"Sit down," Lucy said at last. She gestured to Mrs. Chin that it was okay to leave them alone, and the older woman nodded and left.

Slowly, Sloane walked over and pulled out the chair across the table from Lucy, sitting down and sliding in. She instantly switched over to Mandarin. "Thank you very much for seeing me. I won't take much of your time."

"I'm not sure I can help you."

"And I'm sure you can. This is as personal for me as it is for you." Very slowly, Sloane held out her arm, showing Lucy the knife wound that was now st.i.tched but still very visible. "When I said I understood, I do. I was attacked myself, just recently. The man who did this wasn't finished. He wants to keep hurting me. I was lucky to get away-this time. But I know he'll try again. He could also hurt many other women. Please, I need any information you can give me."

Lucy's gaze flickered to the knife wound, and she winced. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "My husband doesn't use knives. He uses fists. Sometimes he choked me. I thought I was dying." A shaky swallow. "What do you need to know?"

Sloane leaned forward, but only slightly. "Do you remember a man named Daniel Zhang? You probably knew him as Zhang Ming."

Lucy stiffened. "Zhang was a thief."

"Back in China, yes. He's changed. He came to America and is helping kids stay away from gangs."

Sloane went on to explain how Daniel had spoken about the painting he'd bought from Lucy's friend. Sloane made sure to add that he'd spotted Lucy here at the shelter and expressed great concern for her before pointing Sloane in her direction.

Lucy looked dubious, but didn't reply.

"According to Daniel, he bought the painting at your apartment," Sloane concluded. "He said you were there."

"Did he also tell you he cheated Meili out of lots of money? He paid her only fifty thousand American dollars for that painting. It was worth much more."

Sloane's ears had perked up at the mention of a name. "Meili-that was your friend?"

A nod.

"What was her last name?"

Lucy shrugged. "She didn't tell me. I didn't ask. It didn't matter. We were friends. Six years. Maybe more."

"You said Daniel cheated Meili. According to him, fifty thousand dollars was what she asked for the painting. Is that not true?"

Lucy gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, it's true. But she was desperate. She'd stolen the painting from her father when she ran away. That, and another one. She knew they'd both been painted by a famous artist and that they were worth a lot, because a man who worked for her father had killed someone to get the first one. But she had no idea how much a lot was. Neither did I. Zhang did. He also knew how bad Meili needed money. And he still cheated her. She was young, naive, and way too trusting.

She owed money to everyone, including me. And I'm ashamed to admit that I took it-every last jiao. I needed my drugs, and they cost a lot. By the time Meili paid back all her debts, she was left with less than half of what Zhang gave her for the painting. It was only a matter of time before she had to sell the second one."

"Did Meili work?"

"She wanted to be an artist. But that took time and money. In between trying to sell her work, she waitressed at a bar. She earned almost nothing. That's why she was so excited when that rich American came into her life. She was crazy about him. I warned her not to care so much. But she didn't listen." Lucy's voice quavered, and she stared down at the table. "Why should she? I wasn't so smart. Every man I knew robbed me, beat me, and walked out on me."

This time Sloane took the risk, reaching over to cover Lucy's hand with her own. "You were alone.

You were desperate. And you were lonely. The men who abused you-it wasn't your fault."

Lucy raised her head, wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thank you."

"Can you tell me more about Meili's rich American? His name? What he looked like?"

"I never met him and Meili never said his name," Lucy replied, shaking her head. "She was protecting him and his precious reputation. I know she met him when she was trying to sell her second painting. He and his partners offered her next to nothing for it. She ended up selling it to some other triad swindler like Daniel Zhang. But the rich American pursued Meili, if not her painting. He was an important businessman. He was much older than she was, and he was married. He came to Meili whenever he was in China, and she ran to be with him. This went on for three years. She ended it all the night the pig got drunk and told her he'd first slept with her to win a poker bet."

"What a b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Sloane muttered, revolted by the all-too-common story.

"Wait." Lucy's fingers stiffened under Sloane's hand, and her trembling started anew. "Meili came from a very traditional family. Honor was everything. She was humiliated by the rich American.

She cried all the time, and wouldn't talk. She was still like that when she found out she was pregnant. She didn't know what to do. It took all her courage, but she went crawling back to her father.

She knelt at his feet and begged for his forgiveness. He threw her out and said she was no longer his daughter. Three weeks later, she slit her wrists and died alone."

"Oh G.o.d." Sloane felt bile rise in her throat. "Lucy, I don't know what to say. I'm so very, very sorry."

Lucy was weeping. "Meili was my best friend. I miss her so much. But I betrayed her."

"Betrayed her? How?"

"The man I was with when she died-he was worse than the others. He beat me hard every night, held me down and choked me until I blacked out, then threatened to kill me if I told anyone about it.

I was so scared. I had to get away. So I took the rest of Meili's money, paid a Dragon Head for safe pa.s.sage, and had him smuggle me into the U.S. I stole my best friend's money. And for what? To end up with another violent animal? One I was stupid enough to marry?"

"Stop it," Sloane commanded, meaning every single word. "You didn't steal Meili's money. She was gone. And if she'd been alive, she would have gladly given it to save you. You needed help.

You're getting it here. You won't ever make the same mistakes again."

"No, I won't," Lucy said emphatically. She wrapped her blanket more tightly around her trembling shoulders. But she managed to meet Sloane's gaze, and there was a tiny flicker of pride in her eyes.

"No more drugs. Four months now."

"You should be very proud of yourself, Lucy. You're traveling a long, hard road. But you're making it. You're strong. Meili would be so proud of you. I know I am. And I meant what I said yesterday.

If you ever need anything-to talk, to find your way once you've left the shelter-call me. I'll help in any way I can."

Lucy just stared. "I gave you everything I know. Still you'd help me? Why?"

"Because you're a good person."

"So are you." Lucy reached under her blanket, rummaging in the pocket of her pants until she found what she was looking for. "Maybe this will help," she said, extracting a folded photo and handing it to Sloane. "It was taken a few months before Meili died. I've carried it with me ever since."

Sloane glanced down and smoothed out the lines of the photograph. It was Lucy and a smiling, dark-haired girl with the very love and joy on her face that Lucy had alluded to. "Meili?" Sloane confirmed.

"Yes. Stop these men from hurting other women. It will make me very happy. Meili, too-happiness and peace."

"I'll do everything in my power to make that happen," Sloane vowed, rising to her feet. "You have my word. And when I see you again to return this photo, I'll tell you all about what I've done, and you'll know you helped protect others."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

Leo was a wreck.

It had been almost a week since Derek had caught him hastily rea.s.sembling Sloane's FBI file. And while he'd perceived no overt changes in either Sloane's or Derek's behavior toward him, he knew the incident hadn't been ignored or forgotten.

If Derek hadn't been suspicious before, he sure as h.e.l.l was now. Thanks to his own carelessness, Leo was probably right up there at the top of Special Agent Parker's suspect list.

What had possessed him to go through Sloane's file? What he was looking for wouldn't be in there, even if the FBI had compiled full dossiers on each of them. He was a stupid, blind fool, searching for answers that didn't exist.

Even so, if the FBI suspected them of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time and keeping quiet about it out of fear...he had to know what that something was, and how deeply and personally each of them was involved.

The tinkle of a bell and the sound of a door shutting at the front of his studio nearly made him leap in the air. His head snapped around in that direction.

He sagged with relief when he saw Phil walking toward him-until he saw the panicky look on Phil's face. Then, the relief vanished.

"What's wrong?" Leo demanded. "Did Derek Parker contact you?"

"Derek Parker?" Phil stared blankly at him, oblivious to everything except his own stark fear. "Why would he contact me?" Awareness penetrated his agitated state. "Are you still obsessing over that stupid file he saw you putting back together? What could he think-that you're clumsy? You are.

That you're nosy? You're that, too."

"Or he could think I was searching for incriminating evidence that could land our a.s.ses in jail."

Phil gave an impatient wave of his hand. "You've been watching too many spy movies. The FBI is finished with us. Besides, if that file contained anything that pointed in our direction, do you think Sloane would have been stupid enough to leave it in plain sight when she knew you'd be alone in the cottage?" Shifting nervously, Phil wiped beads of perspiration off his forehead. "Leave it alone, Leo. There's enough going on without you inventing more."

"Obviously." Leo turned his attention to his friend. "You look like death warmed over. Is your bookie on your back again?"

"He's not just on my back." Phil drew a shaky breath. "He's threatening me. He says he has friends who could hurt me if I don't pay him by next week."

"Why is he pushing so hard? I just loaned you ten thousand dollars to give him. That should be more than enough of a down payment to calm him down."

Silence.

"Wasn't it?" Leo asked.

"No." Phil was sweating again. "That was a drop in the bucket. You have no idea how much I owe him."

"Well, I'm about to. Give me the grand total."

More silence.

"Phil?" Leo prompted.

"A hundred and twenty-five."

"Thousand?" Leo gasped. "You owe that Albanian crook a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars?" He slapped his hands on his desk. "Are you out of your mind? None of us has that kind of money lying around. Not even Wallace-not anymore. Plus, you, better than anyone, knows that a withdrawal of that size would have the FBI in our faces in a minute."

Phil sank down on a chair, lowering his head into his hands. "Leo, I don't think he's bluffing. He said his boss is a big shot in an organized-crime group. G.o.d knows what they'd do to me. And if you think a huge bank withdrawal would put the FBI on high alert, imagine how they'd react to my being worked over by the Albanian mob."

"Fine. Okay. I hear you." Leo's mind was racing, searching for solutions. "Let me talk to Wallace.

He's going to a bunch of c.o.c.ktail parties with Cindy Liu. I'll be there, too. So will a crowd of rich guests. Maybe if Wallace and I put our heads together, we can come up with something."

Phil's head came up, and a flicker of hope lit his eyes. "When are you going to these parties?"

"They started last week. I've got a half dozen more this week and next. Stall your bookie. I'll come up with something." Leo sighed. "I always do."

"Thanks. I can't tell you how-"

"Save it," Leo interrupted. "After this, I'm dragging you down to a twelve-step program. You're a gambling addict. It's time to confront it once and for all."

"I know." Phil nodded, resigned and utterly depleted. "You won't have to drag me. I'll go."

"And I'll go with you. I won't leave until I'm sure you're sticking it out." Leo glanced over as his cell phone rang. "Now go home and get some rest," he advised, reaching for the phone. "You're about to keel over. h.e.l.lo," he said into the mouthpiece.

"Mr. Fox?"

"Yes."

"This is Special Agent Williams. New information on the Rothberg provenance has just come to light. I'd appreciate your coming down to the Field Office so we can discuss it."

Leo felt his heart drop to his feet. "What new information?" he asked, wildly beckoning Phil to come back to the front of the studio.

"We'll go over the details when you're here. How does ten o'clock tomorrow morning sound?"

How did it sound? Like an order, not a request. "Ten o'clock is fine. Will all my partners be present?"

"I'll be interviewing you one at a time. It's easier to keep my facts straight that way. I appreciate your cooperation. I'll see you tomorrow at ten a.m."

Click.

White-faced, Leo stared down at his cell as he snapped it shut.

"Was that the FBI?" Phil asked in a tight voice.

"None other." Leo's breath was coming in a nervous, uneven rhythm. "Agent Williams wants to reinterview us. All of us. But individually. It seems he has new information on the Rothberg provenance."

"Why individually? And what could he possibly have?"

"I don't know," Leo snapped. "But we're back on his radar again. And that means trouble, any way you slice it."

Just as Phil opened his mouth to reply, his cell phone rang.

He and Leo stared at each other, then at the phone as Phil fished it out of his pocket.

They both knew who was calling.