Drawn in Blood (22 page)

“Maybe. But I’d rather wait.” Cindy’s eyes twinkled. “Who knows when I might want to spend a weekend in East Hampton—after an appropriate amount of time has passed, of course.”

“Of course.”

“What would you think about next week, say Tuesday?”

“I’d say it’s a good choice. It’s enough time to make you look interested but not overeager. Oh, and I’d say wear your turquoise silk blouse. It looks gorgeous on you. He’l be captivated.”

Cindy’s laughter trailed behind her as she descended the stairs. “Then Tuesday and the turquoise silk it is.” Phil Leary’s hand was shaking as he hung up the phone. When the cal had come in from his bookie, Ardian Sava, he thought it would be routine—a hot tip on next week’s race and a reminder of the hefty wad of cash he owed.

It was anything but.

Sava had gotten wind from a reliable source that someone was trying to dig up dirt on Phil’s background, who he associated with and his recreational spending habits. They were nosing around at the track to find out how much time he spent there. They’d even contacted two Vegas casinos to determine his gambling habits and the frequency of his visits.

No surprise that Sava was freaked out. The hotheaded Albanian had told Phil not to contact him until this fishing expedition blew over—except to pay him his money. Al of it.

Phil didn’t even have half. But that was the least of his problems. If this got out, it could ruin his career. It could ruin his life.

And, depending upon who’d ordered this investigation, it could end it.

Automatical y, he grabbed the phone and punched in Leo’s number.

Wal ace felt unusual y peaceful.

Downstairs in his private haven, he sank back in his chair and soaked up the beauty of his personal gal ery. The newly purchased Renoir had been wel worth waiting for. He’d completed the transaction and hung it just hours earlier. And already it was enhancing the room.

The little girl in the painting was far off in the background, her features and expressions indistinct, creating a haunting, surreal effect. Her coloring was perfect, as was the hue of her frock. The ful impact made it al the more effortless to lose himself in it. Especial y given the focus of the painting—the breathtaking field of wildflowers spread out before the little girl, and her fascination with it. Her basket was beside her, and she was squatting down, reaching for another of the identical flowers she clutched in her hand.

Daisies.

When Wal ace had first held the painting in his hands and scrutinized it up close, he’d felt that familiar constriction in his throat and chest, that pain that shot through his soul. But now, studying it as it hung in its careful y chosen spot on the wal adjacent to his chair, he felt oddly at peace.

The pain was stil there. But so was an odd sense of comfort.

He shut his eyes, letting memories wash over him. He couldn’t explain why the sharp agony was softened by a feeling of peace. Maybe it was because his col ection was almost complete, the sole bare spot on the wal across the room waiting for the masterpiece that would be the culmination of it al .

And maybe it was because he was experiencing the unexpected and ever-so-slight longing to live again.

The vision of wildflowers in his mind transformed into a vision of pink roses—and their recipient.

Cindy had been touched by and appreciative of his gesture. She’d expressed her thanks with genuine warmth, and they’d made dinner plans for this coming Tuesday night.

He was looking forward to the evening. Yes, he understood that a portion of the conversation would be about the cocktail party invitations that had been pouring in from eager new clients she’d met at her gal ery debut. And, yes, he knew that another portion of the conversation would be about the future plans her uncle had for her success.

But Wal ace was hoping that they’d have more, much more, that they could talk about.

Sloane felt sapped in more ways than one as she drove away from the Hospital for Special Surgery and her hand therapy session that evening. It had been quite a harrowing day. Poor Connie. She’d had to work like a demon just to relax Sloane’s hand enough to unclench it and massage the remaining scar tissue on her palm.

Of course she’d asked why Sloane was so wound up. And there was very little Sloane could reveal. So she emphasized the personal part. She told Connie that she was working on a high-profile case that was pitting her and Derek against each other, and that they were fighting like cats and dogs.

The male-female bickering Connie understood wel . She commiserated with Sloane about men and their pigheadedness. But she’d also reminded her how hard she and Derek had worked to find their way back to each other after their break-up in Cleveland.

Sloane didn’t need any reminders of how destructively each of them had behaved after the robbery that resulted in her hand being slashed. Derek had pressured her to stay with the Bureau, injury be damned, showing the compassion of a stone wal . She, in turn, had shut him out, showing the maturity of a child.

But wanting to be together didn’t mean either one was wil ing to take the subordinate role. And this case was a grueling test of their relationship.

Especial y since the sides were unbalanced. She was operating alone, with no backup, and no time to hire the right resources. Whereas Derek had not only himself but also the manpower of both C-6 and the Art Crime Team, not to mention whatever confidential human sources he cal ed upon to ful y investigate every man in her father’s partnership.

The scales were tipped in his favor.

As luck would have it, today she’d taken a detour that might just untip them.

She’d spotted the lanky Asian kid while she was talking to Bernie. After that, he’d been on her tail al day. She’d purposely tested him, overtly talking to the apartment maintenance staff outside so he could see, and hopeful y hear, her. She’d also made it a point to catch most of the neighbors on her parents’ list as they entered or left the building, initiating the conversations she needed to have in ful view of her Red Dragon shadow.

She’d then walked three blocks at lunchtime for a sandwich, taken the long route back to her parents’ place, and stil the punk was half a block behind.

Final y. She’d been added to the list of Burbanks that Xiao Long considered to be a threat. He was definitely keeping an eye on her. Excel ent. It was time to up the stakes and give him something real to worry about. That would make her more vital to the Bureau, and shift Xiao Long’s focus from her parents to her.

The file on Xiao that Derek had given her included the police reports on al the Upper East Side burglaries the Red Dragons had pul ed off. There were eight of them, not counting her parents’ place. She had al the names and addresses, as wel as a list of items stolen from each apartment.

Sure enough, every list of stolen items included valuable paintings. And that gave her just the in she needed.

She didn’t cal ahead. That way, no one could refuse to see her. She simply walked from location to location, acknowledging doormen and pressing intercom buzzers. In a clear, official voice—one that the punk tailing her was sure to hear—she introduced herself as a private consultant representing un-disclosed insurance companies who’d paid claims on several of the more valuable paintings taken during their string of neighborhood burglaries. She further informed them that there were similarities between those paintings and the ones taken from their home. It was imperative that she discuss it with them.

She stopped at al eight apartment buildings, and managed to talk her way into five of them. The Dragon kid who was fol owing her overheard only what she wanted him to. He had no idea what was being said in private. That would freak him out big-time.

Then came the pièce de résistance. Sloane exited the last building, stil scribbling down a few notes. She paused a few steps away, flipped open her cel phone, and punched in a number.

“Nineteenth Precinct?” she inquired. “This is Sloane Burbank. Could you please connect me with Detective Diane Yuen?” A pause. “Hi, Diane. Listen, are you going to be at your desk for the next hour? Because I’ve got something on the paintings stolen in that string of burglaries you’re investigating. And it’s something you’l be able to act on faster and with less red tape than the FBI. Can I come by and run it by you? Great. See you in a few.”

She punched off her phone, silencing the computerized voice at the other end that was providing her with the accurate time and temperature.

She headed over to the Nineteenth Precinct, had an impromptu cup of sludgy coffee with Diane, whom she’d known for years, and gave her a brief explanation of what she’d done, and what she’d presumably told Diane over the phone.

Diane started to laugh. “Very creative. Posing as an independent freelance insurance investigator. And, of course, I assume that once you got inside and actual y spoke to these people, you let it slip that you’re working on a contingency basis.”

“You got it.” Sloane grinned back. “Money is a motivator everyone understands. And I admitted that I’d col ect a whopping finder’s fee if I recovered the paintings.” She leaned forward. “Between you and me, this was my idea. It’s a little outside the lines, so I figured I’d run it by C-6 after the fact, perhaps later today. So, in the meantime, keep this between us.”

“Only if, in return, you pass along anything solid that comes out of this.”

“When I know, you’l know.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Sloane rose. “I’ve got to get going.” She took a last gulp of coffee and shuddered. “Next time, let’s meet for a real lunch—one where you actual y sit down in a restaurant and get coffee that doesn’t taste like it was pumped from the sewer.”

“That sounds like heaven.” Diane stood up as wel , ready to get back to the mounds of paperwork on her desk. “Stay in touch.”

“I wil .”

Sloane had stopped outside the precinct to glance at her watch, and to make sure Xiao’s guy was stil there.

He was. And her watch told her it was time to head over to HSS and her hand therapy appointment with Connie.

She chose to walk. He fol owed her al the way there.

But he was gone when she came out, and no one fol owed her to the garage where she’d parked her car.

Purposely, she took her time getting behind the wheel. She even slipped out of her jacket and tossed it into the backseat, giving herself an extra moment to scan the area.

Nope. No shadow.

Interesting. He’d probably rushed off to fil in Xiao Long. And she’d know soon enough just how rattled the Dai Lo was.

The drive home was uneventful, although she did glance in her rearview mirror a few times just to make sure. When she was certain she was alone, she turned her thoughts to Derek, and how she was going to handle him.

He was going to be furious. Not only had she overstepped her bounds without consulting him but she’d also thrown herself right in front of the very moving train he’d warned her against. Professional y and personal y, he was going to blast her. And tel ing him that she was fighting the odds, that she was trying to figure out who’d helped the Red Dragons break into her parents’ apartment while he was working to implicate her father’s closest friends—that wasn’t going to fly. What she’d done today, after questioning the names on her parents’

list, had been total y unrelated to her original task. Instead of hunting down Xiao’s helper, she’d spent the majority of the day intentional y baiting Xiao.

She steeled herself as she drove through the wooded back roads of Hunterdon County. Connie’s advice had been great—in theory. But Sloane knew that her relationship was about to take another whopping hit.

Turning up the secluded hil that led to her cottage, Sloane continued the steep climb until she was just one wide curve away from home. She spotted a row of blinking lights blocking the road and she slowed down. It was a line of sawhorses with blinkers closing off the rest of the road. Breaking to a stop, she gave an inward groan. Construction work.

There’d obviously been some going on here today. And given the sparse population of the area, no one had bothered moving the barriers for the few vehicles that accessed this section of the hil each night.

Wel , there was no point in bitching, silently or otherwise. At this point, al Sloane wanted to do was to get home and get this fight with Derek over with. Bearing that in mind, she shifted her car into park, put on her hazard lights, and got out. She headed over to the sawhorses to drag them away one at a time.

She’d just pul ed the first sawhorse out of the way when she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.

She whirled around just as the punk who’d been fol owing her al day got in her face. Only this time, he was carrying a long switchblade.

He didn’t pause. He pivoted slightly, and his arm plunged downward in a sharp diagonal slash. The silver switchblade flashed in the night, and even though Sloane lurched backward instinctively, it managed to slice her right forearm. A burning pain shot through her.

In that fraction of an instant, she realized her assailant’s intent.

Xiao Long had ordered him to go for her injured hand.

Sloane’s Krav Maga training took over and she snapped into defensive mode. The blade was already on its return upward swing, this time aiming directly for her palm.

Blocking out the pain, Sloane acted. Simultaneously, she shot her feet back, arching forward and thrusting her left forearm down to block his ascending blow, breaking his momentum and halting his arm as it swung up toward her. Her left arm then wound around his blade-wielding hand, trapping it between her left shoulder and wrist.

The blade toppled from his grasp and clattered to the ground.

Sloane slammed her right elbow into his nose. He gave a hoarse shout of pain and swore in Fukienese. She ignored both. Stil holding his arm immobilized, she grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand, jerking him down and smashing her knee into his groin.

He made an agonized sound. She released him, and he doubled over and staggered back. As he straightened, she drew her knee up to her chest and shot her leg straight out, connecting squarely with the center of his torso.