was the spider, and Johnson the fly. The pathetic old fool had no idea who he was dealing with, or the power he wielded.
He’d shudder if he knew the lengths Xiao had gone to in order to secure his position. And he’d be terrorized if he knew how far Xiao would be willing to go to preserve and increase his power.
Success was his. He was already the Dai Lo of the Red Dragons, hand chosen and sent to the United States by the triad’s Dragon Head himself. And that was just the beginning. He’d come from nothing, clawed and killed his way to something, and stood on the brink of becoming the supreme leader.
And Johnson? He was on his way to hell.
Xiao ordered his driver to go. The bodyguard obeyed instantly, inserting the key in the ignition and turning over the motor. The car hummed to life. Xiao gazed across the street at the sprawling manor as they pulled away from the curb. Then, he plucked the disposable cell phone out of his jacket pocket. It had been purchased for him by one of his Red Dragon kids this morning.
The first call he made was to the bank. This time speaking in Cantonese, he confirmed that the wire transfer was complete. All of the five hundred thousand dollars that had been deposited in his Cayman Islands account earlier this week had been transferred to the designated account in Hong Kong. Ten percent of the full five million the Cassatt was worth when it hung in the Museo de Arte Moderno. An excellent price for a stolen masterpiece that would be far too recognizable to sell. Then again, the world would never see this painting again. Its buyer had other plans.
The second call Xiao Long made was to Hong Kong. For that call, he spoke in the unique dialect of the Loong Doo region of Guangdong. He’d learned it for a reason. And that reason was at the other end of the phone.
Xiao Long provided the facts. The deal had gone off as always. Clean. No hitches. No attempts to renegotiate. One week after the museum theft, Johnson had his painting, and the Dragon Head’s bank account had received payment in full.
That was all the Dragon Head needed to know. Until further instructions were issued, the rest was Xiao Long’s problem. And he’d handle it any way he had to.
He was far too shrewd not to have noticed a change in Johnson. The procedure they’d just gone through might have been the same, but the mood that went with it was different. Johnson had been nervous. It was no secret why. The FBI and their fucking investigation. Johnson being on their interview list. The fact that Jin Huang, Xiao Long’s enforcer, had paid Johnson a visit, warning him to keep his mouth shut. And the knowledge that the art collection Johnson owned could send him to jail. There was plenty to make the old guy nervous.
Doubtful that Johnson would crack. He hadn’t even been there. And to tell any more of the truth would mean screwing himself or getting himself killed.
But it would also mean screwing them. And the Dragon Head wouldn’t tolerate that. Especially not at Johnson’s hands. Nor would the Dragon Head forgive.
It was Xiao Long’s future on the line. He’d ensure it at all costs.
With that in mind, he picked up the phone again to make a quick call to Jin Huang.
Words were one thing. Pain was another. A small reminder of the consequences was needed.
Soon, a reminder wouldn’t suffice. The Dragon Head would be finished toying with Johnson. He’d order him killed. His partners, as well. Xiao would personally carry out those orders, inflicting the greatest amount of pain possible before ending their lives.
The pleasure would be all his.
Sloane let herself into Derek’s apartment, simultaneously tossing her tote bag into the closet and shrugging out of her jacket.
Long, hard day. Cranky human resources manager who wasn’t a big fan of consultants, their seminars, or their steep rates. Although she had been interested enough to stick around while Sloane trained the staff of Adler and Berber, the prominent security company that had hired her to educate them in the newest techniques of crisis negotiations. That HR exec was singing a different tune by the time Sloane left.
It was a win-win. Sloane did her job, the company was satisfied, and she had time to check in privately with the first shift of the security team she’d hired to protect her parents. The relief team was on the job now, and she checked in with them by phone.
So far, so good. No one else following her father or mother around, and no subtle visitors hanging around the apartment.
That had to be good news. It meant that, more than a full week after her father had been interviewed by the FBI, he wasn’t being regarded as an immediate threat—not to the Chinese killer and not to the Bureau.
Who was she kidding, she thought with a frown. That whole line of thinking was a crock.
She was swimming with sharks and she knew it.
Her father and his art group colleagues were convinced that they’d come through their respective FBI interviews unscathed.
She knew better, even without having been there.
FBI agents were pros at questioning. If every member of that investment group had parroted the exact same story, while no doubt fidgeting and worrying about blowing his lines, then red flags would be raised. She’d tried to counteract that. She’d talked her father into calling all the other guys after his own meeting, to urge them to vary their exact recollections of what had happened so they wouldn’t sound so rehearsed. Had they pulled it off? Doubtful. They weren’t actors. They were frightened men.
Her father also had no clue that Derek had seen him at the Field Office on the day he was questioned. If she’d told him, he would have been even more scared—which was the last thing he needed to be right now. He had to stay calm, act normal, and focus on keeping himself and her mother safe. That meant following their normal routines and making sure to stay in plain sight of the security guards Sloane had hired.
But she was worried. She’d heard the gravity of Derek’s warning, seen the intensity in his eyes. He’d all but told her he had an inside track—one that put him a step ahead of her and clued him in to the fact that whatever her father was hiding was putting her family in danger.
That could only mean that there was a link to Asian organized crime. But how strong a link? If whoever killed Cai Wen was affiliated with a gang Derek’s squad was investigating, then they’d be one step closer to putting her father at the scene of the crime.