspected she’d bought secondhand, and trying to act natural—as if she belonged there. Sipping at a glass of wine, she kept one hand on the canvas of a painting she’d propped up against the chair.

Wal ace would have approached her, but she approached him first.

“Excuse me,” she said in English. “But I understand you’re an American art col ector. I have a valuable painting here I’d be interested in sel ing. It’s a Rothberg.” She held out the painting, which Wal ace recognized as one of Rothberg’s earlier works. It wasn’t worth a fortune now—but it
could
be in the future.

That is, if it was genuine.

Wal ace doubted that was the case. This had to be a con. Had Wal ace not seen the desperation in the young woman’s eyes, he would have walked away. But he did. So he’d suggested she wait in the lobby while he went up and spoke to his partners to see if they were interested.

Of course they were interested, even though they, too, were certain this was a hoax.

It turned out not to be. Matthew had the painting authenticated, and it was indeed a genuine Rothberg.

The group had argued. Wal ace didn’t agree with the strategy they came up with. It might be legal, but it was damned unethical. They were going to lowbal the young woman.

They saw a chance to make a kil ing on someone who had no idea of the painting’s worth but was clearly hungry for cash.

Wal ace was outnumbered, and the offer was made.

Meili knew they were offering her tens of thousands of dol ars less than the value of the painting. She’d told them so in no uncertain terms. And Matthew and Ben had told her to go home and think about it.

She’d cal ed the next day to say she’d gotten a better offer. And that was that.

Except that Wal ace couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He’d cal ed her the next day at the phone number she’d given them. And after hearing his apology over the group’s behavior, she’d grudgingly accepted his dinner invitation.

If there was such a thing as instant, head-over-heels love, this had been it. There’d been an instant chemistry between them, and a gravitation to fil the very different, yet equal y real, emotional holes in each of their lives.

They’d spent a good part of Wal ace’s trip together, as wel as his next trip, and the next, and the next. He had taken things very slowly. Meili was young. He knew very little about her, nor she about him. They purposely kept it that way, right down to not exchanging last names. It made the whole relationship more magical, more isolated from the rest of the world.

None of it mattered anyway. Al that mattered was the solace and the joy they brought each other.

She had told him merely that she was an only child, a budding artist, and that she’d left home to build her career. Other than two paintings she’d hocked for cash—including the one that had resulted in their meeting, she was living hand to mouth, working fervently on her painting. In return, he’d told her that he was an investment banker who had frequent business dealings in Hong Kong.

And he’d told her one other thing, right up front. He’d told her that he was married. He couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t. She’d accepted it. She knew he was hers only when he was here. She didn’t care. She just wanted him. And, God help him, he wanted her.

Right or wrong, they’d gotten involved. Wal ace had told her their meeting was pure fate. Meili had teasingly informed him that it had been pure manipulation—genius on her part. Desperate to sel the Rothberg, she’d spent long hours scrutinizing Hong Kong’s upscale art gal eries. She’d seen Wal ace visit three or four of them on several occasions.

Recognizing that he was an affluent art col ector, she’d bribed his driver to tel her what hotel Wal ace was staying at.

She’d arrived ahead of him, and waited in the lobby with her painting and high hopes.

Wal ace had chuckled at her creative ingenuity. So that was how she knew who and where he was. But it had stil brought her into his life. And he’d treasured every moment they shared.

That was a mil ion years ago.

Yet, with the exception of Sophie, for whom he felt a paternal love that was in a class by itself, Meili was the last person who’d made him feel alive, vital, and needed. Their affair had lasted three years, and it had ended because he was a stupid, insensitive fool. Countless times he’d thought of going back and trying to undo what he’d done. But what was the point? Even if he ended his marriage, he had a beloved daughter who needed him. And Meili refused to leave Hong Kong. Ultimately, there could be no future for them. It was up to Wal ace to let her move on, make a life for herself, and find a man who could truly commit to her.

For so long, he had missed her. Whatever fragments of a marriage he and Beatrice stil had had shattered when Sophie died, and their divorce was finalized six months later. If he hadn’t been a total y broken man who had nothing left inside him to give, he might have flown back to China to see if he could find Meili and make things right.

But he was an empty shel , capable of nothing except burying himself in the memories of his precious daughter. So his thoughts of Meili faded into the past.

Studying Cindy now, Wal ace was stil amazed by the remarkable resemblance she bore to Meili, both in appearance and in mannerisms. Had Meili not been an only child, the two of them could be sisters. True, the similarities were purely physical. Their personalities, ambitions, and sophistication were day and night. Stil , there was something in Cindy’s eyes, in her gestures, in the way her face lit up when she was excited, that was a stirring reminder of Meili.