The second call was to Detective Diane Yuen of the Nineteenth Precinct Burglary Squad.
“Diane?” She was relieved as hell when her friend answered the phone. “You wanted me to keep you up-to-date. Well, I’m about to. But first, we have a problem. It’s urgent. And I need your help.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sloane rested her head on Derek’s shoulder.
It was midnight. The cottage’s living room was peaceful. The fire Derek had kindled was crackling rhythmically in the fireplace. And the hounds were enjoying the warmth, stretched out near the fireplace screen, snoozing.
With a contented sigh, Sloane tucked her legs under her, curling up on the sofa. She reached for her glass of merlot and took a few sips. She’d earned it. Talk about a long, draining day.
“Tired?” Derek murmured into her hair.
“From the insanity of the day, or the three hours we just spent in bed?”
His chuckle brushed her ear. “Take your pick.”
“Bonelessly, wonderfully tired from the latter. Wiped out from the former.”
“Good answer.” He combed his fingers through her still-damp hair. They’d taken a leisurely, soapy shower together, and were now wrapped in terry-cloth robes. “This whole thing is coming to a head. My gut tells me it’s about to blast wide open.”
“Mine, too. What I worry about is who’s going to get caught in the cross fire, and how bad the damage will be.” Sloane took another sip of wine, then placed her goblet on the coffee-table coaster. “I keep asking myself why. Why now? Why the urgency on Liu’s part? Why everything at once? He’s wiping out his enemies in one frenetic, simultaneous explosion, at the exact same time as he’s funding the Black Eagles to pull off b
ig-profit, high-visibility art thefts. Why take the risk?”
“Good question. I’m stumped by the same thing. Liu’s smart. He always keeps a low profile. He always acts with meticulous care. And he always keeps a major trump card hidden away—just in case. None of that seems to apply here. Other than acting through Xiao Long to keep his name clean, he’s going full force, guns ablazing. There’s got to be a reason. I’ve got my feelers out. I’ll find out what that reason is.”
Sloane nodded. “Liu’s done his worst with all the men—except Wallace. He’s still exacting revenge on him, and he has been for two and a half years. First, he had Xiao kill Sophie. Then, he framed one of Wallace’s dearest friends for the crime. Next, he stayed in Wallace’s life as a supposed business colleague helping him get back on his feet. And now, he brought in his niece—a Meili look-alike—to emotionally torment Wallace and break his heart. He’s building up to some sick grand finale. But what? And how do we stop him? We have no jurisdiction in Hong Kong, and Liu’s influence runs deep and wide.”
“I can’t answer that one either—yet. But C-6 is building a strong case against Xiao Long. And if we can provide the assistant U.S. attorney with some hard-core evidence connecting him to Liu and the Liu Jian Triad, maybe we can get Xiao to flip on Liu. In the meantime, I’m trying to second-guess Liu. The final ways for him to go after Wallace are financial ruin and personal humiliation.”
“And then death,” Sloane concluded quietly. “Killing Wallace after stripping him of everything would be the only way Liu could settle the score enough for him.”
Derek didn’t dispute the obvious. “Let’s see what my feelers turn up. I should hear back tomorrow. Until then, the FBI agents we assigned to Wallace have been advised of the escalated danger. They’re on high alert.”
Sloane chewed her lip, worry creasing her brow. “Wallace is scared. He’ll never admit it, but he is. Now that he realizes the full extent of Liu’s hatred, and how far he’ll go to carry out his vendetta, he’s pretty shaken up. Especially with Xiao Long breathing down his neck, ready and waiting to do Liu’s bidding. I tried to reassure him. I reminded him that we put extra security on him and that we’re working with the Hong Kong police to establish solid evidence against Liu. I even tried to divert his mind by giving him something to look forward to. He has a big fund-raising event at the Jaspar Museum in Soho tomorrow. He’s one of the museum’s major sponsors. I urged him to go.”
“And?”
“And he said he’ll think about it.” Sloane sighed. “I wasn’t going to lie to him, Derek. I don’t blame him for being scared.”
“Neither do I. But if anyone can reach him, you can. You have a way with people that’s amazing.”
“I hope that holds true in this case. After Wallace left Ben’s factory, all he wanted to do was have it out with Cindy—which I doubt was pretty—and then lock himself in seclusion. I told him I’d get his partners to gang up on him and drag him out if need be.” Sloane raked her hands through her hair. “I feel so damned helpless.”
“You’re not. You’re getting answers. So am I. We’re closing in on this case. We’ll get there.”
She twisted around to gaze up at him. “Speaking of which, if I haven’t said it enough times, thank you for what you did for my father.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” Derek reminded her. “Your friend Diane worked with me every step of the way. Your dad’s technically in custody. So’s your mom, on trumped-up charges of obstructing justice. All that’s only for Xiao’s benefit. This way, if his Red Dragons poke around to make sure the cops found the stolen painting where they planted it, they’ll find out that your father’s been arrested and is being held at the Nineteenth Precinct—along with your mother, so Xiao doesn’t try going after her. But don’t worry. They’re in a comfortable break room, not a cell. The charges are pending until we wrap up the case. But we all know the anonymous tip was an obvious setup.”
“And a scare tactic. That phone call Xiao made nearly gave my parents heart attacks. As for the setup, Xiao might as well have hung up a neon sign.”
“Yeah.” Derek made a derisive sound. “Out of the blue and at the exact same time that Wallace and Leo are getting their packages and Ben is being pushed over the edge by Jin Huang, the Nineteenth Precinct gets a call from one of the victims of Xiao’s Upper East Side burglaries, claiming he’d gotten an unsigned note saying he could have back his priceless painting The Bird—for a finder’s fee of twenty-five thousand dollars. Of course, when he called the phone number provided, he got a voice mail message saying he’d reached Matthew Burbank and Associates. Then, low and behold, when the cops ransack your father’s office, they find The Bird shoved behind one of his office file cabinets.”
“Not to mention that The Bird just happened to be stolen a week before my parents’ place was ransacked. Now I know why my mother said Xiao’s guys spent a long time shoving things around in my father’s office, when they already knew damned well where the Rothberg file was. Could there be a more obvious plan to frame my father for art theft?”
“Nope. Then again, Xiao wasn’t going for subtlety.”