Drawn in Blood Read Online Free PDF

bul ets from his submachine gun. The first shots ripped the baton from the guard’s hand, sending the baton tumbling to the ground and severing two fingers in the process. Bul ets also pierced the guard’s torso, puncturing his chest and shoulder. He screamed, lurching forward in agony. Instinctively, he reached over to clutch his mangled hand, dropping to his knees as he did. Another burst of fire and he was dead.
    The other gunmen had already gone on to complete their mission. Once they’d secured the Miró and the Picasso, they turned to their leader for further instructions. He motioned for them to leave.
    Blood was oozing from the dead guard’s body and pooling around him, the last of his screams stil echoing through the expansive building as the team of gunmen raced off.
    They passed stunned onlookers, who were frozen with fear as they tried to assess what had just happened. Once outside the museum, the gunmen dashed across the plaza with the four paintings and jumped into a white Mercedes Sprinter that had been waiting, engine running. The van screeched off, heading toward the A-8 and Santurtzi, where a cargo ship was departing tonight for the Philippine province of Cebu.

    Derek shoved aside the foam cup on his desk. There was nothing left except the dregs of his third cup of morning coffee.
    The coffee was foul. The weather was foul. And his mood was foul.
    Swiveling around in his chair, Derek stared broodingly off into space. He’d waited for hours last night for Sloane to come home. She’d cal ed twice from the hospital, both times giving him brief updates on her mother’s condition, both times cutting the conversation short. When she’d final y gotten back to his place, she’d looked like hel —exhausted and stressed out. She’d greeted him and the hounds, taken a few halfhearted bites of lasagna, and provided him with details about the break-in that he already knew or could read in today’s newspaper. A half hour later, she’d crawled into bed and fal en asleep.
    This morning had been no better. She’d been asleep when he left for the gym, and gone when he returned, leaving a note saying she’d gone to the hospital to visit her mother, and hopeful y, to expedite her release.
    Sloane’s worry over her mother was genuine. But it was crystal clear to Derek that she’d learned something else—something that her father had shared with her, and that she had no intention of sharing with him.
    The worst-case scenario was that Matthew Burbank had done something il egal that linked him to Xiao Long, and that Sloane was protecting him. But that theory didn’t fly.
    Sloane would never agree to hide information that kept organized criminals in business. Especial y when it was Asian organized crime, the very gangs Derek was trying to bring down.
    Sure, Matthew could have lied to Sloane about who the players were or about the extent of his involvement. But Sloane was way too smart for that. If her father had fed her a line of crap, she’d see through it.
    Besides, Matthew was an art dealer—wel established, financial y comfortable, with a clientele who was educated and affluent. What possible link could he have with a Dai Lo?
    Xiao Long was a thug, not an art connoisseur. So maybe Derek was walking down the entirely wrong path. Maybe Matthew’s career had nothing to do with this. Maybe he’d witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to, something he didn’t even recognize as significant until last night’s robbery had shoved his nose in reality. Maybe he had no idea who he was dealing with, or, if he’d figured it out, what Xiao Long was capable of.
    Finding his wife bound, gagged, and knocked unconscious would be a major eye-opener. It would certainly explain why Matthew would panic, and why he’d turn to his daughter rather than the cops. If he felt threatened, his first instinct would be to protect his family.
    That had to be the explanation—not just for Matthew, but for Sloane. Her loyalty to her