Behind him, the front door swung open. Ben didn’t need to turn around. He recognized the heavy tread all too well.
“Martino.” Jin Huang loomed beside him, not even bothering to sit. “Have money?”
With a nod, Ben half swiveled on the stool and handed over the envelope. “Here.”
Jin counted the bills, after which his brick-wall body stiffened. “Two thousand short.”
“I know. Tell Xiao he’ll have it as soon as I do.”
A strong hand clamped down on Ben’s arm. “Not good enough.”
“Neither is business,” Ben replied tonelessly. “The whole garment center is going down the toilet, in case you haven’t noticed.” His glance flickered to Jin Huang’s grip on his arm. “If you plan to kill me, you’d be doing me a favor.”
“That’s why killing is later. Telling secret is now.”
Ben squeezed
his eyes shut, more sickened by the latter than the former. But then, Jin Huang knew that. Xiao Long had made sure of it. “Don’t. Please. Give me a little more time. I’ll get the money.”
Jin’s black eyes scrutinized him, flat and emotionless. “A week. No more.”
“Fine. A week.”
“And not two thousand. Twenty-five hundred. You pay interest. Plus next week’s money—all of it.”
Ben nodded, utter desolation pervading him. “I know the drill. I’ll meet you here with everything I owe Xiao.”
“You better.”
By the time the bartender put the double scotch on the counter in front of Ben, Jin Huang was gone.
Ben polished off his drink in a few gulps and slammed the glass down on the counter. “Give me another. And keep them coming.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sloane’s arrow whizzed through the air and struck the bull’s-eye about a half inch from dead center.
Not good enough. Just like everything else that was going on.
Lowering her bow to the grass, Sloane did a few stretches, trying to ease the tension in her body. The late day run hadn’t done it. The hour of archery practice hadn’t done it. Nothing was going to do it.
She wiped a towel across her face, drying off the perspiration. Then, she guzzled down half a bottle of water. The sun was about to dip behind the horizon, totally eclipsing any daylight. It was time to go inside, take a shower, and review her notes.
Gathering up her archery gear, she headed back, glancing at her watch as she did.
Six-fifteen p.m.
This day had been endless. Everything was hanging in a menacing state of limbo. Fred Miller’s body still hadn’t been recovered, despite the FBI and the NYPD’s valiant efforts to find him. Ticking inside Sloane’s head like a time bomb was the fear that Xiao Long would make another attempt on one of her parents’ lives—and succeed, FBI presence or not. And the rest of her father’s partners? She didn’t know whether to worry for them or about them.
The unnerving prospect that one of her father’s oldest and closest friends had provided Xiao Long with entry to the Burbanks’ apartment—it actually made Sloane sick to her stomach. She’d felt guilt-ridden that the thought had even crossed her mind when her mother was reenacting the break-in with her. But when Derek had voiced the possibility last night—that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Rather than expanding on the conversation they’d started in the Field Office earlier that day, they’d spent the entire night hashing out the likelihood that one of the art partners had aided and abetted a criminal.
Sloane hadn’t slept a wink after that. And if she had to be honest with herself, it wasn’t because of the heated case Derek made. It was because of her own niggling worry that he might be right.
She’d made a valiant attempt to prove otherwise, rattling off every possible name she could think of, from neighbors Xiao might have duped, to building employees he might have paid off, to everyone affiliated with the construction and sales of the individual apartments, to employees working in the coop office. The list was endless.
But Derek wasn’t buying. The bottom line was that whoever had helped the Dragon kids break into the Burbanks’ apartment didn’t just unlock the door or merely know the layout of the apartment, including which room was Matthew’s office.
They knew precisely where the Rothberg file was.