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“Was this your lead?” Chen asked.
There wasn’t any point in denying it. Not now. So Zhang Daiyu nodded.
“Then I think we’ve found our suspect.”
She couldn’t argue. They’d been hired to investigate David Zhou, and now three members of the surveillance team weredead and the head of the Beijing office was missing, presumed drowned.
“I’m going to have to let the boss know,” Zhang Daiyu said. “My American boss.”
She pulled a phone from the pocket of her trousers and called Jack Morgan.
CHAPTER 3
THE MUSIC WAS so mellow I could feel the stress of the day melting away. A. Ray Fuller was on stage with his band, eyes closed, lost in a world of smooth sound, transported by the riffs of his electric guitar. The bass, drums and keyboard accompanied his perfect fingerwork brilliantly, and the sight of a group of artists so into their craft brought a smile to my face.
I looked across at Justine, nodding her head to Fuller’s easy jazz rhythms, and she caught my eye and smiled. It had been a long day. I’d been stuck in the office, dealing with admin from our national and international branches, and Justine had been immersed in the Griffith Strangler case, helping LAPD profile a serial killer who was preying on young women around Griffith Park. We were both feeling drained and beleaguered by the time we called it a day, and to breathe some life back into us, I’dsuggested we catch Fuller’s show at Vibrato, a jazz dinner club in Beverly Glen.
The lights were low but the flickering candle on our table illuminated Justine’s face, and I was reminded once more how lucky I was. She was beautiful, with wavy brown hair that fell to her shoulders and eyes that shone with intelligence. The fatigue of the day behind her now, she seemed so alive. We’d had our ups and downs, but after all our difficulties, love had triumphed. We’d found a way of being together that worked for us.
A server deposited our drinks on the table—a couple of highballs. I nodded my thanks and the server made his way back through the crowded restaurant to the packed bar. The other patrons were similarly rapt in the music so I drew looks of irritation when my phone rang. I felt like an idiot because we’d been asked to turn them off at the beginning of the performance and I thought I’d switched mine to silent. I signaled an apology to those around us and the band, who didn’t drop a note. Fuller shook his head and smiled as I silenced my phone.
I recognized the name on-screen—Zhang Daiyu, number two in the Private Beijing office—so I got to my feet, hurried through the maze of tables and answered as I reached the main entrance.
“Jack Morgan,” I said.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Morgan.”
Zhang Daiyu spoke fluent English—she’d been educated in England if I remembered her personnel file correctly.
“It’s not a problem, Zhang Daiyu. What can I do for you?”
I was outside now, near the valets who parked for the retail complex in which Vibrato was located.
“I have bad news,” she replied. I thought she might be crying. “Three of our colleagues were murdered last night. Kha Delun, Ling Kang and Jiang Jinhai are dead, and Shang Li is missing, presumed dead.”
My stomach plummeted and I thought for a moment I might vomit. My head felt light. I leaned against the storefront next to Vibrato to steady myself. Then I checked my phone to make sure the call was really coming from Zhang Daiyu and this wasn’t a sick prank.
I’d experienced many such losses in my life, from fellow Marines who had died during my time serving as a pilot in Afghanistan, to colleagues, clients and others lost while I was heading up Private, but no matter how many times I experienced bereavement, nothing blunted its merciless edge. The pain of grief was not something I’d ever grow accustomed to, and the thought of three—possibly four—of my staff meeting violent, premature deaths hit me hard.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Zhang Daiyu,” I replied, trying to stay professional and supportive.
I sensed movement nearby and turned to see Justine emerge from the club. She wore a puzzled expression, which turned to one of concern as she read my expression.
“Who is it?” she whispered.
“Zhang Daiyu,” I replied. “Three of our operatives in Beijing were murdered, and Shang Li is missing, presumed dead. I’m going to have to fly out there.” I returned to my call. “Zhang Daiyu, I’m coming to Beijing. I’ll leave tonight and will send you my flight details as soon as I have them.”
“I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive,” she assured me before hanging up.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and caught Justine’s eye. She looked bewildered and uncertain. Her green dress billowed in the warm July breeze, the fabric dancing like leaves on a tree. She looked gorgeous. Fragile and wounded, too, but I knew why. My last two overseas trips had been highly dangerous. I almost hadn’t made it back. She would be feeling the same sorrow as I did over the tragedy in Beijing but would also be worried about me. It pained me to leave her. If there had been any other way, I would have chosen it, but right now my leadership was needed to get Private Beijing through this.
“Jack—” Justine began.
“I’ve got to go,” I cut her off. “Three of our people are dead and the head of the office there, my friend and business partner, is missing. They need me.”
An anxious look on her face, she fixed her eyes on me and nodded slowly. “I know. I don’t like it, but I know you must go.”
She turned toward the valets and produced a ticket stub from her purse.
