Derek always got a kick out of watching FBI shows on TV. In the Hollywood versions, the New York Field Office was usually a tall glass building that was a dead ringer for Trump Tower and that took up half a city block. Modern, expansive, and grand—it didn’t even slightly resemble the perpetual construction zone that was 26 Federal Plaza. And the FBI’s home in that building? Just eight floors in all. Too bad reality didn’t emulate fiction. Bureau employees would be in hog heaven inside one of those TV buildings—glass-walled offices and spacious cubicles, all decorated with sleek, streamlined furnishings instead of what looked like rejects from a scratch-and-dent sale at a used furniture outlet.
So, C-6—or the Asian Criminal Enterprise Task Force, as it was formally known—existed in its old, cluttered splendor. On the plus side, at least there was a great view of the Brooklyn Bridge. And the ten agents and two NYPD detectives who constituted the squad were great to work with.
“Hey.” Jeff poked his head over the top of Derek’s cubicle. “What happened with Sloane last night? Did she say anything?”
“Yeah.” Derek grimaced. “‘Good night.’”
“You’re kidding. No guess as to why her parents’ place was broken into?”
“Nothing except the party line—that it was no secret that Matthew had collected some expensive pieces from his travels, that he and his wife were fairly well off, and that they both worked long hours—leaving an empty apartment that was a perfect target for thieves.”
“Nice logic. Except for the fact that there’s a full-time doorman there to dissuade thieves, and that we know it was Xiao Long’s guys who did the breaking and entering.”
Jeff’s comment was greeted by silence.
“Are you going to confront her?” Despite the potential blowup that provoking Derek might elicit, Jeff wasn’t ready to back off. “Or do you plan to let things slide and see what you can draw out of her without clueing her in to your motives?”
Derek slapped his hands on his desk, using the leverage to shove back his chair. “Tony’s asked me that same question three times already,” he retorted, referring to their boss, Supervisory Special Agent Antonio Sanchez.
“And?”
“And I’ll tell you what I told him. We have no proof Matthew Burbank is involved in anything. He could be a target, not a criminal. As for Sloane, she’s way too smart for games. Whatever her father told her, she’s not about to be fooled by supposedly subtle attempts to pump her for information. She’s also not about to spill her guts if she chooses not to—with or without a confrontation. One thing’s for sure—if she planned to tell me what her father said, she would have done so last night.” Derek got to his feet. “I need more coffee.” He walked around Jeff and snaked his way down the aisle.
He was irked at the situation, worried about Sloane, and pissed off for being in the position he was in. His whole squad had been eyeing him speculatively since they arrived. They all knew what the wiretap on Xiao Long’s phone had revealed last night. They all knew about his relationship with Sloane. And they all knew it was her parents’ house that had been robbed.
He couldn’t look at their curious expressions anymore.
He poured a cup of coffee and kept walking. He hoped one of the interviewing rooms was empty. It was either that or a men’s room stall. He really needed to be alone or he’d explode. And this situation warranted logic, not emotion.
Easier said than done.
He rounded the corner to the interviewing rooms. The first one was occupied. So was the second. He was about to turn away when he happened to glance inside—and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. There, deep in discussion with his subject, was SA Rich Williams.
Rich was the senior agent on the Art Crime Team, and one of the SAs Derek most respected. Silver-haired and distinguished, Rich handled cases of art theft, art fraud—you name it. He’d been doing it for decades, since long before the Art Crime Team was officially formed several years back. He often worked undercover, especially when the case he was cracking was international in scope.
He and Derek had met more than twelve years ago, during Derek’s initial training at Quantico, when Rich had given a guest lecture on interstate trafficking of stolen property. Derek had been so impressed by the colorful agent—his knowledge and insights—that he’d waited until after the lecture and introduced himself, asking half a dozen questions. Rich had been generous with his time, and was as impressed by Derek’s big-picture mentality as Derek was by Rich’s experience and expertise.
Since then, they’d stayed in touch, especially after Derek was transferred to Rich’s home turf—the New York Field Office. They caught a drink together when Rich’s time permitted, and talked Bureau politics, world events, and life in general. They also made sure to good-naturedly one-up each other on the subject of the military, since Derek was a former Army Ranger and Rich was a former marine.
The Art Crime Team was part of the Major Theft Squad, which was also on the twenty-second floor. So seeing Rich interviewing a subject here wasn’t what startled Derek. What startled him was the man being interviewed.
Matthew Burbank.
For a long moment, Derek peered through the glass, watching Matthew’s body language as he answered Rich’s questions. He was definitely unsettled. Then again, Rich had a way of doing that to people. With his laid-back demeanor and that great poker face, he usually threw people off and found a way to make them talk.
Filled with questions of his own, Derek turned away long enough to stop a computer tech who was passing by. “Hey, Gus, do me a favor,” he said. “Poke your head in there and ask Agent Williams to step outside for a minute. And don’t mention my name in front of the guy he’s interviewing, okay?”
Gus looked perplexed, but he nodded. “Okay.” He walked over, knocked on the door, and went inside long enough to follow Derek’s instructions.
Without a flicker of reaction, Rich came to his feet. “Excuse me,” he said to Matthew. “This will only take a moment.” He buttoned his blazer and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
He spotted Derek right away, even as Gus explained that it was Agent Parker who wanted to see him.
“That’s fine, Gus. Thanks.” Rich looked more intrigued than surprised to see Derek. He waited until the computer tech had continued on his way before speaking his mind. “That was fast. How did you find out I was interviewing Burbank?”
“I didn’t.” Derek’s reply was equally as direct. “I just happened to walk by and see you.” His gaze flickered from Rich’s face to inside the room where Matthew was fidgeting. “What’s this about?”
“Long story.” Concisely, Rich filled Derek in on the two copies of Dead or Alive and the sketchy provenance his team had pieced together on each. “Given your relationship with Burbank’s daughter, I planned to run all this by you after I heard what Burbank had to say. If any additional facts or perspective exist that you can provide, I want them. As of now, I have no reason to suspect the man of anything, other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”