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Last night’s endearment had slipped out before she could prevent it—an endearment she’d only ever used with one other man in her entire life. But her subconscious must have known what her conscious self had yet to acknowledge. She’d used the same phrase today on the overlook. And she’d meant it then, too.
But she had to stop using it. For Dirk’s sake she had to keep her emotions to herself. He had enough to deal with right now without the additional burden of knowing how she felt about him. Because Dirk would have been taken aback if he’d known that when she called him tim sum, she was calling him sweetheart.
* * *
Patrick dropped Dirk and Mei-li at the hotel’s front door, then went to park and grab some lunch after assuring Dirk he would be ready at a moment’s notice to drive him anywhere he needed to go.
The two of them had only been back in his hotel suite for ten minutes—long enough for Mei-li to pull last night’s leftovers from the refrigerator and pop them into the microwave—when the doorbell rang. The microwave dinged almost at the same time, so Dirk went to answer the door while Mei-li dished up the food, then carried the plates and utensils into the dining room.
She was just in time to see Dirk walk back from the foyer with another envelope, rip it open and draw out a single sheet of paper. He read it immediately. When he was done he handed the instructions and the envelope to her and went to stand by the window, staring out at Victoria Harbour.
She scanned the page quickly. It made no reference to the previous ransom drop. And, just as before, this delivery had been made by a local service, not a global conglomerate, which she could tell by the label on the envelope. Those two things—the stand-alone nature of the instructions and the method of delivery—made Mei-li sure the envelope had been scheduled for drop-off at a specific time. Most likely all four sets of instructions had been prepared ahead of time, with delivery times already scheduled. She made a mental note to follow up with the delivery service’s main office to see what she could ascertain there. But for now she read the instructions again, this time carefully. And the wording of what she read was additional confirmation the instructions had been drafted in advance.
Hong Kong Museum of History, 1:00 p.m. Visit the folk culture exhibit. Step onto the life-size replica of a fishing junk and pretend to take pictures like a tourist. When you receive the phone call, you will have one minute to talk with your daughters—make it count. After you hang up, place the bag in the front of the boat underneath the food exhibit. Leave and don’t look back. Return to your hotel and await further instructions. Don’t do anything stupid.
She checked her watch. “Plenty of time,” she told Dirk. “The museum is just up Chatham Road, maybe five minutes from here.” She indicated the food on the table. “We should eat before it gets cold.”
* * *
Dirk’s smartphone announced an incoming email before they were done, and he swore under his breath. “The bastard knows every move I make.” His sudden anger was a welcome sight to Mei-li after the shuttered expression he’d worn before. “How the hell does he know?”
She shook her head. “He doesn’t know. But he’s timed this. And he scheduled the delivery of the second envelope in advance to coincide with approximately how long it would take you to get back to the hotel.” She pointed to Dirk’s phone. “That email contains another picture of your daughters, which he had the other kidnapper send you because you demanded you receive one each time.”
When Dirk looked a question she explained, “It only makes sense they’re not together. The kidnapper retrieving the ransom can’t be the one calling you at the Peak with your daughters, because he can’t be in two places at one time. And it’s not likely he rushed back to wherever they are, because he has to get in place for the next ransom delivery. So most likely the picture was taken by the other kidnapper, the one who’s staying with your daughters wherever they are. Download that picture to your computer right now—let’s see when and where it was taken.”
“I don’t think I can,” he told her, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t think I can bear to look—”
“You don’t have to,” she assured him swiftly. “We don’t have to open the file to view its properties, remember? All I want are the GPS coordinates and the date and time the picture was taken.” She would look at the picture, but not when Dirk was around. There could be clues in the picture itself that might come into play. There hadn’t been anything in the two previous ones, but you could never tell.
