Drawn in Blood (31 page)

This time Sloane took the risk, reaching over to cover Lucy’s hand with her own. “You were alone. You were desperate. And you were lonely. The men who abused you—it wasn’t your fault.”

Lucy raised her head, wiped the tears from her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Can you tel me more about Meili’s rich American? His name? What he looked like?”

“I never met him and Meili never said his name,” Lucy replied, shaking her head. “She was protecting him and his precious reputation. I know she met him when she was trying to sel her second painting. He and his partners offered her next to nothing for it. She ended up sel ing it to some other triad swindler like Daniel Zhang. But the rich American pursued Meili, if not her painting. He was an important businessman. He was much older than she was, and he was married. He came to Meili whenever he was in China, and she ran to be with him. This went on for three years. She ended it al the night the pig got drunk and told her he’d first slept with her to win a poker bet.”

“What a bastard,” Sloane muttered, revolted by the al -too-common story.

“Wait.” Lucy’s fingers stiffened under Sloane’s hand, and her trembling started anew. “Meili came from a very traditional family. Honor was everything. She was humiliated by the rich American. She cried al the time, and wouldn’t talk. She was stil like that when she found out she was pregnant. She didn’t know what to do. It took al her courage, but she went crawling back to her father. She knelt at his feet and begged for his forgiveness. He threw her out and said she was no longer his daughter. Three weeks later, she slit her wrists and died alone.”

“Oh God.” Sloane felt bile rise in her throat. “Lucy, I don’t know what to say. I’m so very, very sorry.” Lucy was weeping. “Meili was my best friend. I miss her so much. But I betrayed her.”

“Betrayed her? How?”

“The man I was with when she died—he was worse than the others. He beat me hard every night, held me down and choked me until I blacked out, then threatened to kil me if I told anyone about it. I was so scared. I had to get away. So I took the rest of Meili’s money, paid a Dragon Head for safe passage, and had him smuggle me into the U.S. I stole my best friend’s money. And for what? To end up with another violent animal? One I was stupid enough to marry?”

“Stop it,” Sloane commanded, meaning every single word. “You didn’t steal Meili’s money. She was gone. And if she’d been alive, she would have gladly given it to save you.

You needed help. You’re getting it here. You won’t ever make the same mistakes again.”

“No, I won’t,” Lucy said emphatical y. She wrapped her blanket more tightly around her trembling shoulders. But she managed to meet Sloane’s gaze, and there was a tiny flicker of pride in her eyes. “No more drugs. Four months now.”

“You should be very proud of yourself, Lucy. You’re traveling a long, hard road. But you’re making it. You’re strong. Meili would be so proud of you. I know I am. And I meant what I said yesterday. If you ever need anything—to talk, to find your way once you’ve left the shelter—cal me. I’l help in any way I can.” Lucy just stared. “I gave you everything I know. Stil you’d help me? Why?”

“Because you’re a good person.”

“So are you.” Lucy reached under her blanket, rummaging in the pocket of her pants until she found what she was looking for. “Maybe this wil help,” she said, extracting a folded photo and handing it to Sloane. “It was taken a few months before Meili died. I’ve carried it with me ever since.” Sloane glanced down and smoothed out the lines of the photograph. It was Lucy and a smiling, dark-haired girl with the very love and joy on her face that Lucy had al uded to.

“Meili?” Sloane confirmed.

“Yes. Stop these men from hurting other women. It wil make me very happy. Meili, too—happiness and peace.”

“I’l do everything in my power to make that happen,” Sloane vowed, rising to her feet. “You have my word. And when I see you again to return this photo, I’l tel you al about what I’ve done, and you’l know you helped protect others.”

Leo was a wreck.

It had been almost a week since Derek had caught him hastily reassembling Sloane’s FBI file. And while he’d perceived no overt changes in either Sloane’s or Derek’s behavior toward him, he knew the incident hadn’t been ignored or forgotten.

If Derek hadn’t been suspicious before, he sure as hel was now. Thanks to his own carelessness, Leo was probably right up there at the top of Special Agent Parker’s suspect list.

What had possessed him to go through Sloane’s file? What he was looking for wouldn’t be in there, even if the FBI had compiled ful dossiers on each of them. He was a stupid, blind fool, searching for answers that didn’t exist.

Even so, if the FBI suspected them of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time and keeping quiet about it out of fear…he had to know what that something was, and how deeply and personal y each of them was involved.

The tinkle of a bel and the sound of a door shutting at the front of his studio nearly made him leap in the air. His head snapped around in that direction.

He sagged with relief when he saw Phil walking toward him—until he saw the panicky look on Phil’s face. Then, the relief vanished.

“What’s wrong?” Leo demanded. “Did Derek Parker contact you?”

“Derek Parker?” Phil stared blankly at him, oblivious to everything except his own stark fear. “Why would he contact me?” Awareness penetrated his agitated state. “Are you stil obsessing over that stupid file he saw you putting back together? What could he think—that you’re clumsy? You are. That you’re nosy? You’re that, too.”

“Or he could think I was searching for incriminating evidence that could land our asses in jail.”

Phil gave an impatient wave of his hand. “You’ve been watching too many spy movies. The FBI is finished with us. Besides, if that file contained anything that pointed in our direction, do you think Sloane would have been stupid enough to leave it in plain sight when she knew you’d be alone in the cottage?” Shifting nervously, Phil wiped beads of perspiration off his forehead. “Leave it alone, Leo. There’s enough going on without you inventing more.”

“Obviously.” Leo turned his attention to his friend. “You look like death warmed over. Is your bookie on your back again?”

“He’s not just on my back.” Phil drew a shaky breath. “He’s threatening me. He says he has friends who could hurt me if I don’t pay him by next week.”

“Why is he pushing so hard? I just loaned you ten thousand dol ars to give him. That should be more than enough of a down payment to calm him down.” Silence.

“Wasn’t it?” Leo asked.

“No.” Phil was sweating again. “That was a drop in the bucket. You have no idea how much I owe him.”

“Wel , I’m about to. Give me the grand total.”

More silence.

“Phil?” Leo prompted.

“A hundred and twenty-five.”

“
Thousand?
” Leo gasped. “You owe that Albanian crook a hundred and twenty-five thousand dol ars?” He slapped his hands on his desk. “Are you out of your mind? None of us has that kind of money lying around. Not even Wal ace—not anymore. Plus, you, better than anyone, knows that a withdrawal of that size would have the FBI in our faces in a minute.” Phil sank down on a chair, lowering his head into his hands. “Leo, I don’t think he’s bluffing. He said his boss is a big shot in an organized-crime group. God knows what they’d do to me. And if you think a huge bank withdrawal would put the FBI on high alert, imagine how they’d react to my being worked over by the Albanian mob.”

“Fine. Okay. I hear you.” Leo’s mind was racing, searching for solutions. “Let me talk to Wal ace. He’s going to a bunch of cocktail parties with Cindy Liu. I’l be there, too. So wil a crowd of rich guests. Maybe if Wal ace and I put our heads together, we can come up with something.” Phil’s head came up, and a flicker of hope lit his eyes. “When are you going to these parties?”

“They started last week. I’ve got a half dozen more this week and next. Stal your bookie. I’l come up with something.” Leo sighed. “I always do.”

“Thanks. I can’t tel you how—”

“Save it,” Leo interrupted. “After this, I’m dragging you down to a twelve-step program. You’re a gambling addict. It’s time to confront it once and for al .”

“I know.” Phil nodded, resigned and utterly depleted. “You won’t have to drag me. I’l go.”

“And I’l go with you. I won’t leave until I’m sure you’re sticking it out.” Leo glanced over as his cel phone rang. “Now go home and get some rest,” he advised, reaching for the phone. “You’re about to keel over. Hel o,” he said into the mouthpiece.

“Mr. Fox?”

“Yes.”

“This is Special Agent Wil iams. New information on the Rothberg provenance has just come to light. I’d appreciate your coming down to the Field Office so we can discuss it.” Leo felt his heart drop to his feet. “What new information?” he asked, wildly beckoning Phil to come back to the front of the studio.

“We’l go over the details when you’re here. How does ten o’clock tomorrow morning sound?”

How did it sound? Like an order, not a request. “Ten o’clock is fine. Wil al my partners be present?”

“I’l be interviewing you one at a time. It’s easier to keep my facts straight that way. I appreciate your cooperation. I’l see you tomorrow at ten a.m.” Click.

White-faced, Leo stared down at his cel as he snapped it shut.

“Was that the FBI?” Phil asked in a tight voice.

“None other.” Leo’s breath was coming in a nervous, uneven rhythm. “Agent Wil iams wants to reinterview us.
All
of us. But individual y. It seems he has new information on the Rothberg provenance.”

“Why individual y? And what could he possibly have?”

“I don’t know,” Leo snapped. “But we’re back on his radar again. And that means trouble, any way you slice it.” Just as Phil opened his mouth to reply, his cel phone rang.

He and Leo stared at each other, then at the phone as Phil fished it out of his pocket.

They both knew who was cal ing.

Cindy slid on a pair of high-heeled shoes and gave a weary sigh.

She was exhausted. A week of cocktail parties. A week of being “on” every evening. And a week of manipulating Wal ace to fal even more in love with her.

Peggy had her hands ful , too, working ’round the clock on her forgeries so that both the handpicked originals and their identical y created fakes could be shipped to China.

The plan was coming together nicely. Xiao Long was putting the information Cindy provided to good use. There’d already been two burglaries since the steady stream of cocktail parties had begun. Both burglaries took place at the private homes of some of the wealthy guests who’d attended the parties, and who’d discussed their art col ections with Cindy after hiring her to redesign their manors.

Cindy chose her victims careful y. Never the host and hostess’s place. Never a couple who spent an extensively long time alone with her. And never a couple whose col ections weren’t valuable enough to be worth the trouble.

Leo was both an asset and a pain in the ass. His talent was undeniable, as was his reputation as a world-class decorator. The newly acquired clients practical y drooled when they managed to hire Cindy and Leo as a col aborative team.

On the flip side, he never went away. He always had projects to go over with her, or personal conversations he
had
to have with Wal ace for just a few minutes—which always turned into a half hour. Cindy needed time alone with Wal ace. It was imperative to solidify his feelings for her.

Sighing, she rose and zipped up her dress. Tonight she’d invite Wal ace in for an after-party drink. She’d let things progress—gradual y. Depending on how avid Wal ace was and how much headway she’d made, she might accept his invitation for a weekend in the Hamptons this week or next.

The odd part was she was actual y looking forward to sleeping with him.

Rich went to see Derek the minute his last meeting with the members of the art partnership was finished.

“Okay, so the results are in,” he announced, sitting down across from Derek’s desk.

“And?”

“And we’ve got an interesting potpourri of reactions. They’re al nervous wrecks, especial y since Rosalyn Burbank’s bodyguard was pul ed out of the river with a fatal stab wound in his back. That’s to be expected. But there’s definitely something going on beneath the surface. I’m stil convinced it doesn’t relate to a dirty deal or a switcheroo on the Rothberg. But the integrity of the players involved—that’s another story.”

With that, Rich pul ed out his notes. “Burbank is the one I have the least problems with. He wasn’t surprised by the fact that Xiao Long’s criminal activities might be tied to a Chinese triad. He agreed that it would explain Xiao’s determination to keep his murdering Cai Wen quiet—to protect whoever he’s working for. Burbank himself offered up the theory that in the final hour, Cai Wen probably tried to squeeze Xiao for more money, which got him kil ed.”

“What about Fong? Had Burbank heard of him? Had any dealings with him?”

Rich shook his head. “He drew a blank. And he wasn’t lying. The name Henry Fong meant nothing to him. Neither did Daniel Zhang or Zhang Ming.”

“So he has no idea where
Dead or Alive
went after Xiao Long stole it.” Derek shot Rich a quizzical look. “You didn’t get into Lucy’s story, did you? Because I promised Sloane we’d keep her out of this. As it is, I put security on both her and Zhang. If Xiao is tied to the Fong Triad, and if he sees either Lucy or Zhang as a threat, he won’t hesitate to eliminate them.”

“Lucy’s name never came up. Al I said was that the Rothberg was stolen from whomever Xiao Long got it for, after which it was sold to Zhang. That’s al that Burbank, or any of his partners, needs to know.”

“Good. What about the others?”

“Ah, the others. Leo Fox was flying on so much caffeine that he was practical y on the ceiling. He kept waiting for me to bring up the file you found him rifling at Sloane’s. Of course I didn’t. It’s better to keep him squirming. He didn’t react to any of the names I ran by him, either. But he’s sitting on something. I’m just not sure whether it relates to Xiao Long or to his partners. He’s definitely the Dear Abby of the group. So if anyone has secrets, he knows them.”