Drawn in Blood

  “I understand.” This explanation was vital. It clarified much about the Dragon Head’s orders over the years.

  Liu was slowly killing these men. Through Xiao, he was breaking their bodies and their spirits.

  And soon Xiao would be afforded the supreme satisfaction of ending their lives.

  “What I’ve just told you remains between us,” Liu stated. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. “The circumstances surrounding Meili’s death have been concealed. That’s the way I intend it to stay.”

  “Of course, A Sook.” Xiao bowed his head. “You have my solemn pledge.”

  “And you have my trust.”

  That was that. In the blink of an eye, Liu was no longer the grieving father. He was the Dragon Head.

  “It’s time to share the final phase of my plan with you,” he pronounced. “The Black Eagles will soon be arriving in America. They have been paid enough to ensure we reap millions of American dollars. Thanks to the groundwork you laid with their Albanian-American relatives, everything is in order for their arrival. You will run the entire operation. It is complex, but I know you’ll succeed. My niece and her amah will play key roles in the entire plan, especially in the demise of my enemies. It must unfold quickly, and with ultimate precision. After that, my personal scores will be settled, and the triad will be left wealthy and strong.”

  “Left?” Xiao refused to ignore the finality of Liu’s statement.

  Without responding, Liu rose, gripping the chair arms for support. The conversation had clearly worn him out. “I must rest now. Afterward, we’ll talk again. By the time you return to New York, you will be ready.”

  “A Sook,” Xiao inserted quickly, also rising to his feet. “I’m honored by your faith in me. Have no doubt that I’ll make your plan succeed. I’ll bring great wealth to our triad. And I’ll take personal pleasure in killing your enemies. But your urgency causes me concern. Why have you so rapidly accelerated your plan?”

  Liu faced Xiao without emotion. “You know the answer. My time here grows short.”

  “I will not accept that.” Xiao had never spoken so disrespectfully to his Dragon Head. But this was one time he couldn’t contain himself. “You will not leave this earth. I won’t permit it. Whatever is ailing you, we’ll fight it.”

  Rather than becoming angry, Liu looked somewhat amused. “Some fights cannot be won, my son. Not even by you. My cancer is advanced. It’s spread throughout my body. I’ll be dead in a month, maybe two.”

  Hearing the news spoken aloud, Xiao felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. His Dragon Head was his inspiration, the man he’d modeled his life after. Others died. Liu lived forever.

  “There will be no mourning,” Liu instructed Xiao. “Only acceptance and preparation. Live up to your potential. Put my affairs in order. Fulfill my final requests. Then I can die in peace.”

  There was no room left for argument. Xiao would comply with Liu’s final wishes.

  “All that you ask will be done,” Xiao replied, the icy purpose in his soul returning to his voice, his eyes. “Everything you’ve requested will become reality. And afterward, I’ll honor your memory. I’ll make sure you live on.”

  “I never doubted it. If all goes as planned, the triad members will soon be addressing you as Dragon Head.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Matthew Burbank was pacing by the front door when Sloane arrived. He was sheet white, and looked ill.

  “I’m here, Dad,” she said quietly. “I talked to Mom’s doctor. Everything is fine. They’ve set her arm, and she’s asleep. She’ll be in and out of sleep—mostly in—for a few hours anyway. So let’s take care of this first. Then, we’ll go pick her up. I also talked to the security agency. They’re starting a private search for Fred. When I give them the go-ahead, they’ll call the NYPD. But we all know the likelihood of finding Fred alive is zip. Organized crime doesn’t leave witnesses.”

  A taut nod.

  “Did you follow my instructions?”

  “Yes. I haven’t said a word since we spoke. Nor has Special Agent Williams. He’s just sitting in the living room, like a lion waiting for his meat.”

  “Then let’s make sure he knows he’s not getting any.” Sloane squeezed her father’s arm. “It will be all right. Just let me do all the talking.”

  She walked inside and led the way into the living room.

  Rich Williams was seated on the sofa with an empty coffee cup perched on the table in front of him. Quickly, Sloane sized him up. A distinguished, silver-haired man in a business suit, he was self-assured, comfortable in his own skin, and low-key in a way that suggested he’d already acquired everything he needed to call this a wrap.

  An experienced agent. And a perfect demeanor to unnerve someone like her father.

  “Hello, Agent Williams,” Sloane said in a crisp professional voice.

  “Ms. Burbank.” He came to his feet at once, extending his hand to shake hers. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  “I’m sure you have. Particularly while you were arranging to have me out of the picture while you questioned my father. Rather unethical, wouldn’t you say?”

  A spark of amusement flickered in Williams’s eyes. “The D.A. must have been very sorry to lose you. I know the Bureau is. Now I know why. You’re quite the steamroller.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “It wasn’t intended to be. The reason I came by this morning was to clarify a few loose ends with your father. Some interesting information came out of our talk. It obviously upset him. He requested that his attorney be present. I immediately stopped asking questions. In fact, we haven’t exchanged a word since he called you—several times. I believe all that is not only ethical, it’s entirely legal.”

  “Let’s not play semantics.” Chin raised, Sloane stared him down. “I want to know what was discussed.”

  “Gladly.” Williams played back the entire conversation.

  It wasn’t much different than Sloane had expected.

  “I want a few minutes with my client.”

  “By all means.” Williams made a wide sweep with his arm, then picked up his coffee cup. “May I trouble you for a refill while you talk?”

  “Certainly. Dad, you wait for me in the breakfast nook. I’ll get Agent Williams his coffee.” Sloane stopped her father as he took a step toward the kitchen. He was a wreck. The last thing he needed to do was to spill coffee on a shrewd agent who already suspected him of murder or conspiracy to murder.

  She took the empty cup from Williams as her father followed her instructions. “How do you take it?”

  “Just black.” Williams still looked amused, which infuriated the hell out of Sloane. “I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. You can leave a tip on the table.” She was in and out of the kitchen and in the breakfast nook with her father in under a minute.

  “Dad, listen to me.” She spoke in a low, confident tone, keeping both their backs to Agent Williams. “You’ve run out of choices—especially once the NYPD finds out what happened to Mom and passes it along. It’s either risk prosecution on criminal charges or tell the FBI the truth.” She waved away her father’s objections before he could voice them. “I have some stipulations I plan to make before you lay out the facts. I believe Agent Williams will agree to them—after he makes a few phone calls and escorts us to the Field Office so that you can’t tamper with any alleged evidence.”

  “What kind of stipulations?” her father managed, sounding dubious and hopeful all at once.

  “The kind that will get any potential charges against you dropped, and at the same time increase your level of protection. Mom’s, too.”

  Matthew sucked in his breath. “What about Leo, Phil, Ben, and Wallace?”

  “They’ll be free of charges as well.”

  “How do you plan to accomplish this?”

  “You let me worry about that. Call your partners. Explain the situation to them. I’m sure they’ll all
agree with my strategy, since none of them wants to go to prison. Once we’re all on the same page, I’ll present my offer to Agent Williams.” She saw the flash of indecision in her father’s eyes. “Trust me, Dad.”

  He nodded, reaching for the phone.

  “Wait,” Sloane instructed, holding up her index finger to indicate that it would just take a minute. She walked into the living room, standing beside the settee that was across from Agent Williams.

  “In my opinion, we can fill in the blanks to your satisfaction. But, as you know, there are four other partners in my father’s art investment group. Since this affects them all, he needs to get their permission before we proceed. Which means he has four phone calls to make. You have my word that this isn’t a ploy, nor an attempt to devise a coordinated distortion of facts. Is that acceptable?”

  Williams studied Sloane, this time with contemplation rather than amusement. “Tell your father he can make his calls.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  An hour later, Sloane and her father were seated across from Tony at his desk in the New York Field Office. They were joined by SA Williams and—no surprise—Derek.

  “So, Sloane,” Tony began, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers on his desk. “I hear you have a proposal for us—along with some valuable information.”

  “I do.” She crossed one leg over the other, sitting rigidly against the back of the well-worn chair. “As I’m sure Agent Williams told you…”

  “Rich,” Williams corrected.

  “Very well—Rich. I’m sure Rich told you that my proposal has stipulations attached.”

  “He did. So go ahead, shoot.”

  “First, I want your word that neither my father nor any of his partners will be charged with a crime.”

  Tony’s brows rose. “How can I do that without knowing what they’ve done?”

  “Fair enough,” Sloane acknowledged, feeling her father shift nervously beside her. “Suffice it to say that if any crime was to have been committed, the alleged charges could be withholding evidence or, if you were feeling particularly vindictive, obstruction of justice. All of which would have been done out of fear for their lives and, in my father’s case, the lives of his family. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tony concurred.

  “The break-in was a threat?” Derek asked. “Why? For what purpose?”

  Sloane pinned him with a cool, impersonal stare. “No comment. Not until and unless my conditions are agreed to.”

  “I can live with this one,” Tony replied. “If what you’re saying is true, and if your father has information that could benefit us, no charges will be filed.”

  “Good. On to my second stipulation. As you know, I’ve been arranging for private bodyguards up until now. I want FBI security assigned to my father. He, above all his partners, is in constant danger. I want that security to extend to my mother as well. Now more than ever. I’ll supply an explanation for that once we have an agreement.”

  “You want us to put your parents in protective custody?”

  “No.” Sloane shook her head. “That would be a glaring declaration to the wrong people that my father had spoken to you. I want them to go on staying in their apartment—with an FBI agent inside. And I want agents assigned to them when they go out.”

  “That takes resources. But judging from the urgency of your tone—fine. It can be arranged.” Tony shot her a quizzical look. “How many other conditions are there?”

  “Just one.” Sloane didn’t blink. “Give me an operational assignment. Make me a confidential human source. I want to be fully briefed on your investigation.”

  Rich couldn’t help but chuckle at the magnitude of her request. At the same time, he noticed that neither Derek nor Tony was laughing. To the contrary, they didn’t appear the least bit taken aback.

  “Am I to assume this is business as usual?” he inquired.

  “We’re lucky she stopped there,” Tony responded drily. “I was half expecting her to ask that I order Derek to step down and make her the lead investigator.” He tapped his pen against his leg, mulling over Sloane’s request. “I can justify it,” he finally announced. “But only if you can explain how your involvement would benefit the Bureau.”

  Sloane was prepared for the standard prerequisite. Her inclusion in the process had to be substantiated for the legal department. “Obviously, I have information that I believe you want. Further, I believe that I’m a potential target for one of the top brass, maybe even the leader, of the gang you’re pursuing.” She turned to Rich. “Who’s also a player in the art crime you’re investigating. By giving me an operational assignment, you just might wrap up both cases.”

  “Forget it,” Derek stated flatly. “That’s not an operational assignment. That’s using you as bait. I’m not doing it.”

  “No, you’re not. I am.” Sloane gazed steadily at Tony. “Well?”

  “Well, for starters, if I were to agree, you wouldn’t be calling the shots. Derek would. So answers like the one you just gave him would be out.”

  “Fine. But so would personal feelings,” Sloane countered. “If I’m unqualified for the job, that’s one thing. But if Agent Parker is reacting out of some unprofessional need to protect me, that’s discrimination. You and I have worked together many times, Tony. I doubt you’d evaluate me as being unqualified.”

  Tony inclined his head in Derek’s direction. “She’s got you there. Is there some professional reason I should refuse Sloane’s request?”

  A tense, prolonged silence.

  “No,” Derek finally admitted, sounding as if the words were being dragged out of him. “I’m sure Sloane’s inside knowledge will benefit us, and her skills will contribute positively to the investigation. However,” he added in a no-nonsense tone, “I want it understood that I am the lead investigator on the organized crime case, and that professionally I make the decisions. Ditto for Rich on the Rothberg case.”

  “Agreed,” Sloane said without hesitation.

  “Then it looks like we’re in business.” Tony rose and shook Sloane’s hand. “Welcome aboard. By the time you rejoin the Bureau, no one will realize you were gone.” He turned his attention to Matthew, who, on Sloane’s advice, had stayed silent until now. “The floor’s yours, Mr. Burbank. Tell us what you know.”

  Matthew glanced at his daughter, his forehead creased with worry.

  With loving support, Sloane squeezed his arm, still facing Tony. “First, I need to tell you that my mother is hospitalized in the Bronx. She was kidnapped several hours ago with the intent to kill her. Her abductor was one of your Asian gang members. Evidently, he knew Rich was on his way over to see my father. This was retaliation.”

  “Is she all right?” Derek asked instantly.

  “Her arm is broken. The subject bent it until it snapped.” Sloane reported the incident as objectively as she could, regarding Derek with a cool, impersonal stare. “Thankfully, she got out of the car before he could kill her. She’s heavily sedated right now. But after you get my father’s statement, I want to pick her up and bring her home, where she can be comfortable.”

  “Shit,” Derek muttered under his breath.

  “She saw her abductor,” Sloane continued, her gaze shifting back to Tony. “In addition, I’m convinced that my father saw the mobster who ordered their apartment break-in—and who killed Cai Wen. So after this meeting, I’d suggest you call in a sketch artist. That way, we can put names to faces. I have a strong feeling you’ll recognize these thugs.”

  “Done,” Tony replied.

  With that, Sloane gestured to her father, nodding for him to do what he had to.

  He took her cue, producing the empty Rothberg file, the fortune cookie, and the ominous message that had been inside it.

  “It’ll be fine now,” she reassured him quietly. “Tell them everything.”

  Cindy Liu was an up-and-coming architect with enough talent to have graduated from Cornell University’s Coll
ege of Architecture, Art and Planning at the top of her class. She’d done the same again two years later, earning her master’s in architecture. From there, she’d been snapped up by Crawley & Foster, one of Manhattan’s most prestigious architectural firms. She’d worked there for three years, learning and absorbing every nuance of the business, and making enough contacts to assure herself some clients. Then, she’d followed her dream and gone out on her own.

  Her powerful A Sook in Hong Kong, Johnny Liu, had funded her new business, no questions asked. He’d been her guardian angel all her life, and she adored him—not only because he was her uncle or because he’d orchestrated her move to America to ensure she had the best education and future, but also because the two of them had shared a special bond since her childhood.

  Johnny Liu had been blessed with only one child before his wife died. Given that fact, along with his wealth, he had spoiled his daughter from the time she was small, and she’d grown up to be a wild, reckless teenager. Her life had ended tragically several years after Cindy—Jiao was her given name—had come to America.

  Cindy’s own parents were very different from her A Sook, as were her siblings. They were traditional, content to stay within the confines of their village and their people. Her father, although Johnny Liu’s brother, had none of Johnny’s initiative, nor did he see any reason for Cindy, as a female, to reach beyond Loong Doo, much less to leave China to further her education and broaden her horizons.