by Andrea Kane
A corner of Derek’s mouth lifted. “You mean you don’t find 302s the highlight of being a special agent?”
“Nope.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’d suffer them if it came with the rest of the package.”
“So I gathered, Bull’s-Eye Burbank.”
Sloane’s lips twitched at Derek’s form of address. The story of her dead-on shot that had killed the Albanian gunman at the Jaspar had quickly spread through the New York Field Office. Somewhere along the line, one of the agents had come up with the nickname “Bull’s-Eye Burbank.” And it had stuck.
“Like I told you, I aim to please.” Sloane’s voice was teasing. “But I also aim to win.”
“I believe the aim-to-win part. But aim to please?” Derek stopped typing and sat back in his chair. “We’ve been so bombarded with follow-up, I haven’t had the chance to reprimand you. When you left the car, you disobeyed my direct orders. That’s not aiming to please. That’s aiming to defy.”
“You’re right. And in this case, an apology is not forthcoming. So tell me, Special Agent Parker, do you plan to take disciplinary action?”
“Actually, I had a different kind of action in mind.” Derek stood up, leaned forward, and kissed her. “Like another bedroom marathon tonight, and an announcement about our wedding tomorrow.”
“That works.” Sloane ran her fingers over his jaw. She was still so grateful he was alive and all right. The museum gun battle had been a little too close for her. She gave him another slow, deep kiss, then eased away. “I think this behavior counts as a breach of protocol, too.”
“Screw protocol.”
Sloane laughed. “That’s my guy. Bending the rules to suit his needs.”
“Sloane.” Derek caught her hand, his tone and gaze turning abruptly serious. “In case I haven’t said the words, thank you. You saved my life.”
“I love you,” she answered simply. “No other alternative existed.”
“I love you, too. And believe me, I know how that love compels you to protect me at all costs. I’ve been there, too, remember?”
“I remember,” Sloane replied, thinking back to the life-or-death situation she’d found herself in this past spring.
“But you know what?” Derek continued. “You would have reacted with those same instincts, done the same thing, for any fellow agent. That’s just who you are. And why you belong with the Bureau.” An insightful look. “By the way, how’s that right hand doing?”
With a twinge of surprise, Sloane glanced down at her scarred palm. “It’s fine. But how weird. I haven’t thought about it. Not since last week when Connie checked it out and gave me the thumbs-up. No pain. No muscle weakness.” A grateful sigh. “I never believed this day would come.”
“Well, it has.” A cocky grin. “And now I can say I told you so—since I always knew it would.”
Sloane sighed. “I’m going to hear about this for a long time, aren’t I?”
“You bet. Arrogant guys like me love to gloat.”
They were both laughing when Rich poked his head into Derek’s cubicle. “Good. You’re both here. I wanted to fill you in on a few things. Is it a bad time?”
“Not at all.” Derek gestured at the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat.”
Rich complied. “First and foremost, our agent who was assigned to Johnson is stable. It was touch-and-go for most of the week. But he’s going to make it.”
“That’s the best news you could have delivered,” Derek said fervently. Protecting their own was a Bureau priority. And this time they’d gotten lucky. The Black Eagles couldn’t afford to make a scene by whipping out a subgun and pummeling a guy with bullets outside the Jaspar, so they’d dragged him into an alley at gunpoint, beaten the crap out of him, and clubbed him over the head with a two-by-four. He’d been in bad shape when he was rescued.
“Thank heaven,” Sloane said. “We’ve all been praying for him.”
“Well, the prayers worked.” Rich looked as relieved and happy as Sloane and Derek did. “So that’s the positive update on that front. As for the Black Eagles, I dropped by the hospital again and interviewed the wounded team member—the only one of them who’s still alive. He’s still waffling about talking. But he’s being released into our custody today. Trust me, a day with me will be a lot more grueling than a day in a hospital bed. Give me one interview with him at our Field Office and I’ll have him chattering like a magpie. And you’ll have Xiao Long on all kinds of new counts.”
“That’s great.” Derek’s brows drew together in a frown. “It would be better if we nailed Johnny Liu. But he destroyed every link between himself and all the criminal activities he’s involved in, including the Italian leather goods company that funded the Black Eagles. Xiao handled everything for him. And from the looks of things, he’s not giving Liu up.”
“Of course not. And without Xiao’s testimony, you could never touch Johnny Liu,” Rich stated factually. “There’s no concrete evidence, and no extradition between China and the U.S.”
Derek shrugged. “The point’s moot. Liu will be dead in a few months, anyway. I just wanted to strip him of his precious honor beforehand. But I’m not complaining. He won’t be hurting anyone again.”
“You know Wallace is innocent of everything Liu framed him for, especially funding the Black Eagles,” Sloane inserted quickly. “He’d never—”
“I know,” Derek interrupted. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems proving that Johnson was in the dark on that, just like he was on so much of what Liu did. But buying those stolen paintings—that’s another story. Extenuating circumstances or not, he purchased them knowing they were stolen.”
Reluctantly, Sloane nodded. “I know. I just wish we could use emotional hardship as grounds to reduce the charges.”
“Don’t give up on reduced charges. Remember, Johnson bought those paintings directly from Xiao Long. He met with him, paid him, and was threatened and beaten by Xiao’s enforcer. I’m pretty sure the assistant U.S. attorney will consider a deal if Wallace testifies against Xiao Long.”
“If? You couldn’t stop him.” Sloane’s tone vibrated with anger. “Xiao Long killed Sophie. I’m sure Wallace would prefer to respond in kind. But at least he can feel a small sense of vindication if he helps put the bastard away. The only thing better would be putting him right beside Liu, six feet under.”
“That might not be doable, but I can arrange an insurance policy. Just in case Xiao Long manages to slip away from us. He’s smart and he’s well connected. But his loyalty to Liu—even posthumously—will always be his Achilles’ heel. Let’s use it.” A smug expression accompanied Derek’s cryptic statement.
“How?” Rich asked. “As I said, we’ve got nothing on Liu or his loved ones. By the time we got our warrant and had Cindy Liu’s apartment searched, there wasn’t a shred of evidence there. Nothing to incriminate her or Peggy Sun.”
“Does that really surprise you?” Derek leaned forward to shuffle through a pile of material on his desk. “I figured that finding anything was a long shot. By the time Liu called us, he’d probably made sure that all physical evidence and documentation tying Cindy and Peggy to anything illegal was long gone or destroyed.”
“But you pushed for the search warrant anyway,” Rich pointed out.
“Of course. We needed it to get into the apartment, just in case. That doesn’t mean I relied on it. A contingency plan is always a good thing to have.”
“Meaning…” Sloane folded her arms across her breasts, leveling an anticipatory stare at Derek. “Okay, Mr. Cat-that-swallowed-the-canary. Out with it. What did you do that we don’t know about?”
“Something that will keep Liu and Xiao in line. And keep them from going after your father or his partners again.”
With that, Derek found what he was looking for on his desk—a padded mailing pouch that had arrived for him a few days ago, with no return address on it. He opened it as he spoke. “You know, it’s amazing w
hat can be found right out in the open, no search warrant needed, if you know where to look.” He pulled out the contents of the mailing pouch—a few photos and several Ziploc bags. “Take these, for example.”
He laid out the two high-quality photographs, taken with a sophisticated digital camera and a zoom lens.
Photo #1: Cindy Liu meeting with Xiao Long on a busy Chinatown street under the canopy of a local produce store. Time stamp: 3:35 p.m., three days before Cindy’s debut at Wallace’s art gallery.
Photo #2: Cindy and Xiao in heated conversation outside Cindy’s apartment. Time stamp: 6:45 a.m., just after dawn on the day Johnny Liu had called Derek.
While Sloane and Rich were staring at the photos, Derek placed the Ziploc bags in front of them. “These were removed from the trash outside Cindy Liu’s apartment.” He pointed to the first bag. “Oil paints and varnish. Made out of some very unusual ingredients. The kind used a hundred and fifty years ago. None of the commercial pigments and finishes made today. All natural-based.” He indicated the second bag. “Swatches. Specific color mixtures of oil paints. Colors I’m sure Rich can match to one or more specific masterpieces—paintings that only a top-notch forger would want to reproduce.” He moved on to the third bag. “Finally, brushes. Very small brushes, the ones used by the masters more than a century ago. All natural horsehair. I’ve been told that DNA testing, done by the right expert, could reveal the approximate time period when the horse this belonged to lived. I’m sure we’ll find Peggy Sun’s fingerprints all over every one of these bagged items.”
Derek leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “And that, as they say, is that. Other than the phone call to Johnny Liu I’m about to make while I e-mail him pictures of all the evidence. You’re both welcome to stay. It should be fun.”
“You’ve outdone yourself on this one.” Rich shook his head in disbelief. “You even one-upped me. How in the hell did you arrange this in time?”
“The phone call you ran out to make right before we took off for Wallace’s place,” Sloane remembered aloud. “You were giving instructions to your informant.”
“Yup. He knew just what to do.”
Restudying the photos, Sloane narrowed her eyes in a quizzical look. “What about this first photo?” She indicated the one taken outside the produce store. “This meeting happened before we were on to Cindy Liu. How did you know to have it taken?”
“That was pure luck,” Derek replied. “C-6 has dozens of photos of Xiao Long taken during our investigative surveillance. We ran through the ones that fit the right time period. This one turned up. Handy, don’t you think?”
“I think your whole plan was a stroke of genius,” Sloane stated flatly. “It doesn’t matter what’s admissible in court. What matters is what Johnny Liu believes. And what he’s willing to do, or order Xiao Long to do, to protect Cindy.”
“Exactly.” Derek sat up, his hands going to his computer keyboard. He clicked on “New,” opening up a fresh e-mail message. To: Johnny Liu’s personal e-mail address. From: Derek’s FBI e-mail address. In the subject box, Derek typed: “Interesting Acquisitions.” Then, he clicked on the paper clip and attached his digital photos of all the evidence.
He pressed “Send” as he flipped open his cell phone.
The connection went through. Derek was greeted by silence.
“Hello, Liu,” Derek began. “It’s Special Agent Parker. I thought it was time I contacted you directly.” Purposely, Derek parroted the same words Liu had used with him. Only this time the tables were turned.
“Parker.” Liu’s voice was emotionless.
“Were you about to ask how I got this number?” Derek inquired. “I would think by now you’d realize I’m a resourceful man. There’s very little I can’t acquire.”
“What is the purpose of your call?”
“To give you a heads-up. Check your e-mail. I just sent something your way. I’ll wait while you open it.”
Another silence, this one longer than the first. But Derek could hear Liu clicking buttons to open the e-mail, followed by several additional clicks as he viewed each attachment.
“I have fingerprints and DNA evidence to go along with those,” Derek informed him. “I could have copies of the analysis forwarded to you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Liu said at last. “What is it you want?”
“For now? Only that this ends. Permanently. Even after you’re gone. No more special-skilled colleagues relocating to the U.S. No more interaction, direct or indirect, with Burbank, Fox, Martino, or Johnson. Whatever punitive steps need to be taken will be taken by the U.S. judicial system. Not by you, Xiao, or anyone else in your trusted circle. Otherwise…let’s just say it would be a shame for your loved ones to be imprisoned or embarrassed because of your overzealous need for payback.” The same poignant pause that Liu had given him. “Which reminds me, how is your niece, Cindy, holding up? I know how close you two are. The poor woman must be devastated by her breakup with Johnson. On the other hand, thanks to him, she now has such a promising future ahead of her. A successful architect. Right here in the U.S. Losing that opportunity would be tragic. And humiliating.”
Liu’s tone didn’t change. “I understand your requirements.”
“I thought you might. So we’re clear on what you and your colleagues will and will not do?”
“Perfectly clear, Agent Parker. The terms are acceptable.”
“Excellent. You take care of your health.” Derek flipped his phone shut and turned to Sloane. “Tell your father that he, your mother, and his friends are no longer in jeopardy. Also, tell Leo he can feel free to hire that PI. I’m sure his fiancée will be delighted to know she can sleep easy.” Derek’s eyes twinkled. “And maybe with him.”
“I will.” Sloane’s expression spoke volumes. “They’ll all be very grateful. As am I.”
“Hey, my pleasure, Bull’s-Eye. I’m sitting here today because of you.”
“That reminds me…” Rich glanced at his watch. “Tony asked us to meet him in the conference room at ten-thirty. It’s already ten thirty-five.”
Reflexively, Sloane jumped to her feet. “Let’s go. Tony’s not big on tardiness.”
As she hurried off, Derek and Rich exchanged grins. Then, they followed Sloane to the conference room.
Sloane was startled when she opened the door and stepped inside.
Not only was Tony there, but Gary Linden, the assistant director in charge of the New York Field Office, was there as well.
“Hello, Ms. Burbank,” he greeted her.
“Sir.” Sloane glanced around, uncertain if she’d interrupted a meeting. “I hope I’m not intruding. I was told…”
“You were told correctly.” He waited while Derek and Rich joined the small group, shutting the door behind them. He then indicated a spot at the conference table across from where he and Tony were standing. “Have a seat,” he instructed Sloane.
Totally baffled, she complied, sitting down and interlacing her fingers in front of her.
“I’ve been brought up-to-date on the investigation in which you’ve been a confidential human source,” Gary began. “I’ve also been made aware of the part you played in saving the life of Special Agent Parker, and of possibly helping to prevent future incidents like the one at the Jaspar Museum. You have my personal thanks, as well as the thanks of the entire Bureau.”
“I appreciate that, sir,” Sloane replied.
He passed a manila envelope across the table to her. It was labeled bull’s-eye burbank.
Sloane glanced at the title, then her chin came up, her gaze studying the now smiling ADIC.
“I like the nickname,” he said. “It suits you. I have a feeling it will stick.” He gestured at the envelope. “Open it.”
Sloane followed orders, wondering what was going on. Maybe it was a certificate of acknowledgment, signed by the powers that be. If so, she’d be really touched.
It turned out to be a lot more than that.
Sliding the pages out of the envelope, Sloane saw the first document and recognized it as an application for reinstatement to the FBI. It had her name on it. Behind the application was a printout of a letter of recommendation from Tony, detailing her service and contributions to the FBI during her time as a special agent. He specified her outstanding work with the Crisis Negotiation Unit, adding that he’d rarely seen a newcomer with so much promise.
And last, there was a glowing letter of recommendation from Gary himself, itemizing her post-Bureau work with C-6 and several other squads, calling special attention to the two huge cases this year that she’d had a big hand in solving.
Sloane was blown away by the praise, and honored that so much of it had come from the ADIC himself—head of the New York Field Office.
“That letter you’re reading is a follow-up to a call I made to Headquarters,” Gary apprised her. “Both Supervisory Special Agent Sanchez and I agree that your talents, both as a crisis negotiator and as a multitalented, dedicated agent, combined with your proficiency at numerous foreign languages, dictate that you’re a necessary asset to the Bureau.”
Sloane sat quietly, unblinking, her insides clenched with anticipation.
“I advised Headquarters that you’ll be submitting your application for reinstatement within the next few days,” Gary concluded. “Barring unforeseen circumstances, you should be leaving for Quantico right after the first of the year. Understand that, even though it’s been only two years since you left the Bureau, you will have to put in the full twenty weeks at the Academy to be current on your training.”
A twinkle. “I suspect there will be aspects of it, like firearms, that you’ll breeze right through.” Gary cleared his throat, finishing up on a serious note. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your background for the two years you were gone will have to be updated to ensure you receive a top secret security clearance. If you had a full polygraph before you left, that’s good for five years, presuming you didn’t have any overseas travel. And, obviously, you won’t have to go through the interviewing process again. So, Bull’s-Eye Burbank, I’d say that by next summer, you should be a special agent again.” A pause. “If that’s what you want.”
