Drawn in Blood (29 page)

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 al 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 hel 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. Ful y prepared for that question, Jeff told her he didn’t, but he rattled off a ful description of the Lucy in question. Stil , Mrs. Chin was very leery and very protective. She asked several more questions of Jeff, al 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 al eviate 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 wil 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 wel .” Sloane’s candor and empathy caused the woman to agree. “Come with me.”

She led them down a hal 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 wal . “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 yel owing bruises on her cheeks and throat. “I’l 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 al different cultures and nationalities. I’ve never betrayed any of them. And I never wil . 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 cal me. I’l 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?”

“Just think about the fact that, by talking to me, you can help keep other people safe.” Sloane rose. “My partner and I wil leave you now, and let you consider what I’ve said.” She reached into her pocketbook and pul ed out a business card. “This has my personal contact information on it. Mrs. Chin wil have it, so you can cal if you ever feel threatened.” As she spoke, Sloane handed the card to Mrs. Chin. “We’l come back tomorrow. I hope you’l decide to talk to us.” With that, Sloane gestured to Jeff that they should leave. “Thank you, Mrs. Chin,” she murmured. “We’l be back in the morning.”

“That was pretty impressive,” Jeff commented as they stepped outside.

“What? My Mandarin or my technique?”

“Both.” He grinned. “But I was talking about your technique—right down to your timing. Knowing how far to push, when to cal it quits, and when to give her space by saying we’l come back tomorrow. The way you handled that woman was amazing. She was in bad shape. I never thought she’d say a word to us. You’re a natural.”

“Thanks, but it’s not just innate ability. It’s training. I was a crisis negotiator when I was with the Bureau. I was taught how to coax people who didn’t want to talk to open up. It takes trust and patience. Hopeful y, those skil s wil pay off with Lucy.”

“You’ve also worked cases with victimized women. I haven’t forgotten the one earlier this year with that goddess-obsessed psycho.”

“Neither have I…although I try to.” A shudder. “So let’s not go there. Let’s just—” Abruptly Sloane broke off. An instant later, she casual y opened her purse and began rummaging through it until she found and extracted her sunglasses. “The punk who attacked me with the knife,” she murmured to Jeff, as she slid on the sunglasses. “He’s diagonal y across the street—at eleven o’clock—watching us.”

“Xiao Long’s kid?” Jeff asked, intentional y keeping his gaze on Sloane and not turning to look in the direction she was referring to.

She nodded. “I guess he’s reporting our activities to his boss.”

“Let’s grab him before he does.” Jeff glanced at his watch. “Talk to me as we cross the street. We won’t pick up our pace until we’re closing in on him.”

“Better idea—why don’t we split up and close in on him from opposite directions?”

“No dice. You’re not an agent, remember?”

Sloane rol ed her eyes. “Jeff…”

“You know the rules, Sloane. It’s my way, or no way.”

She gave up with a sigh. “Fine.”

The two of them turned left and crossed the busy Chinatown intersection at the corner, then crossed to the opposite side of the street, heading straight for their target.

He spotted them just as they picked up the pace.

He saw Sloane coming at him first. Before she could blink, he was sprinting away, shoving through the crowd to escape.

Jeff and Sloane broke into a run. They tore down one street and then another, weaving their way through the pedestrians. It didn’t help that Sloane was Caucasian and the kid she was pursuing was one of their own. Several produce vendors stepped directly in her path, and a few shopkeepers chose that exact second to step outside to pick up their newspapers or to smoke a cigarette, total y blocking her way.

By the time Sloane broke through the human obstacle course, Jeff was a solid half block ahead of her.

It didn’t matter. As she caught up with him, Jeff came to a grinding halt. Disgusted, he gazed up and down the cross street. “I lost him.”

“I never had a chance. I was sabotaged from the get-go. Talk about being an outsider.” Sloane made a frustrated sound. “Jeff, I know it was him.”

“No question about it. He matched the sketch to a tee. And the look on his face when he saw you closing in on him…yeah, it was him.” Jeff scowled, looking distinctly uneasy.

“Xiao Long never shoves his gang in our face, not unless he wants to make a point or issue a threat.”

Sloane got Jeff’s message loud and clear. “You don’t think it’s the Bureau Xiao is threatening.”

“Nope. I think it’s you. And if he doesn’t like what he hears from his punk kid…” Jeff gave a hard shake of his head. “This isn’t good.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” Sloane’s brows drew together in irritation. “And not because I’m intimidated. I’d love to be the one to lure the bastard out and expose him for the kil er he is. But after this, I won’t get the chance. Not once you tel Derek.”

Derek’s reaction to Sloane and Jeff’s report was not what Sloane had expected.

Al he did was sit silently at his desk, fingers interlaced behind his head, and listen to what they had to say.

When they were finished, he unlinked his hands and leaned forward, scribbling down some notes on a piece of paper.

“Jeff, type up the report and e-mail it to Tony and to me. Sloane, nice work at the shelter. Both of you go back tomorrow as planned. With any luck, Sloane, you’l get some solid information out of Lucy.” He rose. “Just so you know, Fred Mil er’s body was pul ed out of the East River an hour ago. No surprises. Estimated time of death is consistent with your mother’s kidnapping. Cause of death—one lethal stab wound to the back. Sloane, I’m putting ful -time security on you until your involvement in this case is over. Right now, I’ve got a meeting with Tony.”

Without another word, Derek headed off.

Jeff and Sloane stared after him and then exchanged glances.

“That was weird,” Jeff commented. “No explosions. No lectures. And he didn’t pul you off the case, or confine you to desk duty. He was almost eerily quiet. When do you think the volcano’s going to erupt?”

“I don’t know.” Sloane was puzzled. She shared Jeff’s opinion that there was a lot more brewing beneath the surface than Derek had displayed. But she knew Derek better than anyone. The emotion he was repressing wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even frustration. It was something more.

She broached the subject that night when they were getting ready for bed. It was the first time they’d been alone al day. The hounds were snoozing in a pile of blankets they’d arranged at the foot of the bed, and Derek was in his gym shorts, doing his nighttime push-ups.

Sloane came out of the bathroom, pul ing on one of Derek’s Colorado State T-shirts that she used as a nightshirt. Then, she slid between the sheets. “Do you want to talk about what happened today?” she asked, sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees.

“Not particularly.” Derek reached his fiftieth push-up and rose.

“Wel , I do.”

“Fine. Which part of what happened today did you want to discuss?”

“Your reaction, or lack thereof, when Jeff recapped what happened.”

“I did react. There’s FBI security posted outside the cottage. You should be used to that by now. It’s not the first time I’ve assigned security to you. I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Derek took a few gulps of water and got into bed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Something’s going on in that nonstop mind of yours. You’re not pissed, which I expected. You’re not threatening to take me off the case, which I also expected. You’re not even raving about my impulsive way of putting myself in danger.”

“Would there be a point?”

“That’s not the question, not in this case. I know you, Derek. This isn’t about your resigning yourself to who I am. It’s about something else. Whatever that something is, I want you to share it with me.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Derek propped his back against the headboard, staring straight ahead. His expression was sober, and his jaw was tight.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“This isn’t a five-minute conversation, Sloane. Let’s shelve it.”

“For when? When we have hours of free time? That’s not going to happen. If we have to lose a night’s sleep, so be it. We’ve done it before, for pleasure and for work. So talk to me.”

Derek was silent for a long moment.

“What’s going on inside me is complicated,” he said at last. “I’m not even sure I can sort it out myself, much less explain it to you.”

“Try.” Sloane slid down and rol ed over to one side, propping herself up on her elbow. “I might surprise you.” A hard swal ow. “Our lives are spinning out of control. I need some sense of order. I thought living together would resolve that. It hasn’t. And I’m not sure it ever wil .” Whatever Sloane had been expecting, it hadn’t been this. An odd knot formed in the pit of her stomach. “What is it you want to change—our living arrangement, or us?”