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“Chloroform,” Dirk said, a chill of recognition washing through him. “That’s what that smell was when I first walked in.” His anger went from white-hot to ice-cold. “Those sons of bitches chloroformed my little girls for money.”
His iPhone rang suddenly, and he answered immediately, even though the caller’s ID was blocked. “Yes?”
“Mr. DeWinter?” The voice was as American as his own, silky smooth, with menacing overtones.
“Yes?”
“We have your daughters.”
Dirk drew a deep breath, tamping down his sudden, overwhelming rage. “Whatever the price is, I’ll pay it.”
The voice on the other end of the line laughed softly. “Of course you will, Mr. DeWinter. Of course you will.”
“How much?” he demanded. He put a tight clamp on his emotions, trying to force himself to focus, as if this was happening to someone else. His brain was already operating at warp speed when he said, “But you have to give me time. Everything’s closed here—banks, everything—because of the typhoon. I can have the money wired from the States tomorrow, but—”
The cold voice cut him off. “You’ll be contacted with the details—how much, when and where. But don’t worry, you’ll have all the time you need. The only thing you need to know right now is, if you call the police, your daughters are dead.”
“I haven’t called them.” He thanked God that Vanessa and Patrick had stopped him.
Then everything else was driven from Dirk’s mind when the other man said, “Very good, Mr. DeWinter. Or should I say...Mr. Summers?”
All the strength went out of Dirk’s legs, and he sank into the nearest armchair. “What do you mean?” he whispered.
“Terrell Blackwood sends his regards.” Then the phone went dead.
Dirk’s eyes squeezed shut. “They’re dead,” he said under his breath, trying to take in the reality. “Oh, God, they’re dead.”
A long-ago memory surfaced, Terrell Blackwood screaming at him across the courtroom, “You’ll pay for this, Summers! You’ll pay in blood!”
He’d already paid, every day of his life. The scar on his body was nothing compared to the scar on his soul. He’d carried the knowledge of what he’d done with him, weighing on his conscience, making him the man he was. Until Bree had died, he’d managed to suppress his guilt, though, had managed to convince himself his motive had been pure.
But God had seen into his heart and had known the truth—and made him pay. He was still paying. That punishment he could bear. What he couldn’t bear was knowing Bree had also paid when she was totally innocent. Just like his daughters—totally innocent. A memory flashed into his mind, him wild with grief, telling Juliana the day before Bree’s funeral, This is my punishment. God is punishing me, but she paid the price.
And if anything happened to Linden and Laurel because of him...he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
Vanessa, Chet and Patrick all stared at Dirk strangely, but Vanessa spoke first. “What do you mean...they’re dead?” she asked in a halting, choked voice. “They can’t be dead. That’s—” She broke off suddenly.
Dirk’s brows drew together in a question, but the sound of the suite’s doorbell distracted him. Patrick turned to answer the door, but Dirk was faster. He yanked the door open, then stared in incomprehension at the beautiful, dark-haired Eurasian woman standing there. The woman in the red dress from two weeks before. The woman who’d haunted his dreams. Mei-li Moore.
“Yes?” He had no idea why she was there, but he strove for patience. “Can I help you, Miss Moore?”
“I think it’s the other way around, Mr. DeWinter,” she replied with a smile intended to put him at his ease. “My cousin said you need my assistance.”
Patrick was right beside Dirk, and now he said, “Mei-li! Thanks for coming so quickly.” He reached around Dirk and tugged her inside, then closed the door.
Dirk hadn’t been expecting Patrick’s cousin to be a woman. That’s all he could think of to account for his sudden inability to process what he was seeing and hearing. That, and his emotional turmoil over the kidnapping and the mention of Terrell Blackwood’s name. He wasn’t sexist. He really wasn’t. But when Patrick had said his cousin was a private investigator and a ransom negotiator, he’d immediately envisioned a man. Especially here in Hong Kong, where even now women were struggling for equality in many professions. It wasn’t as bad in Hong Kong as it was on the Chinese mainland, but women here still had a long way to go to achieve even what the women in the United States had.
