He’d barely pressed the first button when the door to his office was kicked open. Two armed men with stocking masks burst inside, submachine guns raised. Phil didn’t have time to make a sound. Both men opened fire instantly.
Phil’s body jerked from the impact as the spray of bullets riddled through him.
His chair toppled backward, and he was left sprawled on the carpet, dead, blood oozing everywhere.
Removing the silencers from their weapons, the Albanian killers checked to be sure their target was dead. Then, they turned to his desk. They took what they needed, planted what they’d brought, and altered what needed to be altered.
Calmly, Xiao Long strolled into the office in their wake, and walked directly behind the desk. He stood over Leary’s dead body, watching his blood ooze out and pool on the floor. An annoying, high-pitched beep echoed from the tel
ephone receiver dangling from the desk. Xiao had no doubt that Leary’s attempted phone call was being made to spill his guts to the FBI.
So much for that plan.
After pulling on his gloves, Xiao picked up the receiver and replaced it in its cradle.
Then, he reached in his pocket and yanked out the piano wire he carried with him. He squatted down and wrapped the wire around Leary’s limp, blood-soaked neck. He pulled on the bamboo handles. Tight. So tight he felt as if he were killing the guy all over again.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sense of power for himself and retribution for his Dragon Head.
Long moments passed. Having wrung every last drop of satisfaction from his victory, Xiao released Leary’s neck, letting his body slump to the floor. Blood was spreading out everywhere.
Xiao rose and took a few steps backward. One of the Albanians took some quick digital photos and handed the camera to Xiao. He would share the photos with his Dragon Head immediately.
Then, he turned and walked away, giving a terse nod to the Black Eagles as he exited the room.
A minute later, they followed suit. Having carried out their orders, they left the scene—and what was left of Phil’s body—shutting the office door behind them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Derek left the cottage at dawn the next morning, heading straight to midtown Manhattan. He planned on marching into Phil Leary’s office, unannounced and unyielding, and planting himself in the man’s face until he got answers.
He and Sloane had been asleep when Derek’s cell phone rang at two forty-five a.m. It was the members of Derek’s C-6 team who were assigned to surveillance that night. Ben Martino and Phil Leary had been spotted in Chinatown, exiting a gambling house that belonged to Xiao Long. Both men were visibly upset. They’d walked half a block, then halted, arguing vehemently. A short time later, Leary had stormed off, and Martino had trudged, head lowered, into a nearby bar.
This was one gambling casino Leary hadn’t visited to place bets, Derek had thought grimly. He’d gone to help get Martino out of the hole he was in. Interesting that Martino had chosen Leary to run to. Derek had expected it would have been Johnson.
On the other hand, Leary was a logical choice. He might be a walking financial disaster personally, but professionally he was sharp as a tack. And he was Martino’s accountant.
Armed with a slew of questions and a gut feeling he was getting closer to the truth, Derek left his car in a parking garage and walked the three blocks to Leary’s office.
He slowed down as he reached the building, his brows drawing together as he saw the bustle of activity going on outside. A bunch of spectators were standing around on the sidewalk, and there were two NYPD cars blocking traffic. As Derek watched, a body bag was carried out, transferred to the back of an Emergency Medical Services vehicle, and driven off.
He jostled his way through the crowd and up to the entranceway, where a cop was posted to keep everyone out.
“FBI,” Derek said quietly, displaying his ID to the officer.
The cop stepped aside so Derek could enter.
“What floor?” Derek asked.
“Twelfth.”
Leary’s floor.
“Thanks.” Derek opened the door and made his way through the lobby.
He rode the elevator up, then strode down the hall to where all the activity was taking place.
The yellow tape sealing off Leary’s office told Derek it was the crime scene.