33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Three
To say that Gibson wasn’t happy with Kathleen’s plan was an understatement. When she finished, he'd gruffly told her he needed a walk to think about her pitch and that she should get some sleep. His expression was closed to her, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he left. Sure, Wilson had tried to kidnap her, intending to do who-knows-what, and they were both certain he had ordered the murders of Lachlan Hayden and the people in the Imperial Silk Palace, but what she was proposing was well outside the bounds of the law.
Sleep was a good idea, though; Kathleen was exhausted despite the coffee. She managed a good six hours, woken by nightmares that now featured a blue-eyed assassin. Great. New material. She felt human again after a long, hot shower. She was still just as committed to the plan, whether or not Gibson was with her. She started to worry she’d lost him—that he’d gone to their boss—when she heard a knock.
Gibson was outside her door, holding a bag from a nearby cafe. He gave her a flat look as he stepped inside her condo. “We both know this guy is a dirtbag. But this risks not just your career but mine. This is way over the line, Harper.” He sighed and handed her the bag. “I think this is going to get you killed, but I’m your fucking partner, so if I can’t get you to duck your head, I’m going to stop someone else from taking it off, at least.”
This was one of the many reasons Kathleen liked Gibson. That, and the pastries she could smell from the bag.
He caught sight of her expression and grimaced. “Don’t you grin at me. You still owe me some top-shelf whiskey, as I recall.”
“I’ll add another bottle.”
“At this point, you may as well buy me a fucking shelf.”
“Deal.”
Walking back into the Imperial Silk Palace without the discomfort of heels and a garter felt strange. Not that Kathleen missed them—or the place. The old, creaking floor and worn fittings just felt familiar. Some of the gold curtains were gone, leaving plain wooden walls that felt bare.
Despite the brutal events of less than two weeks ago, the Palace was back in business, though it was not quite noon on a Saturday, and it was empty.
Largely empty.
A dancer occupied the main stage, captivating the attention of a lone man, while a disinterested waitress idled by the bar. Kathleen half expected the tattoo-clad Vincent to be lurking in front of the VIP room, but he had been replaced with a short, stocky man with a thin face.
“No entrance,” he said.
Kathleen shifted the folder she carried to her other hand so she could flash her badge. Gibson, at her side, followed suit.
“Here to talk to Liang,” she said. “He’s expecting me.”
The bouncer’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at both of their IDs. “Wait here.”
He disappeared inside the room. Before long, he returned, jerking his head to indicate they should enter.
So much for manners.
The VIP room had suffered far more damage from Finn—the Hound’s—attack. Many of the gambling tables were missing, the floor was visibly scorched, and the couches lining the walls had been replaced. They were now an off-white shade, which Kathleen thought was a poor idea.
Richard Liang lounged on one of the new pieces of furniture, watching as Gibson and Kathleen approached.
“Detectives,” his lip curled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here to talk about Wyatt Wilson,” Kathleen said.
Liang snorted. “I looked into it. Maybe he’s responsible, maybe he isn’t. But he’s got a whole lot of eyes on him, and a lot of heat is going to come down if I lay this at his feet.”
They were being watched by his associates. Kathleen recognized Baseball Bat from the narrow-eyed glare he gave her. Knives held a neutral but wary expression. That they were close enough to watch and listen was important. Liang couldn’t afford to appear a coward, turning his back on the man who had ordered his brother’s murder. Not when she laid it right out in front of him.
Kathleen set the folder down on the low desk in front of the couch Liang was lounging on. “In there, you’ll find a transcript of an interview with a confidential informant. I can make the audio recording available, too. It details a meeting between Senator Wyatt Wilson and an unknown man. They are arranging to take care of Lachlan Hayden. Three days after Hayden’s murder, the man turns up dead.”
Liang smirked but didn’t move. “And you expect me to believe that?”
“The informant identified the man Wilson had been talking to out of a photo lineup. Your brother, Daniel Liang.” Kathleen leaned forward and flipped open the folder, flicking with her wrist so the photos—crime scene photos from this room—skidded across the table. Two slid off the edges, and Knives picked them up, staring at them.
She knew what they looked like. She had lived it. Everyone holding a weapon in the Palace died that night, along with several innocent victims. Like Lisa. But Liang wouldn’t care about her. He stopped on the lifeless photo of his brother Daniel.
“I verified with a second party that Wilson arranged the hit on your brother. He couldn’t risk having someone like Daniel Liang holding blackmail material against him. Not when he was about to secure a higher political office.”
Knives had thrown the two photos back onto the table, but his expression had gone from neutral to hard. Even Baseball Bat was angry, but no longer at her. An attack on one of their own was an attack on all of their reputations—and Richard Liang knew it.
The look in Liang’s eyes was both furious and resigned as he lingered on a photo of Wilson talking to a man facing away from the camera. He recognized his brother, even from behind.
“Even if this is true, how do we eliminate a Governor without blowback?”
“That part is easy. You just need to show up.”
Getting Governor Wyatt Wilson to come to her was just about as easy as it sounded. The man had set his sights on besting her, and Kathleen knew—for a man used to winning—the fact that she had escaped his grasp was a blemish he intended to resolve permanently.
Richard Liang was her ace in the hole—assuming the triad leader could be trusted to show up. Even Gibson wasn’t sure about that. It was the reason he was monitoring her from afar, the earpiece relaying his hushed words to her.
“Incoming,” Gibson reported. “This shit goes sideway? I’m calling it in, and we deal with the fall out later. Clear?”
“Roger that,” Kathleen murmured.
The location she’d chosen was remote. At night, the warehouse area was empty of civilians. This particular warehouse had been the subject of a police raid two months ago, and the owners were currently facing charges and unlikely to see the light of day for the next twenty years. There were two main entrances through the north and east sides. There was also a hidden exit through one of the back storage rooms that had almost allowed one of the owners to escape. Fortunately, a savvy young officer had seen him and given chase.
“I have vision on the target,” Gibson reported. “He brought a friend. Friend’s carrying.”
Shit. Not unexpected, but not great. “Let it play,” Kathleen murmured as she faced the entrance.
Wilson strode in first, radiating pure confidence. He wore yet another tailored suit in a slightly different shade of blue, paired with a red tie. She wondered whether his entire wardrobe housed shades of red and blue.
Wilson smiled. “Detective Harper, such a pleasure to see you again.”
“I said come alone.” Kathleen’s eyes slid to the man pacing along behind the Governor. Hired security, though not the hardened watchfulness of ex-military.
“As you can understand, I have concerns about my security. Given you are a trained, decorated officer, who is also presumably packing, you can understand my misgivings,” Wilson said with one of his effortless politician’s smiles. “Mr. Petersen here checks you out, then he goes away, and you and I talk. Sound fair?”
If it would make Wilson relax his guard, then Kathleen was all for it. Peterson was sure to find the wire she was wearing—but Gibson was still recording through his earpiece. She pretended to think it over, pretended reluctance, then held out her arms.
“If you touch me anywhere sensitive for any longer than needed, I’ll cut your hands off,” Kathleen warned Petersen casually.
Wilson just laughed. Petersen approached her and began patting her down. He found the gun first, setting it down on the ground; the knife at her ankle was put next to it. As his hands came up toward her chest, she could almost sense his carefulness. For a second, she thought she might get away with the wire because he was being so careful. But his fingers caught the edge of it, and he frowned.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Kathleen said, lifting her shirt to pull the wire free. As both of them looked on, she unhooked the microphone from the power source and set it down next to her gun and knife. “Happy?” She glanced from Petersen to Wilson.
The bodyguard nodded toward his boss, who smiled an even brighter smile. “Shall we?” Wilson invited, gesturing toward a pair of boxes twenty feet away as if he were inviting her into his office. He sat on the box just like it was one of his plush chairs and turned to her expectantly. “So, detective, how can I help you?”
“You can start by confessing to murder.”
Wilson laughed. “You know, that’s why I like you, detective. Your relentlessness and good humor.”
“I have witnesses who can pin you for arranging for Lachlan Hayden’s murder with Daniel Liang and the subsequent ordering of Daniel Liang’s murder.”
Technically, it wasn’t true. Kathleen no longer had Finn to testify—and he would make a poor witness, given his own involvement in the murders. Wilson didn’t know that, though.
The politician didn’t look concerned. “Come now. If you had someone solid, we wouldn’t be meeting in the back of nowhere, detective.”
“Our friends have arrived,” Gibson whispered in her ear.
Kathleen never thought she’d be relieved to welcome the triad, but her life had hardly been normal in the last two weeks. It was just a matter of stalling until they joined.
She leaned toward Wilson. “I’m giving you a chance to come clean before I go to Schmidt.”
“Schmidt?” Wilson’s brows rose, and then he snorted. “Wait, Joseph Schmidt from Homeland? The same man who, three years ago, claimed he had discovered the existence of a black ops agency, and when he pitched his ‘so-called’ evidence to the Deputy Undersecretary was laughed out of his office? The one who subsequently tanked his reputation, such that most Homeland agents refuse to work for him? That Joseph Schmidt?”
Shit. Kathleen had known none of this. Did Schmidt know about Command already? Was that why he had Finn’s picture?
“Judging by the look on your face you had no idea.” Wilson’s smile brightened. “I bet he spun you a good story. What was it this time, he’s head of Emerging Threats? He loves to use that line. Truth is, no one trusts him with real intelligence. He runs the field office because he’s a talented case officer but a little too conspiracy theorist to have any weight. I wouldn’t worry, though. Homeland won’t last the next administration. Trust me.”
Clearly, the threats weren’t working. Wilson wasn’t a man motivated by fear. Not the sort of fear Kathleen could leverage, anyway.
She was running out of good options, and she didn’t like the ones she was left with.