Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

He’d left about seven o’clock, picked up a couple of groceries, and driven home to his midtown east apartment. The high-rise he lived in was on Second Avenue, close enough to the noise of the Midtown Tunnel to make it affordable. That wasn’t a problem; Derek could sleep through anything—or stay awake through anything, whichever was required. As for the apartment itself, it was tiny—not even five hundred square feet including the bedroom, kitchenette, and bathroom.

On the other hand, it had its perks. The place had just been renovated, there was a doorman around most of the time, and Derek had secured a parking space in the underground garage. And since he drove his Bureau car back and forth to work each day, that meant one less headache. Parking spaces in Manhattan were on the endangered species list. So, all in all, he had a good living arrangement, at least for the time being.

He let himself in, changed his clothes, and cooked his dinner. He was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying his pepper steak and scanning the local sports section to see when the Yanks’ opening game would be, when the phone rang.

He groped for his cordless phone, and answered. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Jeff greeted him.

Derek made a grunting sound. “Aren’t you sick of me yet? We spend more nights together than a married couple.”

“Actually, yeah, I’m very sick of you. So’s my wife. She’s glaring at me as I speak. But Gleason called right before I left. I wanted you to hear this ASAP.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“The NYPD found another one of Xiao Long’s girls, this time in an abandoned Chinatown tenement just a couple of blocks from the Nom Wo Club. Same MO—she was drugged, raped, throat slit with a combat knife, and one of those python coins left at the scene. Although evidently, this time the sexual assault and the murder were more graphic and more violent. I don’t have all the details. But Gleason’s description wasn’t pretty.”

“How long ago was she killed?”

“That’s the kicker. According to the medical examiner, the time of death was between five and six A.M.—yesterday.”

“Yesterday.”

“Today?” Derek’s fork struck the table with a thud. He’d assumed the body had been there longer, and had only just been discovered. “We’re talking right after our stakeout.”

“Gleason said she lived near the Nom Wo Club. He figures she was on her way to Xiao Long’s brothel to work around the same time everything went down at the club. Gleason’s guess is she saw the cops and steered clear.”

“Obviously, not clear enough.” Derek’s brows knit. “Either someone in Lo Ma’s gang has a death wish, or whoever did this isn’t one of his. Because no one in his right mind would provoke Xiao Long right after his enforcer was in their face, threatening their lives.”

“My thoughts exactly. I expected Lo Ma’s guys to retaliate by smashing up one of Xiao Long’s gambling parlors. But to blatantly spit in his face by taking out another one of his girls—butchering her, no less—right after the fight at the club? Doubtful.”

“It seems to me we’re back to a third gang trying to start up a war for their own purposes.”

“Gleason said the same thing. His team is already investigating that angle.”

“Are they going to be able to minimize the collateral damage? Or do we have to get involved?”

Jeff sighed. “Not sure. The NYPD’s up to their asses in the murders. We might have to back them up to make sure Xiao Long gets the message before he orders any killings. So I wouldn’t make any hot plans if I were you.”

“Not a problem. The only hot plans I had were a shower and bed. I’ll be on standby all weekend.”

“Yeah; me, too. Which means I’m in the doghouse here.”

A corner of Derek’s mouth lifted. “It’s times like this I’m glad I’m single. Good luck wriggling your way out of the doghouse.”

Hunterdon County, New Jersey

9:40 P.M.

Sloane dropped her bag off at home, then drove directly to the Wagners’ house to relieve Elsa and Burt of their three frolicking charges. She called ahead, although she knew Elsa would be awake for her evening ritual of ten o’clock tea and biscuits.

It took her several minutes, door-to-door, to get to the Wagners’ house, a fact that Sloane always found amusing. The term next-door neighbors was a misnomer in their case. In truth, the two houses were set far back from the road and separated by six wooded acres.

Elsa greeted Sloane at the door, drying her hands on a dish towel. She was a round woman with white hair, black eyes, and a sharp nose who looked a lot like Frosty the Snowman, except when she smiled. Her smile was warm, as was her heart. She’d been a widow for decades, and the strain of running the house alone, not to mention the loneliness, was starting to take its toll. She was aging. She looked weary, the lines around her eyes and mouth more prominent than ever before, her step more unsteady. Which was why having her son around was a blessing, despite Elsa’s sadness over his failed marriage.

Now she beckoned for Sloane to come inside. “You didn’t have to rush over here tonight,” she scolded. “Like I said on the phone, the hounds are playing tug-of-war with Princess Di and Burt in the rec room. You could have gotten a good night’s sleep and dropped by in the morning.”

“I know, but I missed my little troublemakers,” Sloane replied, stepping inside with a rueful grin. “And as long as you were still awake…”