Drawn in Blood (24 page)

Sloane knew her Bureau assignment was on the line. Derek could very wel fire her on the spot. Stil , she felt a huge wave of love and respect for him. He real y was one hel of a guy.

“Gloating?” he asked drily.

“Quite the opposite. Admiring.” She left it at that. “At this point, the cal is yours. You can have me removed from the case, or you can keep me on, setting new ground rules we can both live with.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Before you decide, I have to be as frank with you as you were with me. Other than reporting to you first, I wouldn’t change any part of my actions. I’d do it al again—even if I knew about the knife skirmish.”

“Of course you would.” Derek shot her a dark look.

“Think of it this way. As you pointed out, I haven’t rejoined the Bureau yet. The downside of that is that I have limited power. But the upside is I can bend the rules a bit. I can be creative. So give me some wiggle room. I’l be a much greater asset to you if you do.”

“While putting yourself into how many lines of fire?”

It was time for
her
to make a concession. “Only those we agree upon—beforehand.”

Derek blew out his breath. “Damn, you’re a pain in the ass.” A brief silence, during which his jaw began working. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw you bent over that trash can, vomiting, with blood dripping down your arm?”

Sloane managed a wan smile. “Not as terrified as I was. When that little weasel came at me, I snapped right into Krav mode. Focused. No time to think. No room for fear. But when I realized he was going after my injured hand, I felt a surge of panic. The good news is that that stark jolt of panic made me twice as lethal. I think I crippled the guy, or at the very least ended his sex life, broke his nose, and shattered a few ribs. He hobbled off into the woods like a quivering bowl of Jel -O.” Derek’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Now
that
I would have paid to see.” Abruptly, al humor vanished. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I’l do my best.” Sloane was beginning to feel the woozy effects of the Percocet. “Dammit, I’m fading. And I have more to tel you.”

“It’l wait.” Derek glanced over at her, saw her glazed eyes and drawn expression. “You can tel me after you get some sleep.”

“Okay.” Sloane blinked, trying to clear her head and failing. “Derek?”

“Hmmm?”

“About the elephant in the room…I know you’re digging around, trying to find proof that either Leo, Wal ace, Ben, or Phil were accomplices in the break-in.” Her voice was starting to slur. “And you know I’m trying to prove otherwise.” Slowly, her eyelids began to droop. “I don’t want to…but I need to…be sure. Wil you tel me…what you find?” If Sloane had been alert, she would have instantly picked up on how long Derek hesitated, and she would have pressured him about it.

But she wasn’t. She was halfway toward a drug-induced sleep.

Derek was relieved. She’d been through enough for one day. And given what his street contacts had started reporting late today, he had a bad feeling about the supposedly squeaky-clean members of this art partnership. If he was right, Sloane would take it hard. And it would put her in a lousy position with her father. She didn’t need this dumped on her, not now, and certainly not until al the facts were in and verified, including whatever Rich found out.

When he final y did answer, Derek’s reply was quiet, and, as he suspected, unheard. “When I have to, I’l tel you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was midmorning when Rich strode down one of C-6’s few uncluttered aisles and poked his head into Derek’s cubicle. “Good, you’re in. Do you have a few minutes?” Derek swiveled his chair around and waved his friend in. “Funny you should ask. I was about to drop by your neck of the woods. I have some interesting info to pass along.”

“Same here. And a favor to ask.”

“Okay, you first.” Derek gestured for him to pul up a chair. “What do you need?”

Rich sat down, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ve run through every detail of the Armonk burglary and homicide, and the Hampton’s art gal ery heist. I’ve interviewed al the witnesses of both crimes. It was a no-brainer that the two crimes were committed by the same team. What I needed to be sure of was that that team was the Black Eagle gang. They’re the Albanian organized-crime group who hit those European museums.”

“And?”

“And I’m sure. In both cases, the witnesses said the accents they heard sounded Slavic. Richtner, the owner of the art gal ery, was born in Germany. There’s a large Albanian population there. He confirmed that at least two of the gunmen were conversing in Albanian.”

“Then why rule out Albanian-American organized-crime groups? Why assume it’s the Black Eagles?”

“Because the Albanian-American gangs make most of their money off drug trafficking. They also deal in counterfeiting and gunrunning. The crimes we’re talking about here are very specific and very high profile. They also require a level of sophistication that’s not everyday. The technique, the weaponry, the precision—in my opinion, that al adds up to the Black Eagles. That doesn’t mean they haven’t linked up to Albanian organized crime here in the U.S. The Eagles are probably hiding out, if not working, with them.” Rich paused, then gave a firm nod, as if by speaking his theory aloud, he’d intensified his conviction. “The way the crimes were carried out—the patterns are identical to the European museum heists. In al cases, there were four gunmen, al masked, al armed with subguns. They gained entry, took control, and immobilized the victims with Flex-Cufs. They opened fire and kil ed almost everyone who saw them, or anyone who got in their way, without the slightest hesitation. And they knew ahead of time exactly which paintings they were going after. Most of those were masterpieces worth a fortune. A few were less wel known, probably the ones they could sel on the streets. The wel -known masterpieces they probably shipped off to whoever hired them.”

Derek had listened to every word, processing al of it. “It al fits,” he replied. “Do you think it’s the same ‘whoever’ who hired them to do the European heists?”

“My gut reaction? Yes. But I plan to find out.”

“What about the weapons? They wouldn’t take the risk of transporting their own. So they obviously bought them on the streets in the U.S.”

“Right. That’s the clincher.” Rich leaned forward. “I showed a series of pictures of different types of subguns to the Campbel s and their staff, and to Richtner and his assistant.

At least five of them had gotten a good look at the weapons used. And they al identified them as MP5Ks—the same guns that were used in the European museum heists.” Derek whistled. “That screams paramilitary training. Also, an enterprising source to obtain the guns, and big money to pay for them, since MP5Ks are off-limits to everyone but law enforcement. These are definitely not run-of-the-mil thugs, and what you’ve got here is no coincidence. You’ve got yourself a match.”

“Not just a match, but a dangerous, escalating situation. These pros didn’t fly over here to just hit private col ections and suburban art gal eries. They’re warming up. I don’t know how many more practice hits they have in mind. But after that? They’re going for the big-time.”

“Museums.”

“You bet. And between their trial runs and their grand finale, who knows how many more homicides they’d commit, and how many more multimil ion-dol ar masterpieces they’d make off with.”

“How can I help?” Derek asked.

“I’ve met with C-7,” Rich replied, referring to the Balkan Criminal Enterprise Squad. “And they’re on board. But I’d like C-6, and you in particular, to work with them. You’ve got great informants for what I need. I just learned that four MP5Ks were stolen from a smal -town police department in upstate New York. One of the cops caught a glimpse of the thieves as they took off. They were Asian. Their car had stolen plates, and it was dumped in a junk-yard in Queens.”

“Which means the subguns were probably sold here in the Big Apple,” Derek deduced. “It makes sense. Like I said, whoever bought these paid major bucks for them. We’re talking twenty-five hundred apiece, which is five times the cost of most guns sold on the street. You want me to put out feelers and find out who brokered them?” A taut nod. “And whoever’s hands the subguns passed through to find their way to the Albanians. I’ve already spoken to Tony. He’s fine with your working this part of the case.

He said to come by his office and go over the details.”

“Consider it done.” Mental y, Derek was already running through the best scenario to get Rich what he needed ASAP. “As soon as I have something, I’l let you know.”

“Thanks.” Rich was clearly relieved that Derek understood they were racing the clock. “And if the Black Eagles get word they’re on our radar, al the better. It might make them nervous enough to reconsider whatever they’ve planned next, giving us more time to find them.”

“I hear you.” Derek cleared his throat. “You mentioned having information for me?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Abruptly, Rich changed focus. “With regard to the Rothberg, some additional facts have surfaced on the Dutch col ector whose family consigned it to Sotheby’s.

Evidently, he wasn’t as squeaky clean as we thought. Seems he did business with some shady art dealers and col ectors. I should have specific details after the weekend.”

“That’s good news,” Derek replied. “Every step we take in retracing the sale of
Dead or Alive
is a step closer to fil ing in the blanks on Burbank’s art investment group. I have a bad taste in my mouth about these guys.”

“You got more background info?”

“Yeah. And none of it’s good.” Derek shuffled a bunch of papers around on his desk. “Ben Martino’s an alcoholic whose business is in the toilet. Phil Leary is a compulsive gambler who owes his bookie a mint. Wal ace Johnson invested most of his money in his art gal eries and, before that, in high-priced PIs, trying to find out who the hit-and-run driver was who kil ed his daughter. The rest of his hefty bank account went to his ex-wife in their divorce. So he’s in rocky financial shape, too. Leo Fox is a different story. He had a fiancée who dumped him at the altar. Now, he’s al business—and, boy, is it booming. He has dozens of rich clients, and puts in twelve-hour days to meet their needs. Interesting how he had the time to drop everything on a dime and rush over to Sloane’s cottage to get started on our redecoration project.”

“He was itching to dig around and see what you knew.”

“Oh, yeah. He couldn’t wait to start asking questions as we toured the cottage for its makeover. He was chomping at the bit to continue the minute Sloane left. He was probably thril ed that she got cal ed away. Then, she blew a hole in his plan, since she figured out that you and I had set her up so you could talk to her father without her being there. She assumed part of our setup included leaving me alone with Fox so
I
could pump
him
after she took off. So she warned me not to—in earshot of Fox. After that, he didn’t dare arouse my suspicions by pushing his agenda.”

“Sorry about that.” Rich grimaced. “Not only did I screw up any chance you had of getting something out of Fox, I pushed Sloane’s buttons. She must have ripped your head off.”

“That’s par for the course.” Derek gave a faint smile. “Love hard, fight hard—that’s Sloane’s and my motto. As for Leo Fox, you’l get more out of him than I would have.

Especial y now.”

“You mean because of what happened to Rosalyn Burbank?”

“I’m sure that scared the hel out of him and the rest of his partners, making them a lot more vulnerable to your interviewing techniques. But that’s not what I was referring to. Get this. You know that hefty income Fox is making? You’l never guess where some of it’s going.”

“I give up.”

“To his buddies. He paid off a bunch of Phil Leary’s gambling debts, including a big one just yesterday. He’s also helped out Wal ace Johnson with financial backing for his gal eries. Oh, and he went with Martino to most of his AA meetings, during the years Martino was off the booze.”

“What a philanthropic guy,” Rich commented drily. “And what a walking encyclopedia of dirty laundry. Seems he has the inside scoop on al his friends.”

“Uh-huh. Which means he’s either an extraordinary friend, or a shrewd SOB who col ects smut on his buddies to store away for future use.”

“Or maybe present use.”

“Exactly. So, as you can see, you’ve got lots of juicy stuff to probe when you cal each of these guys in.”

“That’s an understatement.” Rich’s lips curved in mock amusement. “It’s beginning to sound like Burbank’s the cleanest of the bunch.”

“Ironical y, yeah.” Derek put aside the papers and folded his hands in front of him. “There’s something else.” Briefly, he fil ed Rich in on what had happened to Sloane last night.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Rich reacted with startled concern. “Is she al right?”

“Thankful y, yes. The slash on her forearm was bad. It took me forever to stop the bleeding. And when she kept passing out, I started to panic. But the ER doctor stitched her up, put her on antibiotics and heavy-duty painkil ers, and assured her there was no major damage. That calmed her down. She was pretty shaken up, considering the Red Dragon kid was going for her bad hand. So, al things considered, she’s doing okay. I can’t say the same for her attacker. She kicked the crap out of him. I doubt he’l be getting out of bed—or off the floor—any time soon.”

“Remind me never to piss off your girlfriend.”

“That’s a tal order,” Derek returned drily. “Considering I piss her off every day.”

“So now Xiao’s decided to get at Burbank by going after Sloane.”

“Before yesterday? Maybe. But at this point? Without a doubt. Sloane made sure to give him a compel ing incentive.” Derek told Rich how Sloane had baited her attacker.

Rich whistled. “You’ve got to admit, the woman has bal s.”

“Yeah, and brains, too.” Derek went on to tel Rich what Sloane had al uded to last night and then relayed to him this morning—the details of her conversations with the other victims who’d been burglarized by the Red Dragons. “It seems that al of them had at least one high-profile painting stolen. Some of them had two. And they al had a couple of commonplace paintings taken as wel . It’s as if Xiao’s guys were trying to hide the fact that the valuable paintings were what they were after. That theory holds even more water when you read over the lists of stolen items on the police reports, do the math, and figure out that the paintings were worth more than the jewelry and electronics combined.”