CHAPTER ONE
The front door of the apartment was open a crack. That meant Matthew was home.
Generally, Rosalyn Burbank preferred being the first one through the door at night. It gave her time to unwind, to transition from work to home. To savor a glass of wine and a hot shower before starting to think about dinner.
But tonight she was just as happy her husband had beaten her to their Upper East Side apartment. The two of them needed to talk.
Something was weighing on her husband’s mind, and had been for weeks. She’d waited for him to approach her and broach the subject. He hadn’t. That was way out of character. Matthew wasn’t big on secrets. Neither was Rosalyn. It was probably one of the reasons their marriage had endured for thirty-three years. And what made this situation worse was that whatever Matthew was keeping from her was significant. He wasn’t himself. He was quiet and pensive, and he tossed and turned all night, every night.
Rosalyn was really starting to worry.
Tonight she planned to clear the air.
“Matthew?” She elbowed the front door open the rest of the way and stepped inside, shutting it behind her. “It’s me. You forgot to close the door behind you again. Not the smartest idea. One day, someone’s going to—”
She never finished her sentence.
She heard the footsteps rush up behind her a split second before a pair of strong arms grabbed her. A rag was stuffed in her mouth, and a rough sack was pulled over her head.
Instinctively, Rosalyn fought back. Enveloped by darkness, she struggled like a wild animal, even when she was backhanded so hard that her head snapped around and she lost her footing, nearly toppling to the floor. She managed to stay upright, regained her balance, and swung out blindly with her fist.
Her knuckles connected with what felt like her attacker’s jaw, and she heard his grunt of stunned surprise.
She took advantage of the moment, delivering a second punch, hoping to do some serious damage. But this time she missed and her attacker grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her and anchoring them so her movements were restricted. She still didn’t cave, but continued to battle him with sharp defensive jerks of her body and as many clumsy kicks as she could manage.
When her knee connected with his groin, she knew she’d gone too far.
He swore viciously, then barked out a terse, unintelligible command in another language—some Asian tongue. Pounding footsteps ensued, and a second intruder burst out from wherever in the apartment he’d been. The two men started arguing in a guttural Chinese dialect. An instant later, Rosalyn was dragged through the foyer and into another room—Matthew’s office, if her sense of direction wasn’t completely off. There, she was shoved into a chair, her wrists were bound behind her, and her ankles were tied together on the floor.
She tried to let out a scream but only succeeded in gagging on the rag that was crammed in her mouth. The garbled sound that emerged was muffled by the burlap sack. Before she could try again, a heavy, solid object struck her head, and pain exploded through her skull.
She saw stars and heard herself whimper. Pinpoints of light flashed behind her eyes. The voices…just two? No, maybe three. Male voices. All speaking in the same rapid Chinese. Dazed, she found herself wishing she’d joined Matthew and Sloane all those years ago when they’d taken their trips to the Far East. Then may
be she could have deciphered what was being said. As it was, all she could make out was the urgency of their tones, mixed with the sound of slamming drawers and what was probably a lifetime of possessions being hauled off.
With her tongue, she managed to maneuver the rag to one side—far enough so she could scream.
That was a mistake.
A drawer thudded to the floor. A whiz of motion. And then another blow that connected solidly with the side of her head.
This one was too much.
Blinding pain. Then, dark silence.
It had started to drizzle when Matthew got out of the taxi and paid the driver—a cold autumn drizzle that left you feeling chilled inside and out.
Matthew didn’t notice it.
He didn’t notice anything.