Drawn in Blood (Burbank and Parker 2)

Sloane let herself into the cottage, automatically squatting down to greet the hounds as they came tearing around the corner, leaping and yipping with pleasure. It had been a fine evening for them. Derek had come home early and romped with them in the den for a good half hour before taking them out for a jog. Now, Sloane was home, also earlier than usual, which meant another round of attention. Life was good.

“Hey, you.” Derek walked out of the bedroom, wearing only a pair of jeans, a towel wrapped around his neck. His hair was still damp from the shower he’d taken. He leaned down and kissed Sloane hello, holding her for just a minute before letting go.

“Okay, that shoots my first theory to hell,” Sloane commented. “When you called and asked me to come home early, I was half expecting a candlelight dinner, or at least another lovemaking tour of the house. But that kiss and the look on your face tell me it’s neither.”

A rueful smile. “I only wish.” He gestured toward the living room. “We need to talk.”

Sloane followed him, a wary expression on her face. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“You’re going to like it even less once I’m finished,” Derek replied as they sank down on the sofa. “Just hear me out, think objectively like the professional you are, and leave our feelings for each other out of it.”

“In other words, you did something to protect me, and never said a word.”

“Sort of, yes. But it wasn’t only about protecting you. It was about working this case and getting answers to the anomalies that have been bugging me.”

Sloane eyed him shrewdly. “Those anomalies don’t happen to be my father’s partners, do they? Because I thought we’d put to rest any involvement on their part once Anna came forward with her information.”

“You did. I didn’t. There were too many questions still unanswered.”

“And now you’ve answered them?”

“In part. Enough so that I felt it was time to come to you and fill you in. It’s still very much a work in progress.”

Sloane folded her hands in her lap. “Is Rich in on your theory? Is that the reason he questioned my father and each of his partners again? Because I was told those interviews pertained to any knowledge they might have of the Fong Triad.”

“It was. I just asked Rich to throw in a few extra questions, mentioning Xiao Long’s name and an implication of his involvement in this case—just to gauge their reactions.”

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“And?”

“And both Johnson and Martino reacted. Odd, considering they weren’t in Hong Kong when their partners sold the Rothberg and Cai Wen was killed. When Rich told them the name of the killer, they were visibly taken aback. The name Xiao Long struck a chord. So I paid each of them a visit today.”

Sloane listened silently as Derek relayed his entire conversation with Ben to her. He omitted nothing, including Ben’s drunken state, his defensiveness about his relationship with Wallace, and his agitated reaction to Derek’s reference to hiring illegal workers. Derek concluded with the business cards, the fact that Xiao Long owned the employment agency, and the probability that he was squeezing Ben.

Then came Wallace, who, during his interview with Derek, claimed that he was appalled by the whole idea of his art partnership inadvertently dealing with organized crime, and who’d fervently said he wished he’d been in Hong Kong during the Rothberg transaction, since he was the one most likely to smell a rat.

Afterward, Jeff’s phone call revealed the interesting fact that both the computer systems at Wallace’s galleries were serviced by none other than Eric Hu’s company. Further, Hu had been referred to Wallace by an art appraiser who—surprise, surprise—worked for Xiao Long.

Sloane was quiet when Derek finished, her gaze lowered as she fidgeted with her hands.

“Sloane?” Derek prompted.

“I wish I could say I’m shocked,” she surprised him by saying. “But I’m not. It occurred to me more than once that Xiao Long was holding something over my father’s friends. When Anna came forward and exonerated them from aiding Xiao in the break-in, I was so relieved. I assumed my suspicions had been wrong. I wanted them to be wrong. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the night of the poker game. Ben was such a wreck. I could tell he’d started drinking again. And Wallace…” Sloane swallowed. “He was in physical pain. Stiff. Wincing. Sweating. He claimed he was getting the flu. He looked like he’d been in a brawl—and lost.” Another pause. “Answer me honestly—do you think it’s more than Ben and Wallace who are involved?”

“It’s possible.” Derek went on to tell Sloane about walking in and finding Leo shoving papers back in her FBI file last week. “That’s not necessarily a sign of personal guilt,” he qualified. “Maybe he was looking for something that would protect his friends. As for Phil, he’s a gambling addict. I don’t know how far he’d go to support his habit.”

“Including fraternizing with organized crime,” Sloane said tonelessly. Her chin came up, and she met Derek’s gaze head-on. “What about my father?”

“Rich and I see no sign that he’s done anything illegal. I can’t speak to what he knows, only what he’s done.”

Sloane nodded. “I understand why you kept this from me until now. I’ve been in denial. But no more. I want to know how Xiao Long inserted himself into each of their lives, and why.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Phil had thought through everything long and hard.

His plan was a winner. It would get Ben out from behind the eight ball, force the employment agency to stop squeezing him, and rattle them enough to accept Phil’s proposal and pay his fifty-thousand-dollar consulting fee.