Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

That reminder was enough to strengthen her resolve. That, and the fact that avenging Meili’s death was one of her beloved A Sook’s dying wishes.

Cindy would continue her charade to its rightful conclusion.

That night was a sleepless one for Derek.

He’d let Leo walk out without a confrontation. What good would accusing the man have done? At this stage, it made more sense to let things slide than to open Pandora’s box. Derek would do that when he had the evidence to back up his suspicions that some or all of Matthew’s art-partnership members were involved in something shady.

But tonight, he’d pretended to accept Leo’s stammered explanation about looking for a missing sketch when he upset Sloane’s file.

Both men knew Derek wasn’t buying it for a minute.

But neither of them pursued it. Instead, Leo had gathered up his decorating books and swatches, brightly announced that he’d be in touch soon, and blown out of there.

What in the hell had he been searching for?

Any way you sliced it, rummaging through Sloane’s file smacked of the kind of desperation innocent men don’t possess.

Which only added to Derek’s guilt about not sharing his suspicions with Sloane. But how could he? He was in no stronger of a position than he’d been in before. What could he add—that he’d come home to find Leo cleaning up papers from a file he claimed to have knocked over? Describing Leo’s flustered reaction wouldn’t help. Sloane would only remind Derek how intimidating Leo perceived him to be, and how very badly he wanted to impress Derek and create the perfect love nest for them.

No. Derek couldn’t say anything to Sloane. Not yet. But tonight’s little escapade made him even more certain that something was going on with these guys, something they wanted to keep hidden.

He wasn’t giving up until he figured out what it was.

At a little after nine in the morning, Sloane and Jeff arrived at the battered women’s shelter in Chinatown.

As planned, Sloane let Jeff take the lead as they walked through the front door and sought out the woman who was in charge. Jeff showed her his Bureau ID, informing her in Mandarin that they were with the FBI and needed to see a resident named Lucy. The woman started, and closely examined his ID. Then she introduced herself as Mrs. Chin, and asked if he knew Lucy’s last name. Fully prepared for that question, Jeff told her he didn’t, but he rattled off a full description of the Lucy in question. Still, Mrs. Chin was very leery and very protective. She asked several more questions of Jeff, all of which Sloane understood, none of which she responded to. When Mrs. Chin sent curious glances her way, Sloane bowed her head and kept her mouth shut, showing overt respect and awareness that she was the outsider, and that it was not her place to intrude on this community, not without permission.

Jeff assured Mrs. Chin that their interest in Lucy was strictly to get information that would help others in trouble. They had no intentions of revealing her identity or her whereabouts to anyone, most significantly to the husband whose abuse had resulted in her being there. Last, he urged Sloane forward and told the administrator that his partner was fluent in Mandarin, had traveled extensively in China, and that, Caucasian or not, she’d been selected to accompany him here out of consideration for Lucy, to alleviate any fears she might have by speaking to her woman-to-woman.

His final statement caused a definite thawing in Mrs. Chin’s attitude. “I’m not sure Lucy will talk to you,?

? she said to Sloane in Mandarin. “She’s been badly traumatized, and speaks to only a chosen few.”

Sloane nodded. “I understand,” she replied, also in Mandarin. “But I’d like to try. I’m not unfamiliar with situations where men have taken advantage of their strength and brutalized women.”

“Very well.” Sloane’s candor and empathy caused the woman to agree. “Come with me.”

She led them down a hall to what appeared to be a pleasant, if worn, living room, where a handful of Asian women were gathered. Some were sitting quietly; some were talking among themselves. A number of them were visibly bruised. Others had haunted expressions in their eyes that spoke volumes.

Sloane’s heart went out to them.

“Lucy?” Mrs. Chin had walked over to a corner of the room, where a disheveled Asian woman was crouched on the floor with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, trembling as if she were ice cold from the inside out.

Mrs. Chin leaned forward, touching her arm gently and speaking in a soft, soothing voice. “There’s a woman here who’d like to talk to you.”

Lucy’s head snapped up and her gaze found Sloane. “Why? And who’s the man with her? Did my husband send them?” She cringed against the wall. “I won’t go back.”

“Lucy, you don’t have to go back.” Sloane stepped forward, speaking Mandarin in a comforting tone. She squatted down beside the shivering woman, but made no move to touch her. “I’m a friend. I work for the FBI. I’m just trying to find another friend of yours—one who might be in trouble. Your husband has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t know where you are, or that I’m talking to you. You’re safe.”

“Safe?” Lucy looked up at her, white-faced, which only served to emphasize the yellowing bruises on her cheeks and throat. “I’ll never be safe. Not as long as he might find me. You’re American,” she blurted out, as that fact registered.

“Yes, I am. And I’ve helped other women who’ve been hurt by men. Women of all different cultures and nationalities. I’ve never betrayed any of them. And I never will. So, yes, you’re safe.”

“How do I know? Just because you say so?”

“Because you’re in a warm and caring place. Because Mrs. Chin won’t let anyone through that door she doesn’t trust. And because I’m going to give Mrs. Chin my business card, so that if she ever feels you’re in danger, she can call me. I’ll make sure that that danger is taken care of so you can continue to feel safe. Does that sound fair?”

Lucy was quiet for a moment. “What do I have to do in return?”