I’m left standing on the promenade with my hood pulled close, watching the harbor. There are no stars out tonight, no moon.
But there’s a light on in Peter Vidal’s yacht.
A man in a long navy jacket approaches. His head is bare, even though he’s been standing here watching Vidal’s boat as long as I have.
“You’re not cold?” I ask.
“This is not cold compared to where I grew up.”
“And where is that?” Because his accent betrays nothing.
He ignores the question. My savior could say he’s from any northern clime and I wouldn’t be surprised. Or maybe his origin story is as unimportant as his name.
“It’s time for our chat now,” Edison Lam’s bodyguard says to me.
“Mr. Lam is back in town,” I say.
He’s not surprised at the conclusion I draw. “Yes.”
“It was nice of him to ask you to keep an eye on me.”
He nods. Yes, it was nice. “We should get going.”
A man of few words. I like that.
I also appreciate the fact that he was honest about surveilling my movements. His teams are very good, and it has been fun to see if I can slip by them. But they’re top-notch, Edison Lam’s guys. The best that money can buy. I can’t shake them, despite my best efforts. It would be a nuisance if I didn’t know that no one else can get through their defenses, either. I’m safe, while they’re watching. It’s a more comforting thought than it should be.
Following behind him I feel a transference of tenderness, the sort I’d begun to feel for Brazuca. Now, I only think of Brazuca—because I’ve never called him Jon; even our intimacy has never allowed for it—lying in a hospital bed. Every once in a while, his face is replaced with Nate Marlowe’s, then Leo’s. Sometimes it’s Seb Crow, my dead friend. I wasn’t responsible for Seb’s death, but if I had been around during his final days, maybe I could have eased his passing somehow. Spared him a little pain. These men, the three who are still alive, of blood and fragile bones . . . I can’t do anything more for them. Except maybe stay away.
For now.
We go to a sprawling mansion in Point Grey. The house seems empty as the bodyguard leads me down a long hallway. There are family photos along the walls, of Bernard Lam and a woman I’ve never seen before. His wife, probably. Some of his father and mother.
We go into a study at the end of the hall, where Edison Lam waits. He looks up from his papers when we enter. “Hello again,” he says to me. “Kristof told me you got into some trouble while I’ve been away.”
His glance passes from me to the bodyguard, who closes the study door and stands just inside of it.
I nod. “You could say that.”
“Your friend, the man you were with when we visited your apartment—”
“Brazuca?”
“Odd, I thought he was your romantic partner. I was not aware that people are referring to their significant others by their surnames these days.”
“I can’t keep up with the trends, either.” I decide not to tell him about smashing.
“Before he got into that unfortunate car accident, your Brazuca informed me of two potential lines of inquiry for the man who murdered my son.”
“And you saw the video of the murder.”
He looks away for a moment. If this man has a nervous tic, he would display it now. But of course he doesn’t. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t kill him. But you were there. And you were kidnapped by those bikers who are associated with Dao. Not your friend Brazuca. You. Why is that?”
Kristof doesn’t move, but I can feel his energy shift. Become laser-focused.
I unzip my jacket and slump on the couch. There’s a moment of tension as I debate whether or not to put my feet up, but I don’t want to push my luck, which I can feel wearing thin.
Now that I’m comfortable, I tell them the truth, because I may not have liked Bernard Lam, but he didn’t deserve to die the way he did. I’m in this mess because I’m trying to protect my child. Edison Lam is involved to understand the death of his own. Some people say children are a joy. Others believe them to be a burden, one that will suck the life right out of you. Whatever it is, there’s no doubt that they steer the direction of your life.
Mr. Lam mulls over what I’ve just told him. “What you’re saying is my son planned to give you over to Dao as an incentive to reveal information about these Three Phoenix people.”
“He thought he might need me to get Dao’s attention. A little trick up his sleeve. He thought Dao could be paid off.”
“He underestimated Dao’s hatred for you.”
“Yes.”
“I have a proposal for you, Ms. Watts.”
I have a feeling I know what’s coming. Since Bernard Lam’s death, this has been inevitable.
“My son wanted to use you without your knowledge, which is why he insisted you weren’t part of that meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And you went along that morning and tried to find Dao on your own because you didn’t trust my son.”
“No, I didn’t. My purpose for being there was always to dig up some dirt on Dao. Maybe get him to admit that he ordered my assassination. Find a way to put him in jail.”
“He will go to jail,” says Edison Lam. Then he sighs. “My son defied me at every turn. He was impossible to deal with. His mother spoiled him too much, I think. He was her only child. He wasn’t good at reading situations, or people, properly. Some things you can’t teach.”
He lapses into a thoughtful silence. I’m ready to fall asleep on this couch. “We both want David Tao to face justice. We want him off the streets. He seems to be obsessed with you and, like my son, I want to use that. But we don’t have time to waste with lies and deception. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You want to use me as bait.”
“Yes. Will you consider it?”
“No need,” I say. “You’re right. He needs to face justice for what he’s done. Let’s finish this.”
There’s movement by the door as Kristof comes closer. “Jon Brazuca told us to look into those bikers and WIN Security.”
I nod. “WIN had a connection to Ray Zhang, Dao’s previous employer.”
“WIN Security is a big operation in the Pacific Northwest. They’ve worked with almost all the major players in this region. Including Michael Acosta’s Nebula Corporation.”
“Who Dao used to work for—at least until he murdered your son,” I say, looking at him.
“Yes,” says Mr. Lam. “After the Indonesia video surfaced and authorities identified the same man in both that video and the report of violence against that mining protester, Michael Acosta is suddenly unavailable for comment. Neither he nor WIN will go anywhere near Dao. It’s too dangerous. They’ll disavow all knowledge of him moving forward and will hide behind carefully worded public statements.”
“The bikers, then.”
“No.” Kristof shakes his head. “That pickup truck was set on fire. There were human remains found inside. They have just identified Curtis Parnell as the deceased. That was the man who rammed Brazuca’s car and pulled you from the passenger seat.”
“When I escaped, I shot him,” I say. “I killed him.”
“You grazed his thigh,” says Kristof. “It was nothing serious. My people were watching and saw someone come by and pick Parnell up. He was later seen at that clubhouse walking on crutches.”
“But someone killed him. Put him in that truck.”
They exchange glances. “We think Dao must have.”
I shake my head, let my hair down to ease the tightness of my scalp. “But that doesn’t make any sense. He leaned on them because of their Three Phoenix connection. He needed them.”
Edison Lam looks at me. “If you’re right, and he’s not in his right mind, it’s possible his emotions got the better of him. From what you say, and from what I saw in that video, he’s unstable. He didn’t have to kill my son, but he did. He didn’t have to kill this Parnell man—”
“If he did,” I add.
Lam nods. “If he did, he didn’t have to.”
“But you think he flew into a rage? Where the hell is he, then?”
Nobody answers me. “What about Van Nguyen? We need to find him.”
“We lost track of him,” says Kristof. “He never went back to the house he kept you in. I think there must have been a camera setup that I missed.”
I think about it for a moment. “Then we get to him through Peter Vidal.” I tell them about Vidal’s connection to Nguyen. “Problem is, he’s a hard man to get ahold of.”
Edison Lam rises from behind his son’s desk. “We’ll take care of that. If we find Nguyen, we’ll find Dao.”
I had said the same thing about Jimmy Fang. But this feels closer. The Fang case led us to Nguyen, which is more than we’d had before.
He nods to Kristof. Kristof nods back. I feel no pity for Peter Vidal.
But Vidal is one step ahead of us.
When we return to the marina, me and Kristof, and two other men from Kristof’s team who have joined us in a separate vehicle, we find the yacht empty. Vidal isn’t at his house in Point Grey, either. He’s long gone.