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She charted the ransom drop points. Victoria Peak. The Hong Kong Museum of History. The Tian Tan Buddha. The Tsim Sha Tsui Clock Tower and the Kowloon Public Pier. All tourist destinations that could be researched on the internet, but...details displaying knowledge of someone who’d been there. Which made sense, since one of the kidnappers was a Hong Kong native—that tong tattoo nailed it.
She added in the other little things they knew, such as the sound of the Star Ferry boat whistle that Dirk heard in the background of the second call. And the fact that the second, third and fourth sets of ransom instructions had all been timed to allow Dirk to return from the previous ransom delivery, so he’d be there to receive them. Again, something the kidnappers might be able to research on the internet, but...
“Pattern,” she muttered. “Somewhere there has to be a pattern.”
She’d already confirmed with the head office of the delivery firm that the sender had paid extra to ensure the deliveries were made at specific times, but other than that it was a dead end. The man who’d left the envelopes for delivery had worn gloves, concealing sunglasses and—she was pretty sure—a wig. He’d paid cash. The envelopes and their contents had been dusted for prints by another of Mei-li’s friends—she’d called in a favor. But nothing. She hadn’t expected anything once she heard the man who’d dropped off the envelopes was wearing gloves, but it had been worth a shot.
Her mind kept circling back to the pattern she was missing. Some kind of connection between all these seemingly random things.
The geotagging embedded in the pictures of Dirk’s daughters kept niggling at her. Central. Tai O. Mong Kok. The middle of Victoria Harbour—although she discounted that as one of those camera GPS glitches. Aberdeen. “Why Aberdeen?” she asked herself. It didn’t seem to make sense. None of these places were close to the airport. But then...the kidnappers hadn’t intended to hang around Hong Kong for days and were having to improvise.
Her smartphone signaled an incoming text message, so she dragged her phone out of her purse. Parts delivered, she read. Repairs underway.
Thnx, she replied.
A minute passed. DD didn’t spend the night in his hotel, was the next text.
Her lips twitched into a smile. Someone was worried about her. Someone who knew she hadn’t had a serious relationship since Sean all those years ago. Someone who’d been Sean’s best friend. Someone whose life had been irrevocably changed by Sean’s death, just as hers had been.
She texted back, I know.
I know you know. But do you know what you’re doing?
Yes.
Two minutes went by, then three. He killed a man.
And you didn’t? she shot back.
Justified! was the prompt response, and she knew by the exclamation point she’d touched a nerve.
Same for him, she typed.
There was a long pause before, As long as you’re sure.
She smiled again and replied, I’m sure.
She thought that was the end of it, but then, TB under observation. Thought you should know.
It didn’t take her more than a couple of seconds to decipher whom he meant by TB—Terrell Blackwood. Not that she thought there was anything to be uncovered about the man who’d engineered the kidnapping by putting him under observation, but still...
Thnx, she typed again. Knew I could count on you.
The doorbell rang twice more while she tried to put the texts out of her mind and concentrate on her work, but it was nearly impossible because her mind kept circling back to the conversation. The last text concerned her the most. Terrell Blackwood had tried to kill Dirk once before. She’d seen the scar last night as she’d lain in his arms, and she knew Dirk’s surgeon had been correct—an inch to the right, and Blackwood would have stood trial for murder, not attempted murder. If this kidnapping failed—Oh, God, she prayed, it has to fail—then Blackwood could set his sights on Dirk again.
“That is not going to happen,” she whispered, a fierce note in her voice. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Eventually Mei-li gave up trying to concentrate. She hadn’t spotted the pattern, the connection, not yet, but she would try again later. Because it was there—she knew it.
* * *
The day dragged torturously for Dirk, with no ransom instruction delivery. No phone call from the kidnappers. And, worst of all, no photo of Linden and Laurel proving they were still alive. He tried not to envision their lifeless bodies somewhere, but as the hours passed the mental picture kept slipping insidiously into his consciousness no matter how damnably hard he tried to suppress it.
